Page 25 of Wicked Designs
Luncheon wasa much quieter affair than breakfast.
Charles’s desire to kiss her had brought an issue to the forefront, and the gentlemen were still coming to terms with the danger that she presented to them. She was contemplating this amusing form of karma when a hand settled on her knee under cover of the table, heavy and possessive as it tightened then coasted up her thigh, gently pulling her dress up with it.
A rising blush on her face mimicked the heat that rose between her legs.
Her lowered gaze drifted in Godric’s direction. His right hand was conspicuously absent from the table.
“Are you all right, Emily?” Lucian asked. “You look a bit flushed.”
Emily shoved her bowl of soup away.
“I think the soup has overheated me.” She tried not to look at Godric.
The hand, which had paused while she answered Lucien, began to move back and forth along her thigh, fingers digging into the rumpled fabric of her dress,seeking bare skin. The sensation was so overpowering that she barely held her teacup without shaking. She dared not try to remove his hand.
Her only thought was of Godric’s body on hers, and his mouth on hers, kissing in sweet agony as he had at the lake that morning. Would she ever be free of such memories? Did she want to be?
The moment luncheon was over, Emily jumped out of her seat. All of the men looked up at her with concern.
“Excuse me!” She ran to her room. It was the only place in which she felt safe enough to hide as she fought off the unwelcome desire she held for her captor.
She climbed onto the massive bed and curled up on her side near the headboard, clutching a pillow to her chest. The heat had spread to her whole body, and she needed a moment alone to regain control.
Ashton appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.
“Am I not to have a moment’s peace?” she asked.
The room seemed to shrink as he strode in. Every movement he made was graceful, yet she sensed he calculated every action. He approached her vanity table, pausing to let a finger trail over the wood surface before it bumped into a silver hairbrush. Lifting the brush up, he studied it intensely.
He was the most polished of the rogues, yet for all of his barely concealed strength, a weakness shimmered in him. In his eyes, the way they softened on her when he looked up.
As though sensing her thoughts, Ashton set thebrush down, and leaned casually on the bed post at the foot of the bed. He crossed his arms and stared at her, a silent challenge, not a threat.
“I’m not going to run,” she said.Not right now.
A corner of Ashton’s mouth curved up. “You’re too clever for that.” But he remained all the same. She sighed heavily.
“I am surprised you haven’t asked me about him yet,” Ashton said cryptically.
“Asked about whom?”
“Godric.”
“Oh, you must pardon me.” Her tone was light but sarcastic. “My usual curiosity has a way of waning when I’m held against my will.”
Ashton ignored the sarcasm. “Would you like to know about him?”
“Yes.” She wished she hadn’t replied. The last thing she needed was for Ashton to think she was interested in Godric, for if he told Godric, she’d fight even harder against his amorous advances.
“Godric has had a hard life, despite being a duke. His mother died when he was barely six years old.”
“He told me.” Emily said.
“I doubt he told you all.” A pause followed, as if Ashton felt Godric’s pain. “The deaths devastated his father so that he turned to drink. He was a harsh man when deep in his cups.”
“Did he hurt Godric?” Emily rolled over to face Ashton, her frustration and confusion gone. Godric’s tragic life wrapped her up as it unfolded.
“Often. Godric was more familiar with the cane thanany other young man I knew at Eton. He used to laugh when his professors threatened to thrash him.”
