Wicked Designs (The League of Rogues) (14 page)

Adapting to Ashton’s ferocity, Godric retaliated. He snuck in a left-handed hook and caught Ashton in the right eye. It would blacken nicely by the next morning. But his victory was short-lived as Ashton returned the favor.

The fight continued for another five minutes. Ashton fought as though possessed. His relentless pursuit wore Godric down. None of the others interfered. Some things could only be resolved in a ring.

Godric fell back again, finally finding his breath.

“Dammit, man, why are you trying to pound me into oblivion?”

“Why?” Ashton punctuated the word with a blow to Godric’s lower cheek. Blood dribbled down from Godric’s split lip. “If I ever find out that you’ve made that dear woman cry even one more tear, so help me, Godric…”

Ashton spoke with such venom that Godric’s fists dropped. Ashton finished him off with an uppercut. Godric toppled backwards, landing on the mat with a loud groan. Ashton lowered his hands to wipe his bloody knuckles on his trousers.

“Well, I think my point has been made.” He took a few deep breaths, approached Godric and held out a hand.

He took it and Ashton pulled Godric onto his feet. “Point taken, friend. I’ve done her a great harm and needed to be reminded of my vow.”

Ashton clamped a hand down on his shoulder in approval. “Sorry, Godric, but I knew there was no other way to get through to you.”

“Just answer me one question. Was I off my game or have you always gone easy on me in the ring?”

“You will never find that out, I’m afraid.” He turned on his heel and retrieved his clothes from Lucien. Once they’d cooled off and were fully dressed, Ashton turned back to Godric.

“Now that this matter is behind us, I believe you owe a large stack of books and an apology to a certain lady.”

“She told you about…”

Ashton smiled. “She told me everything. She’s so traumatized by your cruelty that she’s convinced she was a wretched kisser. You know that is the worst thing men like us can do to a woman. We’re rakes, not bastards. We seek to love women, not spurn them.”

“What on earth did you do to that sweet kitten?” Cedric demanded.

When Godric didn’t reply, Ashton sighed. “Godric demanded a kiss, and when she did he dared to chastise her for kissing like a child. You’ll be lucky if she ever forgives you.”

Shame heated Godric’s face, but he reminded himself that he’d walked away for her sake and his. He couldn’t allow Emily to fall in love with him, but that was exactly what her kiss threatened.

As if reading this thoughts, Ashton put a hand on Godric’s shoulder. “I think she has feelings for you, Godric.”

The men left the boxing room and moved into the main hall. Simkins passed by and froze at the sight of his bruised and bloody master. “Your Grace?”

“Don’t worry, Simkins, just having a bit of fun.”

“Very good. I’ll send a maid to clean up, Your Grace.” Simkins looked over Godric into the boxing room. “Perhaps two are in order? And one of the larger buckets?” He bowed and departed.

Godric decided Ashton was right. For that one kiss Emily had earned a stack of books.

Emily was curled up on the window seat when someone knocked on her bedroom door.

“Come in.” Her eyes were focused on the gardens below. The faint ghost of her face reflected in the thick pane of glass. Emily put her hand on the glass and let the sun’s warmth heat her cool palm. For a moment she lost herself in the sensation, letting everything else drift away, before the world demanded she face it again.

“Emily?” Godric’s voice played like a forbidden symphony. She turned her head just enough to present him with her profile but didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear it. She wanted to go back to despising him for his pig-headed nonsense.

Loving him would be the greatest mistake of my life. He’d break my heart. I’d be left with nothing
.

“Emily, I’ve brought you something.” A rustle sounded from behind her, and items fell on her bed. The door settled in its frame as Godric shut it.

“Please, just go,” she said. But her heart ached to beg him to stay, to take back his cruel words.

“If that is what you want—”

She nodded.

“But I have something to say first. Will you please look at me?” Footsteps came closer, that scent so uniquely his, so close behind her.

Emily turned. Her lips parted in horror at his bruised and bleeding face.

“Godric, you’ve been hurt!” She reached up to his face but did not touch, afraid to harm him further. He patted her hands and she winced at his bruised knuckles. For a long second neither of them spoke. Something between them had changed. She was forced to admit she cared about him and he was revealing a tenderness she hadn’t thought he was capable of. His eyes met hers, a spark shared between them and a blush heated her cheeks.

“What happened?”

“Ashton and I had a discussion. A rather thorough one.”

He kissed her hands and released them then pointed to the bed. A stack of books had toppled over in a small literary heap. There had to be at least eight. Curiosity got the best of her. She climbed onto the bed to peruse the titles. It was an unexpected pleasure to find that he’d brought her more than she’d asked for. Emily dared not look at him, her eyes still red from the weight of tears. Instead she turned her attention to the gift he’d brought and what it might mean.

When she climbed up onto the bed, Godric wanted to catch hold of her from behind. She looked irresistible with the loose curls of hair on her neck and the sway of her bottom. She moved with the grace of a wood nymph. He knew she would be a playful bed partner, eager and delightful in her moments of rapture.
What the blazes is wrong with me?

He fought off the heady rush of desire and focused on her. Emily’s hands caressed the covers of each book, her eyes roving over the selection, oblivious to him. Godric feared he would ruin the moment if he joined her, but decided to take the chance. He eased himself on the edge of the bed nearest her while she sorted the books into piles.

“I brought a little of everything. I was unsure as to your preference.”

Emily tucked up her skirts around her knees as she folded her legs to sit more comfortably.

“Philosophy, art, gothic romances, sciences.” She scanned the piles with such delight that Godric expected snow to fall outside, for her eyes lit up like a child’s during Christmas. He wished in that moment he was a poet or an artist, so desperate was he to capture the beauty of Emily’s soul. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a blush coloring her face. In the afternoon light he could make out the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Most women would have hidden them with powder. Not Emily, she bore them without a thought. He adored that about her, she did not dwell on what other women would have seen as flaws.

“I’m intrigued by your choices. What makes you think I would be interested in science or philosophy?”

“You struck me as an intellectual reader, not one prone to frivolous reading such as books on sewing or manners.”

“Manners?” Emily scoffed. “A rather bold claim coming from you. But these are all excellent choices. However, you’ve brought me too many.” She pushed them all away save one,
The Iliad and The Odyssey
.

Godric leaned over and with the sweep of his arm brought the books back. “Consider the rest a prelude to my apology.” He caught her chin in one hand, his thumb sweeping over her chin and up to outline the bottom of her lower lip.

“You are apologizing?”

“Yes, and not just for what I said earlier, but for everything—the abduction, the lake and the laudanum. All of it.” He meant it too. Hurting her seemed akin to stabbing his own heart and he couldn’t bear it. She was weakening him, and he should send her away before she destroyed his solitary life. But the thought of not seeing her was equally incomprehensible. She leaned into his caress, like a cat seeking affection. That simple action seared him with a heated pleasure.

“Don’t apologize for everything.” Her lashes fluttered as she looked at him, a secretive smile on her lips.

“I’ve not wronged you by all my actions then?” He laughed.

“Not
all
your actions.” She studied the book she held, then opened the pages and sighed.

“My mistake: I forgot you could not read Greek.” Godric reached for the novel she held. While the title was typeset in English, the text itself was entirely in Greek.

“This is one of my favorite stories. My father never cared for novels, but he loved the classics and would read this one to me often.” She held it out to him. “Would you read it to me?”

“But you won’t be able to understand it. I suppose I could translate it for you.” He took the book from her curiously.

“I know the story by heart in English, and if you just read it aloud to me to me in Greek, I can imagine it myself and follow along. Consider it another part of your apology.”

Godric stretched out on the bed and Emily joined him, curling her body up against him, her head on his shoulder. He let the book fall open to the first page, took a deep breath, and began to read.

The next hour passed in soft sunlight and the murmur of a foreign tongue. He was a child again, reveling in the pleasure of a well-told tale and the comfort of Emily’s presence. He cherished the innocent fall of her head on his shoulder and tucked her against him by wrapping one arm around her waist.

When he reached a good stopping point, he marked his place with the purple satin bookmark and set it aside, turning his attention to Emily. How long had it been since he’d spent time with a woman on a bed, sharing an intimate moment that didn’t end in the shedding of clothes? Too long. This moment contained a fullness, a ripeness, that gave him a bottomless sense of peace. But something this grand and enchantingly perfect could never last.

He didn’t deserve her.

He wasn’t worthy of love, especially not Emily’s.

She’d return to her uncle and be married to that horrible Blankenship fellow just to settle a debt. Surely there had to be a way to save her from such a fate, but he couldn’t think of one. It was impossible to make her his mistress. She’d find him unworthy and her disappointment would kill him. Could he marry her? Offer her a life uncertain of love? Godric forced himself to stop thinking of something so wretched and tried to turn his mind elsewhere.

“Shall we go to dinner?” His breath stirred her hair.

She tilted her face up, lips brushing his so lightly it was more a memory of a kiss. “Yes.”

Emily moved away and in that moment Godric’s heart leapt to follow her. What if she was his, not just now, but always?

A potent yearning gnawed deep in him for such a life. The despair that followed required Godric to quiet the unfamiliar urge to rage and cry all at once, and master himself again.

He still needed to make sure she would not fall for him. It shouldn’t be too hard—he just had to be himself.

Chapter Seven

Ready to return to her room after dinner, Emily rose from her chair. “Do I have your permission to retire, Your Grace?”

Godric caught her by her right arm, tugging her right onto his lap. She ought to have struggled, she knew that, but she found it nearly impossible to summon any will to get away. It seemed her heart had finally decided to fight against her head.

“Will you stay in your room as you promised?”

“I promise I won’t escape tonight.” She tried to remove herself from his lap. “I gave my word.”

He grunted softly and grabbed her by the back of the neck, bringing her mouth towards his. He kissed her deeply, almost primitively, with a harsh penetration of his tongue. Her body melted against his fire.

Ashton cleared his throat.

Emily wrenched her face away, embarrassed he would treat her like this in front of the others. She tried to slap Godric, but he caught her hand.

“I’ve had enough bruises for one day. I won’t let you slap me. Remember that, Emily.”

“I am not a fast lady. You cannot go about manhandling me.”

“She has you there.” Ashton snickered into his wine glass.

Godric ignored him, his full attention on her, her hand still raised, and his still holding it back. There was something in his gaze, a wildness born of his desire to chase her.

“May I go now, Your Grace?”

“You may.” She started to pull free but he prevented it. “If you give me another kiss goodnight.”

He flashed her that smug grin, and she really did want to hit him. Emily was beginning to despise her confusion when it came to Godric.

“Very well, although in my opinion you’ve had far too many kisses today, Your Grace.”

She leaned down to kiss his forehead. He caught her chin and brought her mouth further down to meet his. Her raised hand dropped to his shoulder as he delved into her mouth with his tongue. It was so easy for the world to fade when he kissed like that.
Damn him.

Godric’s arm around her waist tightened, but that called her back to reality, and she wriggled free of his grasp.

“Fine, go.”

His treatment of her only reaffirmed her belief that she would be nothing more than a mistress, a body to warm his bed. He didn’t respect her the way he would a wife. Then again, there was no guarantee he’d respect a wife. His reputation was shadowed with tales of seducing married women away from their cold marriage beds. Obviously, he had no concern for the sanctity of marriage. Which meant even if he married someone like her, he’d most likely continue on with his affairs. The thought was sickening.