Page 102 of Wicked Designs
Emily did smile then. She hadn’t been mistaken about Jonathan after all. “I knew it.”
Charles chucked her under the chin affectionately. “None of us saw it.”
“You’ve known him for too long and simply gotten used to him, I suppose.”
Cedric returned, looking pointedly at the floor. “It’s as I feared. He’s completely foxed. Trust me, kitten, you don’t want to see him like this.”
“I do and I will.” She struggled to get up but remembered she was naked and clutched the sheet about her breasts. “Robe, please.” Cedric hesitated but Emily’s glare had him retrieve Godric’s red velvet robe straight away. Emily studied Cedric and Charles, weighing who she trusted more to keep his hands to himself. Neither were good choices, but one was most certainly worse. She chose Cedric.
“You help me.”
“Ahem,” Cedric said to Charles, who waited outside with a huff.
Cedric averted his gaze as he pulled the covers back and then eased Emily’s arms into the robe’s sleeves. She wrapped it snugly about herself and tied the cord at her waist tight before getting out of bed. As grimy as she felt, the more important thing was to see Godric. She could bathe later. Emily took a deep breath and tried to stand.
She wavered and Cedric caught her up in his arms. “I’ll help you, kitten.”
They must have been an odd sight, Emily in her oversized robe, barefoot, leaning against Cedric for support. Thankfully, no one saw them but Simkins, posted outside the door to Godric’s study.
The butler’s eyes widened. “Lord Sheridan, she shouldn’t be out of bed!”
Emily held up a hand and pointed to the study door.
“Open it.”
Simkins shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s not fit to see anyone.”
“I don’t care.” Emily growled.
“Very well, Miss Parr, but I will intervene if he grows violent.” Simkins fumbled with his set of keys.
“Yes, he might shoot another vase,” said Charles.
“What?” Emily gasped.
“It was an ugly vase, one his mother always hated. It won’t be missed,” said Simkins.
Godric shouted from the other side of the door. “Simkins, I told you to leave me be!”
“Silence, St. Laurent.” Cedric’s voice echoed, a boom that brought silence from the study. “Emily is here. Behave, you hear me?”
Simkins opened the door and Cedric stepped inside, Emily leaning against him. Godric was at the back of the study, facing the window with his back to them, the night outside was inky black. One candle lit the room.
“Help me to the couch,” said Emily. “Then leave us.”
“I’m staying, Emily.”
She stroked his face as she had Charles’s. “Thank you, Cedric, but I will be fine.”
He bent to kiss the top of her head before retreating. Simkins shut the door from the outside.
An agonizing moment of silence followed—Godric at the window, she on the couch, both still as statues. Could she make him understand that she hadn’t betrayed him?
“Godric,” she breathed.
Slowly he turned to face her. Her dark prince with shadows beneath his tortured emerald eyes with hair tangled as though he’d dug his fingers into it over and over again. How had it come to this?
Emily knew of the deadly calm before the storm, but she believed it was the calm afterwards which often proved worse, with century old trees ripped from the soil and birds lying dead upon the ground after being hurled through mighty winds. Everywhere lay destruction. In watching Godric’s haunted eyes, she saw that same vast path of devastation.
