Page 31 of Wicked Designs
“Who is the lady in that portrait?” Emily leaned against the armrest nearest his desk. “Is it your mother?”
Godric’s gaze darkened. “Yes.”
“She’s very beautiful.” Emily saw how much the late Duchess of Essex’s son took after her. Godric had the harsh beauty of a Greek sculpture, but each feature held traces of his mother’s softened beauty. No wonder he captivated her. Ashton had been right. Godric had his father’s power, but his mother’s gentleness and compassion.
Godric rose from his chair and walked over to the portrait. “She was a great woman. She never spoke a harsh word to anyone, nor raised a hand against me. I…” Emotion roughened his voice. “I used to climb onto her lap each evening after supper and she would read to me. She always smelled of lilacs. Even now her room still carries the scent.”
Emily’s chest squeezed around her heart. He was lost in memories; she saw it in the distant focus of his eyes.
“And your father?” She was afraid to break the spell, but she wanted to understand him.
“He loved her in a way he never loved me. I remember the way they danced together. When my mother held her annual ball here, I’d sneak out of the nursery and watch from between the spindles of the stairs. My mother would float across the floor, laughtershining in her eyes. And Father? He would hold her close, smiling like the clouds had opened to reveal the sun. They could waltz for hours, spinning in delicate circles, and I’d watch, enraptured by the sight.”
“I am sorry she died,” Emily said. Thoughts of her own parents crashed against the walls of her heart and fought to break free. She drew in a deep breath, strengthening herself against the battering.
Godric laughed, but it held no mirth. “We’re both orphans, aren’t we?”
“I suppose we are.” A slight shiver trespassed over her skin. She hadn’t realized before now that they had something in common. A long moment of silence passed. Finally, Godric sighed and returned to his desk. His weary expression pained her. She hadn’t meant to hurt him by inquiring about his mother. Emily stood up and walked towards his bookshelves.
“Is this the world’s slowest escape attempt? If so shall I order tea before pursuing you this time?”
His sarcasm prickled her pride. “I simply wish to find a book to read. It would help to pass the time.”
His eyes stayed on hers. She let her honest intentions shine from her eyes. She truly did just want to read.
Her mother had taught her the pleasure of books. As a child she’d been a wild hoyden. Her father had indulged her in every boyish entertainment from riding to climbing trees and fishing. But as much as she loved to catch a perch and haul it into the boat with her father, something magical overcame her while reading with her mother. They’d curl up on the worn couch, findone of the larger illustrated tomes about the natural sciences, and study the renderings of each exotic creature. For a moment, Emily lost herself in that memory, and with piercing agony was pulled back to the present.
Godric went over to the shelf on the right side of his desk and selected a book for her. All her senses sharpened when he sat next to her on the edge of the settee. Godric placed the book in her lap, then took her hands in his.
Her eyes shut for the briefest moment as she enjoyed his touch. Godric stroked her wrists, gazing down at her.
“Emily, I demand a payment for this. Should you refuse, I’ll take the book back.” He reached out and tucked a lock of loose hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on the sensitive spot below her ear. A sharp tingle shot down her spine at the touch.
Emily bit her lower lip. What payment would he demand for so small a pleasure? She was afraid that his price would be something she’d pay without hesitation. When his gaze fixed on her, like emeralds pulled from blazing fires, she felt his hands already upon her body. “What is your price?”
His eyes fell straight to her lips, and she did the same. The soft lines bracketing his mouth often turned hard when she frustrated him. It was one of his flaws, that hardness that could turn his sensual features so cold.
“I want you to kiss me.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
But his phrasingdidn’t make sense. She was to kiss him?
“I have kissed you, but you’ve never kissed me back. I want your fullparticipation.”
“But I don’t knowthe first thing about kissing.” Until now, she’d just enjoyed the rush of sensations he thrust upon her, contributing nothing, only taking. But it was improper to talk so openly of physical intimacy.
Godric just smiled, a gentle twist at the corners of his mouth. “With enough practice you’ll learn. A few minutes with me as a tutor and you will be a master.” His grip tightened, as though their talk had excited him.
“One kiss? You won’t demand anything more of me?”
“One kiss, but you won’t get away with a saintly peck on the cheek, Emily. I demand a real kiss.”
“Demand?”
“Request,” he amended.
“Request or you’ll deny me my book? Still sounds like a demand.”
“God’s blood, woman, you are trying my patience.” He seemed to be suppressing a smile.
