Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
said, “Henri will bring something out in a minute, Angel.”
The small, dark Frenchman brought a tray and uncovered a plate of fried
potatoes and bacon. The coffee was lukewarm. He made his apologies and
said supplies were low. Angel couldn’t eat, anyway. She tried, but the food
stuck in her throat. She sipped the coffee instead and tried to drown her
fear, but it was there like a hard knot inside her chest.
Pit watched her. “Something wrong, Angel?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong.” She might as well get it done. Pushing her plate
back, she got up.
The Duchess’s quarters were on the first floor behind the casino. Angel
stood before the heavy oak door, her palms sweating. She wiped her hands
on her skirt, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Who’s there?”
“Angel.”
“Come in.”
The Duchess was dabbing her mouth delicately, and Angel saw what
remained of a cheese omelet on her Dresden plate. One egg was worth two
dollars, and cheese was very hard to come by at any price. She couldn’t even
remember the last time she’d had an egg. The deceitful cow. Fear lessened as
resentment grew.
The Duchess smiled. “Why aren’t you sleeping? You look dreadful. Are
you upset about something?”
“You’ve been working me too hard.”
“Nonsense. You’re just in one of your moods again.” She smoothed the
flowing red silk of her lounging gown. It did little to conceal the rolls of
flesh gathering around her waist. Her cheeks were puffy, and she was developing
a second chin. A pink ribbon held her graying hair back. She was
obscene.
“Sit down, darling. I can see you have something unpleasant on your
mind. Bret told me you didn’t come down for breakfast. Would you like
something now?” The Duchess waved an indolent hand magnanimously at a
basket of muffins.
“I want my gold.”
The Duchess didn’t look the least surprised. She laughed and leaned
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