Wicked Designs

by Lauren Smith

  Emily shut the door to her room and leaned back against the frame, taking a long deep breath. Her body still convulsed with little spasms of pleasure. Was that what it felt like to make love? What sort of sinful god was Godric if he could make her feel that way without being inside of her? Emily shivered. She’d changed too much in the past few days. Her resistance to his charm was crumbling. Just after a few heated kisses, wicked caresses, she’d lost every ounce of self-control.

  It wasn’t fair that she fell too easily for him, that she thrilled just to hear him speak her name, to hope that, at any particular moment, he would think about her. Caring for Godric was a dangerous weakness. She needed to reclaim her pride, relight her inner fire, if she was to survive this captivity. She’d not be reduced to a meaningless mistress to be cast aside and forgotten.

  Her mind replayed what they’d just done, the way he’d shaken above her, the way he’d pulled away, like a wild animal. The flash of vulnerability on his face had shown her something incredibly important. He’d lost control as well…with her. Was it possible? Had she made him want her as much as she wanted him? Would it be enough to get him to fall in love with her and marry her? If it was at all possible, she needed to play this game the way she played chess—passively with some subtle aggression. Then make the necessary sacrifices to reach checkmate.

  There was a soft knock on her door and Libba entered. “Good morning, Libba.”

  “Good morning.” The maid went to select a gown for her to wear and then joined Emily at the vanity table. She studied the maid through the reflection in the looking glass.

  Emily watched Libba tidy up her vanity table. “What made you come to St. Laurent manor? To work I mean. Surely being a maid wasn’t your dream.”

  “I’ve been raised in service, but I’d always dreamed I would be a singer. Mama says I have a wonderful voice.”

  “Would you sing for me?”

  Libba chuckled. “Perhaps later, Miss.”

  “So why here? Why choose to work for His Grace?”

  “My mother was a lady’s maid to a countess. She raised me to be prepared to go into service since I was five years old.”

  Emily knew only too well what that was like, to have a world that belonged entirely to one’s self. Sometimes leaving that private world was frightening. Moving in with her uncle had been terrifying. But Godric’s world was a dream unlike any other.

  She reached out to touch Libba’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You’re sweet. None of His Grace’s other mistresses were ever sweet.”

  “Mistresses? But I haven’t—I mean, we haven’t…well, not exactly. Not the way you mean. I mean…” The assumption made her stomach pitch. She couldn’t be his mistress…his wife, yes, but a mistress…no. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Libba blushed and pointed towards the door and a pair of black boots…Godric’s boots.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. I saw His Grace’s boots and—”

  “Never mind that, Libba. That man has an awful habit of throwing clothes about and leaving them places he shouldn’t. It’s no surprise he left them in my room.” Managing the duke and getting him to value her above a mistress would not be easy. In order to make him fall in love with her enough to marry her, she’d have to figure out what made him tick.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rather than Godric, Ashton waited outside Emily’s door to escort her to breakfast. Today the baron looked exceedingly fashionable in a dark blue coat, biscuit-colored breeches and an immaculately tied cravat.

  He smiled and took her arm. “Emily.”

  “Good morning, Ashton.” She couldn’t resist the urge to smile back.

  With Ashton alone she felt like a queen. It was a pity Charles lacked his subtle charm. He’d be truly dangerous to every woman in the ton if he accomplished that skill.

  She proceeded with Ashton down to the dining room, with only Cedric present. He rose, bowed and sat back down as she took her seat.

  “Lucien and Charles left for London about ten minutes ago. I believe they’ll return tonight,” Ashton said.

  “Is Godric coming down?” She couldn’t forget the tension that had passed between them. Emily had the jarring sense that he might try to avoid her.

  “Yes, he’s trying to find an old hunting coat.”

  “A hunting coat? He doesn’t have one?” Every sensible man had at least one hunting coat.

  “Yes, of course he does,” Cedric said. “He’s trying to find one for you.”

  “For me?” She was delighted they would let her come on such an outing, to which women were usually unwelcome.

  “Yes, kitten. You’re coming on our outing today. Why do you think your maid set out a twill gown and black boots for you?” Cedric asked with a small smile.

  Emily glanced down at herself. She barely asked questions anymore when the maids pulled out clothes. She was dressed for a day of walking, not riding.

  “We aren’t hunting foxes then?”

  Ashton laughed. “Lord, no, you are the only fox we’ve hunted lately. We want something less bothersome, so our prey will be pheasants.”

  Emily sat up on the edge of her seat. “Will I get to shoot one?”

  Cedric’s brows rose in surprise. “I would never have taken you for a hunter, Emily.”

  “It seems I never cease to amaze you. Will I get to shoot?”

  “If you think we are stupid enough to give you a firearm—”

  “I’ve handled one before! I know how to hunt.”

  Ashton steepled his fingers. “Our fear is not that you haven’t handled a gun…” The unspoken words revealed his true concern, and it wasn’t for the pheasants.

  Emily eyed the men reproachfully. “You honestly think I would shoot you? Any of you? Well, perhaps Charles, but only if he tries to tickle me again.”

  Cedric sat up in his chair, leaning towards her. “You will be in charge of Penelope. She has to learn to retrieve the fowl once we’ve shot them. Best to start them young, you know.”

  “I suppose I won’t mind that.” Emily nibbled at a scone. That they would limit her enjoyment out of some silly fear that she would shoot them irritated her. Well, perhaps it wasn’t too silly. The thought of her out in the grass with five men whose arms were raised in surrender did put a smile on her face.

  A few minutes later, Godric joined them, looking virile in his hunting jacket and buckskin breeches. He held out a black coat for her.

  “It is my old coat, Emily. Let me put it on you.”

  Emily stood away from her chair and put her arms into the coat he held for her, and then he spun her around to face him so he could button it up. She wanted to swat his hands away and do it herself, but knew she’d lose that battle.

  “There.” He patted her shoulders so roughly that Emily staggered. The jacket hung loosely over her, hiding her figure.

  Godric pressed her back down into her chair and took a seat next to her. “Now, finish your breakfast.”

  Emily felt a childish retort on the tip of her tongue but for once restrained herself.

  After everyone ate, Ashton and Cedric fetched the guns while Godric lingered in the hall with Emily. He seemed indecisive about something, but finally spoke.

  “You know, I don’t think I had my proper good morning kiss from you.” His eyes heated as they fell on her.

  “You’re mistaken. You stole a fair number of kisses from me this morning.” Something in his face had changed, the dark part of him seemed to have returned, meaning to restore his control. She couldn’t allow that, not if she wanted him to fall in love with her.

  “This morning was an introduction to another type of pleasure.”

  “Well, I hate to disappoint you, Godric, but you are out of opportunities.” Emily took a big step back, putting herself out of his immediate reach.

  He advanced.

  “That is the beauty of holding you captive. I don’t need to worry about opportunities.”

  Oh? He thou
ght she couldn’t play the game back? Well, he was about to earn his kisses. She bit back a grin and glanced about the hall. Could she make it up the stairs to a room? No, he’d snare her halfway to the top.

  She bolted, thinking only to get the first doorway she could find, his study. She slammed the door, turned the key in the lock and braced herself against the door.

  Godric beat on it from the other side. “Emily, open this door at once! I am in no mood to hunt you down.”

  She huffed. “But it’s such a fine day for hunting, don’t you think?” Let him make what he would of that.

  “Simkins, get me the spare key!”

  “Oh, blast.” She studied the window. A sash window. The view beyond the windowpane revealed a small side garden on the left end of the manor.

  She lifted the sill until the bottom half was wide open. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she tucked her legs up and dropped over the edge into a flowerbed.

  Emily’s hopes of evading Godric unseen were hampered. A gardener tended to a row of nearby yew bushes with a pair of shears—a stunningly handsome young man in his early twenties. He ran a hand through sandy blond hair that cast shadows above his eyes as he stared at the bushes he was working on. Hoping to sneak past, she started to move, but he turned just as she raised one foot. His gaze caught hers, a bewitching emerald trap she was intimately familiar with.

  Her gut clenched, and realization dawned—this man had to be related to Godric. This man before her was a golden haired replica.

  But Godric had been an only child—

  The man dropped his shears and removed his gardening gloves. “You, I am guessing, should not be out here alone. His Grace must be looking for you.”

  “I…I was taking a bit of fresh air.”

  He studied her with amused interest…his eyes that same bewitching green. A distant cousin, perhaps? Surely, he had to share the same blood.

  “Fresh air, eh? You couldn’t have just walked out the front door, like a proper young lady? Scampering out of study windows is highly suspicious.”

  She waved her hand airily. “Oh, it’s all the fashion in London, I assure you. Excellent source of exercise if one cannot go on a walk in Hyde Park.”

  The man smiled. “All the fashion? Be that as it may, I am afraid I must escort you back to His Grace.”

  He could have just taken her arm, politely escorting her back to her captors, but he didn’t. He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder. It seemed they had that in common as well.

  “Good heavens! Put me down at once! I assure you it is just a game I am playing with His Grace. He would have found me soon enough.”

  “I’m sure he would, Miss. Nevertheless…”

  He even talked like Godric. If not for his sandy blond hair, she would have sworn that…but that was impossible.

  The young man carried her around to the front of the manor. Cedric and Ashton stood waiting, guns in hand.

  Cedric chuckled. “Afternoon, Jonathan. I suppose we’re fox hunting after all.”

  “And the hound’s already got her,” added Ashton.

  Emily knew she must be offering the rogues an excellent view of her backside and kicking legs. Jonathan put a firm hand on her rump and Emily growled indignantly. Would no man in this world treat her with the respect she deserved?

  “Put me down at once!” Emily balled a fist and pounded it into Jonathan’s own rump. “How do you like it?”

  Jonathan jerked in shock. “She’s a spitfire!”

  Ashton laughed. “You have no idea.”

  Despite being a servant, this one seemed at ease with Godric’s friends, even more so than Simkins. Emily filed this away for further contemplation.

  “How did you catch the vixen?” Cedric walked around behind Jonathan to look at her. Emily scowled as the blood rushed to her head.

  “She was climbing out of His Grace’s study window. I thought His Grace might have misplaced her.”

  As if summoned, Godric came storming around the corner. No doubt he had climbed out the same window. Relief softened the anger in his eyes.

  “Ah, Helprin, you found her. I wasn’t sure how far she’d gotten.”

  “Not far. She barely put up a fight. Just stood there staring at me.” Jonathan slid Emily off his shoulder and into Godric’s waiting arms.

  Godric held her firmly in place as she looked away from all of the smiling men. They had yet again wounded her pride, and things continued to worsen.

  Godric loosened a coil of rope from his arm.

  Cedric and Ashton kept her rooted to the ground while Godric secured her. With a complex knot about her waist Emily found herself anchored to Godric, separated by only six feet. His friends released her. She plucked at the rope and then looked up at Godric, her lack of amusement evident.

  “This isn’t humiliating at all,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  “Don’t pout, Emily. You can’t run from me now. I always get what I want, and it is time for you to accept that.”

  “If we are discussing things that we must learn to accept, you ought to accept that I won’t cower and just melt in your arms whenever you command! I have better things to do with my life than become your plaything!”

  Godric didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. He grabbed her by the arms, tugged her to his chest and covered her mouth with his. Godric’s tongue shot straight between her lips, and Emily’s body reacted as it always did, with weak knees and a heat that defied rational thought entirely. Damn her senses.

  She was still on her feet only because Godric maintained a firm grip on her arms. Otherwise she would have collapsed like a newborn foal, shaky and untested.

  “What was that you were saying about not melting in my arms?”

  Dimly Emily remembered their audience, staring at Godric’s eyes was like being swallowed up in a meadow of tall grass, a personal paradise for her and her alone.

  “I…” Coherent words weren’t possible. Godric smiled with the grin of a cat sated on a bowl of cream. She bristled with indignation. He enjoyed destroying her resistance. If he meant to toy with her, just use her the way he would any woman… Well! That wasn’t going to happen.

  “You bind me as if I am a dog on a leash, then take what you desire with no regard to me. Touch me again, without my permission—” her voice dropped into an icy hiss “—and you will lose a body part, the one you favor most. Think about that. I have not asked to be here. I am not some lightskirt, and when you treat me like one, it is humiliating.”

  Godric blinked. He’d clearly not expected this reaction. “But, darling—”

  “Do not ‘darling’ me, Your Grace.” Emily dragged her index finger in a dangerous line down his chest to his waist and scissored her fingers. “I will geld you like a horse if you continue to treat me so.”

  Her words might have made more of an impression if the other rogues hadn’t been laughing so hard.

  “Are we ready to leave?” asked Cedric. “As much as I enjoy a good kissing, if I’m not on one end of it, I tend to lose interest. We are wasting the day away watching you two have all the bloody fun.”

  Godric studied Emily’s face for a long moment, then brushed a loose coil of her hair back from her cheek. “We’re ready, Cedric. Lead the way.”

  The hunting party set out. Penelope bounded ahead of them, her young instincts guiding her. Cedric, the most avid hunter, cradled his gun in the crook of his arm, scanning the fields and woods. They climbed over the stone wall and moved into the forest. The weather was fine. A cool breeze tugged playfully at Emily’s loose hair.

  She’d not used Godric’s butterfly comb. Libba told her that it wouldn’t match her outfit. She’d been right, but Emily brought it with her to put her hair up later.

  As she trudged behind Godric and Ashton, Emily slipped it into her hair. She plucked it from the hidden pocket of her skirts and gathered her hair back into a loose bun, and then slid the comb’s teeth in to secure it.

 
Godric walked ahead of her. The length of rope tightened between them before she could catch up and the rope jerked her forward. He spun around as the rope tugged, just in time to catch her stumbling into his arms.

  He pulled her up against him with ease, saving her from a nasty fall.

  “What were you up to, little vixen? Escape again?”

  “And give you a reason to chase me? Not a chance.” She hoped he’d notice the comb, but wasn’t going to point it out to him. She didn’t need to inflate his oversized sense of self further.

  Ashton walked past the pair of them. “That is a lovely comb you have in your hair, Emily.” He hurried to catch up with Cedric.

  Godric, gripping Emily’s arm, turned her around. “You weren’t wearing that when we left.”

  Emily’s lashes dropped. “Libba said it didn’t match my outfit, but I expected there to be wind, so I smuggled it out.”

  Godric smiled with such warmth and pride that Emily tingled. He gripped her waist again, pulling her against him, his body warm and hard, unlike the cold air that danced, shifted, celebrated around them. Emily didn’t mind at all.

  “You do find ways to get what you want, even if you continue to act like you don’t.” He chuckled.

  “Minor victories, Your Grace, are not worth counting.”

  “Everything you do is worth counting.”

  He didn’t move to kiss her as she’d expected him to. He merely moved his hands up and down her back over the loose hunting jacket.

  She shivered beneath his touch.

  “Are you warm enough, darling?”

  “I am warm whenever you touch me.” Realizing she’d admitted too much, she hastily added, “When I wish to be touched, that is.”