How would she react to him come morning? With resentment and disgust, no doubt. He’d dragged her from the coach, manhandled her and drugged her. He was no hero, and a woman like her deserved a knight astride a white charger.
He ruined everything he touched.
Godric’s head dropped as he closed the door and went to join his friends below.
CHAPTER 2
Early morning light danced through the lilac curtains, casting purpled shadows across the counterpane. Emily woke, aching and sore. The sensations puzzled her. As she sat up in the massive bed, her gaze skimmed a room elegant enough for a queen. For a brief moment, as the beauty of the furnishings sank in, she reveled in the strange fairy tale surroundings.
She slid from the bed and approached the wood and gold-filigreed dresser, tugging gently on the handle of one drawer. It slid open to reveal a collection of chemises as thin as spider-spun silk. Emily fingered the finery, sighed and turned away, only to catch sight of herself in the dressing-table mirror. A loud gasp escaped her lips as she slapped a hand to her mouth. Her gaze fell on the set of reflected eyes, open wide as they took in the sight of her dirty and disheveled dress.
Memories flooded through her while terror gripped her anew, fraying her self-control. Where was she? Where had they taken her? Emily’s hands shook as she tried to tame her hair. She grimaced.
What am I going to do?
She could barely think as the dull throb of a headache pounded behind her eyes, an aftereffect of the laudanum, she supposed. She had the vaguest sense that they’d knocked her out a second time, when she’d started to wake from all the rough jostling.
Her dress was beyond repair, but that didn’t matter. She needed to escape.
Emily stumbled across the room, but paused when she noticed a sky blue muslin day gown laid out on a chair, alongside three petticoats and dark blue slippers and hair ribbons. A little note was pinned to the gown.
Dear Miss Parr,
I hope you slept well.
I took the liberty of having this gown altered this morning after Mrs. Downing obtained your measurements. Please come down for breakfast at your leisure.
Sincerely,
Mr. Simkins,butler, and Mrs. Downing, housekeeper
for His Grace, Godric St. Laurent, the Duke of Essex
Emily stared at the note.
The Duke of Essex? Her devilish captor was none other than Godric St. Laurent? At least she wasn’t in danger as she had first worried. These men were peers of the realm and would not murder her or otherwise harm her like the highwaymen she’d first believed last night.
Her friend Anne Chessley had told her quite a bit about Godric and his friends. She’d called them the League of Rogues, a name she’d whispered half afraid and half fascinated. They were men without rules and morals as far as she knew, if one could trust gossip and stories printed inThe Quizzing Glass Gazette.
She’d also heard the name Ash last night, most likely Ashton Lennox, a wealthy baron. The other two men were no doubt Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, and Charles Humphrey, the Earl of Lonsdale. Emily swallowed down a bitter laugh. What young debutante wouldn’t dream of such a romantic experience as being abducted by the five most handsome, rich, influential and eligible men in all of England?
Emily, however, wanted nothing more than to escape, not entertain notions of marriage to any of them. They weren’t the type of men to marry. Still, she wondered what sort of husband the Duke of Essex would make. A good lover if whispers were true, but more likely to marry for purpose rather than love.
After a decent wash with the fresh water from the basin, she donned the gown Mr. Simkins provided, a lovely, simple design that buttoned up the front. The skirts had been cut high enough to display the tips ofher slippers, and the sleeves puffed out slightly at the shoulders.
Emily yanked at the door handle. It didn’t budge. How on earth was she to get to out? She was locked inside.Trapped. Her body tensed as a wave of panic swept through her. She ran to the windows and pulled at the sill but it wouldn’t lift. To her horror, she noted a pair of nails embedded deep in the wood, sealing it. She frantically scanned the room, noticing a narrow, barely identifiable door to the left of her bed.
Where on earth does this lead to? A discrete servant’s entrance, perhaps?“Might as well try it.”
The handle gave way and swung inward to a second room.
A massive four-poster bed stood against one wall. Her eyes latched onto the body tangled in the sheets. She caught a wide view of a sun-kissed muscular back and a head of dark hair…the duke. He’d put her in an adjoining chamber. Emily padded softly to his door. It too was locked. She rushed over to his window and, like in her room, it refused to open.
She returned to his door, pressing herself against the wood, and debated screaming for help. Her lips parted, a shout on the tip of her tongue, then stopped. She was in his house, with his servants. There would be no help here, not for a captive of the duke. Anger replaced part of her fear, at least temporarily.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she growled under her breath and turned back to face Godric.
The distant gleam of gold on the opposite side of the bed, near the wall, caught Emily’s eye. She tiptoed acrossthe wooden floor, toward him. His breathing was soft and slow; still fast asleep.
