Page 67 of Wicked Designs
“She was a great woman. My father said the world always needed more women like her. He wanted me to be as intelligent as she was.” Tears prickled Emily’s eyes, but they didn’t sting. They were tears of acceptance from remembering happier days. Would she ever feel that way again?
Godric stole her attention as he pulled her onto his lap, picked up the bowl of ice cream, and held a spoonful to her lips. He’d abandoned his cravat and waistcoat, the white lawn shirt molded to his frame. He rested his chin on her shoulder as he watched her eat. To sit on his lap, to feel him as he held her close, shot Emily onto a plane of wonder.
“I want to know everything about you, Emily. Tell me the story of your life.”
“The story of my life? There isn’t much. I’ve spent more time dreaming about a life yet to be lived than actually living it. My father was not ambitious and had no love of town. We rarely went to London and I’ve never set foot off English soil. My parents, however, were often gone. My father had part ownership of a shipping company and he would travel to the various ports to see how the business was getting on. He always took my mother…they were so in love.”
Flashes of memory, her father’s fleeting smiles at her mother as she donned her traveling cloak. The brush of lips on her chubby child cheek as they headed for their hired coach, leaving her behind, clutching Mrs. Danvers’ skirts. If only she’d known this would betheir last trip. When her parents had left, she’d been deep in the woods behind their cottage, sketching wildflowers and birds for an essay she was writing. She’d arrived an hour too late to say goodbye and this haunted her.
Emily would have given her soul to go back in time and make herself leave her sketching for another day and return home early. She would have held her mother tight, clung to her father, and begged them not to go. One never knew the mistakes one might make, nor the price to be paid until it was too late.
Godric seemed to sense her distance and brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “You wish to travel?” His free hand dipped his spoon into her bowl and stole her ice cream.
“More than anything, I want to…”
“You want to what?”
“It’s silly.”
Godric abandoned his spoon to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. “Tell me.”
It was so easy to give in, to surrender to anything he asked of her, when he touched her like that. “My father left me his interest in the company as my inheritance. A fair amount of money came with it and would have gone to my husband upon marriage. I’d hoped to marry someone who’d allow me take over my interest in the company and manage the books. I could travel, see the world when I had the chance. Wouldn’t it be glorious to have an opportunity to live? I want to bathe in the Mediterranean Sea, I want to feel the Egyptian sun on my skin, and I want to throw a snowball in the Pyrenees.I want to taste the Indian curries, and see the temples of the Orient…”
Godric’s eyes softened.
“Those aren’t silly wishes.” Godric’s hand against her cheek moved down her neck, a fingertip drawing a line down towards her collarbone. Emily wanted nothing more in that moment than to live her dreams with him.
“Perhaps not, but I am silly for hoping they will ever happen.” She set down her spoon and bowl.
When it was clear he would not release her, she settled back in his arms. He wrapped himself around her, burying his face in the groove between her neck and shoulder, his lips pressing into her skin. Emily’s head fell back against his shoulder as he moved his mouth up her neck towards her ear, nipping her lobe. She sighed, a haze of warmth coiled around her body. She could have slipped into sleep, safe in his arms. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed nine times. The distant pings roused Godric and he eased her off his lap.
“I must go down and see to the others. I shall be back soon and we’ll go to bed.” He didn’t wait for her to protest but left her alone to sit and wait.
The five menstood around the billiard table in the drawing room. Cedric lined up his shot while Lucien and Charles told the others about their time in London.
“We ran across Blankenship in Hyde Park,” Charles said, swirling a glass of brandy.
Ashton’s eyes flashed. “Really?”
“Yes, I took the time to remind him of his debt to me,” Lucien said. “It seems, he’s quite clever in his financial practices. He takes investments from men like me and uses them to break men like…Albert Parr. I asked around today and it seems that there are hints here and there which point to Blankenship having masterminded Parr’s money troubles.”
Godric picked up a cue from the wooden stand up against the wall. “I wonder if Blankenship bankrupted Parr just to obtain Emily…” He studied the billiard table then looked at Lucien. “How did Blankenship’s debt to you come about?”
Lucien took his time in answering. Once he pocketed two balls, he answered Godric’s question. “I’ve only met him once. I sold him one of my smaller properties in France, the little cottage near the Château de Chenonceau.”
Charles sighed wistfully. “I rather liked that place…”
“Well, Blankenship has the deed to it. He’s only paid me the down payment.” Lucien’s face darkened, his features stilling into coolness. “He hasn’t sent me the remainder for the property.”
Godric almost pitied Blankenship. Those who dared to cheat Lucien of anything could end up on the wrong end of a dueling pistol.
“You don’t think he’ll try to swindle you?” asked Ashton.
“No, I am far too careful to fall into such traps, as is he to be caught using them. He’s simply delaying payment to the last possible moment for the sake of interest.”
“What was he doing in Hyde Park?” Godric’s turn was up. He gripped his cue and took his shot, and missed pocketing a ball by an inch. His mind was decidedly elsewhere and his game suffered for it.
“Not sure. He seemed awfully smug when he saw us, the blighter.” Charles growled.
