Page 102 of Once an Angel
Emily stood in sullen silence as her disappointed accusers filed out. Penfeld slipped out behind them, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.
The door whispered shut, leaving them alone. Justin drew off his spectacles, leaned back in his chair,
and surveyed his young charge from boots to crown. If she was trying to look boyish, she had failed dismally. The trousers only emphasized her slender waist and hugged the ample curve of her rump. Edith's jacket had not been tailored for a bosom as generous as Emily's. Unhindered by corset or chemise, her breasts strained against the worn fabric.
Only a hint of color in her cheeks betrayed her response to his casual perusal. Her spine was stiff with that terrible pride that made her seem so fragile yet so unreach-able.
He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a stray curl out of her eyes. "Damnable liars, every one
of them."
"You didn't swear at the curate?"
"Hell, no."
His lips twitched. "You didn't eat the entire rhubarb pie?"
"Of course not. I gave it to Pudding. Bulldogs Love rhubarb."
"And you didn't allow the stable cat to birth in Harold's new hat?"
"Cats are notoriously stubborn. They birth where they please."
Sighing, he slipped on his spectacles and went back to scrawling in the ledger. "Very well. You may go."
Emily slammed her palms on the desk. "Aren't you even going to punish me?"
"Punish you?" He nibbled on the end of his pen. "If it pleases you, you may take supper in your room."
She spoke through gritted teeth. "I take all my meals in my room."
"Then you may take supper in the dining room." He flipped a page of the ledger.
"Damn you," she whispered, her voice husky with thwarted emotion. He didn't even look up.
She spun around and marched for the door.
"Emily?"
She turned, her hand on the doorknob.
The pen kept up its even scratch. "Nothing you do, no matter how horrendous, is going to change the way I feel about you." His hand stilled. He slanted her a look over the rim of his spectacles. "Nor the
fact that I am not free to act on those feelings."
Emily threw open the door, horrified by the betraying sting in her eyes. She closed the door and slumped against it, pressing them shut against the burning pressure. When she opened them, a black mountain blocked her vision.
She blinked the tears away and found herself face-to-face with Penfeld's starched lapels. "Penfeld?
What the devil—"
She was totally unprepared when the valet fastened his meaty fingers around her earlobe in a pinch that would have made Doreen Dobbins swoon with envy. Emily's mouth fell open, more from shock than pain.
Penfeld thrust his face into Emily's. "March, little missy," he hissed, "or I'll give you something to cry about."
"How dare you—!"
