Page 73 of Wicked Designs
Emily was not sure what to make of this. “Is that…a good thing?”
“It is a wonderful thing, Emily. Every sensation, every kiss… It feels new. I never thought I could feel that way again.” Godric raised himself onto his elbows as he lay on her, still deep inside, the connection intense between them. His long lashes fanned out over his cheeks as he shut his eyes. The confession seemed to open him, make him vulnerable. She knew that tortured and hesitant look too well.
“Emily, there is something I would like to discuss with you.” He gently withdrew, and sat up close to her.
“What is it?” Suspicion clouded the sunny warmth in her heart.
“Because of this new development—” he waved a hand over the rumpled bed sheets “—returning you to your uncle is out of the question. I won’t hear of it. But you must decide what you wish to do now.”
Emily sat up, bringing the sheet up to cover herself. “You wish to send me away now?” Grief settled over her like a thick wool blanket, smothering her.
“What?” His brows drew together. “Send you away? Are you mad? I want you to stay here, stay with me. Youneed never concern yourself with your uncle again.” His thumbs stroked her cheeks. The gesture calmed her, but her chest still twinged, anticipating the death blow she knew he’d someday deliver to her heart.
“You want me to stay here with you? For how long?” She had to have some answers, even if they were painful ones.
“Yes.” The first question he answered without hesitation, but the second question he lingered over. “You will stay as long as you like once this business with your uncle is over.”
Emily tried to banish the burn of tears. He was not offering marriage or love, but time. If this was all she could have of him, she would take it, for now.
I will think about the consequences tomorrow.
“Then I will stay.” Her agreement brought him back down on her again with eager kisses.
The grandfather clock outside chimed nine times. The morning hours slipped away as they lay amid the destruction of pillows and sheets.
“What about breakfast?” she asked in a sated daze.
“Breakfast?” Godric’s hand traced designs on her collarbone. She lay back against his chest. One arm lay wrapped around her upper body while fingers danced across her skin. She watched as one formed a decisive pattern over and over again.
“What are you doing?”
His lips curved into a smile against her cheek.
“Writing my name on you.”
“If you’re claiming me, then I deserve fair turnabout.” Emily caught his hand and turned his palm upuntil it faced her. She held his hand still and used her right index finger to draw her own name in an invisible signature, then she brought his palm to her lips and sealed her name with a kiss. Godric covered her hand with his and nestled their paired hands on her waist. The soft silence between them was warm and secretive. Beyond Godric and their bed nothing else existed.
Was there ever a moment better than this? Nestled in his strong arms, she felt strong herself. She couldn’t help but imagine what life could be with the handsome, brooding Duke of Essex, who broke into smiles just for her and made her laugh and cry out with pleasure. Each breath, each kiss shared between them, tied her heart with strings and connected her to him. She’d always feel that cosmic pull towards him and fall into the gravity of his being. Whatever else happened, this moment, this perfect single instance, would always exist. A sunny memory bathed in love and bottled in her heart. It would never be enough, but she would take whatever came her way until it ended.
The rumble of Emily’s stomach broke the silence.
“Right! Breakfast! You must be famished!” Godric flew from the bed in a flurry to dress. Emily gathered her torn garments, heading to her room.
When they finally made it to the dining room the others were finishing their meals. Emily read at once their knowing gazes, and she flushed, eyes falling to the floor as she remembered her cries of pleasure. The entire manor must have heard her and Godric last night…and this morning.
Godric greeted them without a hint of embarrassment. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Lucien had his usual paper, but he folded it down over his fingers to glance at her and Godric before flipping the paper shield back up. Emily decided Lucien was less interested in his paper than in hiding his expression. She had glimpsed a smirk before the newspaper blocked him from view.
Charles stifled a yawn, running a hand through tousled blond hair. He was such an odd man. His clothes always neat, trim and finely cared for, but Charles himself was always sleepy-eyed and rumpled, as though he’d just emerged from bed.
Cedric kept busy by feeding Penelope crumbs of his leftover toast. A servant must have come up and fetched the pup before she and Godric woke.
Ashton regarded Emily with the same intense scrutiny she had given the others. “You look very lovely this morning, Emily.”
The compliment startled and pleased her. “Thank you.”
Ashton smiled then turned to Godric and—damn the man!—spoke in Italian. Whatever Godric replied seemed to ease Ashton, and amuse the others, except Cedric. He looked more than once in her direction with a mingled look of pity and concern. Emily’s stomach knotted. She ate her breakfast, but chewing became a task. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Godric talk and eat with his friends.
