by Lauren Smith
Blankenship stopped his pacing. “How positive are you that it is the Duke of Essex who holds her?”
Albert looked down at his desk, avoiding the gleam in the other man’s eyes.
“I would recognize this handwriting anywhere.”
Blankenship digested this before replying. “What would cause him to take the girl?”
“I owe Essex twenty thousand pounds. He invested it with me, but the investment fell short. I used his funds to repay you for part of the debt I owe. He’s discovered his money is gone.” Albert fought the urge to set his head on the desk and remain still until he died. “The man has a violent temper and now he’s taken Emily as revenge.”
Blankenship studied the letter, his nose and cheeks reddened with irritation. “Why would a duke risk the rumors of the ton over such a meager amount? He has ten times that tucked away in investments, and his annual income makes this amount laughable.”
“It is just the sort of thing he would do. He’s one of those rogues, that group that meets at the Berkley’s club every month.”
“Yes, yes, the League of Rogues, or whoever they are. Spoiled paramours and nothing more. They do not matter. I want the girl returned to me. She is mine!” Blankenship snarled with such venom that Albert slid back a foot in his chair.
“How do you propose I get her back? The duke has taken her. Her reputation is ruined, even if he hasn’t yet touched her.”
“Demand he send her back at once.” Blankenship then tossed the letter onto Albert’s desk.
“Even if I challenged him to a duel, he’d probably laugh it off. He has what he wants now, and he won’t give her back—not until he’s satisfied she’s beyond redemption in the eyes of the ton.”
“You don’t want to have her back?” The deadly chill in Blankenship’s eyes unsettled Albert. “What about our bargain? Your debts to me would be satisfied when the girl is mine.”
Albert had not regretted the uneasy partnership between them, until now. Something evil, something black and cruel, floated in the other man’s gaze and put him on edge.
While Essex was rumored to be a grand seducer, Blankenship’s reputation soiled the walls of London’s brothels as the nastiest man alive. Women came away from his bed with bruises and shattered souls. Albert wasn’t a man to judge others about their bed sport, but knowing that Emily would be one of Blankenship’s permanent victims had unsettled his stomach to the point of queasiness. Still what was he to do? The debts he owed could have both him and Emily out on the streets in minutes if their owners demanded payment. At least her marriage to Blankenship would keep a roof over both their heads.
If Essex had her, perhaps it was for the best for everyone, including his own soul.
“I have no interest in her return. I was willing to sell her to you, wasn’t I? As I see it, now she has a chance of catching a duke’s eye, either as wife or mistress, and I will soon be rid of her.” It was the truth. Keeping that girl fed and clothed had been a costly endeavor for an indebted man. It wasn’t that he disliked her, but he had little choice if he was to keep the creditors at bay.
“So you won’t contact the authorities? Surely someone will notice she’s gone missing. Servants talk, Parr.”
“Not mine. And no, I shan’t go to the authorities. The last thing I wish to do is call attention to myself.”
“Allow me to act in your stead. Let me use the authorities at your request to confront Essex and demand the girl be returned. Once I’ve brought her back, she’ll be mine.”
“And if she comes to your marriage bed no longer a maiden?”
“Then she’ll not bear my name, but she’ll still warm my bed.”
Albert shivered with revulsion at Blankenship’s lecherous smile. He would no doubt treat her the same as he would any doxy off the street. Albert cared about his niece’s fate, but his own problems far outweighed hers. Blankenship had a reputation for making men disappear, sometimes reappearing face down in the Thames. The last thing Albert wanted was to end up dead because of his debts. Emily being used as a bargaining tool was the best purpose she could serve. May God forgive him.
“Fine, she is your problem.” Albert rose from his seat with a grimace, and looked at Blankenship with a direct stare, wishing the man would be off—to heaven, to hell, it mattered not. “Now, will you excuse me? I have matters to attend to.”
Blankenship stood stock-still, then curved one end of his lips. “If I don’t get her, your debt remains unpaid, Parr. You know what happens to men who don’t pay.” His face set, the older man turned on his heel and vanished out the door. The ominous threat clouded the air like smoke.
Chapter Three
Emily collapsed on her bed, and her whole body shook. Her face burned.
“Abducted by a duke.”
Emily rubbed her temples, her headache returning. This was a nightmare. What would her mother have done in such a situation? Acknowledge the facts. First, in the eyes of society she was as good as ruined. Second, she was at the mercy of a man who wanted to actually ruin her. Third, she needed to figure out what to do about the first and second facts.
Emily drew in a deep breath. She had to make a choice: escape and return to her uncle and Blankenship, remain here with Godric or hope she could make a match with some man desperate to get access to her fortune regardless of her tainted state. Only one of these options held real appeal.
Godric. The idea half terrified, half thrilled her. Did she want to be with someone though who infuriated her with his arrogance, despite his pleasing form?
Emily’s shoulders sagged. All she wanted was to have the freedom to travel and live her life, hopefully with a man who loved her at her side. She wanted to be in control of her own fate and her own fortune. Even though her inheritance would be under her husband’s control, if she was lucky, she might have some say in its use.
If she stayed with Godric, she’d be at his mercy. He claimed he would take her as a mistress…if they suited. Emily snorted. She doubted that he was the sort of man who would do right by a woman. He and his friends had abducted her after all, and this morning’s encounter hadn’t exactly reassured her of his good character. Instead it had reinforced her of his ill intentions. Perhaps if she could get back to London, she could seek refuge with Anne and figure out what to do and how she might still find a husband. It was a slim chance. Even ruined, she might stand a small chance of enticing one of them to marry her. But what about her uncle? He’d prefer to sell her off to pay his debts, as Godric said. Whatever man she could find would have to be willing to go to Gretna Green with her and then face her mother’s cousin and pray he wouldn’t prove troublesome in handing over her inheritance. The entire idea gave her a headache.
She jumped as the door to her room opened. Godric waited, keys in hand, wearing far more clothes than when she’d last encountered him. The sudden memory of him in his bed sent her heart skipping. Were all ruined women this easily distracted by the sight of a handsome man? It irritated her that she was so affected by him when he’d only caused trouble for her.
“Hungry?” Godric offered her his arm.
Emily grimaced. How could he stand there and pretend they hadn’t been discussing her being his mistress and with him only half-clothed just minutes ago? With a defiant lift of her chin, she marched towards the stairs, ignoring him. She halted abruptly when she reached the bottom. She hadn’t a clue where to go. She wanted to dash for the nearest door, but Emily suspected she wouldn’t make it ten feet before Godric pounced on her.
Godric’s lip’s quirked slightly, too lazy to complete the smile. “I wouldn’t try to run, Miss Parr. My servants have strict instructions to keep you in this house by any means necessary.”
As if to prove his point, a footman exited a nearby door and paused at seeing his master. When Godric nodded slightly, the footman took a moment to study Emily, as though assessing her strengths and weaknesses, before he continued on his way and entered the door down the hall.
Emily
sighed and waved a hand. “Please lead the way then, Your Grace.”
Godric grinned and strode away without a backward glance, expecting her to follow.
It was now or never. Seizing what might be her only chance, Emily whirled to the left, toward a large door not twenty feet away that might lead outside. Clutching her skirts, she sprinted towards it, blood pounding in her ears. Suddenly she pitched forward, falling flat on her stomach.
The cold stone bit into her hands as she sought to brace her fall. Something had latched onto her right ankle. Panting for breath, she looked over her shoulder. Godric crouched behind her, a feral glint in his eyes. “I thought I advised against running, Miss Parr.” Godric smiled as though they were playing some game. It infuriated her. This was her life, her freedom.
“Let me go! You have no right to keep me here.” Emily kicked at his hand with her free foot, but he caught it, then slid her along the floor on her stomach until she lay beneath his crouched body. He released her ankle and rested one forearm on the floor next to her head, and his other hand gripped her hip.
Emily lay still as a doe in the glen catching the scent of man, then focused on her counterattack. She tensed and flipped onto her back, backhanding him with a sharp crack across the face.
The fingers on her hip tightened. “The time you spend here can be civil or not. I shall leave it up to you, but know that for every act of defiance, I will demand something of you in return.” He growled. “You may not like the price.”
His face loomed above hers with the terrible beauty of a vengeful god. With aching slowness he caged her in using his body to trap her. She shuddered at the heavy contact as his limbs matched hers. Ice warred with fire along her skin as she fought tremors of fear. It was as though she faced a lion—raw beauty, extreme power and a posed threat—yet she couldn’t look away. He would devour her.
Reality struck her, reminding her to fight him. His chest was a wall of steel, however. Immovable as a mountain. Left gasping after her efforts, Emily’s eyes burned with tears. She couldn’t free herself, not from him, not from this place.
Godric cupped her cheek with one hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb lightly over the curve of her lower lip. The warmth of his breath and the hint of his scent tangled her senses and rationality until she was a jumbled mess. Fear sparked inside her, like flashes of lightning hidden behind black clouds.
Godric could very easily take her, brutally and completely, and she had no way to defend herself. She had to say something, something to placate him and protect herself.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Without warning, his hands were at her waist, his fingers moving teasingly at the right spot to make her burst into a fit of giggles. She kicked out of pure instinct, trying to cease his the fiendish attack at her weak spot.
“Stop! Please!” she gasped. “Please, I beg you!”
Only when tears where burning in her eyes and she was all but hysterical with laughter, did he stop. The whole time he had hovered over her with a wolfish grin, torturing her with those featherlight touches.
“I did warn you about exacting a price. I won’t hesitate to use such weapons again.” He wiggled his fingertips. If he was going to resort to such weaponry when dealing with her, she would have to keep her distance. It was impossible to maintain her dignity and insist he treat her like the lady she was when she was too busy laughing and gasping for breath like some helpless peahen.
He eased off her and helped her to her feet.
“Shall we try this again?” His voice was low and husky.
Did he have to be so tall and…and intense? Her instincts still screamed for her to run.
Dazed, Emily managed a shaky nod. Her body still trembled from the aftermath of his tickling.
“Would you like to accompany me to breakfast, Miss Parr?”
When she nodded again, he tucked her arm in his and led her to the dining room.
If she couldn’t outrun him, perhaps she could try a different tactic. Emily believed in the power of good, solid conversation. Maybe she could convince him to see reason, though that seemed as likely as convincing an angry bull not to charge. She frowned and worried her lower lip with her teeth.
“What on earth are you frowning about?”
Emily ducked her head, hoping to hide her face from him. “Nothing, Your Grace. I am weary from last night’s exertions, that is all.”
She could have sworn he muttered something about a different kind of exertion last night, but she hadn’t a clue what he meant. Before she could speak again, they reached the dining room.
Morning sunlight illuminated a large room with a table that could easily seat twelve. The bottom half of the walls consisted of cherry wood panels, and the upper half was painted a warm butter yellow. Massive portraits hung from them, where dark-haired men from various eras stared back at Emily, each of them hiding a hint of a smile in their eyes.
This room was different than the rest of the house. It felt more intimate and oddly rustic given the tall, wide windows that covered the wall opposite the sideboard. A wealth of Forsythia shrubs reached halfway up each one, the vivid yellow a bright contrast against the tangling emerald ivy that laced the windows’ edges. Emily felt as though she had walked into an enchanted world surrounded by flowers.
Rather than seem out of place, Godric ruled his lands like a god of nature. He did not swagger. Rather, his stride was graceful, almost feline, when he led her into the dining room.
Emily suffered a strange moment of pride at the thought that a man like him had offered her to join him in bed. He’d slept with scores of women, that’s what rakes did, but still…he’d declared his interest in her. As foolish as it was, she relished being wanted, until she reminded herself that she must stand strong against him and his merry band of rogues.
On the sideboard behind the table someone had spread out an array of fruits, ham, beef and eggs. Three men sat near one end of the table. A handsome man with red hair and hazel eyes read a newspaper and offered a calculated smile as Emily and Godric entered.
She glanced down at herself and realized how wrinkled her dress had become. Did he know that just outside the door, Godric had tickled her into submission? It still upset her that his means at subduing her were so effective.
The man holding the paper rose along with the other two men. They all bowed politely when Godric pressed her down into a seat across from the man who resumed his perusal of The Morning Post. Godric’s hands lingered heavily on her shoulders, the pressure a clear message to keep her bottom planted in her chair or suffer the consequences.
The red-haired man set his paper down and held a rack of toast out to her. “Good morning, Miss Parr. Did you sleep well?” Emily kept her head declined as she took a piece, her hand shaking as she set it on her plate. The three men exchanged glances. A silent conversation hummed in the air between them.
“Yes, thank you. I slept quite well.”
Emily became increasingly self-conscious of the fact she sat in a room alone with four powerful lords. The pale blond man on her right was Lord Ashton Lennox, a wealthy baron. She’d caught a glimpse of him two nights before, at her first come out when Anne Chessley had pointed to him. He’d been near the refreshments, drinking a glass of wine and speaking to a lovely young lady, a girl whose father was one of the owners of Drummond’s Bank.
Godric chose the seat on her left, while the third man, Cedric, sat down next to the man with the paper. The seating arrangements had her entirely boxed in.
Her hands fisted in her lap.
Breathe, Emily. Breathe. She drew in the scented air and forced her body into calmness. If she couldn’t flee the room, she would learn as much about her captors as she could. “Pardon me, but are you the Marquess of Rochester or the Earl of Lonsdale?” she asked quietly of the fourth man.
He raised a brow.
Emily blushed as all eyes descended upon her.
“Last night I heard the names: The Duke of Essex
and Viscount Sheridan. Since I’m acquainted with Miss Chessley, I’ve heard those names in connection with three more: the Marquess of Rochester; the Earl of Lonsdale; and Baron Lennox. I apologize if I was mistaken in my assumption,” she said hastily, but the man’s hazel eyes twinkled.
“Don’t apologize, Miss Parr, you are quite right. I am the Marquess of Rochester Please address me as Lucien. None of us are overly fond of titles, especially in the company of such a lovely lady. That gentleman over there is Baron Lennox.” Lucien pointed to the man who had cornered her by the coach the night before. “Lonsdale has yet to grace us with his presence. Speaking of which, Ash, would you go and rouse him? Best to get him up and walking, or last night’s port will make him disagreeable the rest of the day.”
Ashton smiled pleasantly at Emily before he departed. There was something kind in the man’s face, a sympathetic look to his bright blue eyes that gave her a flash of hope. However, she couldn’t help but wonder why he needed to wake Charles when a servant could have done so.
“You’re a friend of Anne Chessley’s?” Cedric asked.
“Yes. She’s been so kind to me since I moved to London, my lord.”
“Oh, I insist you call me Cedric. I can’t stand that ‘lord’ nonsense. Now, tell me, does she mention me often?” He waggled his eyebrows and Emily almost grinned. This is the man who drugged you, don’t forget.
Setting aside Godric’s arrogance and veiled threats, the others did not seem all that villainous. But she knew of their reputations thanks to The Quizzing Glass Gazette. They’d willingly gone along with Godric’s scheme to abduct her. Yet she felt safer in their presence than with a man like Blankenship. Perhaps it was because they were all naturally charming. A quality that no doubt furthered their schemes to ruin women all over London.
It was obvious that Godric was in charge, but it seemed that the other men did not bow to him in every decision. With some persuasion, perhaps a tear or two and begging, she could get the others to see what Godric had done was wrong and she should be set free. Even rogues had to have hearts…didn’t they?