by Lauren Smith
She’d also heard the name Ash last night, most likely Ashton Lennox, a wealthy baron. The other two men were no doubt Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, and Charles Humphrey, the Earl of Lonsdale. Emily swallowed down a bitter laugh. What young debutante wouldn’t dream of such a romantic experience as being abducted by the five most handsome, rich, influential and eligible men in all of England?
Emily, however, wanted nothing more than to escape, not entertain notions of marriage to any of them. They weren’t the type of men to marry. Still, she wondered what sort of husband the Duke of Essex would make. A good lover if whispers were true, but more likely to marry for purpose rather than love.
After a decent wash with the fresh water from the basin, she donned the gown Mr. Simkins provided, a lovely, simple design that buttoned up the front. The skirts had been cut high enough to display the tips of her slippers, and the sleeves puffed out slightly at the shoulders.
Emily yanked at the door handle. It didn’t budge. How on earth was she to get to out? She was locked inside. Trapped. Her body tensed as a wave of panic swept through her. She ran to the windows and pulled at the sill but it wouldn’t lift. To her horror, she noted a pair of nails embedded deep in the wood, sealing it. She frantically scanned the room, noticing a narrow, barely identifiable door to the left of her bed.
Where on earth does this lead to? A discrete servant’s entrance, perhaps? “Might as well try it.”
The handle gave way and swung inward to a second room.
A massive four-poster bed stood against one wall. Her eyes latched onto the body tangled in the sheets. She caught a wide view of a sun-kissed muscular back and a head of dark hair…the duke. He’d put her in an adjoining chamber. Emily padded softly to his door. It too was locked. She rushed over to his window and, like in her room, it refused to open.
She returned to his door, pressing herself against the wood, and debated screaming for help. Her lips parted, a shout on the tip of her tongue, then stopped. She was in his house, with his servants. There would be no help here, not for a captive of the duke. Anger replaced part of her fear, at least temporarily.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she growled under her breath and turned back to face Godric.
The distant gleam of gold on the opposite side of the bed, near the wall, caught Emily’s eye. She tiptoed across the wooden floor, toward him. His breathing was soft and slow; still fast asleep.
“Ah, yes.” A small set of brass keys, secured to Godric’s wrist by a leather string, gleamed underneath the sunlight. Emily debated: wait until he woke on his own, or try to escape now and chance waking him in her attempt to snatch the keys.
The hand with the keys lay on the opposite side of the bed, which was a little too close to the wall for her to get to. To reach them, Emily had to crawl over him. Her pulse beat wildly and her blood roared in her ears as she tried to accept what she would have to do. She’d have to touch him, the man who’d kidnapped and drugged her. Not just touch him…but crawl over the length of his body…in his bed. Could she do this? Her father had always called her brave. But being so close to a man, alone and locked inside with him in a bedroom, was she brave enough to get the keys?
Her eyes closed and she summoned the courage she’d called upon so easily the night before.
I can do this. I must do this.
She lifted her skirts past her knees and put one foot on the oak bed frame as she climbed. Hands and knees far apart, she dispersed her weight. The last thing she needed was to dip the bed and waken the devil.
Godric was so big, she had to reach with much care to grab the keys without falling. Emily held her breath and leaned over, her breasts inches from skimming over his back as she sought the tools to her freedom. She looped one finger under the leather strap around his wrist, and pulled it toward her, but the leather stuck to his skin.
She would have to touch him. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The air in her lungs burned and she tried in vain to find an alternative. There wasn’t one. She needed the keys and they were attached to the man in the bed.
Emily used her thumb and forefinger to lift his wrist an inch off the bed as her other hand dragged the keys from under his arm.
The fabric around her knees started to slide. Gravity worked against her precarious position. Another second and she’d—
Thump!
Emily fell onto Godric’s back lying perpendicular to him. He groaned softly, rolling onto his back beneath her and she shifted over him to stay on top. His right hand—the keys still laced there—settled on her lower back, patting it.
Emily inhaled sharply. She was stretched out across his stomach and groin. He was still asleep. She shifted, trying to reach his hand without alerting him.
“Hmm…you naughty girl.” Godric’s face broke into a dreamy smile. “Evangeline, now don’t squirm.”
Evangeline? Probably his mistress. Emily scowled and reached for his hand again, but her movement was pointless. Godric’s hand drifted over her backside and struck her bottom in a playful spank.
She wrenched her body free. “How dare you!” Her feet tangled in the covers and she tripped onto the floor, trying to escape the bed.
Godric blinked at her. “What the—Miss Parr? What in God’s name are you doing in my bedchamber?” He shot up but fell back down against the pillows, slinging his forearm over his eyes with a groan.
Emily fled to the far corner of the room, heart beating against her ribs like a caged bird. His muscles flexed as he moved, like a large, sleek panther. For a second, she imagined the protection he could offer—his body cast before her as a shield, his muscles taut and forearms tense. Then she remembered how he’d taken her from the coach and the violence of the battle between them.
“Let me go at once!”
“I’m not holding you,” he said in an irritated growl.
“I meant, let me leave. My chamber is locked.” She stamped her slippered foot and glared, but the force was lost on him because he remained flat on his back, his eyes shut. “I demand to be released!”
“I demand peace and quiet in the morning,” Godric muttered under his breath.
“Well?” Emily stamped the ground again, rather annoyed that she had no other means to get his attention. She didn’t dare go closer. The memory of his body overpowering hers the previous night left her quaking anew with fear, but she was determined to maintain a brave front.
He cast off his bed sheet and sat up. She nearly swooned upon the glimpse of his bare chest. He smiled and took his time reaching for the sheet to recover himself. Emily struggled to breathe, her face afire. Was that what a half-clothed man looked like? He looked…fierce. Every strip of muscle and corded steel beneath his flesh whispered of violence and danger. Her throat went dry and she licked her lips as she tried to calm her racing heart.
“Care to join me, Miss Parr?” He patted the bed.
Emily took an involuntary step back, her shoulder blades hitting the door behind her.
“I was only joking.” A slight frown wilted his lips, as though her reaction unsettled him.
“A joke? Please, Your Grace, enlighten me as to how this situation is remotely amusing. I must get back to London immediately and try to repair the damage you’ve wrought to my reputation.” To my life. She wrung her hands together, trying anything to ease the anxiety that rippled just beneath her skin.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” His reply didn’t make sense at first, because she hadn’t expected him to deny her the right to leave.
“What? Why not?”
“Because I brought you here to ruin you.”
She studied the stubborn angle of his chin and his frosted-green eyes, looking for any signs of his intentions.
“Well, at least you are direct. Or is this another joke?” She couldn’t imagine how she’d save her reputation, even if this was a joke.
Then she spied the slight purple bruise that marked his cheek. The blow she’d dealt the previous night
had been as strong as she’d hoped. She’d never hurt anyone before, but he deserved that and much more if he dared touch her again.
Her situation had suddenly become clear and she didn’t like it one bit. When she returned to London, only the most desperate sort of fortune hunters would take her on. After such a scandal, she’d be lucky to be received anywhere socially, let alone find a decent man to marry. But then again…her eyes flicked to Godric’s face. Would he do the honorable thing after whatever part of his plan that required ruination had been fulfilled? Can I convince him to own up to his actions and marry me? It was him or fortune hunters. She refused to consider Blankenship as an option.
With a sigh, Godric climbed out of bed to get dressed. Emily danced back, well out of his immediate reach, her face a cherry red as she pretended to look away from his naked body. It was charming, her innocent belief that if she stayed out of his way she would be safe. If he truly wanted to, he could haul her to the bed and take her. But there was little fun in that. The journey of the seduction was half of the pleasure in bedding a woman.
She stopped fidgeting and met his eyes with a strong glare.
“Why ruin me? There are many other young heiresses with more money. Do you plan to marry me?” She raised a golden-brown brow at him, a silent challenge that he found amusing. Emily was a forward and brash little creature, he would give her credit for that.
“Revenge is my only interest in you. Is that a simple enough answer? Your uncle is to blame.” Godric crossed the room to wash his face.
“My uncle?” Emily’s brows drew together and her lips parted as though deep in thought over the revelation of being leverage.
Godric bent, washed his face in the basin at the bedside table and then toweled himself dry. Then he pulled on a robe.
“Your uncle acquired a great sum of money from me, and I have it on good authority he’s paid off his other creditors with it rather than invest it. My money is gone.”
“That still doesn’t explain why I’m here.” She bit her lower lip, an expression of keen intelligence in her eyes. It had been ages since he’d really looked at a woman’s face and found intelligence attractive. Emily was certainly both.
“What is your intention towards me?” Despair laced her tone in such a way that she drew Godric’s attention.
Emily sat down on the edge of his bed, her eyes wide in disbelief. Abandoning his quest for proper clothes, Godric crossed the room, caught her chin in his hand and tilted her head back so she was forced to look up at him.
“I must keep you here a while until I see your uncle thoroughly destroyed, then perhaps I’ll return you to London. While you’re here, you’re welcome to share my bed.” He tapped her nose with a fingertip, attempting to tease her, but his words only drew a deeper frown from her. He knelt in front of her. “No harm will come to you, Miss Parr. You have my word as a gentleman.”
“Gentleman?” she scoffed. “Some gentleman you are. Dragging women from carriages, drugging them. You have not one ounce of honor. I don’t even see what this has to do with my uncle. Men like you ruin women like me and never look back. I dare you to deny it.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of denying it. I do however insist you understand I only ruin women for a purpose, not for sport.” He leaned one hip against the dresser, watching her intently. “I’m sure you know how easy it would be for your uncle to sell you to a man in marriage to settle his debts. Well, no one will take you if I’ve been there first.”
Emily’s eyes darkened. “So you hurt me to strike out at my uncle?” Her voice rose in pitch but it wasn’t shrill. “Have you not considered me? I am an innocent party in this. My uncle will demand you marry me, and then we’ll be stuck together.”
Godric gave a bark of laughter. “Ash said you were clever. I hadn’t realized you had a sense of humor as well.”
“Humor? I see nothing amusing in this at all. I had aspirations for marriage, yes, but it didn’t include marrying someone like you.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest.
“Miss Parr, I’m not sure if you know exactly who I am.”
Godric saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “I know who you are. The Duke of Essex. A veritable devil, or so the ladies say. You bring ruination upon a woman with one look.”
“Just a look? I thought I had to at least say a lady’s name…” he chuckled, but she did not laugh.
A splash of pink blossomed on her cheeks. Her lips parted further, and her bosom began to rise and fall with her quickened breaths. It reminded him of a startled sparrow that had flown into his study once. He had to help it escape out the window before it hurt itself by striking something in its terror.
“Let me be clear, Miss Parr. I have never let society and its rules dictate my life. Your uncle could attempt to wage a social war against me in order to leg shackle me to you, but we shall never set foot inside a church together. Do you understand? Now don’t look so put out, my dear. I am a generous lover. If I find that you and I suit, I shall take you as my mistress. I’m not inclined to permanent relationships, but I would keep you well cared for the rest of your life. It wouldn’t be so horrible to be the lover of a duke.”
Her violet eyes reflected a place far away, but were still resigned, a quality echoed in her voice. “Are all men as heartless as you? Don’t you understand what you’ve taken from me? I need to marry. My parents are dead. I had but one chance at happiness and peace, and you destroyed it the moment you took control of my coach.” Her eyes misted over with tears, and a second later, she keened, a quiet, small sound, before her body quaked in repressed, silent sobs.
Godric blinked in horror. Everything in his body clenched. It wasn’t the first time he had made a woman cry, but these tears weren’t from an angry mistress, but a young lady, a veritable innocent.
Without a second thought, he pulled her into his arms. A fierce need to protect her rose up in him, and he couldn’t seem to rid himself of it. Her body trembled against his, her hands exploring his bare chest, arms, and hands. A faint tug followed on his right wrist; he jerked back, amazed to see her clutching the leather band of keys. He extracted the keys from her fingers, prying them open one by one.
Godric burst into laughter at her furious glare. “Miss Parr, you have remarkably nimble hands. Oh, the things I could teach you…” He started to embrace her again, but she ducked.
Emily sidled back a few steps, eyes wary. Gone was the woman who’d been crying in his arms. Quite a believable ruse. Clever girl.
“I seriously doubt you have anything useful to teach me, Your Grace.” She dipped into a shallow mocking curtsey before she darted back into her room, slamming the door in her wake. The scraping sound of a vanity table being dragged in front of the door followed seconds later. He grinned and then started to whistle softly.
Let her wait. He certainly needed a few minutes to regain control, especially below his waistline.
“What do you mean, abducted?”
Albert Parr’s townhouse echoed with Thomas Blankenship’s fury. Albert sat at his desk, forefinger and thumb rubbing his eyes as he did his best to remain calm in front of his business partner, a man he was still heavily indebted to.
“It’s all in the letter.” He pushed the paper toward Blankenship, who snapped it up. The man stood before Albert with his chest heaving, his double chin wobbly against his jugular, a sight that should have lessened Albert’s fear—but didn’t. Quite the opposite. Blankenship had revealed the demon inside him with claws, salivating teeth and cold fire churning in his black eyes.
Albert sighed. Last night he’d arrived at Chessley House to retrieve Emily. The baron’s daughter, Anne, informed him that Emily never arrived. Albert had been concerned immediately. He hadn’t thought she would miss out on an occasion to see her friend, but maybe he’d been mistaken and Emily had decided to become difficult.
Perhaps she’d decided to avoid Blankenship and sought refuge with a friend. Not that she had many, at least none of whom he knew.
It wasn’t until he arrived home, exhausted and irritated at Emily’s stunt, that he had learned the truth. His butler handed him the letter left by the jarvey he’d hired to drive Emily to the ball. The weary driver confirmed that five men had abducted her, but refused to part with any more details unless he received some reward. Albert grimaced and slapped several coins into the driver’s wrinkled palm.
The story the coachman told was fantastical. His innocent niece had managed to trick the rogues and nearly escape twice. As he heard the tale, Albert imagined Emily as some sort of heroine in a grand adventure. It seemed she had more strength of character than he’d credited her with, but once the notion ceased to be amusing, apprehension set in.
He’d recognized the sloping cursive style of the letter at once, even though the letter was vague in its details and unsigned. After several dealings with the Duke of Essex, Albert had become intimately familiar with his unusual penmanship. But it was the letter’s contents that were most upsetting. Essex had stated that he knew about the money Albert had stolen and that he had taken “repayment” of a kind. He meant Emily of course.
Albert’s brow furrowed as he studied the note again, ignoring Blankenship, who paced back and forth like a caged lion. If Essex sullied her reputation, she would have every right to demand marriage and that would mean… Dread filled his limbs. If Essex became an in-law, Albert would forever be at the man’s mercy. That was assuming he could even get the Duke within a mile of the nearest church.
No, the duke wouldn’t marry Emily. Albert had no way of forcing him, and Essex knew it. Emily was ruined, and without her he had no way to repay Blankenship. Albert struggled for breath as he fought off panic. “Dear God.”
“What?” Blankenship growled.
“Nothing. I’m weary and this abduction has upset me.” The last thing he would do would be to confess his fears to Blankenship. Everything depended on getting Emily married to him. The side deal they had arranged would ensure that Emily’s inheritance, money tied up in Albert’s brother’s shipping company, would go to Blankenship and all of Albert’s debts would disappear.