Wicked Designs (The League of Rogues) (21 page)

She slid between the sheets and watched in fascination as he undressed himself.

“Will I ever get to undress you?”

He stared back for a long moment, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Tomorrow night.” He bared his chest, removed his breeches and donned his night shirt. Emily, suddenly self-conscious, slid away from him as he joined her under the covers, but the mattress dipped with his weight and she rolled into him.

“Now, about that kiss good night.” He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

Emily never wanted that kiss to end, the soft movement of their lips, the dance of tongues, the straining breaths shared in the quiet darkness… She could never leave the bed, and forever be content, so long as he kept kissing her.

Godric molded her body to his as he kissed her with both fire and gentleness. Undressing her had been a bad idea. All he could think about was the taste of her skin, the shivery sighs she made when he removed each piece of clothing. It had been her gift to him, and she hadn’t even been aware of it. Now he had Emily in his arms, kissing him back with her sweet, inexperienced mouth. He couldn’t wait to teach her all the things his years of experience taught him. Would she like it when he put his mouth between her legs? Would she want to do the same to him? For her to torture him in such a way would be glorious. Desperately, he reined in his hunger and focused on her soft insistent mouth meeting his with wild abandon.

What was it Ashton had told him? Emily kissed him from the depths of her heart.

Could he do the same? Tonight he wanted to try…

I missed you today, I thought of nothing else, I…I think I love—

The last thought had come unbidden, but he was too weak to deny what felt so strong and true. He wanted to claim her, but also protect her. He’d do anything to keep her, just like this. Sweet. Innocent. His.

Had he, Godric St. Laurent, finally become a fool in love? God help him.

The gilded grandfather clock in the upstairs hallway chimed seven, waking Godric. The fire crackled, twigs and bits of logs snapping. He lay on his back with Emily, still asleep, curled up against his side. The feel of her in his arms was wonderful. A perfect fit. He wanted to hold her more often, keep her close so he could smell the flowery scent in her hair, relish her satiny skin beneath his palms.

They could always be like this, he realized. He and Emily could grow old this way, spending years exploring each other. He craved that elusive, impossible future. To want something, to know you could have it, and once you had it, lose it. He wasn’t ready for that, might never be ready. But what could it hurt to pretend, for at least a few days, to have what he wanted? Godric slid a hand under the covers, seeking the edge of her night rail. His fingers met bare skin near her calves, and he slid the fabric up to expose her hips to his hand. Emily’s head twisted a little. She nuzzled his chest, and Godric stifled a groan.

Seducing this woman was an infuriatingly slow process, but he didn’t dare rush it. He wanted to savor Emily’s first time and know without a doubt she was well and truly pleasured at his hands. He’d become too accustomed to the deliciously rough tumbles during which he unleashed his primitive urges and freed his lover from her own inhibitions, but with Emily that would come later. The question was whether he could he restrain himself that first time. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Godric rolled over onto his side, facing Emily, as he moved his hand farther up to cup the smooth rounded globe of her rump. The satiny skin beneath his palm gave him a small rush. He rubbed his hand up and down over her bottom, enjoying a little purr of sleepy pleasure that rippled from her throat. Godric pushed his hand harder, urging her to press herself against him.

She stirred, arching her hips into his, allowing his arousal to meet her. “Hmm…”

Godric rubbed his hips against hers, simulating the pressure and rhythm as if he were actually inside her. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as his erection rubbed against her building wetness. She finally woke. He kissed her open lips, silencing whatever protest she’d been about to make. Emily raised her arms but he trapped them into the pillows on either side of her head as he mounted her. She wasn’t going to escape, not just yet. Godric nudged her knees apart and he slid between her thighs. He paused in his kiss to glance at her.

“Godric, what are you doing?” Emily asked breathlessly.

“I’m trying to teach you, at great cost to my personal satisfaction, how it feels to make love.” He kissed her lips again, slowly sliding his tongue in and flicking it against hers before retreating and nibbling on her lower lip.

“You never give up, do you?” She tried to sound irritated but was already surrendering from need.

“I’m a St. Laurent. We never give up once we set our minds on having something, and I want you, Emily. I want you desperately. Now lie back and enjoy.” He hoped his firm tone would cow her into submission. Her lips parted, and those dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks. He ground his hips against hers. Emily moaned, a loose, deep wild sound that aroused him beyond rational thought.

“Do you feel how much I want you? How much I need you, Emily?” He brushed his lips along her jaw down to her ear; he bit her lobe and then kissed the soft sensitive skin behind it.

“Yes…” Her voice was barely more than a strangled gasp as he ground against her. She arched her back, her legs tightened around his hips.

Keep control, damn you!
But with her next moan, it was almost impossible. He moved against her, and she came apart in his arms with a great cry of surprise. He spent his seed in his nightclothes like a damned inexperienced youth. Emily was limp and gasping for breath beneath him, gazing up at him in wonder.

Godric tried to calm down, his entire body weak with the rippling aftermath of his release.

“Bloody hell.”

“What did you say?” Emily pushed herself up on her elbows. “You’re shaking.”

She had no idea. He never lost control. What sort of man was he if he couldn’t perform better than a mere boy with his first girl? The Duke of Essex, firing off a warning shot across Emily’s bow. God, if the others ever found out, he’d never hear the end of it. Godric tried to disentangle himself, but he was desperate to hide his embarrassment, and practically ripped himself from her arms. He rested his elbows on his knees, ducking his head to run his fingers through his hair. Emily moved towards him, but he waved her off.

“Godric, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go, before the maids come looking for you.” He tried not to sound cold, but failed.

“Did I… Did I do something wrong?” She reached for him, but he rose and darted over to his armoire to fetch his dressing gown.

“Godric?” Her eyes welled with tears.

He cursed silently and came back to her, cupping her face and kissing her tenderly.

“You were perfect, Emily. It was me. It’s…complicated. Go now and get dressed if you wish.” He traced her lips with a fingertip.

“You’re not mad?” The catch in her voice made him all too aware how his behavior affected her. She didn’t know anything about men, and she wouldn’t understand he was angry with himself and not her.

“I’ll be mad if you cry, my little hellion.” He dropped his hands to her waist, tickling her until she was laughing helplessly.

“All right! All right, I surrender,” she gasped.

“Now, go on back to your room.” He lifted her off the bed, onto her feet and swatted her rump, urging her towards her door. She went, but looked back at him, her face a mixture of emotions he couldn’t puzzle out. There was curiosity blazing behind her eyes, as though she’d sensed she’d conquered him somehow. God help him if she ever discovered how right she was. He could have laughed. Emily’s hold over him was so potent that he might agree to anything she asked of him. What a horrifying thought that was—to know he was a prisoner to her kiss and touch, when he’d never been anyone’s captive before.

Emily shut the door to her room and leaned back against the frame, taking a long deep breath. Her body still convulsed with little spasms of pleasure. Was that what it felt like to make love? What sort of sinful god was Godric if he could make her feel that way without being inside of her? Emily shivered. She’d changed too much in the past few days. Her resistance to his charm was crumbling. Just after a few heated kisses, wicked caresses, she’d lost every ounce of self-control.

It wasn’t fair that she fell too easily for him, that she thrilled just to hear him speak her name, to hope that, at any particular moment, he would think about her. Caring for Godric was a dangerous weakness. She needed to reclaim her pride, relight her inner fire, if she was to survive this captivity. She’d not be reduced to a meaningless mistress to be cast aside and forgotten.

Her mind replayed what they’d just done, the way he’d shaken above her, the way he’d pulled away, like a wild animal. The flash of vulnerability on his face had shown her something incredibly important. He’d lost control as well…with her. Was it possible? Had she made him want her as much as she wanted him? Would it be enough to get him to fall in love with her and marry her? If it was at all possible, she needed to play this game the way she played chess—passively with some subtle aggression. Then make the necessary sacrifices to reach checkmate.

There was a soft knock on her door and Libba entered. “Good morning, Libba.”

“Good morning.” The maid went to select a gown for her to wear and then joined Emily at the vanity table. She studied the maid through the reflection in the looking glass.

Emily watched Libba tidy up her vanity table. “What made you come to St. Laurent manor? To work I mean. Surely being a maid wasn’t your dream.”

“I’ve been raised in service, but I’d always dreamed I would be a singer. Mama says I have a wonderful voice.”

“Would you sing for me?”

Libba chuckled. “Perhaps later, Miss.”

“So why here? Why choose to work for His Grace?”

“My mother was a lady’s maid to a countess. She raised me to be prepared to go into service since I was five years old.”

Emily knew only too well what that was like, to have a world that belonged entirely to one’s self. Sometimes leaving that private world was frightening. Moving in with her uncle had been terrifying. But Godric’s world was a dream unlike any other.

She reached out to touch Libba’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re sweet. None of His Grace’s other mistresses were ever sweet.”

“Mistresses? But I haven’t—I mean, we haven’t…well, not exactly. Not the way you mean. I mean…” The assumption made her stomach pitch. She couldn’t be his mistress…his wife, yes, but a mistress…no. She couldn’t let that happen.

Libba blushed and pointed towards the door and a pair of black boots…Godric’s boots.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I saw His Grace’s boots and—”

“Never mind that, Libba. That man has an awful habit of throwing clothes about and leaving them places he shouldn’t. It’s no surprise he left them in my room.” Managing the duke and getting him to value her above a mistress would not be easy. In order to make him fall in love with her enough to marry her, she’d have to figure out what made him tick.

Chapter Eleven

Rather than Godric, Ashton waited outside Emily’s door to escort her to breakfast. Today the baron looked exceedingly fashionable in a dark blue coat, biscuit-colored breeches and an immaculately tied cravat.

He smiled and took her arm. “Emily.”

“Good morning, Ashton.” She couldn’t resist the urge to smile back.

With Ashton alone she felt like a queen. It was a pity Charles lacked his subtle charm. He’d be truly dangerous to every woman in the
ton
if he accomplished that skill.

She proceeded with Ashton down to the dining room, with only Cedric present. He rose, bowed and sat back down as she took her seat.

“Lucien and Charles left for London about ten minutes ago. I believe they’ll return tonight,” Ashton said.

“Is Godric coming down?” She couldn’t forget the tension that had passed between them. Emily had the jarring sense that he might try to avoid her.

“Yes, he’s trying to find an old hunting coat.”

“A hunting coat? He doesn’t have one?” Every sensible man had at least one hunting coat.

“Yes, of course he does,” Cedric said. “He’s trying to find one for you.”

“For me?” She was delighted they would let her come on such an outing, to which women were usually unwelcome.

“Yes, kitten. You’re coming on our outing today. Why do you think your maid set out a twill gown and black boots for you?” Cedric asked with a small smile.

Emily glanced down at herself. She barely asked questions anymore when the maids pulled out clothes. She was dressed for a day of walking, not riding.

“We aren’t hunting foxes then?”

Ashton laughed. “Lord, no, you are the only fox we’ve hunted lately. We want something less bothersome, so our prey will be pheasants.”

Emily sat up on the edge of her seat. “Will I get to shoot one?”

Cedric’s brows rose in surprise. “I would never have taken you for a hunter, Emily.”

“It seems I never cease to amaze you. Will I get to shoot?”

“If you think we are stupid enough to give you a firearm—”

“I’ve handled one before! I know how to hunt.”