Page 91 of Wicked Designs
Jonathan raised his arms. “Lucy, you’re prettier every time I see you.”
The middle aged woman blushed, “Oh, hush, you scoundrel.” She swatted his shoulder.
“Could we have a room, Lucy?” Jonathan tilted his head in Emily’s direction.
“Ahh, so she’s yours, is she?”
“It is not what you think, Lucy.”
“It never is, love. But it always is.” Lucy winked, but said nothing else. She grabbed a set of keys from a nail on the wall, then led them up a set of narrow stairs and down a hall of four rooms. She picked the last one on the right and opened it for them. Inside stood a narrow bed, a small table and basin of water next to some towels.
Emily set down Penelope and her bags, while Jonathan ripped off his dripping cloak and outer coat.
“I’ll send up some soup for you both.” Lucy left them alone.
Emily stood indecisively for a moment, cold and wet, and watched Jonathan warily. “Should we share a room?”
The handsome devil just laughed. “It is part of my price…and one room is cheaper than two.”
“But you never told me your price.”
Jonathan, still not looking at her, ripped off his white lawn shirt and hung it over the edge of the single chair near the table to let it dry. Roped golden muscles cut his broad chest. Where Godric was an inch taller, Jonathan’s muscles seemed larger, presumably from the years oflabor on the estate. She was struck by the similarity all the same.
He crossed the distance between them and without a word plucked the silly white cap off her head. Her hair spilled down in a tumble.
“Better.” He reached out to touch her.
Emily backed up another step.
“What are you doing?”
“My price, Miss Parr. I’m collecting it now.” Jonathan’s green eyes burned.
Emily nearly panicked but a knock interrupted them. Jonathan opened the door and took the two bowls of soup from Lucy before shutting the door in her face.
“Sit and eat, then we’ll discuss payment.”
It seemed her fears about the method of payment weren’t unfounded. The soup warmed her up considerably, but the wet gown didn’t prevent the chill that crept over her.I ought to change, Emily thought, but she wouldn’t undress with Jonathan in the same room. She let Penelope lick her bowl and eat the crust from her bread. All the while Jonathan watched her.
“Mr. Helprin, may I ask a rather odd question?”
Jonathan waved a hand in the air, urging her to continue.
“Are you related to Godric?”
Soup spewed across the table. He froze, then carefully wiped a napkin over his mouth. “What makes you ask that?”
“Are you?” She pressed.
“Of course not.”
Emily set her spoon down. “I’m sorry to haveoffended you. It’s just that…well, you look so much like him. You even act like him.”
When she raised her face, his eyes locked with hers.
Jonathan propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. “I take no offense, you merely startled me. No one has ever said that before.” He paused, eyes resting on her face, yet his expression was unreadable. After a moment he shoved his chair back, scraping it against the wooden floor. Rather than approach her, he paced away, the lithe grace of his movements every inch identical to his master’s.
When he turned, she was struck by his profile, the long-limbed muscled body of a man who’d worked in the service, but there was still a refined quality to him. Half thetonlacked the innate well-bred features and manners that came so naturally to Jonathan. Something in his very breaths set him apart from his fellow servants.
