Page 242 of Once an Angel
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Justin scaled a mountain of pink taffeta and picked his way through a jungle of ribbons and sashes.
Toys, books, and beribboned frocks littered the burgundy carpet of the corridor outside Emily's room
as if someone had gathered careless armfuls and tossed them out the door.
He turned the knob, expecting the door to be locked. To his mingled regret and relief, it swung open soundlessly beneath his touch.
The only sounds in the room were the crackle of the flames on the grate and a slow, lazy creak.
Emily perched sidesaddle on the rocking horse he had ordered brought down from the attic that morning. She rocked idly, her pensive profile turned toward the dancing flames. The fresh shock of seeing her there buffeted Justin's senses, igniting a raw hunger to jerk her up and shake the answers out of her. Or did he just seek any pretense to drag her into his arms? A hint of white cotton stocking peeked out from beneath the navy wool of her skirt. He had seen her garbed in far less, yet the innocent sight made the blood roar in his ears.
He pushed the door shut and leaned against it, arms crossed. His puzzled family had witnessed enough
of their private little war. This battle would be their own.
The moments creaked away beneath the rhythmic shift of Emily's thighs. Finally, she lifted her hand.
A satin glove trimmed in tiny pearls dangled from her pinkie. "A bit small for me, don't you think?"
With agonizing effort Justin kept his face smooth and expressionless. "I thought you were just a baby when your father died. The only photograph I ever saw was the one in the watch. David used to tell
me stories about you. About the time you ate the buttons off his coat. The time you crawled onto the window ledge and fell asleep in the flower box. Those were hardly the actions of a girl on the verge of womanhood."
Her winsome smile never reached her eyes. "No, but they were Daddy's favorite stories."
"How was I to know?"
The glove fluttered to the floor. "You might have tried the conventional ways. A visit. A letter."
The curtain between past and present seemed to blur. "I've written you every day since I've been in London."
"Writing letters was never a problem for you, was it? Posting them was always the challenge." Her legs swung in childish defiance.
"Why didn't you simply tell me you were David's daughter?"
"We all live by our expectations, don't we, Mr. Connor? You expected Claire Scarborough to be a little girl and I expected you to be an unfeeling monster who would steal his best friend's gold and abandon
a child entrusted to his care."
Justin's jaw tightened, but he refused to quail before her taunts. "Forgive me if I disappointed you. If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have sharpened my horns. The truth of the matter is that the Maori took the gold mine during the uprising and I thought you well cared for. I had no idea Miss Winters was such an old b—"
"Battle ax," she supplied. "You really should police your language in front of your ward. Children can
be so impressionable."
She climbed off the rocking horse, the roll of her hips beneath the ill-fitting wool a taunt of its own. She gazed up at him, her lips parted, her eyes darkened in smoky accusation. Would he ever again see them sparkle in merriment? he wondered. The winter months had faded her skin to a delicate peach and
carved faint hollows beneath her cheekbones. What had she endured on the harsh voyage from New Zealand to England?
His heartbeat quickened at her nearness. "Miss Winters said they were bringing you to me. That you jumped off the boat and ran away rather than be delivered into my hands."
"And she accused me of having a vivid imagination! I didn't jump off the boat. When they couldn't find my wealthy guardian, they tossed me overboard like so much shark bait."
His hand shot out to grasp her wrist. "If that miserable wretch Barney ever laid a hand on you, I'll—"
He left the threat unfinished, but the vision of the ruffian's stringy paws against Emily's skin tightened
