Free Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers Page A

that you do. As soon as you’re finished, he’ll leave. I want you ready to work in two hours.”
    The Duchess stood and went to the door. She glanced back. “Bret, not another mark on her. She’s our best girl.”
    “Not a mark,” he echoed coldly.
    He kept his word. He didn’t touch her, but he talked—and what he said chilled Angel’s blood. She forced the bread and coffee down, knowing the sooner she was done, the sooner he would leave.
    “You’re going to be mine, Angel. In a week or a month, you’ll push Duchess too far or demand too much. And then she’ll give you to me on a silver plate.”
    She had been good since that evening, and Magowan had not bothered her. But he was waiting, and she knew it. She refused to give him the satisfaction Mai Ling did. She always smiled at him mockingly when he came into the room. As long as she did what she was told, Duchess was happy, and Bret Magowan could do nothing.
    But the walls were closing in again. More each day. The pressure inside her was building, and the effort to maintain the calm facade was draining her strength.
    One more tonight and I can sleep, she thought. She held out her hands and looked at them. They were trembling. She was trembling all over. She knew she was losing control. Too much pretending for too long. She shook her head. All she needed was a good night’s sleep, and she would be all right tomorrow. Just one more, she thought, and hoped he’d be quick.
    The knock came and she rose to answer. Opening the door, she took in the man standing there. He was taller and older than most, and well-muscled. Other than that, she noticed nothing special about him. But she felt…what? An odd uneasiness. An increasing of her shakiness. Her nerves were jumping, almost out of control. She lowered her head and breathed slowly, pushing the strange reaction down with every ounce of will she had left.
    One more, and I’m free for the night.
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    Despite his twenty-six years, Michael felt like a callow youth, standing outside Angel’s open door in the dim lantern light of the brothel hallway. He could scarcely breathe, his heart was racing so fast. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and smaller. Her slender body was clearly outlined in the blue satin wrapper, and he tried not to look below her shoulders.
    She stepped aside so he could enter her room. All Michael saw was her bed. It was made, but visions came to him unbidden and, unnerved, he looked back at her. She smiled slightly. It was a worldly, seductive smile. She knew everything that was in his mind, even what he didn’t want there.
    “What’s your pleasure, mister?”
    Her voice was low and soft and surprisingly cultured, but she was so direct, he was taken aback. She couldn’t have said anything to make him more acutely aware of what she did for her living, or of his own powerful physical attraction to her.
    As he entered the room, Angel closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. She waited for him to answer while making a quick assess-ment of him. Her uneasiness lessened. He wasn’t so different from the rest.
    Just a little older than most, a little broader in the shoulders. He was no boy, but he looked uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. Maybe he had a wife somewhere and was feeling guilty. Maybe he had a good Christian mother and was wondering what she would think about his coming to a prostitute.
    This one wouldn’t want to spend a lot of time with her. Good. The less time, the better.
    Michael didn’t know what to say. He had been thinking about seeing her all day, and now that he was here in her bedroom he stood mute, his heart beating its way up into his throat. She was so beautiful, and she looked amused. Lord, what now? I can’t even think past what I’m feeling. She walked toward him, every movement drawing his attention to her body.
    Angel touched his chest and heard him suck in