Wicked Designs (The League of Rogues) (23 page)

Penelope sniffed around the log’s opening and then dove inside.

“Penny, come!” Cedric commanded, tugging on the leash.

The little hound crawled out from under the fallen log, looking alert and ready.

“Penny, sit.” Her haunches dropped, her tail wagging on the grass, stirring leaves with its energetic swiping.

“Good girl.” Cedric pulled out a biscuit from his pocket and tossed her a piece. Penelope caught the crumb, licking her lips.

“She’s a fast learner. You should have no trouble with her, Emily.”

“Cedric, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I had not planned on doing so.”

“But—”

“No, Emily.” He made a show of checking his gun and jumped over the log, walking away from them. Emily watched his retreating back with disappointment.

Ashton bent to stroke Penelope’s head. “He’s a bit stubborn when it comes to women.”

“Really? When he told me about how he met Godric—”

Godric and Ashton looked at her.

“He told you that story?” Godric’s face was red. Emily couldn’t contain her grin. It was nice to see him flustered for a change.

“Oh, yes. He told me you got into a fight with an upper year over a woman.”

Godric stumbled a step. “He did?”

Emily thought of the man with the cane. “Did you know Waverly very well?”

“Hugo was an older student and an unpleasant fellow to say the least,” Ashton said. “He made a lot of trouble for us, but if it hadn’t been for him we would never have met Charles.”

“How did you meet Charles?”

Godric and Ashton laughed. Their reaction contained no humor, only a strange coldness.

Ashton answered vaguely. “What a night that was. Suffice it to say we rescued him from a rather prickly situation that Waverly put him in. Rescuing him was how the League was formed.”

“Oh, but you must tell me more than that, Ashton!” Emily tugged on his sleeve, annoyed that he would deprive her of what was sure to be a grand tale.

“Perhaps at dinner. It is better if Charles is there. It is after all, more his story than ours.”

There was another log ahead of them. Ashton casually stepped over it. Emily tried to lift her skirts, but Godric merely scooped her up and stepped over the log before setting her back down on her feet. She shook her skirts, trying to resume some sense of dignity, but none of the others had noticed. They took their hunting very seriously.

Far ahead, a crack of gunfire sounded as Cedric felled a pheasant. Emily, startled by the sound, took a step closer to Godric. She wasn’t frightened of guns, but there was something about those first few shots, when the shooter was out of sight, which made her nervous.

“Can’t stay away from me after all, eh?”

“Actually, your height and build are excellent for a shield.”

Ashton chuckled but Godric recovered quickly and threw an arm back around her shoulders, keeping her tucked against his side.

“Cedric is amazing fine shot. He won’t hit me, no matter how much you might wish for him to shoot my black heart.”

She gave him a wicked smile. “If he managed to hit your backside, that would be well enough for me.”

“Careful, darling, my temper is all over the place today.”

She had a retort ready, but silence was probably best.

“Well, look at that.” Ashton pointed to Penelope. Too small to carry her prize, the pup had resorted to dragging the pheasant along, growling with the effort. Cedric followed the dog, flashing a black look in Emily’s direction.

“Here, Penelope.” Emily patted her thighs. She dropped the bird and ran to her, bright eyes fixed intently on Emily. She rather looked like she was smiling, with her tiny pink tongue lolling out between her white little teeth.

“Good girl.” Emily picked the dog up, hugged her and set her back down.

Ashton picked up the pheasant and dropped it into a burlap sack.

Cedric fixed a surly look at Penelope. “Little Penny here is just as willful as her mistress. She broke away from my grip, then refused to bring the bird I shot back to me.” He continued to scowl at the dog, but without real malice.

Godric grinned. “She’s loyal. You can’t fault her for that.”

Cedric frowned as he reloaded his flintlock. Emily figured the irritation of loading a gun was one of the reasons Cedric had learned to be a good shot. A man could grow old reloading his gun.

“I think I’ll try my luck.” Ashton hoisted his gun and walked off. Penelope followed at his heels.

Now alone with the duke, Emily wondered about a different matter.

“Godric, may I ask a question?”

He nodded.

“What is Mr. Helprin to you?” She phrased the question carefully, in case the answer proved upsetting.

“Jonathan? He’s my valet.”

“Valet? I haven’t seen him attend you…”

Godric pulled her to a stop and cupped her shoulders. “Why the sudden interest in my valet? Not thinking of making me jealous, are you?” He grinned below stony eyes.

She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Would you get jealous? I assumed with your hundreds of mistresses, you wouldn’t worry if I turned my attention elsewhere.”

“Don’t you dare joke about that, Em.” He growled the new nickname. “I want only you. I have no other women.”

He didn’t declare his love, didn’t promise a permanent relationship, but it was a start.

Emily leaned against him, hugging his waist briefly on impulse.

“Will you untie me now? I’m not in the least inclined to run off.”

“No. I like you tied to me.” His words seemed filled with a deeper meaning.

The forest was quiet and beautiful. A fullness settled into the air and woods, as though a sleeping god dwelt within a tree close by. The trees sighed and swayed with the pull of the breeze. Magic coated the forest floor, and leaves fell every few moments in a storm of gold and red.

Everything was perfect. She owned a loyal hound, and walked in the presence of a man who wouldn’t let her leave his side, albeit in a far too literal fashion, and the company of new friends built inside her a peace and joyful fervor. Words were unnecessary. Instead she spoke to Godric with smiles and the clasping of his hand in hers.

Life with her uncle had been cold. There were no jokes, no laughter, not even tears; just awful silence and the scratching of quills on paper. Why couldn’t time stop for just a few days? A few weeks? She could stay here forever with Godric and the others.

“What are you thinking about?” Godric asked. Emily came back to herself, trying to dissolve the sudden melancholy.

“It’s nothing.” She tried to wipe away the evidence of her tears.

Godric’s brow furrowed. “You are unhappy? Does the rope hurt?”

The caring tone clashed with his words in such a way that it made her laugh but it came out as a sob. “Unhappy?”

He massaged her waist, but she shook her head, and turned away, ashamed. She tripped on a broken branch but Godric caught her. He pulled her fully into his arms and held her tight to his chest.

“What… What can I do?” He couldn’t know what she wanted or needed, but his intentions warmed her heart.

“Please, Godric, just hold me for a moment.” Her lips brushed his throat as she snuggled against him.

He walked them back to the nearest log and sat down, cradling her in his lap. From the moment her parents died, no one had held her, comforted her. She’d been forced into her uncle’s household, where her heart withered and died.

Godric wasn’t offering love, but at least he cared, and that was a thousand times purer to her then anything her uncle had provided.

At that moment, Emily needed Godric’s warmth, his strength, his embrace, more than she needed the air in her lungs.

It finally hit. Her parents were dead, and they would never come back. She was alone.

Tears came. Harsh, painful tears, but she let them flow, let them rule her. Soon enough they faded, and she was empty, a skeleton on the inside.

“Emily, are you all right?” Godric’s warm lips caressed her ear.

“I’m…I will be all right. I am sorry to have cried. It must be annoying to listen to me.”

“The only thing that upsets me is knowing I’ve made you cry.”

“You? Oh, Godric, this was not… My tears were for my parents. It’s finally sunk in that my parents are dead…that they’re never coming back.” Her voice shuddered. “I can’t help but wonder what their last moments were like. My mother never learned how to swim… She must have been so frightened.” Emily couldn’t breathe, thinking about the cold, dark waters. A tightness gripped her mind, clenching around her head, making it hard to think.

“Breathe, Emily. Breathe.” Godric’s arms tightened about her body as he held her closer to him. Rather than feel suffocated, his embrace cocooned her with strength. She felt his mouth against her temple as he kissed her. Emily drew in a slow, painful breath.

“My poor darling,” he murmured between gentle kisses that traveled down her from her temple to her cheek. He nuzzled her neck, and his scent flooded her nose. It was soothing, dreamy, and yet enticing.

“I know what I can do to make you smile again.”

“What? No, not that!”

“Oh yes.”

Emily threw her arms around herself defensively, but it was too late as Godric began to tickle her.

In seconds she was laughing again. It was too odd to believe, she and the infamous Duke of Essex were entangled together, laughing and teasing. It was how she’d always believed love would be like.

The stormy passion in his eyes softened when she smiled at him. “Come on. We ought to catch up with the others.”

Emily climbed off his lap.

They started to walk, and without a word, Godric slipped his hand into hers, their fingers lacing as if the world had always meant them to be together.

Chapter Twelve

Thomas Blankenship stood in the parlor of Evangeline Mirabeau’s townhouse, admiring the woman. She reclined on a chaise and watched him through hooded eyes painted an unusual, rich, honey-colored hazel. Her curves—large breasts and shapely legs, revealed through a dampened muslin gown in thin blue—could easily harden a man. Her pale blonde hair curled in perfect ringlets down her neck and back.

Blankenship smiled. It was no surprise that this courtesan had been the Duke of Essex’s lover for a year and then some. If Blankenship didn’t contain such a hatred for whores, he would be tempted to sate his desires between this woman’s thighs. Evangeline had the body of a siren, one that beckoned men to perish upon the rocks at sea, but she lacked Emily’s innocence and sweet nature. He craved that, needed to bathe in it, let it soothe the beast which rampaged in his head.

“
Monsieur
Blankenship, we have not met, have we?” A lilting, sultry French, Evangeline’s accent alone would have swayed most men. She must have entertained Essex in his bed in ways innocent little Emily Parr never would, unless the duke took the time to teach her. Blankenship certainly hoped he would. It would make his own claiming of her the sweeter.

“No, Miss Mirabeau, we have not yet had the pleasure. But we share a mutual acquaintance—the Duke of Essex.”

Evangeline’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? And how did you come to meet His Grace?” She spit out her words with all the friendliness of a viper. The duke had burned this lovely bridge and Blankenship would benefit from the destruction.

“He and I crossed paths when he stole something that belongs to me.”

She laughed harshly. “His Grace, steal? Impossible,
Monsieur
. Whatever he wants, he acquires, either by charm or money. Steal?
Mais non
.”

“Ahh, but he has changed, Miss Mirabeau. What he stole from me is the reason I have come to see you.”

Evangeline lifted a hand to idly gaze at her nails, but the faintest blush in her cheeks revealed her interest. “
Moi? Pourquoi
? I have not been with His Grace for the last six months. What has he stolen from you,
Monsieur
?”

“A young lady.”

Essex’s ex-mistress started.

“He has stolen a young lady from me.”

“A young lady?”

“Yes. Her name is Emily Parr, and her uncle is in debt to me, as well as His Grace. Essex decided to abduct Miss Parr from her uncle, who has refused to pay him. Since she is my property, I want her back.”

She moved to rest her hand on her hip, smoothing the silk as she did so.

“How do you know he stole this girl?”

“He wrote her uncle a note.” Blankenship approached her and passed her a piece of paper, which she studied.

“This is Godric’s handwriting, written in his left hand. A school boy trick.”

“Yes. I took the magistrate to his estate, but we were unable to find her. They must have hidden her.”

“They?” Evangeline raised an eyebrow.

“He had his League—” he choked back the urge to spit “—with him.”

“Did he? Then it is no surprise. Those men are stubbornly loyal to one another.” Her derisive tone and the flare of bitterness in her eyes was a pleasant surprise.

She would be an excellent ally.

“What do you want from me,
Monsieur
?”

“I would like to employ you in a scheme that would return Miss Parr to me, and perhaps give you the chance to win Essex back.”

“Win him back? I never lost him!”

“Ah, yes, of course.” He resisted the urge to smile. She’d revealed her weakness. Pride.

Evangeline pouted a moment before she spoke again. “What is this scheme of yours?”

“I give you this letter, written to mimic Essex’s hand, which invites you to come to his estate and spend time with him. It implies that he is not finding satisfaction with Emily. You will confirm my suspicion that Emily is there and send me a letter by post to this name and address. It should not raise Essex’s suspicion in case he monitors your correspondence. Provide me with any details as to her exact whereabouts in the house, where they are keeping her, the routines of the serving men, anything you can tell me that will help me retrieve her.”

“And once you know that she is there?”

“I have in my employ a most dangerous man, one who will stop at nothing to get the girl. Assuming the duke and his friends stay out of the way, they should not be harmed. Once I have the girl, Essex will be free and clear for you to take back.” Blankenship’s smile held no warmth.

A hint of wariness betrayed the Frenchwoman. “This hired man… Would he kill Godric?”

“If Essex tries to stop him from bringing back the girl, then yes. He is very skilled. I have more men to back him, just as ruthless in their means.” Should someone pry the information from her, better that she lead Godric’s men to believe he had an army at his disposal.

For a long moment, Miss Mirabeau did not speak. He had no doubt she still cared for Essex. It only made her more likely to help his cause if she could spare her lover and get him back.

“Your plan is ridiculous. His Grace will know he did not write this note. How will I explain my sudden appearance?”

“Tell him it must have been a prank played on you. Show him the note, say you’ve given your servants a vacation and it would be a hardship to return so soon. He’s a gentleman and no doubt he’ll let you stay. I will pay you handsomely for this little mission.”

Greed lit up her eyes. “How handsomely,
Monsieur
?”

“Very.”

She plucked the cheque he held out, eyes widening at the sum. “
Monsieur!
” She smiled, but at the same time, it wasn’t a smile at all.

“And more when you return,” he added.

“Consider us partners.”

Soon Emily would be in Parr’s house and Evangeline back in Essex’s bed. Blankenship would graciously forgive Parr his debts the moment Emily was his. He would have Emily, and Essex would be out of the way.

The hunting party had nearly reached the edge of the gardens, bags full of pheasants, when Emily tripped on a loose stone and rolled her ankle. The men turned at her cry. It hurt like the devil, and she couldn’t stifle her whimper. Godric instantly assessed the injury, his fingers pushing her skirts up. He touched her stocking-covered ankle with gentle but firm fingers.

“Does that hurt?”

Emily answered with a wince. She fought to stand upright.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll carry you.” Godric slid an arm behind her back and the other under her knees, lifting her up. Penelope followed close by, whining softly. Ashton and Cedric stayed ahead to help open the garden gate and the door back into the manor.

“Your Grace! What’s happened?” Simkins approached, his wrinkled face lined even further.

“Emily sprained her ankle. Have dinner for two brought up to my chambers. I don’t want her to aggravate it.”

He glanced from her to Godric and said, “Of course, Your Grace,” before he departed.

“What’s all this, then?” A familiar voice called from the stairs. Charles and Lucien were back from London, it seemed.

“When did you return?” Ashton asked.

“Half an hour ago. Simkins told us you were out hunting.” Lucien glanced at Emily in concern.

“Odd looking pheasant you have there, Godric. Did you shoot her in the leg?” Charles, unfortunately, was as brash as always.

“Hardly. I tripped on a stone on my way back into the garden.”

“You’re not hurt?” Lucien asked.

Cedric picked up Penelope, who was now sniffing Charles’s boots. “She may have sprained an ankle.”

Godric ignored the conversation and carried Emily up the stairs. He lay her down on his bed and untied the rope from his waist but did not free her. He took the loose end of his rope and tied the same intricate knot to his bedpost.

“Godric, honestly, is that necessary?”

Godric caught her chin in one hand, tilting her lips up to his as he kissed her.

“It is not yet ten, and I don’t believe in taking chances where you are concerned. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her again, a lingering pull of her lips, a tease of his tongue against hers, before he finally left her alone.

Emily rubbed her ankle and rotated it slowly a few times in each direction, working through the pain. As a child she’d often rolled her ankle. The pain never lasted long. The stiffness had already begun to fade.

Godric was smart to keep her restrained, but foolish to think she was powerless. Emily studied the knot of the rope around her waist. It was a multi-looped creation that she could eventually undo. Struggling with the knot for a few minutes, she managed to loosen it, but upon the sound of footsteps outside, she dropped her hands into her lap. Godric, Simkins and Libba bore two trays of food, a bottle of wine, and a pair of glasses. The maid gave Emily a conspiratorial wink as she and Simkins left.

Godric pushed one of the trays nearer to Emily, pointing at the dishes before he untied the rope at her waist. She supposed now that he had returned he could watch over her himself.

“Hare soup, lark pudding and,” he grinned, pointing to the small chilled bowl covered with a silver lid, “ginger ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Emily’s stomach growled. Ice cream was a delicacy only those with an icehouse could afford.

Godric smiled. “Perhaps I should have used ice cream earlier to bribe you into being a good captive…”

Emily reached for the small bowl, eager to feel the cool treat melt in her mouth. Godric swatted her hand away with a tisk.

“You must eat your other food first. Simkins would have my head if he learned you’d seduced me into letting you eat your dessert first.”

“Would he?” She couldn’t imagine that.

“Well, no, he’d simply look at me in disappointment, which is somehow rather worse.”