The League of Rogues: Books 1-3

Chapter 2-1

2

Emily collapsed on her bed, and her whole body shook. Her face burned.

“Abducted by a duke.”

Emily rubbed her temples, her headache returning. This was a nightmare. What would her mother have done in such a situation? Acknowledge the facts. First, in the eyes of society she was as good as ruined. Second, she was at the mercy of a man who wanted to actually ruin her. Third, she needed to figure out what to do about the first and second facts.

Emily drew in a deep breath. She had to make a choice: escape and return to her uncle and Blankenship, remain here with Godric or hope she could make a match with some man desperate to get access to her fortune regardless of her tainted state. Only one of these options held real appeal.

Godric. The idea half terrified, half thrilled her. Did she want to be with someone though who infuriated her with his arrogance, despite his pleasing form?

Emily’s shoulders sagged. All she wanted was to have the freedom to travel and live her life, hopefully with a man who loved her at her side. She wanted to be in control of her own fate and her own fortune. Even though her inheritance would be under her husband’s control, if she was lucky, she might have some say in its use.

If she stayed with Godric, she’d be at his mercy. He claimed he would take her as a mistress…if they suited. Emily snorted. She doubted that he was the sort of man who would do right by a woman. He and his friends had abducted her after all, and this morning’s encounter hadn’t exactly reassured her of his good character. Instead it had reinforced her of his ill intentions. Perhaps if she could get back to London, she could seek refuge with Anne and figure out what to do and how she might still find a husband. It was a slim chance. Even ruined, she might stand a small chance of enticing one of them to marry her. But what about her uncle? He’d prefer to sell her off to pay his debts, as Godric said. Whatever man she could find would have to be willing to go to Gretna Green with her and then face her mother’s cousin and pray he wouldn’t prove troublesome in handing over her inheritance. The entire idea gave her a headache.

She jumped as the door to her room opened. Godric waited, keys in hand, wearing far more clothes than when she’d last encountered him. The sudden memory of him in his bed sent her heart skipping. Were all ruined women this easily distracted by the sight of a handsome man? It irritated her that she was so affected by him when he’d only caused trouble for her.

“Hungry?” Godric offered her his arm.

Emily grimaced. How could he stand there and pretend they hadn’t been discussing her being his mistress and with him only half-clothed just minutes ago? With a defiant lift of her chin, she marched towards the stairs, ignoring him. She halted abruptly when she reached the bottom. She hadn’t a clue where to go. She wanted to dash for the nearest door, but Emily suspected she wouldn’t make it ten feet before Godric pounced on her.

Godric’s lip’s quirked slightly, too lazy to complete the smile. “I wouldn’t try to run, Miss Parr. My servants have strict instructions to keep you in this house by any means necessary.”

As if to prove his point, a footman exited a nearby door and paused at seeing his master. When Godric nodded slightly, the footman took a moment to study Emily, as though assessing her strengths and weaknesses, before he continued on his way and entered the door down the hall.

Emily sighed and waved a hand. “Please lead the way then, Your Grace.”

Godric grinned and strode away without a backward glance, expecting her to follow.

It was now or never. Seizing what might be her only chance, Emily whirled to the left, toward a large door not twenty feet away that might lead outside. Clutching her skirts, she sprinted towards it, blood pounding in her ears. Suddenly she pitched forward, falling flat on her stomach.

The cold stone bit into her hands as she sought to brace her fall. Something had latched onto her right ankle. Panting for breath, she looked over her shoulder. Godric crouched behind her, a feral glint in his eyes. “I thought I advised against running, Miss Parr.” Godric smiled as though they were playing some game. It infuriated her. This was her life, her freedom.

“Let me go! You have no right to keep me here.” Emily kicked at his hand with her free foot, but he caught it, then slid her along the floor on her stomach until she lay beneath his crouched body. He released her ankle and rested one forearm on the floor next to her head, and his other hand gripped her hip.

Emily lay still as a doe in the glen catching the scent of man, then focused on her counterattack. She tensed and flipped onto her back, backhanding him with a sharp crack across the face.

The fingers on her hip tightened. “The time you spend here can be civil or not. I shall leave it up to you, but know that for every act of defiance, I will demand something of you in return.” He growled. “You may not like the price.”

His face loomed above hers with the terrible beauty of a vengeful god. With aching slowness he caged her in using his body to trap her. She shuddered at the heavy contact as his limbs matched hers. Ice warred with fire along her skin as she fought tremors of fear. It was as though she faced a lion—raw beauty, extreme power and a posed threat—yet she couldn’t look away. He would devour her.

Reality struck her, reminding her to fight him. His chest was a wall of steel, however. Immovable as a mountain. Left gasping after her efforts, Emily’s eyes burned with tears. She couldn’t free herself, not from him, not from this place.

Godric cupped her cheek with one hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb lightly over the curve of her lower lip. The warmth of his breath and the hint of his scent tangled her senses and rationality until she was a jumbled mess. Fear sparked inside her, like flashes of lightning hidden behind black clouds.

Godric could very easily take her, brutally and completely, and she had no way to defend herself. She had to say something, something to placate him and protect herself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Without warning, his hands were at her waist, his fingers moving teasingly at the right spot to make her burst into a fit of giggles. She kicked out of pure instinct, trying to cease his the fiendish attack at her weak spot.

“Stop! Please!” she gasped. “Please, I beg you!”

Only when tears where burning in her eyes and she was all but hysterical with laughter, did he stop. The whole time he had hovered over her with a wolfish grin, torturing her with those featherlight touches.

“I did warn you about exacting a price. I won’t hesitate to use such weapons again.” He wiggled his fingertips. If he was going to resort to such weaponry when dealing with her, she would have to keep her distance. It was impossible to maintain her dignity and insist he treat her like the lady she was when she was too busy laughing and gasping for breath like some helpless peahen.

He eased off her and helped her to her feet.

“Shall we try this again?” His voice was low and husky.

Did he have to be so tall and…and intense? Her instincts still screamed for her to run.

Dazed, Emily managed a shaky nod. Her body still trembled from the aftermath of his tickling.

“Would you like to accompany me to breakfast, Miss Parr?”

When she nodded again, he tucked her arm in his and led her to the dining room.

If she couldn’t outrun him, perhaps she could try a different tactic. Emily believed in the power of good, solid conversation. Maybe she could convince him to see reason, though that seemed as likely as convincing an angry bull not to charge. She frowned and worried her lower lip with her teeth.

“What on earth are you frowning about?”

Emily ducked her head, hoping to hide her face from him. “Nothing, Your Grace. I am weary from last night’s exertions, that is all.”

She could have sworn he muttered something about a different kind of exertion last night, but she hadn’t a clue what he meant. Before she could speak again, they reached the dining room.

Morning sunlight illuminated a large room with a table that could easily seat twelve. The bottom half of the walls consisted of cherry wood panels, and the upper half was painted a warm butter yellow. Massive portraits hung from them, where dark-haired men from various eras stared back at Emily, each of them hiding a hint of a smile in their eyes.

This room was different than the rest of the house. It felt more intimate and oddly rustic given the tall, wide windows that covered the wall opposite the sideboard. A wealth of Forsythia shrubs reached halfway up each one, the vivid yellow a bright contrast against the tangling emerald ivy that laced the windows’ edges. Emily felt as though she had walked into an enchanted world surrounded by flowers.

Rather than seem out of place, Godric ruled his lands like a god of nature. He did not swagger. Rather, his stride was graceful, almost feline, when he led her into the dining room.

Emily suffered a strange moment of pride at the thought that a man like him had offered her to join him in bed. He’d slept with scores of women, that’s what rakes did, but still…he’d declared his interest in her. As foolish as it was, she relished being wanted, until she reminded herself that she must stand strong against him and his merry band of rogues.

On the sideboard behind the table someone had spread out an array of fruits, ham, beef and eggs. Three men sat near one end of the table. A handsome man with red hair and hazel eyes read a newspaper and offered a calculated smile as Emily and Godric entered.

She glanced down at herself and realized how wrinkled her dress had become. Did he know that just outside the door, Godric had tickled her into submission? It still upset her that his means at subduing her were so effective.

The man holding the paper rose along with the other two men. They all bowed politely when Godric pressed her down into a seat across from the man who resumed his perusal of The Morning Post. Godric’s hands lingered heavily on her shoulders, the pressure a clear message to keep her bottom planted in her chair or suffer the consequences.

The red-haired man set his paper down and held a rack of toast out to her. “Good morning, Miss Parr. Did you sleep well?” Emily kept her head declined as she took a piece, her hand shaking as she set it on her plate. The three men exchanged glances. A silent conversation hummed in the air between them.

“Yes, thank you. I slept quite well.”

Emily became increasingly self-conscious of the fact she sat in a room alone with four powerful lords. The pale blond man on her right was Lord Ashton Lennox, a wealthy baron. She’d caught a glimpse of him two nights before, at her first come out when Anne Chessley had pointed to him. He’d been near the refreshments, drinking a glass of wine and speaking to a lovely young lady, a girl whose father was one of the owners of Drummond’s Bank.

Godric chose the seat on her left, while the third man, Cedric, sat down next to the man with the paper. The seating arrangements had her entirely boxed in.

Her hands fisted in her lap.

Breathe, Emily. Breathe. She drew in the scented air and forced her body into calmness. If she couldn’t flee the room, she would learn as much about her captors as she could. “Pardon me, but are you the Marquess of Rochester or the Earl of Lonsdale?” she asked quietly of the fourth man.

He raised a brow.

Emily blushed as all eyes descended upon her.

“Last night I heard the names: The Duke of Essex and Viscount Sheridan. Since I’m acquainted with Miss Chessley, I’ve heard those names in connection with three more: the Marquess of Rochester; the Earl of Lonsdale; and Baron Lennox. I apologize if I was mistaken in my assumption,” she said hastily, but the man’s hazel eyes twinkled.