Wicked Designs

by Lauren Smith

  What would he think when he came to her room and she was gone? Would he wonder why she’d abandoned him? Would her leaving be worse than the abuse Godric suffered at the hands of his father?

  Someday he’d understand. She’d find a way to tell him the truth when it was safe to do so. But even then, she doubted he would forgive her. Until that day, she’d slowly die inside from a bleeding heart.

  With a strength she hadn’t known she possessed, she raised her chin and departed from the dining room with grace.

  Once in her room, she leaned back against the door. Her chest surged as she swallowed silent sobs. Her entire world shrank into that single moment of loss. Her throat closed and she struggled to swallow.

  Sinking down the wood panel of the door, Emily curled her legs up beneath her chin, tears sliding down her face. She’d been such a fool to fall in love, but she’d never make this mistake again. Her heart would harden and she’d live on alone without Godric and without love. She had to.

  Years from now she’d be somewhere in the world, remembering this final day, this final hour of losing her first and only love. The memory would rush in on her like a thief in the night and leave a raw, aching pain in her chest just as fresh as today. Tears formed salty tracks down her cheeks and carved trails like mighty rivers on stone.

  It was the right thing to do. If she left, Blankenship wouldn’t have a reason to harm the others. That was more important than her tears. This resolve strengthened her. She remembered something her father used to say. “Fear is only as strong as the weakness within you.”

  Her choice was clear, had always been clear. Deep in her bones, she’s always known she’d have to go at some point. The sooner she could accept it, the sooner she could move on.

  Once her eyes had no more tears to shed, she mastered her grief and summoned Libba to her chambers.

  Waiting for the maid, she wrote a note to Godric. She couldn’t afford to tell him the truth, but she had to say something.

  When Libba arrived, she was shocked by Emily’s tear-stained face. Before the maid could say a word, Emily took her into her confidence.

  “That man you saw before with the magistrate, he’s going to come back, with armed men. Too many of them. They will hurt anyone in their way. I have to leave. His Grace’s life depends on this. You must trust me. I need to borrow your serving gown. I’m going with Jonathan to Blackbriar.”

  To Emily’s surprise there was no protesting from the maid, only a nod of understanding. “When that man saw me in your room, he thought I was you for a moment. I know how he looks at you, Miss.” Libba twisted her hands into her skirts. “I’ll find my extra gown.”

  “After I’m gone, stuff some pillows in my bed. Make it look like I’m sleeping. Once they discover I am not, tell them you saw me cross the meadows, it may buy me some time. Whatever you do, don’t tell them I’ve left with Jonathan. Promise me, Libba. Godric’s life depends on your silence.”

  “I promise. But…Miss…you want to stay here, though, don’t you?”

  Even though she thought she’d spent her tears, a dry sob escaped her. “Some people aren’t fated to get what they want, Libba.”

  Lucien and Ashton crouched beneath an open window of a townhouse on Bloomsbury Street, just out of Mayfair. The two men shared a concerned glance as they eavesdropped on a conversation, in the parlor just past the window.

  They’d arrived in London an hour before and rode straight to Evangeline’s townhouse, intent on speaking with her. She’d departed for the day, but the scullery maid next door told Lucien which direction she’d seen her go after he loosened her lips with a none-too-innocent kiss and a few well-placed caresses. The poor girl wanted to tell him everything after that, if only he promised to stay and entertain her. Only Ashton’s polite cough reminded him of their mission.

  The forged note Evangeline offered suggested to Ashton that she was not a helpless pawn but an active player in this game of deception, and it was imperative they determine the puppet master in order to protect Emily.

  Lucien argued against Emily as the root of Evangeline’s appearance, but as always, only Ashton saw the larger game being played. He didn’t believe in coincidences and Evangeline’s appearance had little to do with chance.

  When they tracked Evangeline’s carriage down to this particular address, Ashton found his suspicions confirmed. The moment they turned onto an intersecting street, Lucien paled and then turned scarlet with fury. “I know where she’s gone.” He growled. “Blankenship lives not far from here.”

  They slipped down the side street and crouched below Blankenship’s parlor window.

  “Miss Mirabeau, back in London so soon?” Blankenship’s voice carried into the alleyway.

  Ashton lifted his head up a few inches over the sill, catching sight of Evangeline and Blankenship. She was facing him and her eyes widened as she saw him. His breath hitched as he feared she would give his presence away.

  She did not. Her eyes flicked back to Blankenship’s as if nothing had occurred.

  “I was turned out in less than a day, Monsieur! But since you have paid me, I brought you the information you seek.”

  “And?”

  A brief moment of silence gnawed at the air.

  “Your lost lamb is there as you suspected. I met her. Elle est très jolie! You did not tell me that, Monsieur.”

  “Does it matter?” Blankenship snorted rudely.

  “Pour moi, of course. Essex is too attached to her. He watches her every move.”

  Blankenship’s voice lowered. “Is she unspoiled?”

  Evangeline chuckled. “No, Monsieur. I believe His Grace has long since plucked the fruit of that vine. She is helplessly in love with him.”

  “Her love doesn’t matter to me. One does not need that in a mistress.”

  Lucien’s mouth twisted into a snarl, and Ashton’s fists clenched, but both mastered their tempers.

  “Very well. Here is a bonus payment, as agreed, Miss Mirabeau. I will handle the matter from here.” Blankenship paced away out of sight.

  Evangeline met Ashton’s gaze and gave him the barest hint of acknowledgement before speaking again.

  “You should know, Monsieur Blankenship, I convinced the lamb to leave. I told her that if she did not return to London, you would kill Godric and his friends.”

  “Why the devil did you do that? The last thing I need is for them to be warned.”

  “I only wished to save you the trouble of retrieving her by force as you had planned.” Her voice was all sincerity, but Ashton knew better than to take that tone at face value. She was speaking too loudly for the words to be meant only for Blankenship.

  “You know nothing of my plans. Still you may have saved me some effort if she obeys.” Blankenship hummed, as though pleased, with a cruel note along his throat.

  “I have no doubt she will, Monsieur. None at all.”

  When the conversation’s volume decreased, the pair crossed the street, hailing a carriage back to Lucien’s townhouse.

  “We have to get back to Godric immediately,” Lucien said.

  “I agree. Emily will make another run for it, and I suspect this time she might manage to succeed. Godric won’t stand for another attempt. He’ll be furious.”

  “I know, and I’d prefer we get there before he punishes her.”

  Ashton glanced at him, then away. “You think he’d harm her?”

  “Strike her? No, but his temper… We all know how hard he fights it. I worry about what he’ll say to her. She doesn’t know him like we do. Words can strike deeper than any blow, and he’ll say things he doesn’t mean to protect his heart.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  Lucien pulled a pistol out from the inside of his jacket.

  “Same old Lucien,” Ashton said under his breath.

  Lucien grinned. “Old habits die hard.”

  Ashton laughed. Old habits indeed…

  “Do you think we’ll get back in time to stop Emily?�
�

  Ashton bowed his head. “For now I’m more worried about Blankenship’s men, whoever they are, and what he intends to do with them.” He watched Lucien check the pistol. “Before long we might all need to carry one, old friend. I’ve never been a religious man, but I believe now is the time to pray.”

  Emily spent her last hours collecting her few possessions into the small cloth bag that Libba left under her bed. Tucked away were her butterfly comb and brush, her night rail, and a spare set of clothes to change into once she could remove Libba’s uniform. The trickiest part would be Penelope. She couldn’t leave the puppy behind. Libba would fetch the dog and bring her out to the cart. Soon she would be Emily’s only companion.

  Libba returned and helped Emily into the extra maid gown. Emily tucked her small bag of possessions in her arms while Libba fixed the white cap over her hair. If she kept her head down, she might yet escape.

  Libba peeked out the door, then waved to Emily that the halls were clear. There was no sign of anyone; the upper manor hall was quiet. She walked briskly, head bent to the floor, her ears pricked for the slightest noise.

  In the parlor, Cedric and Godric laughed about something. She lingered for a brief painful second.

  Goodbye, my League of Rogues.

  She slipped down the servants’ stairs and out a door that led to the stables. The urge to look back just once was strong, but she resisted. She would take only memories. On cold nights she’d sink into those blissful moments and find herself here again, even if it was only in her dreams.

  Jonathan sat impatiently on the cart seat, his face dark. He scowled when he saw her, as though he’d hoped she wouldn’t have come. He raised his hand, motioning for her to hurry. A basket lay next to him. It contained a drowsy Penelope.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Emily hissed as she climbed up into the seat next to him.

  “Nothing. When Libba brought her down I fed her warmed cream. It’ll keep her quiet until we reach the village.”

  Emily relaxed, but the pup was more than just drowsy. “Just warm cream?”

  “Well, there might be a pinch of something stronger to make sure she didn’t run off. Needs must as the devil drives, as they say.”

  Emily knew that only too well.

  Jonathan slapped the long reins against the bay’s back and the cart jerked into motion. When they reached the road, Emily breathed a sigh of relief, one shadowed by sadness.

  On to Blackbriar…

  Rain pelted Emily’s face, soaking her clothes. She cursed herself for not bringing a wool hooded cloak to wear.

  “How much farther is it?” The heady scent of wet grass and wool surrounded her. She shivered, and her skin iced over with the rain.

  “Not far,” Jonathan said. “We’ll have to get a room at the inn. You can’t travel in this weather, and I can’t return tonight. The food might spoil.” His beautiful mouth twisted in an unpleasant frown.

  She trembled again. “I suppose you are right.”

  Jonathan put his arm about her shoulders to pull her closer. He was just as wet, but much warmer.

  “Th-thank you.” Her teeth clicked together as a bone deep chill sank into her.

  “Don’t mention it, Miss Parr.” His eyes were on the road, not on her.

  Emily relaxed a little and Penelope stirred beneath Emily’s black skirts. She dropped a hand down near the hound and the pup anxiously licked her fingers.

  “There, there, darling,” she murmured.

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. The drive to the village stole much time, since the road skirted around Godric’s lands and the lake.

  The village itself seemed nearly deserted. The cart creaked and groaned as it rode over the rough uneven stones of the main street, echoing in the midst of the storm’s rumblings. Jonathan guided the horse towards the tall barn next to an inn called The Pickerel.

  “Take Penelope inside. Wait for me near the bar.” Jonathan didn’t wait for her to protest.

  She took the hound and her cloth bag, and dodged through the rain into the inn. Oil lamps were lit on the tables and several villagers huddled around the main fireplace, warming their hands. They all turned their heads at her entrance. A plump woman wiping the bar with a cloth smiled, then seeing her, drenched and shivering, immediately changed to concern.

  “You poor lamb!” She rushed around the counter to get a better look.

  “M-May I wait here?” Her teeth chattered so sharply that her jaw ached.

  “Of course, dear!” The woman took a fresh towel and dried Penelope. “Caught in the storm without a proper coat? Here, let me help you.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  Jonathan came in, shaking his sandy hair.

  “Jonny, love!” the woman greeted him.

  Jonathan raised his arms. “Lucy, you’re prettier every time I see you.”

  The middle aged woman blushed, “Oh, hush, you scoundrel.” She swatted his shoulder.

  “Could we have a room, Lucy?” Jonathan tilted his head in Emily’s direction.

  “Ahh, so she’s yours, is she?”

  “It is not what you think, Lucy.”

  “It never is, love. But it always is.” Lucy winked, but said nothing else. She grabbed a set of keys from a nail on the wall, then led them up a set of narrow stairs and down a hall of four rooms. She picked the last one on the right and opened it for them. Inside stood a narrow bed, a small table and basin of water next to some towels.

  Emily set down Penelope and her bags, while Jonathan ripped off his dripping cloak and outer coat.

  “I’ll send up some soup for you both.” Lucy left them alone.

  Emily stood indecisively for a moment, cold and wet, and watched Jonathan warily. “Should we share a room?”

  The handsome devil just laughed. “It is part of my price…and one room is cheaper than two.”

  “But you never told me your price.”

  Jonathan, still not looking at her, ripped off his white lawn shirt and hung it over the edge of the single chair near the table to let it dry. Roped golden muscles cut his broad chest. Where Godric was an inch taller, Jonathan’s muscles seemed larger, presumably from the years of labor on the estate. She was struck by the similarity all the same.

  He crossed the distance between them and without a word plucked the silly white cap off her head. Her hair spilled down in a tumble.

  “Better.” He reached out to touch her.

  Emily backed up another step.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My price, Miss Parr. I’m collecting it now.” Jonathan’s green eyes burned.

  Emily nearly panicked but a knock interrupted them. Jonathan opened the door and took the two bowls of soup from Lucy before shutting the door in her face.

  “Sit and eat, then we’ll discuss payment.”

  It seemed her fears about the method of payment weren’t unfounded. The soup warmed her up considerably, but the wet gown didn’t prevent the chill that crept over her. I ought to change, Emily thought, but she wouldn’t undress with Jonathan in the same room. She let Penelope lick her bowl and eat the crust from her bread. All the while Jonathan watched her.

  “Mr. Helprin, may I ask a rather odd question?”

  Jonathan waved a hand in the air, urging her to continue.

  “Are you related to Godric?”

  Soup spewed across the table. He froze, then carefully wiped a napkin over his mouth. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Are you?” She pressed.

  “Of course not.”

  Emily set her spoon down. “I’m sorry to have offended you. It’s just that…well, you look so much like him. You even act like him.”

  When she raised her face, his eyes locked with hers.

  Jonathan propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. “I take no offense, you merely startled me. No one has ever said that before.” He paused, eyes resting on her face, yet his expression was unreadable. After a moment he shoved h
is chair back, scraping it against the wooden floor. Rather than approach her, he paced away, the lithe grace of his movements every inch identical to his master’s.

  When he turned, she was struck by his profile, the long-limbed muscled body of a man who’d worked in the service, but there was still a refined quality to him. Half the ton lacked the innate well-bred features and manners that came so naturally to Jonathan. Something in his very breaths set him apart from his fellow servants.

  “You are so like him,” she half-whispered. “The way you move, talk.”

  “I suppose that is because I grew up wanting to be like him. I was born and raised in that house. My mother was his mother’s lady’s maid. I used to follow him about when I was a boy. He is eight years older than me.”

  Could it be that simple? She supposed it could, and she felt like a ninny for thinking otherwise. They weren’t related. He merely mirrored his master the way any man would reflect someone he admired. But still, her instincts shouted otherwise. But she just had to be sure…

  “Did your mother have green eyes?”

  “No.”

  “And your father?”

  “I never knew him.” An answer that wasn’t really an answer, just like Godric. It was time to change the subject.

  “What will you do after I’ve left? Will you return to the manor?”

  Jonathan’s lips pursed for a moment. “Assuming His Grace hasn’t discovered it was me who helped you, then yes, I shall return.”

  “Libba promised she wouldn’t tell anyone how I got away. I’m sure you will be safe.”

  Jonathan laughed, the sound rich, dark, dangerous. “Concerned for me?”

  “I’m concerned for all of us. Blankenship is not a man to be taken lightly.” She stood and looked about the small room. “May I have some privacy to change?” It was probably safer not to undress around him, but her wet clothes were thick and suffocating on her skin.

  “That won’t be necessary, Miss Parr. I will be happy to aid you.” He started towards her.