Page 307 of Once an Angel
She sighed. If only the past were so easily vanquished.
Pulling the blanket over him, she sat up and delicately untangled herself from his embrace. As she crept out of the bed, every muscle ached in protest. She was surprised she could walk at all.
She had almost reached the door when Justin sat up. His bitter voice cut the shadows like a blade. "Leaving so soon? Did you get what you came for?"
Emily bit her lip, unable to stifle an odd little giggle. "No. Actually, I came to borrow some coal for my fire."
She eased open the door and slipped out, missing Justin's flabbergasted expression as he spread his
arms and flopped back among the pillows.
* * *
When Emily entered the parlor the following day, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The servants hastened in and out with their feather dusters, shooting Justin nervous glances. Word of his relapse, hastened by the bizarre accusation made by the wealthy Italian at the Comtesse Guermond's
fete, had flown through their ranks. Emily had to admire his sisters' composure. They sat poking at their embroidery as if it were completely normal for their brother to be accused of murder, then to appear at midday garbed in nothing but his dressing gown and stockings. Although Justin was unable to explain the reason for his bizarre dress, he seemed to be maintaining a semblance of sanity while in their company.
Justin glanced up from his book as Emily claimed the balloon-backed chair opposite him. She was not completely able to hide her wince of pain as she sat. His gaze shifted quickly away.
The duchess beamed and held out an embroidered pillow. "Pillow, dear? Those unupholstered chairs
can be so uncomfortable.
"No, thank you," Emily mumbled.
Could his mother possibly have heard their uninhibited cries in the night? Justin wondered. He was saved from further speculation by the arrival of Penfeld, who tilted his disapproving nose in the air and announced, "A Mr. Saleri is here to call upon Miss Scarborough."
The color drained from Emily's cheeks. She exchanged a look of dread with Justin. Neither of them had expected Nicky to take the bait so quickly.
"Tell him I shall receive him in the garden," she said, rising.
Edith rose along with her, laying her embroidery ring aside.
"Down, Edith," Justin commanded. "Emily's a big girl. She doesn't need a watchdog."
Bewilderment touched Edith's eyes. "But I thought . . . surely a chaperone ..."
The duchess rose and took her daughter by the arm. "I do believe I need a chaperone, dear. Shall we stroll to the conservatory and check the roses?" As she led Edith from the room, she cast both Emily
and her son a speculative glance over one shoulder.
* * *
Nicholas was waiting for her by a terra-cotta fountain, resplendent in a gray-striped morning suit. The
day was much cooler. As Emily approached him, she pulled the woolen hood of her cloak over her hair
to hide her expression.
He squeezed her hands and favored her with a melting smile. "Miss Scarborough, ever a delight. I
believe you are fresher than even the morning dew."
"Why, Mr. Saleri, you flatter me." He certainly did. There had been little time for rest between her nightmares and bouts of Justin's loving and she knew the bags beneath her eyes must be roomier than portmanteaus.
He drew her hands to his lips and Emily braced herself to be licked. The first haunting notes of Chopin's "Waltz in C-Sharp Minor" floated into the garden. Nicky paled and glanced toward the opaque plates of the drawing room windows. It was the first time she had ever seen him shaken.
"He still plays?"
