Wicked Designs

by Lauren Smith

  Her breasts grew heavy, aching for his touch and the silken heat of his mouth. Everything she swore she could live without rushed back to her. No sooner could the moon abandon the earth than she could leave him. He would take her back, forgive her for breaking his heart. It was there in his kiss, that sweet emotion she craved.

  “Godric, please… I need you.” Her plea was an aching whisper against his neck.

  His breath grew ragged as he dug at his breeches, freeing himself. He thrust a hand between her legs, finding the wetness that pooled there for him, and sank two fingers deep between her folds. Emily moaned. He pleasured her with his hand, and each time she tried to shut her eyes, he demanded she look at him, so she did. His face was dark with shadows.

  “You left me. Your room was empty. Do you have any idea what that did to me?” The growls vibrated against her throat as he nuzzled her. “You are mine. Do you understand? I’ll never let you go. Never.”

  Finally, when Emily was weak-kneed from desire, he snagged her left thigh and wrapped it around his hip. He was poised at her entrance, the tip of him barely inside. For one tense second, their breaths mingled, their eyes locked, and then he plunged inside. Emily cried out. Her head fell back against the wall and Godric fisted his free hand in her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her still. The fingers of his other hand sank into the skin of her thigh as he impaled her against the wall. He kissed her again, taking her lips, a conquering warrior.

  Emily accepted it all, moving her hips into his, craving this new wildness. Her own hands scraped his back, marking him. Waves of pleasure rolled through her body as she neared her climax.

  Emily raked a hand through his hair. Godric dragged his lips away from hers so he could bury his face in her neck. He pounded harder into her and his thrusts sent her careening over the edge of bliss. Crimson spirals of dark rapture flashed over her eyes. She whispered his name like a midnight prayer, weakening in his arms. With a roar of primal satisfaction, he came. His seed spilled deep into her.

  Gasping for air, he sagged against her, keeping them both upright against the wall. Emily finally shut her eyes, stroking his hair, smoothing back the dark silky strands from his temples down to his neck, soothing him.

  “God, I’m such a bloody fool.” He shrank away from her. Emily’s knees buckled and she braced against the wall for support.

  “What do you mean?” His tone worried her and fear gnawed at her insides. He wasn’t holding her, kissing her. This was not the reunion she’d imagined. Panic began to trickl through her, and her vision blurred with tears.

  Godric was still muttering, not looking at her as he fixed his clothes. “You don’t love me. You never have.” The self-deprecating laugh which followed sent chills through her. “If you love someone, you don’t abandon them. You don’t hurt them.”

  “I didn’t abandon you, Godric, but I had to leave. I’m so sorry about the note I—” He silenced her with a wave of his hand before tossing her clothes at her feet.

  “But you’re in danger!”

  Godric ignored her. “Get dressed. We have to return home at once.”

  “But why?” Emily froze, gown half up her shaking calves. She had an eerie sensation of dread, as though she was climbing the stairs in the dark and thinking that there was a last step, her foot fell through the empty air, taking her body with it.

  “I think perhaps your uncle and I finally agree on something. You’ve outlived your usefulness, and it is time I returned you to him.”

  A slap across her cheek would have hurt less.

  I’ve outlived my usefulness?

  His affections had been merely a momentary attraction built on nothing but lust, just as she’d feared. Now he’d destroy her in return by delivering her back to her uncle and the marriage that would seal her doom.

  She blinked, dazed to find Godric holding a silver flask, no doubt filled with the water and laudanum she hated so much. The day couldn’t worsen, of that she was sure.

  “That won’t be necessary I promise to come quietly.” She stumbled. Thunder rattled the inn and lightning sparked outside the windows, a reflection of the turmoil in her heart.

  Godric studied her before pocketing the flask. “Very well, though your promises mean little to me.”

  She finished dressing, hastily shoving buttons in all of the wrong slits, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. She’d lost him. What she’d believed had been forgiveness, had merely been a final goodbye. Her own stupid actions had destroyed her precarious grip on his affection.

  An unfamiliar despair seized her in its grasp. Her lungs slowed, breath coming shorter and shorter. Black dots spotted her vision. She took a shaky step towards Godric, but the movement sent her vision spiraling out of control. Emily pitched forward as darkness descended and the floor rushed up to meet her.

  Godric caught Emily a second before she hit the floor. He cradled her to his chest, savoring the feel of her in his arms, then chastised himself for doing so.

  Her escape had proven her intentions well enough. Her whispered words of love were nothing more than lies, a clever ruse to lower his guard.

  He retrieved Emily’s small cloth bag where she’d set it down by the door. Her head lolled sideways, bumping into his chest. God, he was a fool.

  He was even more a fool for threatening to return her. He knew what life awaited her there—marriage to Blankenship, a lifetime of misery. He wanted her to deserve that after what she’d done to him, but revenge seemed the farthest thing from his heart.

  Emily needed to go. That was all. If she stayed, he’d do something he’d regret, like beg her to love him. He’d relive his boyhood all over again, seeking love, knowing it would never come. The self-loathing that coiled about him increased with every step as he finally opened the door and came out into the hall.

  Cedric and Charles were there, Cedric holding the struggling pup and Charles holding up a groggy but conscious Jonathan Helprin. All three men looked at Emily with deep concern.

  “Is she—” Charles began.

  “She’s fine. She fainted.” A nasty bruise had already formed on Jonathan’s jaw.

  “Your Grace, I swear nothing happened to her.”

  “I will deal with you when we return to the manor.” If he tried to talk to the man now, Godric would strangle him.

  His friends followed him as he carried Emily down the inn’s stairs, past the shocked guests, and back into the rain where Cedric held her until he mounted his horse. Once Emily was tucked into his arms, he relaxed, but only just.

  As night fell, they rode back toward the manor, the thundering skies heralding their return.

  When they arrived, Simkins took Jonathan and Penelope away to see to their care. Charles and Cedric followed Godric up to his bedchamber, where he lay Emily down. He stripped her of her wet dress and undergarments after the other two men stepped out into the corridor. He pulled back the covers and tucked her into his bed, then he called his friends back into the room.

  “Check the windows, Cedric. Charles, you lock the adjoining door.” They both scrambled to do this, no doubt fearing his black mood. Godric leaned down over Emily and tucked the blankets more firmly about her, right up to her chin. He gently brushed back the soft damp locks of her hair, then he motioned for his friends to leave with him. Time to deal with another traitor.

  They returned to the drawing room where Simkins and Jonathan were waiting.

  Godric turned to his butler. “Simkins, send someone to light a fire in my bedchamber. Not Libba.” Simkins bowed and disappeared.

  Charles started to edge towards the door. “Shall we…er…go too?”

  “Stay. You might need to keep me from killing this bastard,” Godric said as his gaze fixed on Jonathan. “But don’t try too hard.”

  Jonathan stood up, defiant. “Nothing happened, Your Grace. She asked for my help. I gave it. We only took the room at the inn to avoid the rain.”

  “You lie!” Godric’s fingers dug into his
palms as he clenched his fists. “She was half-naked, as were you!”

  Jonathan kicked the chair between them away. “You want to kill me? Then kill me! If you think you can.”

  Cedric and Charles each took a step forward, ready to intervene.

  “So be it!” Godric lunged for him and grabbed his shirt collar, shaking him.

  “Unhand him at once!”

  Godric and Jonathan stopped and turned, shocked to see who would dare address Godric that way. Simkins stood in the open doorway, as if he were the master of Essex House. When he had their attention, he returned to his usual self and added, “Your Grace.”

  Godric recovered himself. “Don’t interfere. It is a matter of honor.”

  Simkins raised a pistol from under his coat and aimed the barrel at Godric’s chest.

  “You will step away from your half-brother, Your Grace,” Simkins said, voice surprisingly calm.

  “Brother?” Godric asked, letting go of Jonathan’s shirt.

  Simkins lowered the pistol. “I vowed to your father that no harm would befall him. It puts me in a difficult position. I will of course tender my resignation after this, but I am firm in my decision to protect Jonathan.”

  Jonathan glanced sharply at Godric as the news sank in. “I’m his what?”

  Godric was not as surprised. Ever since Emily had mentioned it, he’d half suspected there was more to his valet’s past than he knew. He’d even warmed to the idea, but that was before tonight. Tonight was bad timing. Right now he wanted Jonathan dead.

  “I don’t care if he’s the king of England! If he harmed my Emily—”

  “Then we will deal with that problem, but only if Miss Parr confirms your belief that he has, in fact, harmed her.”

  Godric groaned, his shoulders hunching forward as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard he saw stars. Right now he didn’t even feel like the master of his own house. Not with his butler pointing a pistol at him.

  “How…how are we brothers?” Jonathan demanded.

  Simkins lowered the pistol but didn’t put it away. “The late duke sought comfort in your mother’s arms. He cared about her, as he did you. When he fell ill I vowed to care for you as I have His Grace.”

  “So I really am—”

  “A bastard,” Godric supplied.

  “No. Jonathan is a legitimate son of the former Duke of Essex. He married her in secret ten months before Jonathan was born. His birth was recorded in the parish registry under your father’s name, Your Grace.”

  “If I’m not a bastard why wasn’t I raised alongside him?” Jonathan jabbed a finger in Godric’s direction.

  Heavy lines creased Simkins eyes. “The former duke told me, on his deathbed, to keep Godric an only child. He never wanted the truth of your heritage to be known, unless Godric died without an heir.”

  “Why would he do that?” Jonathan’s anger began to overshadow Godric’s. “Why would he take from me my right as a duke’s son?”

  “Your father realized he’d been terribly cruel to Godric and that admitting he’d found love with another would only make matters worse, and he feared Godric would be jealous of you.”

  Godric couldn’t believe it. The stupid man! Godric would have preferred a brother over solitude. That his father chose to love a lady’s maid made no difference, but to be denied his brother all these years did.

  Jonathan looked to his brother, uncertain what to say. “Well then… Where does that leave us?”

  Godric frowned. “You’re still a bastard.”

  “If you think I’m ever polishing another boot of yours, you’re mistaken. I am not a bastard and you cannot treat me like one.”

  “I didn’t mean that kind of bastard, you imbecile. You’re a bastard for touching my Emily!”

  “Your Emily? Such devotion you must have instilled in her if the poor thing was crying her eyes out.”

  Charles sighed and leaned against the mantle. “Ah, brotherly love. Reminds me of home.”

  Cedric stifled a chuckle. “For you, perhaps. Didn’t you challenge your own brother, to a duel over a woman?”

  “Yes, bit of rotten luck that. Mother found us counting paces in the garden. That woman can still wield a switch to make a grown man cry.”

  “Well, Jonathan certainly has the St. Laurent temper, eh, Godric?”

  How many times had Godric hated being an only child? Now he was blessed, or rather cursed, with a sibling, just like the rest of the League.

  Godric and Jonathan shared murderous looks, but a sudden commotion outside scattered their attention.

  “Godric!” someone yelled.

  Lucien and Ashton burst into the drawing room, knocking Simkins out of the way in their haste. The pistol fell from his grasp and hit the floor, setting it off and shattering a vase not three feet from where Godric stood.

  It took a moment for the panic everyone felt to subside and return to normal. If anything about today could be called normal.

  “Godric!” Lucien noticed the butler and the weapon on the floor. “Why was Simkins holding a gun?”

  Charles waved a hand for the newcomers to get comfortable. “My dear Lucien, it’s just like you to start a conversation at the most boring part.”

  Ashton looked between Godric and Jonathan. “What? Boring?”

  Godric threw a pointed look at Jonathan. “Ashton, Lucien… Meet my half-brother, Jonathan.”

  Lucien looked more than a little confused. “Brother?”

  Ashton checked his pocket watch. “But we’ve only been gone one day…”

  Cedric crossed his arms. “Lessons in recent ancestry can wait. Now what’s happened with you two?”

  Ashton said, “We were able to follow Evangeline in London. Blankenship hired her, Godric. She came here to spy on you, to make sure you did in fact have Emily.”

  Hearing her name ripped Godric’s gaze from his brother to Ashton.

  “What? She was Blankenship’s puppet?” Godric blinked in shock. It would explain everything. Her strange story, showing up at his home with a forged note. That crafty bastard.

  Ashton nodded. “Not exactly. Say what you will of her, but I think we all know that woman is no one’s puppet. Evangeline told Blankenship that she convinced Emily to escape or else Blankenship’s men would show up and kill all of us to get to her. Emily must be stopped before she does something foolish.”

  Godric choked. “Too late…”

  Christ, he’d done the worst thing possible. He’d hurt her for the crime of trying to save him. He had repaid her devotion by locking her in his bedchamber yet again. If there hadn’t been a circle of hell reserved for him before, he’d just qualified for an entire realm.

  The blood drained from Lucien’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “She made it to Blackbriar village with the aid of my brother. We’ve only just returned.”

  Ashton frowned. “And Emily?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Well, have her come down. We need to discuss what to do about Blankenship.”

  “That is not exactly possible,” said Cedric. “He left her somewhat…indisposed upstairs.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Lucien.

  Ashton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Godric, listen to me. She only left to protect you. She does not know how capable you are of defending yourself. She did it because she loved you and couldn’t bear to see you hurt for her sake.”

  Charles and Cedric exchanged grim looks. Jonathan’s face paled and he failed to meet Godric’s eyes.

  “It’s too late, isn’t it?” asked Ashton.

  Godric nodded, and turned his back on them. “I’ve wounded her in a way she will never forgive.” He couldn’t forgive betrayal so how could she? Knowing she was lost to him forever, because he’d acted rashly, let his temper direct his actions, made the agony of her loss worse.

  “Excuse me.” He left the room and no one dared stop him.

  Godric had barricaded himself in his study, and it was
up to the others to take up the mantle of Emily’s care and protection.

  They found her in Godric’s bed.

  Emily shifted slightly, still asleep. All of them were as guilty of ruining and hurting Emily as Godric was. That would change.

  Ashton turned to Lucien. “See to having a fresh pair of undergarments ready for her when she wakes.”

  Lucien nodded and left to find her clothes.

  Ashton eased himself down on the edge of the bed and bent down to press his lips against her forehead. She felt feverish beneath his kiss. If she became ill… No, he mustn’t think such thoughts.

  He smoothed her hair back from her brow. “Sleep, dear Emily.”

  Lucien returned and took a position near the foot of the bed in a chair. The nearby fire crackled and sparked in the darkness.

  The League had gone too far to satisfy its pride and lust.

  Emily stirred, her breath shallow.

  Heavy rocks lay on her chest. It was harder and harder to fill her lungs.

  Panic surged through her, making her body shudder. Glass shards seemed to be embedded in her throat when she tried to swallow. She needed to cough, but no strength remained. The rasp of her indrawn breath sounded like an ominous death rattle.

  “Emily!” A man’s voice. Low, hoarse, and grating to her ears. She winced as she tried to swallow again, and finally managed a weak cough.

  “Emily?” The voice was a familiar one, a warm hand on her forehead.

  Where am I?

  Sensations crept back on her, the soft slide of bed sheets beneath her bare skin, the aroma of sandalwood. Men were nearby. Who? Though she couldn’t see it, she could feel the pulsing rhythm of a candle nearby.

  “Quick, Charles, the water.” Cedric, her mind finally recalled. She was at Godric’s estate, in his bed. Once again a captive of the League of Rogues.

  “Go…dric…”

  Cedric shushed her, then raised a glass of water to her cracked lips. She drank, the cool water a balm to her parched throat. Her eyelids finally cracked open. She was in Godric’s bedroom; Cedric and Charles hovered over her. She shivered and rubbed her naked arms—