Teresa Medeiros (9 page)

Penfeld reached to feel her brow, but Emily stopped him. “No. Justin’s right. I don’t have a cold.” Her pale hand fluttered at her breast. “I do believe it might be consumption.” Wheezing, she doubled over.

Justin smoothed his voice to liquid honey, addressing Emily directly for the first time since Penfeld had carried her in. “Perhaps Penfeld should take the rifle and put you out of your misery. That’s what we do to lame horses here.”

Emily paused in the middle of a hacking cough. Her eyes widened in chiding accusation. “Why, Mr. Connor, your lack of compassion makes me feel faint.” Her lashes drifted down, but not quick enough to veil the malicious sparkle of her eyes.

Penfeld bustled off for his smelling salts. Growling, Justin pulled the blanket over his head. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since he’d found the brat. His nightmares had worsened and all his efforts to work himself into exhaustion had failed. Only last night he had bolted straight off the pallet, a child’s merry giggle still spinning through his head. He had jerked around, frantically seeking its source, but all he had seen was Emily curled in the blankets, her chest rising and falling in the sweet rhythm of sleep, her face lax in angelic repose.

Angelic, hell, Justin thought, shifting restlessly. The curate should have summoned that exorcist. The girl seemed to be possessed by at least five different spirits. She’d play the temptress in one breath, and in the next
entertain Penfeld with stories of the Regent zoo, chattering of lions and baboons with all the guileless enthusiasm of a child.

But it hadn’t been a child he had held in his arms, Justin reminded himself. She had brought his fingers to the softness of her lips with all the empathy of a woman, willing to absorb an anguish he’d never even dared to name. Even now the memory of her tenderness riveted him.

He threw himself over. She was like a ceaseless melody pounding at the back of his brain. There had to be a way to break the skein of enchantment she had cast over him, a way to get her out of his hut and out of his life before she drove him mad. He kicked the blankets, praying that once she was gone, the ache in his groin would become more tolerable than the one in his heart.

As soon as the door shut behind Penfeld and Justin the next morning, Emily bounded off the pallet and kicked up her heels in a fling of freedom. She didn’t care if Justin brooded forever. At least he had dragged Penfeld along on his mysterious chores, to deprive her of his devoted attentions.

She hefted the blankets, holding her breath while she shook out the pepper she’d hoarded to enhance her sneezes. Justin’s little blue journal thumped to the floor.

She knelt and picked it up, turning it over thoughtfully. She was still no closer to unraveling the enigma of the man. She surveyed the crowded stacks of books despairingly. There could be a hundred hiding places within their dusty ranks.

Tapping the book against her thigh, she straightened. The books in the rear should be the oldest. She wiggled between two stacks and squatted to peruse the titles.

A rush of warm wind teased her curls, then stilled abruptly as if a door had been slammed. Emily pivoted on
her heel to peer behind her. The thatched door was still closed.

Shaking her head, she bent back to her task. Tiny claws clicked across the floor. The hair on Emily’s nape tingled to life. Justin’s book slid from her fingers.

Holding her breath, she turned. The dirt floor was empty.

She blew out a shaky breath. What had Justin said? There were no snakes in New Zealand, no dangerous animals? The musty stacks suddenly seemed ominous, blocking the cobwebbed corners from the morning sunlight. Something blunt thumped to the floor. Emily snapped to attention. From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow scuttle behind the table.

She rose, measuring each step as if it would be her last. Her trembling fingers closed around the handle of Penfeld’s broom. She eyed the rifle hanging over the door longingly, but she would have to cross in front of the table to get it. Clutching the broom like a shield, she tiptoed toward the table.

“Probably just a cat,” she whispered, soothed by the sound of her own voice. “Justin forgot to tell me he had a sweet little cat.”

She got down on her knees and pinched the edge of the tablecloth between two fingers. “Nice kitty,” she crooned, easing the cloth up. “Come out and meet your auntie Emily.”

As she lowered her head, a fat green monster galloped out of the shadows, charging straight for her nose.

Chapter 5
 

A
bloodcurdling scream fractured the serenity of the morning, startling a gull into soaring flight across the azure sky.

Completely unruffled, Justin leaned back in the sand, resting his head on his folded arm. If his plan worked, the scheming little orphan would be out of his life and on her way to Auckland by nightfall.

“Look at those clouds, won’t you, Penfeld? Magnificent, aren’t they?”

Penfeld eyed the hut a few yards away, expecting Emily to come bursting from the door, newly healed of her affliction, as his master had promised she would. A ringing crash was followed by the thunder of wildly running feet. He would almost swear the hut was rocking.

He took out a handkerchief and mopped beads of sweat from his upper lip. “She really should have come out by now. Perhaps I should go back and—”

“Back in London you can’t even see the sky for the
soot.” Justin tucked a blade of tussock grass between his lips, the very picture of indolent ease.

From the hut a shrill squeal was followed by a string of colorful profanities. Clouds of dust billowed from the windows. An ominous silence fell.

“But, sir … what if she uses the rifle?” Penfeld’s voice lowered to a horrified whisper. “Or stomps it to death?”

Justin uncurled his fingers to reveal a handful of rifle shells. “Not loaded. Trust me. He’ll outrun her. I’d wager he’ll outlive all of us.” A smile teased his lips. “Why, it might even be snowing in London right now! Do you fancy snow, Penfeld? Doesn’t that cloud over there to the left favor a giant snowflake?”

Sighing, Penfeld sank back into the sand. “No, I do believe it more resembles a giant teapot.” Pottery crashed. He winced. “A broken teapot, sir.”

Emily was chasing a dragon. She slammed the broom into the floor, wishing the horrid creature would sprout wings and fly out the window. With an insolent flick of its spiked tail it darted behind the nearest stack of books. She crept nearer, picking her way over toppled books and shattered earthenware, muttering under her breath. Sweat trickled down her brow.

She swung the broom in a whistling arc. It caught the books broadside and sent them crashing to the floor. Pepper shot up her nose; a chain of sneezes blinded her. As she stabbed wildly into the dust, she heard the
thump-thump
of fleeing little monster feet behind her.

She threw herself after the sound and tripped over her own blankets. She swung the broom, swiping tin pots off the stove. They crashed to the floor in a ringing symphony. Her coat caught on the edge of the stove, bringing her up short. She knuckled her eyes and peered into the musty gloom. The beast was gone again, always one step ahead of
her. Perhaps it wasn’t a dragon. Perhaps it was a very clever alligator.

The swing of the tablecloth caught her eye. She felt a wicked grin curve her lips. Not so clever after all. Stupid enough to return to its original hiding place.

Lifting the broom, she inched toward the table.

“Come out, you darling little thing. Emily won’t hurt you.” Her fingers dug into the broom handle.

A beam of sunlight pierced the dust, caressing the porcelain beauty of Penfeld’s tea service. It was the only thing in the hut left intact. Emily hesitated, formulating her plan. She would calmly coax the beast out of hiding,
then
obliterate it from the face of the earth.

The monster poked its head out from beneath the cloth, taunting her with a flick of its little red tongue.

Emily’s control snapped. A fierce battle cry tore from her throat. She charged, swinging the broom like an enraged samurai. The bristles whisked past the tea tray without so much as rattling a cup, then skimmed beneath the table. The broom handle caught in the hem of the linen cloth, jerking it askew. The tray started to slide, but it was too late for Emily to stop the momentum of her swing: She could only watch, horrified, as the tray teetered on the edge of the table for a timeless moment, then flipped. The crash seemed to echo forever. A single unbroken cup rolled across the floor, coming to rest against her toes.

Emily cringed. She gazed at the scattered carnage, then down at herself in the deafening silence. Penfeld’s coat was furred with dust. One tattered sleeve hung by a few threads. She blew a curl from her eyes, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

Behind her someone cleared his throat.

She whirled around, dropping the broom.

Through a curtain of glittering dust motes she saw Justin leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. Beneath the slanted brim of his hat his eyes
crinkled in a lazy smile. He had never looked more handsome. Or more infuriating.

She sat down abruptly on the floor, clutching her ankle. Something scuttled out of the shadows, darting straight for Justin.

“Watch out!” she shrieked, snatching up the broom.

Before she could swing, Justin reached down and scooped up the creature. He dangled it above his head like a fat, scaly baby.

“There now, my pet,” he crooned, giving Emily a reproachful look. “Did the wicked little girl frighten you?”

Her jaw dropped. “That thing is a pet?”

He cradled the beast to his chest. “This
thing
is a tuatara lizard, a veritable living fossil. They can survive for more than a century, although I dare say you’ve taken a few decades off this poor fellow’s life.”

“Then we’re even. He’s taken a few decades off mine.”

The lizard’s spiked tail waved near the waistband of Justin’s dungarees. Emily felt an absurd flare of jealousy as he tickled it under its beaked chin. “Poor, sweet Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” she echoed.

“What would you have me call him? Scaly? Ugly?”

“It would seem more appropriate.”

“Ah, but your parents didn’t name you Brat, did they?”

She snapped her mouth shut, tempted to whack
him
with the broom. The lizard flicked its tongue out at her. She poked out her own in return. “You might have told me you had a two-foot dinosaur for a pet.”

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 Fluffy 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?”