would Emily turn to? "What of the other girl? The maid you called Tansy? Do you know what's
become of her?"
Doreen licked her thin lips with lascivious malice. "That I do. She's gone on to her natural callin'.
Servian' the young swells for some highfalutin madam."
"What house?"
"I don't know."
Justin's spirits plunged further. Could his own rejection have caused Emily to rush headlong into the
arms of another man? His grip loosened.
Doreen took advantage of his divided attention to twist away and dart back into the house. The door slammed, and he heard the sharp crack of the bolt being rammed home.
Certain she was lying, he lifted his fist, determined to break the door down if he had to. His hand slowly fell. He would be of no good to Emily if he ended up in jail for murder.
Turning his collar up against the cold, he started down the street, his steps driven by desperate purpose.
* * *
"Well, wot do ya think of it? It does ya real fine, don't it?"
Emily ran a tentative finger beneath her eye, smearing the thick kohl. "I look like one of those American raccoons."
Sighing, Tansy spit on a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheek. Emily squirmed away, but Tansy
grabbed a fat ringlet and held her still. "There now. Keep yer 'ands away from yer face or we'll 'ave
to do it all again."
Emily gazed dourly at herself in the mirror. "I hate ruffles." She cast Tansy's reflection a pleading look. "Couldn't I be something more exotic? A Nubian princess? Or perhaps a harem girl?"
"Ye're a trifle light fer a Nubian, and Peggy's been promised the 'arem costume this week." Tansy gave her cheek a fond tweak. "Stop frettin'. Mrs. Rose says a ruffled little schoolgirl is every gent's dream."
Every gent but one, Emily thought grimly. She swallowed hard. "Who am I to argue with Mrs. Rose?"
Who was she, indeed? Last night the buxom mistress of the establishment had welcomed her in from
the storm as if she were a long lost daughter. She had dried her tears, tucked her into Tansy's bed, smothered her under a thick quilt, and coddled her with a devotion that made even Penfeld seem the
soul of cold neglect.
Tansy smoothed circles of rouge on her cheeks. When a door slammed in the next room, Emily started, shooting a streak of pink up to her temples. A female giggle was followed by a throaty grunt and then
by a rhythmic creaking that made the far wall shudder. Their gazes met in the mirror.
"Oh, no," Tansy groaned. "There ye go again. I keep puttin' pink in yer cheeks and it just keeps drainin' away."
She rested her hands lightly on Emily's shoulders. "Are ya sure this is what ya want, Em? It ain't too
late to turn back. '
Was it what she wanted? To be finally free? To pay her rent and board to Mrs. Rose out of her own pocket and not be dependent on someone else's charity? To never be beholden to any man-especially not Justin Connor? Even Penfeld had done what he had to do to win his independence from a life he no longer found tolerable. Surely she could find within her that much courage. Tansy was wrong. It had
been too late to turn back from the first moment she had laid eyes on her guardian.
From the next room came a guttural groan, then silence. The wall stopped rocking. Emily pressed her eyes shut. When she opened them, they had darkened to bitter sable. "I'm ready."
A fist slammed into the closed door. Emily jumped so high, she almost fell off the stool.
"Gor blimey, keep yer bloomin' drawers on," Tansy called out, pulling a ceramic chamber pot from a cupboard.
As she swung open the door, a disgruntled male voice rang out. '"Ell, Tansy, not again. Why can't ya
use the water closet like everybody else? Or are ya flat on yer back in bed too much?"
The open door blocked Emily's view, but she would have known that raspy voice anywhere. She lifted the skirts of the dressing table, searching for a place to hide.
Tansy cocked back the pot. "Empty it or wear it, Barney."
A wiry arm shot out to relieve her of her burden. "Damned uppity whore," he muttered. "Costs me a week's wages to get what I used to get fer free in the linen closet at Foxworth's."
Taunting him with a smile that would have melted an ice sculpture, Tansy lifted her shapely leg and rubbed it along the door facing. "But ya still pay, don't ya? '
Her provocative action sent the door swinging open, and Emily found herself staring into Barney Dobbins's greedy little pig eyes.
His mouth dropped open. The chamber pot tilted dangerously. "Hey! Wot's she doin' 'ere?"
Tansy gave his bony chest a shove. "Don't worry about it. It'd cost more than you've got."
He wiped his moist lips with the back of his hand. Emily shuddered. "Don't count on it," he said.
"I'll start savin' me pennies now. I've wanted a taste o' that fer a long, long time."
Tansy slammed the door in his leering face.
Emily clapped a hand over her mouth. The enormity of what she was about to do rolled over her in
dull waves of panic. But it was too late. Tansy was already powdering her nose, guiding her out the
door, shoving something into her hand.
Dazed, she looked down to discover she was holding a sugared pink lollipop. "What am I supposed
to do with this?" she asked, baffled.
Tansy gave her a gentle push toward the stairs. "Why lick it, of course!"
* * *
When Justin returned to Grymwilde late that night, all the lamps except for those in the parlor had been extinguished. He turned instinctively toward the gentle glow, knowing his family's comfort was better
than none.
None of them dared to speak as he threw himself into an upholstered chair and rubbed his bristled jaw.
His mother's needle flicked calmly through the flowered fire screen she was embroidering. "Unless you acquired some peculiar tastes in cologne in New Zealand, son, I would venture to say you smell like a house of ill repute."
"As would you if you'd visited every brothel in London in the past twelve hours."
"My goodness," she said dryly. "Such stamina."
Lily and Millicent blushed like twin roses. Edith buried her nose deeper in her novel.
Justin shot her a dark look. "Perhaps we should discuss this in private."
The duchess only smiled benignly. "Your sisters are married, aren't they? If they don't wish to hear what I have to say, they can join their husbands in their respective beds." She laid her embroidery across her knees and looked at Justin squarely. "I'm more interested in why you think your ward might have taken up such an unsavory occupation. Did she perhaps have a little nudge in that direction?"
Justin was shocked by his mother's frankness. All the spirit and fire she had banked for years flickered in her gray eyes. They must have been startlingly pretty in their day, he realized, like misty bits of smoked glass. His guilty soul could not bear their scrutiny.
He rose and paced to the hearth. A rumpled, hollow-eyed stranger stared back at him from the chimney glass. "I didn't touch her." He dropped his head, despising the lie. "I didn't compromise her," he amended.