Page 97 of Wicked Designs
Godric was still muttering, not looking at her as he fixed his clothes. “You don’t love me. You never have.” The self-deprecating laugh which followed sent chills through her. “If you love someone, you don’t abandon them. You don’t hurt them.”
“I didn’t abandon you, Godric, but I had to leave. I’m so sorry about the note I—” He silenced her with a wave of his hand before tossing her clothes at her feet.
“But you’re in danger!”
Godric ignored her. “Get dressed. We have to return home at once.”
“But why?” Emily froze, gown half up her shaking calves. She had an eerie sensation of dread, as though she was climbing the stairs in the dark and thinking that there was a last step, her foot fell through the empty air, taking her body with it.
“I think perhaps your uncle and I finally agree on something. You’ve outlived your usefulness, and it is time I returned you to him.”
A slap across her cheek would have hurt less.
I’ve outlived my usefulness?
His affections had been merely a momentary attraction built on nothing but lust, just as she’d feared. Now he’d destroy her in return by delivering her back to her uncle and the marriage that would seal her doom.
She blinked, dazed to find Godric holding a silver flask, no doubt filled with the water and laudanum she hated so much. The day couldn’t worsen, of that she was sure.
“That won’t be necessary I promise to come quietly.” She stumbled. Thunder rattled the inn and lightning sparked outside the windows, a reflection of the turmoil in her heart.
Godric studied her before pocketing the flask. “Very well, though your promises mean little to me.”
She finished dressing, hastily shoving buttons in all of the wrong slits, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. She’d lost him. What she’d believed had been forgiveness, had merely been a final goodbye. Her own stupid actions had destroyed her precarious grip on his affection.
An unfamiliar despair seized her in its grasp. Her lungs slowed, breath coming shorter and shorter. Black dots spotted her vision. She took a shaky step towards Godric, but the movement sent her vision spiraling out of control. Emily pitched forward as darkness descended and the floor rushed up to meet her.
Godric caughtEmily a second before she hit the floor. He cradled her to his chest, savoring the feel of her in his arms, then chastised himself for doing so.
Her escape had proven her intentions well enough. Her whispered words of love were nothing more than lies, a clever ruse to lower his guard.
He retrieved Emily’s small cloth bag where she’d set it down by the door. Her head lolled sideways, bumping into his chest. God, he was a fool.
He was even more a fool for threatening to return her. He knew what life awaited her there—marriage to Blankenship, a lifetime of misery. He wanted her to deserve that after what she’d done to him, but revenge seemed the farthest thing from his heart.
Emily needed to go. That was all. If she stayed, he’d do something he’d regret, like beg her to love him. He’d relive his boyhood all over again, seeking love, knowing it would never come. The self-loathing that coiled about him increased with every step as he finally opened the door and came out into the hall.
Cedric and Charles were there, Cedric holding the struggling pup and Charles holding up a groggy but conscious Jonathan Helprin. All three men looked at Emily with deep concern.
“Is she—” Charles began.
“She’s fine. She fainted.” A nasty bruise had already formed on Jonathan’s jaw.
“Your Grace, I swear nothing happened to her.”
“I will deal with you when we return to the manor.” If he tried to talk to the man now, Godric would strangle him.
His friends followed him as he carried Emily down the inn’s stairs, past the shocked guests, and back into the rain where Cedric held her until he mounted his horse. Once Emily was tucked into his arms, he relaxed, but only just.
As night fell, they rode back toward the manor, the thundering skies heralding their return.
When they arrived, Simkins took Jonathan and Penelope away to see to their care. Charles and Cedric followed Godric up to his bedchamber, where he lay Emily down. He stripped her of her wet dress and undergarments after the other two men stepped out into the corridor. He pulled back the covers and tucked her into his bed, then he called his friends back into the room.
“Check the windows, Cedric. Charles, you lock the adjoining door.” They both scrambled to do this, no doubt fearing his black mood. Godric leaned down over Emily and tucked the blankets more firmly about her, right up to her chin. He gently brushed back the soft damp locks of her hair, then he motioned for his friends to leave with him. Time to deal with another traitor.
They returned to the drawing room where Simkins and Jonathan were waiting.
Godric turned to his butler. “Simkins, send someone to light a fire in my bedchamber.NotLibba.” Simkins bowed and disappeared.
