Jonathan’s mouth moved to her neck and the second her lips were free a small pitiful sob escaped Emily’s throat.
Jonathan froze when she sobbed again. He pulled back, startled.
“My God. You really don’t want me.” The look of sheer shock on his face relieved her. He seemed completely horrified at his actions.
Emily sank limp into his arms, but managed a weak nod and then sneezed again.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Parr, I thought…it doesn’t matter. Did…I hurt you?” He moved off her and sat back. Emily rolled onto her side away from him and burst into tears. Jonathan awkwardly patted her back. He couldn’t understand the rending of her heart from her soul, the shattering of her essence into a thousand pieces. She wept for the life she left behind, the love she’d never know again.
“There, there.” He tried to comfort her.
She slowed in her tears and only hiccupped once or twice, quivering. “I…don’t think I’m well…” she started to say. A rough knock at the door cut the string of words from her lips.
“We’re busy!”
The knock turned into a furious beating. Jonathan rose to his feet with a grumble, still shirtless as he moved.
When he opened the door, an absolute silence fell for all of two seconds before someone roared, and Jonathan hastily begged to explain. A fist flew through the door’s opening to catch Jonathan square in the jaw.
CHAPTER 16
Godric left Cedric alone in the drawing room to check on Emily. She’d looked decidedly pale and he was worried.
I’ll read to her! She’ll like that.
His eagerness surprised him, the temptation to abandon his friends and seek her out was great. But she probably needed some time alone—women often did; they were quite mysterious creatures. Knowing this didn’t make him miss her any less. He snatched a book from his study and hurried upstairs.
On his way to her room he passed by a chamber he’d not entered in years. Strangely tempted, he opened the door. The nursery was a lovely room, even when muted by afternoon shadows and warm with its buttery yellow walls decorated by various painted scenes. Scenes painted by Godric’s father a month before Godric was born.
He remembered his father pointing to a mightyfrigate, guns blasting at a pirate vessel, deep voice rumbling as he spoke of age-old tales.
Godric’s gaze fixed on another scene, one of a babe in a basket nestled against a wall of reeds as an Egyptian woman knelt to investigate her discovery. The tale of Moses—his mother’s favorite story. A misplaced child loved by two mothers.
His throat tightened as he approached the empty crib. The faded blankets were perfectly folded, dust collecting on the crib’s smooth edges. He ran a fingertip along the white wood, admiring the craftsmanship. His parents’ ghosts were so alive in this room, in a way they hadn’t been in a long time. Even though his father had lingered longer than his mother, Godric always felt his father died with her, at least on the inside.
The memories were bittersweet. How different his father became after losing her. The man whose talented hands had created such vivid dreams turned those hands to fists with which to pummel his only child.
No child should ever choose between wanting his father to leave and fearing actual abandonment. For half his life, a nightmare kept him trapped in a crumbling relationship with his only surviving parent.
Godric wondered whether he could recapture the soft magic of those early days, his mother still alive, his father’s eyes joyful. Could those sacred hours of love and security return? It seemed impossible.
He couldn’t erase the stark, empty plight of the days after his mother’s death. He used to stare out the nursery window, waiting for his father to leave the distant grave. With the quiet patience of a frightenedchild, he lingered by his father’s door each night, hoping for reassurance. A hug, a smile, any sign of affection, any sign he wasn’t forgotten. A few months later, his father’s indifference turned to violence.
Then Godric was desperate to hide, to pretend he never existed. It had been easy enough, living like a ghost in the lonely manor.
A vision burst before him, splitting the dark memories with its ray of light, the room lit by oil lamps. A lady with auburn hair peeked over the edge of the crib and cooed softly. She turned to face him, her violet eyes wide with wonder at the miracle of the babe before her. A miracle they’d brought to life together.
The vision faded. Emily and a child. A dream he might yet make real. He fingered the soft cotton of the baby blanket, hungry for the reality of the child he dreamed about. He would love it, whether boy or girl, cherish it and raise it to be perfect, just like its mother. The woman he loved. Loved.
He was in love with Emily.
The realization didn’t shock him as he’d expected it would. Rather, his love grew the way seeds do, slowly, first planted the night he held her in his arms. Emily’s laugh, her smiles, her dreams and soft touches, had nurtured it, until love covered his heart like a wealth of rich ivy. All these years he’d been convinced loving someone would leave him vulnerable. What a fool he’d been.
Love strengthened a person. It fortified their heart until they could defeat any enemy, survive any hardship, achieve any dream.
Godric tucked the baby blanket back into place and left the nursery, a look of joy on his face. He’d tell Emily right now. Confess his love and demand she stay and marry him, no matter the scandal. He had to have her, had to spend the rest of his life at the altar of her love, worshipping the woman who’d taught him to trust in himself and his heart.
He rapped his knuckles lightly on her door. It was half past three in the afternoon. Surely she’d slept, or at least rested, since lunch. He knocked louder when no one answered. Godric frowned, put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. Emily’s door swung open, revealing a darkened room, curtains pulled shut. She looked to be buried deep into her covers. “Emily? Are you well?” Still no answer. “I thought I could read to you…” He rushed to her bed and tugged back the covers, his lips moving—“Emily?”—as his voice increased in volume.
