Teresa Medeiros - Once An Angel

"Then I've nothing to worry about, have I?"

A shadow flitted over his face but was gone before she could define it. Her mind raced feverishly. She was not in London, but halfway across the world in New Zealand. What if the dim-witted Barney had been wrong? If Justin Connor was living somewhere on this isolated stretch of coast, she would have

to flee as soon as possible. No body of land was big enough to hold the two of them.

A silver tray wielded by a pristine white glove slid into her vision. A dainty china cup perched on its gleaming surface. Penfeld held one hand behind his back with painstaking care. "Do forgive me, miss.

I lost my other glove in a thermal geyser."

"My condolences." She snatched the steaming cup. As she brought it to her lips, her sleeve threatened

to swallow it before she could.

The stranger knelt beside her and deftly rolled the cumbersome sleeves past her wrists. Emily gazed at

the top of his head. Threads of sun-burnished silver webbed his silky, dark hair. She brushed a riot of tangled curls from her own eyes, shied by his nearness.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"My pleasure, Miss…?"

"Scar-" the word was halfway out before Emily could stop it. She took a deep swig of the coffee, scalding her throat "-let," she finished. "Miss Emily Scarlet."

If Justin Connor was somewhere nearby, she couldn't afford to have her name bandied about the island. Her guardian did not want her. He'd made that painfully clear by never retrieving her from the seminary. If she showed up on his doorstep demanding her share of the gold mine, she might meet the same fate

as her father's other partner, Nicholas Saleri. She might disappear. For good.

The man straightened. "Well, hello, Miss Emily Scarlet. I'm"-Emily noticed his hesitation as he exchanged a wary glance with Penfeld-"delighted to meet you. Would you care to tell us how you stumbled upon our humble shore?"

"I fell off a boat." That much was true anyway. She hoped God was smiling down on her. From the skeptical gleam in the man's crystalline eyes, she had a feeling she'd be needing all the heavenly help

she could get.

"Shall we send a message to Auckland for you? Perhaps we could locate this boat. Find your family."

Wonderful, she thought. Just what she needed. Another chance for the darling Dobbinses to sink their claws into her.

She shook her head violently. Coffee sloshed onto Penfeld's coat, eliciting a soft moan from the valet. "That won't be necessary. I have no family. I'm an orphan."

She couldn't help feeling rather pleased with herself. That was the second time she'd told the truth

today. And it wasn't even noon yet.

Her confession seemed to disturb her host. He rose and paced the hut, raking a hand through the scandalous length of his hair.

Emily sipped her coffee, studying him from beneath her lashes. Tansy would love to dig her pearly

little teeth into this one. She had to admit he was handsome in an unpolished sort of way. Tall, broad-shouldered, and just a shade too thin. The kind of man any woman would love to fatten up.

She tucked her toes beneath the coat, wondering where that last treacherous thought had come from.

A gold chain gleamed on his chest. The sun glinted off a single earring as he turned.

Pirates! Emily thought. They must all be pirates! That would explain his reticence in introducing himself. His name and face must be plastered on wanted posters all over the South Pacific. Perhaps he would sail her off the island before Justin Connor found her. Emily's imagination soared. Why, she wouldn't mind turning a hand to pirating herself! She and Tansy had often sneaked off to play at Jean Laffite until Miss Winters had discovered them dueling with two of her finest parasols while Cecille du Pardieu, squealing like a piglet, prepared to walk the plank. Miss Winters might have forgiven them if they hadn't balanced the plank on the roof-forty feet above the street.

A little pirating and she would be powerful enough to win back her daddy's gold and send old Justin Connor himself to a watery grave.

Emily gulped the last of the coffee, immensely cheered at the thought. "You're so very kind to let me stay. I promise to be very little trouble."

"Stay? Stay here?" The man turned so fast that his knee dislodged a stack of books. They toppled to

the floor, sending up a new cloud of dust. Penfeld wheezed.

Emily reclined against the wall with what she hoped was convincing frailty. "I don't wish to impose on your hospitality, of course, but I do feel dreadfully weak. You'd be very generous to show mercy to a homeless orphan." She pursed her lips in a beguiling pout that had been known to drop grown men to their knees.

But this man only rested his hands on his slim hips. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and suddenly Emily was afraid. Wasn't it Tansy who had warned her that someday she would cajole the wrong man?

The native slipped soundlessly to his feet. As Emily's bravado wilted beneath the heat of the stranger's gaze, she rather wished the savage would eat her.

But he only bowed with a flourish, then slipped a sprig of greenery from behind his ear and laid it at her feet. "Trini Te Wana welcomes you to our humble abode with the most celebratory of congratulations." He backed away, still bowing.

The stranger's sun-flecked eyes challenged her. "It seems Trini has made his wishes known. Go on.

Take it. It's a Maori sign of welcome." When Emily frowned skeptically, he squatted beside her, lifted

her curls, and whispered, "It means he doesn't intend to eat you."

His warm hand lingered against her nape. At the flash of his wolfish grin Emily wondered if it was

Trini's appetites she ought to be concerned about.

She took the sprig of shiny leaves with trembling fingers. A warbling cry sounded from outside the hut. The man leaned one elbow on his knee and snapped open the watch case dangling from his chain.

"Trini, Penfeld, could you see to that?" he asked. "I'll be along shortly."

As Trini and Penfeld left, the watch spun on its golden chain, sending a blinding dart of sunlight across Emily's eyes. She stared at it, hypnotized.

"Miss Scarlet? Are you all right?" he said gently. When she didn't answer, he nudged her chin up with

his knuckle.

"I'm fine," she whispered, studying his features with a fresh mixture of wonder and horror.

He gazed down at her; a frown deepened the tiny sun creases around his eyes.

She forced a smile. "Really. It's nothing a fresh cup of coffee won't cure." She held out her cup.

As he sauntered to the stove, whistling under his breath, Emily stared at his broad back through a fractured prism of tears. She had lied. Heaven had stopped smiling. and she wasn't sure if she'd ever

be fine again.

She had caught only a glimpse of the tiny tintype mounted in the watch case. An angelic moppet smiled out at her, her brown eyes twinkling with hope. Emily knew that child had died long ago with her father. And no matter how hard she tried, she could think of only one reason why the gentle pirate with the stunning eyes would be wearing Claire Scarborough's portrait around his neck.

Her hand closed in a convulsive fist, crumpling Trini's friendly offering to shreds.

Emily silently whispered frantic words of hope to herself.

Perhaps the handsome pirate had kidnapped Justin Connor, tossed his fat corpse overboard, and

kept her father's watch as booty.

"Here you go. Careful, it's hot." The man's husky voice interrupted her reverie.

She took the cup he offered and watched him settle his lean hips against the windowsill. The breadth of his shoulders blocked the sunlight, leaving him in silhouette. At least she was to be spared the temptation of gawking openly at his face. She took a swig of the coffee, but its bitter warmth failed to ease her chill.

Maybe the cannibal had eaten Justin Connor but been unable to digest the watch.

Her spirits lifted at the thought. She tilted the cup to hide her grin. Ending up as an English delicacy at some native feast was more than equal to the various tortures and lingering deaths she had devised for

the scoundrel over the years. This man simply couldn't be Justin Connor, she assured herself. If he were, he'd be living in a mansion, not a ramshackle hut with only a prim valet and an overeducated cannibal

for company. She opened her mouth to ask him his name, then closed it again, part of her quailing from what he might answer.

"I could hardly sleep last night, wondering about one thing," he said. Suspicion shaded his voice and Emily sensed he was a man who did not trust easily. They had that much in common.

She set down the cup, embarrassed to discover how badly her hands were shaking. "I should hate to be the cause of your insomnia. Do satisfy your curiosity."