Page 275 of Once an Angel
But if these words to you should be my last, I dare
not soften them with platitudes
and half-truths. . . .
Every eye in the opera house turned to Justin, even the shocked prima donna's. Her plump chin
quivered. The tenor quickly cut in, his magnificent voice wavering as he sped through the music to
bring the rattled company to the haven of intermission. The audience was more fascinated by the scandalous performance of the Duke of Winthrop.
The curtain began to unfurl. Penfeld lunged for the tails of his master's coat too late as Justin vaulted
over the rail and swung into the box below. The audience gasped, then began to pour out of their own seats, not wanting to miss a moment of the delightful spectacle.
Justin sped down the wide marble steps that led to the lobby, ignoring the crowds streaming around him. Towering columns limited his vision, but his gaze found Emily as unerringly as if she'd been the only woman in the room.
His voice rang out, echoing back from the vaulted ceiling. "Emily!"
The excited chatter faded to a breathless murmur.
Emily kept walking, her delicate slippers and narrow train forcing her into tiny, mincing steps. The
crowd cleared a wide .wath between them, recoiling from Justin's long, dangerous strides. He caught
up with her easily.
He fell into step behind her. "Get your cape. We're going home."
"You're insane. I'm not going anywhere with you."
"I said,get your cape," he thundered.
The crowd fell into dead silence.
Emily whirled around, her dark eyes flashing. "And what if I don't?" Her tongue darted out to moisten
her parted lips. "What are you going to do? Spank me?"
Swishing her skirt defiantly, she turned and marched away. Justin stood unmoving for a moment, then closed the distance between them in two furious strides. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around, jerking her against him.
A shadow of his New Zealand accent touched his speech, his low, flat words meant only for her.
"We're going home. Now, you can walk or I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you. It makes
no difference to me."
Emily went dead white except for the furious splotches of color in her cheeks. Her bosom heaved with impotent rage, but something in his eyes must have warned her he wasn't bluffing. She lowered her gaze to his buttons, her lips tightened in mutinous rebellion.
"Sir, your cloak!" Penfeld tossed the garment.
Justin caught it in one hand and threw it over Emily's shoulders. Two footmen swept open the double
gilt doors, letting in a blast of bitter cold. As the duke ushered his young charge into the night, the lobby
of the opera house erupted in a scandalized roar.
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