Page 138 of Once an Angel
The footmen backed away, more than a little leery of the duke's reputation for unpredictable savagery.
Nicholas drew a pristine handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his lip. He eyed the results distastefully, then tossed it to a trembling maid.
He favored Emily with a patronizing smile. "You'll have to forgive my old friend, Miss Scarborough.
I should have expected such a welcome. Guilt can have an odd effect on the human brain. I dare say
he's been quite unhinged ever since he murdered your father."
A gasp traveled through the crowd.
"What are you talking about?" Emily cried. "Are you completely mad?" She grabbed Justin by the lapels. They were still damp from her tears of joy. Her frantic gaze searched his face. "What is this man saying? It's ridiculous. Tell him to stop making these absurd accusations."
Justin stared straight ahead.
She gave him a hard shake. Her voice rose on a hysterical note, ringing through the silent room. "Tell him, Justin. Tell him now. Tell them all you didn't kill my daddy!"
He looked down at her then, his gaze so fraught with pity that she wanted to die right there in his arms. He reached down to gently disengage her fingers from his coat, then turned and walked away. The murmurs and cries of shock swelled, but Emily could hear nothing but the merciless roaring of the sea.
She found him in the conservatory at Grymwilde. The late afternoon sun slanted through the west wall
of frosted glass, staining the flagstones amber. A low, pebbled fountain sprang from the exotic tangle of flowers and vines. Justin sat on its edge, slowly plucking the petals from a fat winter rose. A puddle of scarlet surrounded his boots.
The damp heat of the winter garden had molded his shirt to his shoulders and tightened the hair at his nape to boyish curls. Emily realized with a shock how much it had grown since he had cut it.
She sank down on the pebbled ledge behind him, smoothing her bloodstained frock. A petal fluttered
from his fingers. Emily stared, transfixed by the grace of his beautiful hands. A murderer's hands.
He lifted his head and she knew his gaze was fixed not on the shiny leaves of the aspidistra twining around the miniature trellis, but on a moonlit beach. His ears, like hers, were tuned not to the trickle
of the fountain but to the primeval roar of the sea.
His voice was strangely flat. "Nicky had been missing for almost a week before I went to search for him. At first we thought nothing of it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd disappeared without explanation. But then the rumors started trickling in—rumors of conflict between the Maori and the whites.
"All I found of Nicky was the bloody rag that had been his coat. The Maori ambushed me less than a
mile from our encampment. I fled for my life. They weren't like the Maori you met on the North Island. These were Hauhaus—a fanatical cult who despised all whites. They did things to their captives in the name of their religion— unspeakable things."
Emily knotted her fingers in her skirt to keep from touching him.
"I'd emptied my pistol of all but one bullet." A black laugh escaped him. "I was saving that for myself
in case they caught me.
"By the time I reached the beach, I couldn't hear them anymore. I could see the lantern burning in the tent and I knew David was waiting for me. If we could just launch the boat, we had a chance of escaping with our lives. God knows, the Hauhaus had left us little else." He bowed his head. "I crouched in the bush for the longest time, afraid to brave that open stretch of sand. But then I thought about you."
Emily trailed her fingers through the cool water of the fountain.
"I thought of how David had traded his precious kid gloves for a piece of polished amber to send you. Somehow that thought gave me the courage I needed. I sprinted down the beach and stumbled up to
the tent. David caught me as I fell."
My God, boy, what is it? Where's Nick? Is it worse than we feared?
"At first I couldn't convince him. He was dazed. He couldn't believe it was all gone—Nicky, the gold, your inheritance. I had to shake him, curse him."
Goddammit, David! There's no time for this. We've got to launch the curricle. It's our only chance.
