Page 88 of Wicked Designs
Emily bent and captured his mouth. She couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think. There was only this last, eternal and yet ephemeral kiss. It was her last memory, one that would have to last her the rest of a lonely lifetime.
I’m letting you go because I love you and it’s the only way to save you.She begged silently with all her heart that he would understand. It nearly cleaved her heart in two when he smiled against her mouth and brushed a hand over her cheek as she left.
What would he think when he came to her room and she was gone? Would he wonder why she’d abandonedhim? Would her leaving be worse than the abuse Godric suffered at the hands of his father?
Someday he’d understand. She’d find a way to tell him the truth when it was safe to do so. But even then, she doubted he would forgive her. Until that day, she’d slowly die inside from a bleeding heart.
With a strength she hadn’t known she possessed, she raised her chin and departed from the dining room with grace.
Once in her room, she leaned back against the door. Her chest surged as she swallowed silent sobs. Her entire world shrank into that single moment of loss. Her throat closed and she struggled to swallow.
Sinking down the wood panel of the door, Emily curled her legs up beneath her chin, tears sliding down her face. She’d been such a fool to fall in love, but she’d never make this mistake again. Her heart would harden and she’d live on alone without Godric and without love. She had to.
Years from now she’d be somewhere in the world, remembering this final day, this final hour of losing her first and only love. The memory would rush in on her like a thief in the night and leave a raw, aching pain in her chest just as fresh as today. Tears formed salty tracks down her cheeks and carved trails like mighty rivers on stone.
It was the right thing to do. If she left, Blankenship wouldn’t have a reason to harm the others. That was more important than her tears. This resolve strengthened her. She remembered something her father used to say. “Fear is only as strong as the weakness within you.”
Her choice was clear, had always been clear. Deep in her bones, she’s always known she’d have to go at some point. The sooner she could accept it, the sooner she could move on.
Once her eyes had no more tears to shed, she mastered her grief and summoned Libba to her chambers.
Waiting for the maid, she wrote a note to Godric. She couldn’t afford to tell him the truth, but she had to say something.
When Libba arrived, she was shocked by Emily’s tear-stained face. Before the maid could say a word, Emily took her into her confidence.
“That man you saw before with the magistrate, he’s going to come back, with armed men. Too many of them. They will hurt anyone in their way. I have to leave. His Grace’s life depends on this. You must trust me. I need to borrow your serving gown. I’m going with Jonathan to Blackbriar.”
To Emily’s surprise there was no protesting from the maid, only a nod of understanding. “When that man saw me in your room, he thought I was you for a moment. I know how he looks at you, Miss.” Libba twisted her hands into her skirts. “I’ll find my extra gown.”
“After I’m gone, stuff some pillows in my bed. Make it look like I’m sleeping. Once they discover I am not, tell them you saw me cross the meadows, it may buy me some time. Whatever you do, don’t tell them I’ve left with Jonathan. Promise me, Libba. Godric’s life depends on your silence.”
“I promise. But…Miss…you want to stay here, though, don’t you?”
Even though she thought she’d spent her tears, a dry sob escaped her. “Some people aren’t fated to get what they want, Libba.”
Lucien and Ashtoncrouched beneath an open window of a townhouse on Bloomsbury Street, just out of Mayfair. The two men shared a concerned glance as they eavesdropped on a conversation, in the parlor just past the window.
They’d arrived in London an hour before and rode straight to Evangeline’s townhouse, intent on speaking with her. She’d departed for the day, but the scullery maid next door told Lucien which direction she’d seen her go after he loosened her lips with a none-too-innocent kiss and a few well-placed caresses. The poor girl wanted to tell him everything after that, if only he promised to stay and entertain her. Only Ashton’s polite cough reminded him of their mission.
The forged note Evangeline offered suggested to Ashton that she was not a helpless pawn but an active player in this game of deception, and it was imperative they determine the puppet master in order to protect Emily.
Lucien argued against Emily as the root of Evangeline’s appearance, but as always, only Ashton saw the larger game being played. He didn’t believe incoincidences and Evangeline’s appearance had little to do with chance.
When they tracked Evangeline’s carriage down to this particular address, Ashton found his suspicions confirmed. The moment they turned onto an intersecting street, Lucien paled and then turned scarlet with fury. “I know where she’s gone.” He growled. “Blankenship lives not far from here.”
They slipped down the side street and crouched below Blankenship’s parlor window.
“Miss Mirabeau, back in London so soon?” Blankenship’s voice carried into the alleyway.
Ashton lifted his head up a few inches over the sill, catching sight of Evangeline and Blankenship. She was facing him and her eyes widened as she saw him. His breath hitched as he feared she would give his presence away.
She did not. Her eyes flicked back to Blankenship’s as if nothing had occurred.
“I was turned out in less than a day,Monsieur! But since you have paid me, I brought you the information you seek.”
“And?”
A brief moment of silence gnawed at the air.
