He smiled with maddening sweetness. "You never asked." He held the lizard up, examining it in the sunlight. "She didn't hurt you, did she?" As Justin kissed its scaly head, Emily would have sworn its
beady little eyes flickered in demure triumph.
"Poor Fluffy, indeed," she muttered. "Poor Flurry gets all the sympathy." She knuckled the corner of
her lip tasting blood. "What about poor Emily? I could have been killed, but nobody cares enough to
fuss over me or lick my wounds."
Justin slanted an unfathomable look at her. Her heart thumped into an off-key rhythm.
He gently deposited Fluffy outside the door, then shut it with deliberate care. "We wouldn't want you
to feel neglected, now, would we?"
Emily's eyes widened as he closed the space between them and hauled her to her feet. His hands were rough, but his mouth as it found hers was achingly tender. His tongue glided with silky ease over the contours of her lips, lingering and soothing until a yearning ache replaced the sting. He didn't stop then, but tangled his hand in her hair and tilted her head back. He swept his tongue across hers, branding her with his taste and heat. Her hand curled helplessly around his nape, winding in the textured silk of his
hair. A moan rose from deep in her throat.
He released her.
Emily was so shocked she forgot to fall down. She just stood there in the middle of the floor, stunned
by the knowledge that with one kiss he had shattered all her defenses, all the independence she had
fought so hard to win. She was the sort of woman who could be had by her worst enemy for only the subtle eroticism of a kiss. Dazed, she touched two fingers to the tingling pillow of her bottom lip. Miss Winters must be right. She must be a very bad girl indeed.
Justin took a step backward, unprepared for Emily's trembling vulnerability. He had expected an enraged shriek, perhaps a slap, but not the lost expression that darkened her pretty eyes. She looked as if he had struck her, not kissed her, and it made him feel both cruel and ashamed. If she started to cry, he feared Penfeld might return to find them both on the floor, bawling like babies. He ached to touch her, but satisfied himself by plucking a dust ball from her curls.
She sank down on an overturned bucket, wrapping her dignity around her like the shreds of Penfeld's coat. "I fear the joke's on me this time. I lied about my leg." She met his gaze with aching candor.
"I didn't have anywhere else to go."
Justin's heart lurched. He had the odd feeling that those were the truest words she'd ever spoken to him. A wave of unexpected anger surged through him, driving him to break his own precious code of privacy. "Where is your family? Is there no one to take care of you? What is society coming to when a girl like you can roam halfway across the world without a soul to protect her?"
"I don't need protecting. I cherish my independence." She lowered her eyes. "I've been too long dependent on the fickle whims of men."
He cupped her cheek in his palm, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Perhaps you've only chosen the wrong men."
"A mistake I don't care to repeat," she said with forced lightness, drawing away from him. "You were kind to let me stay. You knew better than anyone that I had nothing to pay you with."
Nothing but the cheering warmth of her chatter, the clean scent of her curls, and more laughter than the dusty old hut had heard in years. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, afraid he might beg her to stay not for another week, but for another month.
"You can pay me," he said abruptly.
Her fingers knotted in her lap. She rolled her foot over Penfeld's remaining cup, tension written in the curve of every toe. "I know such arrangements are common in a land such as this, but I don't believe
I could-"
Justin bit off one of Nicky's favorite oaths. Emily s eyes widened in shock. He snatched off his hat
and turned away to pace, not wanting her to see him bleed from aer careless cut.
His foot scattered a pile of books. "Is that what a kind man would do, Emily? Force you to share his blankets for a thatched roof and a plate of beans? Is that what you're worth?" He whirled to face her.
"What manner of man do you think me?"
Justin didn't think she could hurt him any more than she had, but when she lowered her gaze to her lap without answering, he discovered he was wrong. Dust motes drifted down to halo her disheveled curls. His throat tightened with a temptation sharper than pain.
What if he allowed Emily to barter her tender young body as the price for his protection? Would he be
a monster for wanting to blunt the sharp edges of night with the pleasure of her charms?
"Come here."
An unbidden shiver raced through Emily at the smoky timbre of Justin's voice. She untangled her fingers and smoothed the remnants of Penfeld's coat over her thighs. She rose and glided toward him, mesmerized by the clarity of his golden eyes. How could such crystalline eyes hide such dark secrets?
she wondered.
She tilted her face to his, meeting his gaze boldly despite the faint quiver of her lower lip.
"You can repay me . . ."he said, brushing a strand of hair from her brow.
His shadow fell over her; Emily's eyes fluttered shut in unwitting invitation.
". . . by cooking dinner tonight."
Emily snapped open her eyes. Justin was already striding toward the door, stepping over broken bits
of china with the lazy grace she found so unnerving.
"You've piqued my curiosity about one thing," he said. "Why didn't you just run outside when I put Fluffy in the hut?"
"Run?" she echoed, still dazed by his abrupt mood change. "I never considered it."
Grudging admiration touched his voice. "No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you?"
Justin watched his words sink in; Emily's eyes slowly widened to vengeful saucers. "When you put
Fluffy in? When you put Fluffy … do you mean you deliberately . . . why, you miserable wretch!"
She fumbled at the floor. Justin slammed the hut door just as the last unbroken cup crashed into it and shattered. Grinning, he slapped on his hat at a cocky angle. "Now, that's my girl."
He strode toward the fields, the music of Emily's curses still ringing in his ears.
* * *
Penfeld was moping. Even the creases in his trousers looked droopy. Emily fussed over him with unrelenting cheer, bringing him conch shell after conch shell of tea heavily sweetened with precious treacle. In the course of a day, their roles had oddly reversed. The valet reclined on his pallet, his hands folded over his belly in plump wings. He hadn't made a single remark about Emily's miraculous recovery. Even in tragic defeat he remained tactful.
Emily clucked into his untouched shell of tea. "This won't do at all. If I didn't know better, I'd swear
you were sulking."
"A good valet never sulks, miss. He mourns."
"I am terribly sorry about your tea service. It wasn't entirely my fault, you know." She shot Justin's