Page 60 of Wicked Designs
“This isn’t humiliating at all,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
“Don’t pout, Emily. You can’t run from me now. I always get what I want, and it is time for you to accept that.”
“If we are discussing things that we must learn to accept, you ought to accept that I won’t cower and just melt in your arms whenever you command! I have better things to do with my life than become your plaything!”
Godric didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. He grabbed her by the arms, tugged her to his chest and covered her mouth with his. Godric’s tongue shot straight between her lips, and Emily’s body reacted as it always did, with weak knees and a heat that defied rational thought entirely. Damn her senses.
She was still on her feet only because Godric maintained a firm grip on her arms. Otherwise she would have collapsed like a newborn foal, shaky and untested.
“What was that you were saying about not melting in my arms?”
Dimly Emily remembered their audience, staring at Godric’s eyes was like being swallowed up in a meadow of tall grass, a personal paradise for her and her alone.
“I…” Coherent words weren’t possible. Godric smiled with the grin of a cat sated on a bowl of cream. She bristled with indignation. He enjoyed destroying her resistance. If he meant to toy with her, just use her the way he would any woman… Well! That wasn’t going to happen.
“You bind me as if I am a dog on a leash, then take what you desire with no regard to me. Touch me again, without my permission—” her voice dropped into an icy hiss “—and you will lose a body part, the one you favor most. Think about that. I have not asked to be here. I am not some lightskirt, and when you treat me like one, it is humiliating.”
Godric blinked. He’d clearly not expected this reaction. “But, darling—”
“Do not ‘darling’ me, Your Grace.” Emily dragged her index finger in a dangerous line down his chest to his waist and scissored her fingers. “I will geld you like a horse if you continue to treat me so.”
Her words might have made more of an impression if the other rogues hadn’t been laughing so hard.
“Are we ready to leave?” asked Cedric. “As much as I enjoy a good kissing, if I’m not on one end of it, I tend to lose interest. We are wasting the day away watching you two have all the bloody fun.”
Godric studied Emily’s face for a long moment, then brushed a loose coil of her hair back from her cheek. “We’re ready, Cedric. Lead the way.”
The hunting party set out. Penelope bounded ahead of them, her young instincts guiding her. Cedric, the most avid hunter, cradled his gun in the crook of his arm, scanning the fields and woods. They climbed over the stone wall and moved into the forest. The weather was fine. A cool breeze tugged playfully at Emily’s loose hair.
She’d not used Godric’s butterfly comb. Libba told her that it wouldn’t match her outfit. She’d been right, but Emily brought it with her to put her hair up later.
As she trudged behind Godric and Ashton, Emily slipped it into her hair. She plucked it from the hidden pocket of her skirts and gathered her hair back into a loose bun, and then slid the comb’s teeth in to secure it.
Godric walked ahead of her. The length of rope tightened between them before she could catch up and the rope jerked her forward. He spun around as the rope tugged, just in time to catch her stumbling into his arms.
He pulled her up against him with ease, saving her from a nasty fall.
“What were you up to, little vixen? Escape again?”
“And give you a reason to chase me? Not a chance.” She hoped he’d notice the comb, but wasn’t going to point it out to him. She didn’t need to inflate his oversized sense of self further.
Ashton walked past the pair of them. “That is a lovely comb you have in your hair, Emily.” He hurried to catch up with Cedric.
Godric, gripping Emily’s arm, turned her around. “You weren’t wearing that when we left.”
Emily’s lashes dropped. “Libba said it didn’t match my outfit, but I expected there to be wind, so I smuggled it out.”
Godric smiled with such warmth and pride that Emily tingled. He gripped her waist again, pulling her against him, his body warm and hard, unlike the cold air that danced, shifted, celebrated around them. Emily didn’t mind at all.
“You do find ways to get what you want, even if you continue to act like you don’t.” He chuckled.
“Minor victories, Your Grace, are not worth counting.”
“Everything you do is worth counting.”
He didn’t move to kiss her as she’d expected him to. He merely moved his hands up and down her back over the loose hunting jacket.
She shivered beneath his touch.
