tossed back her curls and struck a long-suffering pose. “So until then I’m to remain your prisoner in this hut?”
Justin was torn between laughter and painful desire. Her words summoned up some very naughty images of fur rugs and silken chains. Once again he thanked God she had fallen into his hands instead of some less scrupulous man’s. His own scruples were wearing thin fester than he cared to admit.
She had worked herself up to a full pout now. Justin decided it best to go before she started throwing things. She was standing dangerously near the skillet, and he didn’t want to spend another sleepless night gluing together teacups. He donned his hat, wondering how it had gotten so misshapen. He dared a last glance from beneath the shelter of its brim and caught Emily’s expression in a moment of rare honesty. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. As she watched him go, it had become impossible for her to hide the forlorn tilt of her lips.
He crossed to her and nudged her face up with one finger. “I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
Unable to deny himself, he touched his lips to hers in a brief caress. Her shiver of response rocked his soul. As he turned to go, the look in her fathomless dark eyes made him wonder which of them was truly the prisoner.
• • •
Justin’s words haunted the lonely hut.
I’ll be back for you. I promise
.
Those were the last words Emily’s father had ever spoken to her.
They had faced each other in Miss Winters’s elegant parlor, awkward and at a loss for words for the first time in Emily’s memory. The fawning headmistress had offered them the room for their farewells. She had assured him she would spare no expense for her cherished new pupil and her doting father, a man they all knew had a healthy investment in the booming New Zealand gold rush. Frost had webbed the windows, but a cheery fire had crackled on the hearth.
Eleven years before, when he’d been only twenty himself, David Scarborough’s lovely Irish bride had died, leaving a squalling red-faced infant in her place. He delighted in telling his friends that he and Emily had grown up together. He was more than father and mother to her. He was her dearest friend. They’d never been separated, not even for a night, and now he was going away.
Emily was afraid to look at him. Snowflakes melted on the cape of his greatcoat. His own unruly curls had been tamed by a top hat of polished beaver. She thought he had never looked taller or more handsome. Or less like her daddy. She comforted herself by studying his leather shoes, memorizing each familiar knick and scuff, ignoring the trickle of the tears down her cheeks.
He folded her face in his kid gloves, his voice choked with a helpless agony that mirrored her own. “Claire. My sweet, my darling …”
She had buried her nose in his waistcoat, savoring the scent of pipe tobacco that always clung to him. He had touched his lips to her hair and whispered, “I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
Then he had turned and gone, leaving her standing alone in a blast of icy air.
“He would have come back, too,” Emily whispered to the silent hut. “If it hadn’t been for you.”
She curled her lip in a snarl. How dare Justin make a mockery of her father’s words! How dare his lips caress hers as if she were still a child to be pacified with a kiss and a promise! Promises were only as good as the men who made them.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “As if your words mean spit to me, Justin Connor!”
She snatched up the basket and threw the towel over her shoulder. Justin had been lying to her. The furtive dart of his eyes had given him away. Being a skilled kisser did not preclude being a bad liar. He probably wanted her safely closeted in the hut so she couldn’t discover what dark deeds he accomplished in the glaring light of day. She marched across the hut, fully intending to tell him where both he and his mythical cannibals
Justin was torn between laughter and painful desire. Her words summoned up some very naughty images of fur rugs and silken chains. Once again he thanked God she had fallen into his hands instead of some less scrupulous man’s. His own scruples were wearing thin fester than he cared to admit.
She had worked herself up to a full pout now. Justin decided it best to go before she started throwing things. She was standing dangerously near the skillet, and he didn’t want to spend another sleepless night gluing together teacups. He donned his hat, wondering how it had gotten so misshapen. He dared a last glance from beneath the shelter of its brim and caught Emily’s expression in a moment of rare honesty. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. As she watched him go, it had become impossible for her to hide the forlorn tilt of her lips.
He crossed to her and nudged her face up with one finger. “I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
Unable to deny himself, he touched his lips to hers in a brief caress. Her shiver of response rocked his soul. As he turned to go, the look in her fathomless dark eyes made him wonder which of them was truly the prisoner.
• • •
Justin’s words haunted the lonely hut.
I’ll be back for you. I promise
.
Those were the last words Emily’s father had ever spoken to her.
They had faced each other in Miss Winters’s elegant parlor, awkward and at a loss for words for the first time in Emily’s memory. The fawning headmistress had offered them the room for their farewells. She had assured him she would spare no expense for her cherished new pupil and her doting father, a man they all knew had a healthy investment in the booming New Zealand gold rush. Frost had webbed the windows, but a cheery fire had crackled on the hearth.
Eleven years before, when he’d been only twenty himself, David Scarborough’s lovely Irish bride had died, leaving a squalling red-faced infant in her place. He delighted in telling his friends that he and Emily had grown up together. He was more than father and mother to her. He was her dearest friend. They’d never been separated, not even for a night, and now he was going away.
Emily was afraid to look at him. Snowflakes melted on the cape of his greatcoat. His own unruly curls had been tamed by a top hat of polished beaver. She thought he had never looked taller or more handsome. Or less like her daddy. She comforted herself by studying his leather shoes, memorizing each familiar knick and scuff, ignoring the trickle of the tears down her cheeks.
He folded her face in his kid gloves, his voice choked with a helpless agony that mirrored her own. “Claire. My sweet, my darling …”
She had buried her nose in his waistcoat, savoring the scent of pipe tobacco that always clung to him. He had touched his lips to her hair and whispered, “I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
Then he had turned and gone, leaving her standing alone in a blast of icy air.
“He would have come back, too,” Emily whispered to the silent hut. “If it hadn’t been for you.”
She curled her lip in a snarl. How dare Justin make a mockery of her father’s words! How dare his lips caress hers as if she were still a child to be pacified with a kiss and a promise! Promises were only as good as the men who made them.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “As if your words mean spit to me, Justin Connor!”
She snatched up the basket and threw the towel over her shoulder. Justin had been lying to her. The furtive dart of his eyes had given him away. Being a skilled kisser did not preclude being a bad liar. He probably wanted her safely closeted in the hut so she couldn’t discover what dark deeds he accomplished in the glaring light of day. She marched across the hut, fully intending to tell him where both he and his mythical cannibals
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