Trapped, Emily backed away, as near to swooning as she had ever been in her life. God only knew
what lurid things they might do to her if she fainted.
She backed into the stranger's arms. His elegant fingers closed around her throat, pressing gently against her throbbing pulse.
"Come with me, cara mia," he commanded. "You won't be sorry."
Emily was already sorry. She bowed her head, sorry she had shamed her father. Sorry Justin didn't
love her enough to marry her. Sorry she'd been such a fool as to believe selling her body wouldn't cost her her soul.
A sinister swirl of music, light, and laughter enveloped her as he drew her inexorably toward the stairs. Suddenly, the frenzied gaiety was marred by shouts and the sounds of struggle. Emily jerked her head
up just in time to see one of the guards go flying into a walnut occasional table, splintering it. He sat up, eyes crossed and wig hanging askew over one ear, then slumped back over, out cold.
Women screamed and several of the gentlemen tried to climb over each other in a rush for the back
door, fearing a constable's raid. She saw lascivious Uncle George crawling around on hands and knees, searching for his precious quizzing glass. It rolled under Emily's foot, and she gave it an unkind stomp.
Shouts rang out near the door. "Grab him!"
"Careful, he might be an opium user."
"He's quite mad! A bloody savage!"
A cold rush of air behind her warned Emily her debonair captor had fled. She lifted her skirts and
peered around wildly, planning to take advantage of the chaos to make her own escape.
At that moment a path parted through the jostling crowd, revealing the golden-eyed tiger clawing his
way through their midst.
Emily's heart leaped in her throat, and she went flying across the room to fling herself into the mad savage's arms.
Chapter 28
I hesitate to shatter Justin's faith
in his friend. . . .
Emily snuffled into Justin's rumpled waistcoat. "Oh, Justin, it was awful!" she wailed. "Tansy made me wear this ridiculous dress, and there was this horrid man with the whitest, sharpest teeth you've ever
seen just like the Big Bad Wolf's and the most cleverly knotted tie. Better than Penfeld's even. And
then there was Barney lurking in doorways, waiting to jump out at me just like he did at Foxworth's,
and he said the most awful things."
Emily was too intent on gulping in the musky spice of Justin's scent to realize how strangely stiff he
stood in her embrace. Clutching his sleeves, she tilted her head and peered up at his face. It was set in lines of polished granite. She dropped her arms and backed away from him, more afraid than she'd been in the entire terrible night.
In grim silence he reached down, pried her lollipop off his sleeve, and thrust the fuzzy offender into her hand. He wouldn't even look at her. His eyes were all for the buxom woman who came sauntering out
of the crowd.
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."
To her embarrassment, as they started up the stairs the crowd began to cheer and shout encouragement. Barney emerged from his rat hole and hooted, "Poke 'er once fer me, mate!"
Howling in outrage, Emily reached over the banister and slapped the lollipop in his greasy hair.