Wicked Designs (The League of Rogues) (33 page)

“Mr. Helprin, may I ask a rather odd question?”

Jonathan waved a hand in the air, urging her to continue.

“Are you related to Godric?”

Soup spewed across the table. He froze, then carefully wiped a napkin over his mouth. “What makes you ask that?”

“Are you?” She pressed.

“Of course not.”

Emily set her spoon down. “I’m sorry to have offended you. It’s just that…well, you look so much like him. You even act like him.”

When she raised her face, his eyes locked with hers.

Jonathan propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. “I take no offense, you merely startled me. No one has ever said that before.” He paused, eyes resting on her face, yet his expression was unreadable. After a moment he shoved his chair back, scraping it against the wooden floor. Rather than approach her, he paced away, the lithe grace of his movements every inch identical to his master’s.

When he turned, she was struck by his profile, the long-limbed muscled body of a man who’d worked in the service, but there was still a refined quality to him. Half the
ton
lacked the innate well-bred features and manners that came so naturally to Jonathan. Something in his very breaths set him apart from his fellow servants.

“You are so like him,” she half-whispered. “The way you move, talk.”

“I suppose that is because I grew up wanting to be like him. I was born and raised in that house. My mother was his mother’s lady’s maid. I used to follow him about when I was a boy. He is eight years older than me.”

Could it be that simple? She supposed it could, and she felt like a ninny for thinking otherwise. They weren’t related. He merely mirrored his master the way any man would reflect someone he admired. But still, her instincts shouted otherwise. But she just had to be sure…

“Did your mother have green eyes?”

“No.”

“And your father?”

“I never knew him.” An answer that wasn’t really an answer, just like Godric. It was time to change the subject.

“What will you do after I’ve left? Will you return to the manor?”

Jonathan’s lips pursed for a moment. “Assuming His Grace hasn’t discovered it was me who helped you, then yes, I shall return.”

“Libba promised she wouldn’t tell anyone how I got away. I’m sure you will be safe.”

Jonathan laughed, the sound rich, dark, dangerous. “Concerned for me?”

“I’m concerned for all of us. Blankenship is not a man to be taken lightly.” She stood and looked about the small room. “May I have some privacy to change?” It was probably safer not to undress around him, but her wet clothes were thick and suffocating on her skin.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Parr. I will be happy to aid you.” He started towards her.

Emily stepped back, the wood wall striking her from behind. “Mr. Helprin, please, don’t come any closer.”

“I know this is a game, Miss Parr. It’s not the first time I’ve performed dramatic roles for a woman. Just like His Grace’s last mistress you seek to sate yourself with a younger man now and then. Evangeline liked to pretend the Revolutionaries had captured her. But you didn’t need an elaborate ruse to have me. I know Godric really isn’t in danger.” He reached for the buttons on the front of her gown. She was suddenly very aware of the large size of his hands, the breadth of his shoulders and the power of his muscled frame.

She bared her teeth like a cornered animal. If she had to fight him, she would. “Let go of me.”

“Shh…Calm down, Miss Parr. It will be enjoyable, I assure you. I know that’s why you asked me to help you. It’s obvious, you are here to be with me. I’ve never had complaints…and we shall be very, very warm afterwards.” His voice oozed with honey.

Emily exhausted and distressed, pawed at his hands, trying to push him away.

“I tell you your master is in danger and that I’m fleeing to save his life and you assume it’s part of some elaborate ruse for you to take me to bed? Do you possess that thick of a skull that logic cannot penetrate?” What she had hoped would have been a bitter tirade ended in a most unladylike sneeze and a sudden headache.

The sound of horses riding up outside in the rain could be heard.

“Hark!” he gasped. “It Blankenship’s men. We’re surrounded! It’s only a matter of time before they catch us. We should steal this one brief moment while we can.”

“This is not a game, Mr. Helprin!”

Emily swayed as a wave of dizziness struck her. Her hands fell on his shoulders when she struggled to stay upright.

Jonathan lifted her up off the floor, and carried her to the bed. “Just close your eyes. I’m sure I’ll feel the same as my master.”

Emily struggled, muscles straining as she fought to keep Jonathan at a respectable distance.

“Get off me, you stupid oaf! I cannot believe you are such an addlepaited twit! I don’t want you!” Her protest was lost on him and she sneezed again.

Jonathan pinned her down on the narrow bed, wedging his hips between her legs.

“That is what Evangeline said, but then she kissed me and all but dragged me to her bed. She said she liked to play games, that most women did. You cannot be all that different, Miss Parr.”

He slanted his mouth down over hers.

I swear when I have the chance, I will kick him right in his manhood
, she vowed. Emily clawed at his chest, but she was so tired and her head felt thick with a fogginess that frightened her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Jonathan’s mouth moved to her neck and the second her lips were free a small pitiful sob escaped Emily’s throat.

Jonathan froze when she sobbed again. He pulled back, startled.

“My God. You really don’t want me.” The look of sheer shock on his face relieved her. He seemed completely horrified at his actions.

Emily sank limp into his arms, but managed a weak nod and then sneezed again.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Parr, I thought…it doesn’t matter. Did…I hurt you?” He moved off her and sat back. Emily rolled onto her side away from him and burst into tears. Jonathan awkwardly patted her back. He couldn’t understand the rending of her heart from her soul, the shattering of her essence into a thousand pieces. She wept for the life she left behind, the love she’d never know again.

“There, there.” He tried to comfort her.

She slowed in her tears and only hiccupped once or twice, quivering. “I…don’t think I’m well…” she started to say. A rough knock at the door cut the string of words from her lips.

“We’re busy!”

The knock turned into a furious beating. Jonathan rose to his feet with a grumble, still shirtless as he moved.

When he opened the door, an absolute silence fell for all of two seconds before someone roared, and Jonathan hastily begged to explain. A fist flew through the door’s opening to catch Jonathan square in the jaw.

Chapter Sixteen

Godric left Cedric alone in the drawing room to check on Emily. She’d looked decidedly pale and he was worried.

I’ll read to her! She’ll like that
.

His eagerness surprised him, the temptation to abandon his friends and seek her out was great. But she probably needed some time alone—women often did; they were quite mysterious creatures. Knowing this didn’t make him miss her any less. He snatched a book from his study and hurried upstairs.

On his way to her room he passed by a chamber he’d not entered in years. Strangely tempted, he opened the door. The nursery was a lovely room, even when muted by afternoon shadows and warm with its buttery yellow walls decorated by various painted scenes. Scenes painted by Godric’s father a month before Godric was born.

He remembered his father pointing to a mighty frigate, guns blasting at a pirate vessel, deep voice rumbling as it spoke of age-old tales.

Godric’s gaze fixed on another scene, one of a babe in a basket nestled against a wall of reeds as an Egyptian woman knelt to investigate her discovery. The tale of Moses—his mother’s favorite story. A misplaced child loved by two mothers.

His throat tightened as he approached the empty crib. The faded blankets were perfectly folded, dust collecting on the crib’s smooth edges. He ran a fingertip along the white wood, admiring the craftsmanship. His parents’ ghosts were so alive in this room, in a way they hadn’t been in a long time. Even though his father had lingered longer than his mother, Godric always felt his father died with her, at least on the inside.

The memories were bittersweet. How different his father became after losing her. The man whose talented hands had created such vivid dreams turned those hands to fists with which to pummel his only child.

No child should ever choose between wanting his father to leave and fearing actual abandonment. For half his life, a nightmare kept him trapped in a crumbling relationship with his only surviving parent.

Godric wondered whether he could recapture the soft magic of those early days, his mother still alive, his father’s eyes joyful. Could those sacred hours of love and security return? It seemed impossible.

He couldn’t erase the stark, empty plight of the days after his mother’s death. He used to stare out the nursery window, waiting for his father to leave the distant grave. With the quiet patience of a frightened child, he lingered by his father’s door each night, hoping for reassurance. A hug, a smile, any sign of affection, any sign he wasn’t forgotten. A few months later, his father’s indifference turned to violence.

Then Godric was desperate to hide, to pretend he never existed. It had been easy enough, living like a ghost in the lonely manor.

A vision burst before him, splitting the dark memories with its ray of light, the room lit by oil lamps. A lady with auburn hair peeked over the edge of the crib and cooed softly. She turned to face him, her violet eyes wide with wonder at the miracle of the babe before her. A miracle they’d brought to life together.

The vision faded. Emily and a child. A dream he might yet make real. He fingered the soft cotton of the baby blanket, hungry for the reality of the child he dreamed about. He would love it, whether boy or girl, cherish it and raise it to be perfect, just like its mother. The woman he loved. Loved.

He was in love with Emily.

The realization didn’t shock him as he’d expected it would. Rather, his love grew the way seeds do, slowly, first planted the night he held her in his arms. Emily’s laugh, her smiles, her dreams and soft touches, had nurtured it, until love covered his heart like a wealth of rich ivy. All these years he’d been convinced loving someone would leave him vulnerable. What a fool he’d been.

Love strengthened a person. It fortified their heart until they could defeat any enemy, survive any hardship, achieve any dream.

Godric tucked the baby blanket back into place and left the nursery, a look of joy on his face. He’d tell Emily right now. Confess his love and demand she stay and marry him, no matter the scandal. He had to have her, had to spend the rest of his life at the altar of her love, worshipping the woman who’d taught him to trust in himself and his heart.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on her door. It was half past three in the afternoon. Surely she’d slept, or at least rested, since lunch. He knocked louder when no one answered. Godric frowned, put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. Emily’s door swung open, revealing a darkened room, curtains pulled shut. She looked to be buried deep into her covers. “Emily? Are you well?” Still no answer. “I thought I could read to you…” He rushed to her bed and tugged back the covers, his lips moving—“Emily?”—as his voice increased in volume.

The sight he beheld cooled his blood.

Someone—Emily—had lined up pillows beneath the covers, mimicking the presence of a body. She’d pinned a white piece of paper to the pillow. He picked it up with numb fingers, not even feeling the sting of the pin as it pricked his thumb. Godric blinked, opened the paper and read her letter.

Godric, I’m sorry to have left like this, but there was no other way. You must believe me. We are two different people, our lives worlds apart. I love you, but I cannot stay with you. I’m so sorry.

Emily was gone.

Rather than crumple the note in his fist, he set it down on the pillow. It was the last thing he had of hers, the last thing she touched in his world. He couldn’t bear to destroy it and was too weak to remove the painful reminder.

He stumbled, faltering, as reality set in.

“Oh God…Emily!” She couldn’t be gone… She couldn’t have left him…

Cold rage engulfed him in icy flames, returning strength where love had rendered him weak.

Never again.

“Cedric, Charles!” he bellowed, wrath building in him. It crushed the despair that blackened his heart and gave him purpose.

Godric ran from the room and found his friends shooting up the stairs towards him.

“What? What’s happened?” Cedric asked.

“Has anyone seen Emily?” He quivered with rage and, strangely, fear. 

Charles shook his head. “No…”

“I haven’t seen Penelope either…” added Cedric. “You don’t think—”

Godric growled. “Find Simkins and Mrs. Downing! Tell them to have the servants search the manor from floor to ceiling. Charles, search the stables and the gardens. Cedric, you’ll search the meadow with me. We’ll take horses and go around the lake as well.”