Page 285 of Once an Angel
Gone was the grandmotherly creature who had spooned warm broth down Emily's throat and bussed
her cheek good night. Mrs. Rose's ample curves undulated beneath the blush satin sheath of her dress. "You're that renegade duke, aren't you?" she drawled.
"Those damn ruffians have scuffled with a duke. Bloody hell, we're done for now," breathed one of
the women.
The guard who was still conscious awkwardly tried to brush off Justin's cloak. Justin shoved his hand away.
"Justin Marcus Homer Lloyd Farnsworth Connor . . . the third," he added, bowing and bringing
Mrs. Rose's hand to his lips. "At your service."
"I should be so lucky." She looked him up and down with the approving eye of a woman who has developed an appreciation for raw male beauty in all of its forms. "I once knew a Farnsworth Connor. But he always let me call him Frank. Among other things." She planted a hand on her hip. "I'm not
averse to a bit of brawling on a Saturday night, Your Grace, but perhaps I could interest you in some
of our more . . . delicate pleasures."
Justin finally looked at her then, but Emily wished he hadn't. She hardly recognized the man who swaggered toward her. The crowd melted back, leaving her to face him alone. He circled her leisurely,
his cloak swirling around his ankles. His hungry gaze devoured every inch of her. Her traitorous nipples tightened against the sheer material of her bodice, and a flush shot up her throat. She stared at the carpet, mortified. His blunt masculine scrutiny made her feel more like a whore than any of Barney's slurs.
He stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. Emily shivered at the deft touch, but resisted the
lure of his stormy gaze.
His hand dropped to his side. "Little Bo Peep here will do just fine," he announced, all business again.
Her flush turned to one of anger. It was bad enough to be publicly humiliated. He didn't have to poke
fun at her silly costume.
Emily would never know if it was concern for her customer's satisfaction or a latent qualm of maternal conscience that forbade the throwing of lambs to lions, but Mrs. Rose bustled forward, clucking her disapproval. "Oh, no, she won't do at all. Far too young and raw for your seasoned palate, I'm sure. Perhaps one of my more refined lovelies ..."
She dragged forward a girl draped in the gauzy veil of the harem and thrust her at him. The hapless
Peggy shrank back against her mistress, and Emily couldn't blame her. With his jaw unshaven, his hair tousled, and his eyes burning with contemptuous fire, Justin looked like the sort of heathen to debauch maidens with one hand while swilling down a tankard of virgin's blood with the other.
He looked Emily dead in the eye. "I want her."
Emily's knees quivered. Mrs. Rose harrumphed nervously and went in search of more tempting bait. "Why, here's my Solange, quite skilled in the Far Eastern art of— "
A fat purse of Persian leather clinked to the carpet at her feet. The madam bent and retrieved it, obviously intrigued by its rustle.
"A hundred pounds," Justin said coolly.
A gasp traveled around the parlor. Emily's suspicion that Mrs. Rose would sell her own daughter for a hundred pounds was strengthened as an avaricious smile curved the woman's lips.
She gave Emily an apologetic shrug. "Why don't you accompany His Grace upstairs, my dear? I do believe he's just the man to help you find your lost sheep."
Justin wasted no time. He swept her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
"Is the carriage outside? Are we going home now?" Emily asked hopefully, bobbing with each of his
purposeful strides. But those strides were carrying them not toward the door, but the stairs. She kicked and squirmed, but his muscular arm only tightened across her rump, holding her fast. "I don't want to
go back up there, Justin. Really I don't."
