Wicked Designs (The League of Rogues) (41 page)

When his perished love did not answer, he buried his face in the soft groove of her neck, inhaling the flowery scent of her gleaming hair, and Godric, the Duke of Essex, wept. He wept for Emily, for the children they would never have, for the places he would never take her, and he wept for the pain of his own breaking heart.

“No! Dammit, no!” A cry disturbed his mourning, the sound a terrible keening that grated on his ears. It rose, fast and high from his throat, then faded, replaced by ragged breaths.

He kissed her lips, expecting the coppery taste of blood, but she was unbearably sweet, as though merely sleeping.

“Is she dead?” Blankenship’s reedy voice echoed eerily down the stairs.

Godric’s eyes flamed with tears; they spilled down his face as he brushed Emily’s hair back from her face with shaky hands.

When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “You’ve taken from me the one thing in this world I truly loved.” The void in him grew to a dull blackening roar. Flashes of memories, glittering shards of momentary joy, pierced the swelling darkness. Emily’s laugh, her shining eyes, exploring hands, whispers of her dreams and breathless words of love.

Never again.

Flames consumed him, enveloped him.

He set Emily down and stood at the bottom of the stairs to face Blankenship, then slowly walked up step by step.

“All of this work and I never even bedded her!” Blankenship hissed as he backed away. “You were a fool to take what was mine. She’s dead because you abducted her.” Blankenship moved back down the hall to a small side table. He tugged frantically at handle of the top drawer.

“She was never yours.” Blankenship would die. It was as simple as that. His grief outweighed reason and numbed him to all except revenge.

The glint of silver caught his eye. A knife lay near the edge of the top stair, the blade gleaming red with blood. Godric grabbed it, only to hear the sound of a pistol cocked in front of him.

Godric found himself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, and those beetle black eyes behind it reflected a heavy fear.

Blankenship had managed to retrieve a gun from the side table. “Don’t even think about it.”

Godric snarled and charged as the pistol shot wide. Their bodies collided against the railing. Blankenship flailed as the pistol fell onto the carpet between them. Godric wound one fist around the other man’s neck while Blankenship clawed at his chest.

The man’s heavy weight unbalanced their tangled bodies, and Godric fought to break free as they both started to fall, but it was too late.

They crashed down the stairs, grappling at each other until Godric landed on top of Blankenship at the bottom of the stairs, his knife stuck in his enemy’s chest.

Panting for breath, both men locked gazes, hatred meeting hatred for one brief moment before the glint in Blankenship’s eyes faded, giving way to darkness. Godric released his hold on the knife and rolled off the dead body.

Lucien and Ashton were at the door, their faces ashen.

“My God,” Lucien breathed.

“She’s gone,” Godric’s tone was hollow.

Ashton’s hand flew to his heart. Lucien looked away.

Emily lay stretched out across the marble, pale blue slippers streaked with blood, and one limp, graceful hand caressed the floor by Godric.

Ashton leaned down to touch Godric’s shoulder when Emily’s index finger twitched against the marble floor. It had to be a death spasm. But…her fingers began to curl further, into a ball. “Godric, look!”

Godric, unable to see past the tears that clouded his eyes, tried to look up at his love. Emily’s long lashes fluttered against her cheeks.

“She’s alive!” Godric choked out in a mixture of terror and relief. She was still alive. “Quick, check her wound.” Lucien knelt down near Emily’s head and helped him. Lucien examined the wound carefully and sighed in relief.

“It’s a muscle wound. There are no vital organs here.” Lucien ripped off one of the sleeves of his shirt. With Godric’s help, they bound the wound as tight as they could. “If we get her to a doctor she may yet live.”

“Is it safe to move her?” Godric asked Lucien.

“I believe so.”

Godric carefully picked Emily up in his arms, and the three men walked out into the street. Jonathan arrived at that moment, with the constable and several Bow Street runners. Ashton remained behind to explain, while Lucien and Godric took Emily back to Cedric’s house, to meet the doctor and pray that she survived.

Heaven. It was warm and light, the soft murmur of a low masculine voice spoke to her… No, read to her.
The Iliad
in Greek. She tried to open her mouth but nothing moved.

I want to see you, whoever you are.

Did she have a body?

She managed a small strangled whimper. The voice halted, then spoke, more eagerly.

“Emily.” The voice sounded like Godric, but that made sense. Heaven was wherever he was. She tried to speak again, but only yielded another pathetic whimper.

“Shh. Rest, my darling. You’ve been through so much.” A large hand clasped hers, its grip warm, strong, and perfect.

Lips brushed over her forehead, leaving a trail of tender fire in their wake. She forced her eyes open. Even though Godric’s face was pale and his hair hung limp around it, he was still everything she’d wanted, craved. Loved. The sight of him. That was Heaven.

Emily’s long lashes fanned as she squeezed his hand. She gave a weak smile. Godric choked back a sob, ghostly reflections of her own pain shimmered in his eyes.

“What happened?” She fought to sit up. Pain radiated into every point of her being, but the pain proved her life—her presence.

“You don’t remember?” He squeezed her hand back. Godric sat on the edge of her bed.

“Stairs. I remember stairs?”

Godric’s eyes shut at this.

“You fell.”

Emily squeezed his hand again, unable to do more to comfort him. “And after?”

Godric looked at her and tucked a loose coil of her hair back behind her ear.

“Blankenship killed that other man, and then I killed Blankenship.”

Emily breathed a sigh of relief, only to wince from the pain. She was free of the dark specter of Blankenship forever.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Cedric got a broken nose, and a gash in his arm, but he’ll mend. He’s more upset he can’t ride or hunt for the next month.” Godric chuckled.

Emily’s shoulders sagged. She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense.

“Emily, I had my solicitor look into the matter of your inheritance. There is the possibility that if you reached out to the trustee there might be a way get your father’s inheritance without marriage.”

Emily bit her bottom lip. What did this mean? Did he want her to be free, or be free of her? In the darkness of her pain after she fell, she thought she heard him speak—declare his love. Had that been nothing more than a dying woman’s dream?

Godric began again uncertainly. “Emily, I know you won’t marry me. I know that. But I can’t live one more day without you. All I ask is that wherever you go, whatever you do, let me come with you. We can travel the world. Whatever you want, it will be yours. I just wish to be with you.” Godric moved closer, tightly clenching her hands. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

“You would give up your place here?” she asked.

“Emily, for you I’d give up my soul.”

“What if I want your heart?”

“It’s already been stolen. You, my dear, are the better kidnapper.”

Godric opened the bedroom door to find five chairs stationed in a semicircle outside, occupied by his friends and brother. They sat up as he stepped out into the hall.

“How is she?” asked Charles.

Godric shut the door behind him. “She woke for a few minutes but she’s asleep again. Ash, can you track down the bishop?” His words turned the men’s mood from relieved to anxious before he continued. “And see if we can still arrange for a ceremony in St. George’s? She’s agreed to marry me!”

His friends and brother all jumped up from their chairs, shouting and cheering, slapping him on the back. A month ago, a marriage among them would have seemed to be a death sentence, but this was the best news they’d ever had. Emily Parr would be a part of their lives now, and not one man would have it otherwise.

Horatia came out into the hallway, with a tray of food. None of them had eaten or slept before now. “You’ll be waking the dead with your racket,” she said with a disapproving glare.

“Congratulations. I knew you’d be the first to get leg shackled!” Charles joked.

What a fool he’d been. Love had found him, saved him, and he would never let her go.

“Well, don’t just stand there, gentleman!” Horatia snapped at the men loitering about around her. “We have a wedding to plan! Ashton, you will arrange the church and the bishop. I’ll see to Emily’s wedding gown. Charles and Lucien, you must both get all of the families here for this. I want St. George’s filled with our loved ones. Jonathan, you ought to go and fetch Penelope, as Emily misses her terribly.

“Cedric, you will make sure Emily’s uncle gives his consent to the match. If he’s very nice about it, you can even invite him.” Horatia shooed the men away from the door so they wouldn’t wake Emily.

Cedric looked confused as they left. “When did she become in charge?”

Once they were off Godric returned to Emily’s bedside, taking her hand in his.

He rubbed his eyes and gazed down at his sleeping lover. He remembered the young woman on his bed with a dirt smudge on her nose and cheeks, the soaking wet Amazon on the bank of the lake breathing life into him, the woman who fought with words like a swordsman, yet melted in his arms, and the angel who forgave him, who promised she would always love him.

What twist of fate had led him to abduct Emily Parr that night?

He would never know the true depth of his luck in capturing her, this woman who captured him right back. He only knew he would never let her go.

Epilogue

Lucien sat at the table in Cedric’s dining room, reading the morning paper. Cedric fed Penelope scraps from his chair next to him. The dining room was large for a London home, furnished with walnut chairs and a table, all gilded with scrollwork. Lucien looked over to Ashton and Charles, who were speaking near the large wood, glass-paned window overlooking the gardens.

The lords were enjoying themselves, having successfully seen Godric and Emily off on their honeymoon, and were now resting at Cedric’s townhouse after the adventures of the last few weeks.

“Well, Lucien? Anything interesting?” Ashton asked as he took a seat, leaving Charles alone to gaze out the window, lost in thought.

“There’s an interesting tidbit in the society pages.”

“Not Lady Society again?” Cedric chuckled. Penelope barked sharply at him. He reached down and picked her up, setting the foxhound on his lap. She was no longer a puppy.

All things grow up some day
, Lucien thought to himself.

“Are you going to read it or not?” Charles asked from the window.

“Miss Emily Parr married the Duke of Essex at St. George’s Hanover Square on Sunday. The bride and groom will soon depart on one of Baron Lennox’s merchant vessels for their honeymoon. It would seem the eternal bachelor has embraced the shackledom of marriage at long last.”

“That’s all?” Ashton mused aloud.

Lucien folded the paper and set it down on the table. “Well, Lady Society spent half the column discussing Emily’s wedding gown and the various guests we managed to scrounge up at the last minute to fill the church. Not that it was a challenge.”

He looked out through the large windows overlooking the gardens where Cedric’s two sisters sat on a bench, heads bent as they spoke. As a married lady Emily would qualify as a chaperone, which only meant more trouble for Cedric. He’d have to watch over Horatia and Audrey, especially the latter. She was often in trouble, even when she wasn’t actively seeking it out. Not Horatia though, she was always perfectly behaved, and it rankled him to no end.

Charles grinned at Lucien. “I do believe that is the first positive piece about us in the Lady Society column. Wait until my mother reads it. She’ll be looking out the nearest window for signs of the four horsemen.”

“Speaking of the apocalypse,” Ashton began. Lucien knew from his tone trouble was on the horizon. “I heard from one of my sources that Hugo Waverly has returned from France.”

Charles’s smile faltered.

Lucien sat up straight. “What the devil is he doing back here? I thought we’d driven him off for good.”

Ashton frowned. “Been here for a few weeks they say. It seems he didn’t take our threats seriously, or does not care. I recommend that each of us be on guard until we can ferret out the truth of the matter. I doubt his motives have changed. He vowed to kill every last one of us. It is a small hope to think he’s changed his mind.”

“What can he be thinking, though? To take us on as young men, when we didn’t know our strength, that was one thing. But now?” Cedric stroked Penelope as he spoke, but the hound growled as though sensing his tension.

Lucien thought of all he stood to lose if Hugo Waverly struck. One person in particular came to mind. If he lost her, he’d lose himself. No, the time for posturing was over. It was time to prepare for war.