WICKED DESIGNS

The Illustrated Edition

THE LEAGUE OF ROGUES ILLUSTRATED

BOOK I

LAUREN SMITH

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Illustrated Edition Copyright © 2022 by Lauren Smith

The League of Rogues ® is an officially registered federal trademark owned by Lauren Smith.

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

This book was previously published in 2014 by Samhain Publishing. This is a republication of the original version.

ISBN: 978-1-958196-15-1 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-958196-16-8 (hardback edition)

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

League Rule Number 1:

When seducing a lady, any member of the League may pursue her until she has declared her interest in a particular member, and at such time, all pursuits of the lady by others must cease.

Excerpt from The Quizzing Glass Gazette, April 3, 1820, The Lady Society Column:

Lady Society was quite entertained earlier this week, when she was witness to yet another wicked scheme perpetrated by a member of London’s notorious League of Rogues. His Grace, the Duke of Essex, was seen to have been seducing a most attractive widow in the midst of a musicale hosted by Viscount Sheridan.

It seems the duke has truly broken with his long time paramour Miss Evangeline Mirabeau. For all marriage minded mamas, there is a collective sigh of sadness that His Grace is a determined bachelor with no intent to marry. Shame upon His Grace for not being a gentleman that mothers could safely marry their daughters to and indulging in his wicked lifestyle.

Lady Society will continue to watch the League with the keenest interest…

London, September 1820

Something wasn’t right. Emily Parr allowed the elderly coachman to help her into the town coach, and the queer look he gave her made her skin crawl. Peering into the dark interior of the vehicle, she was surprised to find it empty. Uncle Albert was supposed to accompany her to social engagements and if not him, certainly a chaperone. Why then was the coach empty?

She settled into the back seat, her hands clutching her reticule tight enough that the beadwork dug into her palms through her gloves. Perhaps her uncle was meeting with his business partner, Mr. Blankenship. She’d seen Blankenship arrive just before she’d gone upstairs to prepare for the ball. A shudder rippled through her. The man was a lecherous creature with beetle-black eyes and hands that tended to wander too freely whenever he was near her. Emily was not worldly, having only just turned eighteen a few months earlier, but this last year with her uncle had enlightened her to a new side of life and none of it had been good.

Her first London Little Season should have been a wonderful experience. Instead it had begun with the death of her parents at sea and ended with her new life in the dusty tomb of her uncle’s townhouse. With an insubstantial library, no pianoforte and no friends, Emily had started to slide into a melancholy haze. It was crucial she make a good match and fast. She had to escape Uncle Albert’s world, and the only way she could do that was to legally obtain her father’s fortune.

A distant cousin of her mother’s held the money in trust. It was a frustrating thing to have a man she’d never met hold the purse strings on her life. Uncle Albert despised the situation as well. As her guardian he was forced to give an accounting to her mother’s cousin, which thankfully kept him from delving too deeply into her accounts for his own needs. The small fortune was the best bargaining chip she had to entice potential suitors. Though the money would go to her husband, she hoped to find a man who would respect her enough not to squander what was rightfully hers. But arriving at the ball without a chaperone would damage her chances in husband hunting, it simply wasn’t done to show up alone. It spoke lowly of her uncle as well as their financial situation.

As relieved as she was to not have her uncle or Mr. Blankenship escorting her, her stomach still clenched. She recalled the cold way the elderly driver smiled at her just before she’d climbed inside. The slickness of that grin made her feel a little uneasy, like he knew something she didn’t and it amused him. It was silly—the old man wasn’t a threat. But she couldn’t shake the wariness that rippled through her. She would have been thankful for Uncle Albert’s presence, even if it meant another lecture on how costly she was to provide for and how kind he’d been in taking her in after her parents’ ship was lost.

The driver was engaged to bring her to Chessley House for the ball, and nothing would go wrong. If she kept saying it over and over, she might believe it. Emily focused her thoughts on what tonight would bring, hoping to ease her worry. She would join her new friend, Anne Chessley, as well as Mrs. Judith Pratchet, an old friend of Anne’s mother, who’d kindly agreed to sponsor Emily for the Little Season. There was every possibility she would meet a man and catch his interest enough that he would approach her uncle for permission to court her.

Emily almost smiled. Perhaps tonight she would dance with the Earl of Pembroke.

Last night, the handsome earl had smiled at her during their introduction and asked her to dance. Emily had nearly wept with disappointment when she informed him that Mrs. Pratchet had already filled her dance card.

The earl had replied, “Another time, then?” and Emily nodded eagerly, hoping he would remember her.

Perhaps tonight I shall have a spot of luck. She desperately hoped so. Emily wasn’t so foolish as to believe she had any real chance of marrying a man like the Earl of Pembroke, but it was nice to be noticed by a man of his standing. Sometimes that attention was noticed by others.

The coach halted sharply a moment later, and she nearly toppled out of her seat, her thoughts interrupted, her daydreams fleeing.

“Ho there, my good man!” a man shouted from nearby.

Emily moved toward the door, but the vehicle rocked as someone climbed onto the driver’s seat, and she fell back in her seat again.

“Twenty pounds is yours if you follow those two riders ahead and do as we ask,” the newly-arrived man said.

Having regained control of her balance, she flung the coach curtains back. Two riders occupied the darkened street, their backs to her. What was going on? A sense of ill-ease settled deep in her stomach. The coach jerked and moved again. As she had feared, the driver didn’t stop at Chessley House. He followed the riders ahead.

What was this? A kidnapping? A robbery? Should she stick her head out of the window and ask them to stop? If robbing her was their intent, asking them what they were doing might be a bad idea… Why would they take her when there were so many other heiresses, ones more lovely than her, having their first come out this year? Surely this wasn’t an abduction. Her mind reeled as she struggled to cope with the situation. What would her father have done in this situation? Load a pistol and fight them off. Having no pistol, she’d have to think of something clever. Could these men be reasoned with? Unlikely.

Emily worried her bottom lip as she debated her options. She could scream for help, but such a reaction could worsen matters. She could open the door and throw herself out onto the street, but the clatter of hooves behind the coach erased that idea. She’d be lucky to survive the fall if she tried, and the horses behind were too close. She’d likely be killed. Emily fell back against the seat with a shaky sigh, her heart racing. She’d have to wait until the driver stopped.

For what seemed like an hour she kept nervously glancing out the windows to assess what direction the coach was going. By now London was far behind her. Only open country stretched on both sides of the road. A rumble of hooves heralded an approaching rider, and a man astride a sleek black gelding galloped past the window. He was too close and the horse too tall for her to get a good view of him. The moonlight rippled off the horse’s shiny coat as it rode past.

She knew by the close proximity of the rider and the determined way he rode in the saddle that he was involved with this business. Who in their right mind, except perhaps that foul old man, Blankenship, would kidnap her? He’d be the sort to engage in such a nefarious activity.

The other evening he’d come to dinner at her uncle’s house and when her uncle had turned away for only a second, Blankenship had twined one of this thick, stubby fingers around a lock of her hair, tugging it hard until she’d nearly cried out. He’d whispered horrible things in her ear, nasty things that made her sick as he told her he planned to marry her as soon as her uncle had approved. Emily had stared back at him, stating she’d never marry him. He’d only laughed and said, “We’ll see, my sweet. We shall see.”

Well, she wouldn’t back down. She wasn’t some pawn to be captured and held at someone’s mercy. They’d have to fight to take her.

Emily looked out the window on the other side to count the riders. Two led the party at the front, mere yards ahead. Another two flanked the coach on either side. One of them rode with a second horse roped to his saddle, likely for the man who rode now with the driver. Not the best of odds. Perhaps she could outsmart them.

The coach slowed, then gently creaked to a stop. Emily took stock of her situation. She fought for composure, each breath slower than the one before. If she panicked, she might not survive. She had to hide. But she could not physically escape five men.

Her eyes fell to the seat across from her.

Maybe—

* * *

Godric St. Laurent, the twelfth Duke of Essex, leaned back in his saddle watching the abduction he’d orchestrated unfold. Covering his mouth with a gloved hand, he stifled a yawn. Things were going smoothly. In fact, this entire kidnapping bordered on the point of tedious. They’d intercepted the coach ten minutes before it reached Chessley House. No one witnessed the escort of riders or the driver changing his route. Oddly enough, the young woman hadn’t shown any signs of resistance or concern from inside the coach. Wouldn’t she have made some protestations when she realized what was happening? A thought stopped him dead. Had she somehow slipped out of the coach when they’d slowed on a corner before they’d left town? Surely not, they would have seen her. Most likely she was too terrified to do anything, hence the silence from inside. Not that she had anything to fear, she would not be harmed.

He nodded to his friend Charles who was perched next to the driver. A bag of coins jingled as Charles dropped it into the jarvey’s waiting hands.

They had reached the halfway point between London and Godric’s ancestral estate. They would go the rest of the way on horseback, with the girl sharing a horse with either him or one of his friends. The driver would return to London with a message for Albert Parr and a wild story that exonerated himself from blame.

“Ashton, stay here with me.” Godric waved his friend over while the others rode the horses a good distance away to wait for his signal. Abductions were tricky things, and having only himself and one other man take hold of the girl would be better. She might have a fit of hysterics if she saw the other three men too close.

He rode up to the coach, curious to see whether the woman inside matched his memory. He’d seen her once before from a window overlooking the gardens when he’d visited her uncle. She’d been kneeling in the flowerbeds, her dress soiled as she weeded. A job more suited to a servant than a lady of quality. He’d been ready to dismiss her from his mind when she’d turned and glanced about the garden, a smudge of dirt on the tip of her upturned nose. A butterfly from a nearby flower had fluttered above her head. She hadn’t noticed it, even as it settled on her long, coiling auburn hair. Something in his chest gave a funny little flip, and his body had stirred with desire. Any other woman so innocent would not have caught his interest, but he’d glimpsed a keenness in her eyes, a hidden intelligence as she dug into the soil. Miss Emily Parr was different. And different was intriguing.

Ashton handed the driver the ransom letter for Parr and took up a position near the front of the coach. Taking hold of the door, Godric opened it up, waiting for the screaming to start.

None came.

“My deepest apologies, Miss Parr—” Still no screaming. “Miss Parr?” Godric thrust his head into the coach.

It was empty. Not even a fire-breathing dragon of a chaperone, not that he’d expected one. His sources had assured him she would be alone tonight.

Godric looked over his shoulder. “Ash? You’re sure this is Parr’s coach?”

“Of course. Why?” Ashton jumped off his horse, marched over and thrust his head into the empty coach. He was silent a long moment before he withdrew. Ashton put his finger against his lips and motioned to the inside. A tuft of purple muslin peeped out from the wooden seat. He gestured for Godric to step away from the coach.

Ashton lowered his voice. “It seems that our little rabbit chase has turned into a fox hunt. She’s hidden in the hollow space of the seat, clever girl.”

“Hiding under the seat?” Godric shook his head, bewildered. He didn’t know one woman of his acquaintance who would do something so clever. Perhaps Evangeline, but then if anything could be said of that woman, it was that she was far from ordinary. A prickling of excitement coursed through his veins, into his chest. He loved a challenge.

“Let’s wait a few minutes and see if she emerges.”

Godric looked back at the coach, impatience prickling inside him. “I don’t want to wait here all night.”

“She’ll come out soon enough. Allow me.” Ashton walked back to the coach and called out to Godric in a carrying voice. “Blast and damnation! She must have slipped out before we took charge of the coach. Just leave it. We’ll take the driver back to London tomorrow.” Ashton shut the door with a loud slam and motioned for Godric to join him.

“Now we wait,” Ashton whispered. He indicated that he would guard the left coach door while Godric stationed himself at the right.

* * *

Emily listened to the drum of retreating hooves and silently counted to one hundred. Her heart jolted in her chest as she considered what the men would do if they caught her. Highwaymen could be cruel and murderous, especially if their quarry offered little. She had no access to her father’s fortune, which left only her body.

Icy dread gripped Emily’s spine, paralyzing her limbs. She drew a breath as anxiety spiraled through her.

I must be brave. Fight them until I can fight no more. With trembling hands, she pushed at the roof of the seat, wincing as it popped open. Once she climbed out, she brushed dirt from her gown, noticing some tears from the rough wood on the inside of the seat. But the tears held no importance. All that mattered was survival.

Emily looked out the coach window. Nothing stood out in the darkness. Only the faint glimmer of moonlight touched the road with milky tendrils. Stars winked and flickered overhead, pale lights, distant and cold. A shudder wracked her frame, and Emily hugged herself, wanting so much to be at home. She missed her warm bed and her parents’ murmurs from down the hall. It was a comfort she’d taken for granted. But she couldn’t afford to think about them, not when she was in danger.

Were the men truly gone? Could it really be this easy?

She opened the coach door, and stepped down onto the dirt road. Strong arms locked about her waist and yanked her backward. The collision with a hard body knocked the breath from her lungs. Terror spiked her blood as she struggled against the arms that held her.

“Good evening, my darling,” a low voice murmured.

Emily screamed once, before she bit down on the hand that covered her mouth. She tasted the smooth leather of fine riding gloves.

The man roared and nearly dropped her. “Damn!”

Emily rammed an elbow backwards into her attacker’s stomach and began to wrestle free until he grabbed her arm. She swung about, striking him across the face with a balled fist. The man staggered back, leaving her free to dive inside the coach.

If she could get to the other side and run, she might stand a chance. She scrabbled towards the door, but never made it. The devil surged into the coach after her. Turning to face him, she was knocked flat onto her back.

She screamed again as his body settled over hers.

The dim moonlight revealed his bright eyes and strong features.

He caught her flailing wrists, pinning them above her head. “Quiet!”

Emily wanted to rake his eyes out, but the man was relentless. His hips ground against hers and panic drove her to a new level of terror. Her fears of being forcibly taken surfaced as his warm breath fanned over her face and neck. She shrieked, and he reared back away from her, as though the sound confused him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice vibrated with a low growl, ruining any promise his words might carry.

“You’re hurting me now!” She yanked her arms uselessly against his hold.

The man eased off her somewhat, and Emily took her chance. She tucked her knees up, and with all the power she could summon, she kicked. Her attacker stumbled out the open door and fell onto his back. Emily barely registered that he was winded before she turned and exited the other side of the coach.

The moment she emerged, another man lunged for her. To escape him, Emily fell back against the side of the coach. Rather than grab her, he held his arms wide to keep her from slipping by him, like he was corralling livestock.

“Easy, easy,” he purred.

Emily whipped her head to the left and pleaded with her mind to think, but the man she’d bitten rounded the corner and pounced, pinning her against the coach, his arms caging her in. His solid muscular body towered over her. His jaw clenched as though one move from her would trigger something dark and wild. Emily’s breath caught, and her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

The man was panting and angry. The intensity of his eyes mesmerized her, but the second he blinked, the spell broke and she fought with every bit of strength she could muster.

“Cedric, I need you!” The man shouted over his shoulder.

One of the riders trotted over holding a silver flask in one hand. Emily redoubled her efforts to escape and stamped on the instep of her captor’s boot. But it was too late. The man held the flask to her lips and, when she didn’t open her mouth, he pinched her nose, and she was forced to part her lips for breath. Vile, bitter liquid streamed down her throat. She gagged but swallowed.

The bitter taste in her mouth made her shudder violently, and a wave of dizziness swept through her, blurring her vision. The ground beneath her feet seemed to spin. A frightening deadness stole through her arms and legs, and she weakened against the man who still held her. Perhaps if she feigned unconsciousness here for a moment, got her breath back and cleared her head she could fight…

The man with the flask stepped back and Emily let her body go limp. Her captor kept his arms around her waist and shoulder, locking her to his body. Emily drew a breath, slow and shallow so as to not attract attention. The man who held her waited as someone dropped a cloak onto the grass before he gently set her down on it. Then he stepped away to talk to his companions. She had counted five all together before she’d had to shut her eyes.

Emily did her best to lay still and breathe shallowly as she listened, but it was hard to fight the panic that rioted within her and the fog that slowly descended on her vision. Every instinct screamed for her to flee, but she remained still, praying they’d turn their attention away from her just long enough for her to rise and run.

She heard a man’s voice above her. “Well, that wasn’t too hard.”

“I say, is that a gypsy child? I thought we were abducting a fine young lady of the ton?” Another laughed.

Emily fought the urge to snarl, despite the lethargy of her body. Bloody, arrogant popinjays! The anger felt better than the fear and it gave her a little more energy.

What had been in that flask she’d drunk from? A poison? No…that made no sense. She’d read of this bitter taste before… Laudanum! New anger sparked inside her. She let it flow from her head to her toes, and the illusion of strength built in her bones.

Yet another voice spoke up. “Charles, pay the driver an extra fee for his silence, and Lucien and I will see to the girl.” This voice she recognized. It was the man she’d bitten. He and the others appeared to be gentlemen, if you could call them that at all.

After moving in with her uncle, she learned never to trust a man’s appearance again. A fine set of clothes did not make someone a good man.

What confused her more was what these rogues wanted with her. Certainly Blankenship hadn’t hired them to take her. He would have chosen men of lower standing. The riding glove she’d bitten had been of a fine quality, too fine for common henchmen.

“How long will she be out?” one of the men asked.

“Hard to say…probably a good hour.” She recognized the voice as the one called Cedric. “One of us will carry her back to the manor.”

A gentle hand swept Emily’s hair back from her face. That same hand drifted down to her neck, caressing her skin before it touched her arm then slid along her waist. Tingles of fear traveled beneath her skin. She fought to keep her breath from quickening, but her heart fluttered wildly. When the hand brushed along her waist, Emily’s breath sped up. She was highly sensitive in that particular area, and the feather light dance of fingertips along her body, through the muslin, made her stifle a giggle. She cursed her ticklishness.

The hand withdrew. Then just as suddenly the hand was back, brushing along her waist, still as gently, until she burst into fit of gasping hysterics.

“She’s awake!” the captor who had just touched her called out, his voice breathless as though he was fighting off his own laughter.

Emily scrambled to her hands and knees. She’d barely moved when a body tackled her from behind, knocking her back to the ground. What little strength she had left deserted her. His knees trapped her hips, pinning her to the ground. Emily cried out as his weight settled on her. He loosened his grasp enough to let her breathe but not to allow her any freedom.

“Have you got hold of her, Godric?”

Emily lashed out, legs flailing, back arching. “Please! Don’t do this, I beg you!” She hated begging, but it was her last chance.

“We won’t hurt you, darling.” The man on top of her, Godric, ran a large palm along her side, stroking soothingly.

“Liar!”

He tightened his hold as Emily kicked and fought. “I’ve got her, but be quick, Cedric! She’s bucking pretty madly.”

Cedric knelt by her head and tilted the flask against her lips, forcing laudanum down her throat. Emily tried to whip her head to the side, but Cedric’s other hand covered her mouth, preventing her from spitting out the vile liquid. It was useless to battle against her fate. She let her eyes plead where her mouth could not.

“Sorry, my dear. Truly, I am.” The sincerity in Cedric’s voice surprised her.

How could sincerity follow such brutality?

He kept the flask at her lips. She swallowed hard and then coughed as it the liquid burned a path through her insides.

Her last sight was of Cedric, his brows creased above his eyes. Her fingers left tracts in the gritty earth of the dark, empty road as she struggled to stay conscious. The musty aroma of soil clouded her nose, mixing with the heavy warmth of the masculine body that pinned her down. Her limbs were heavy. Her eyelids fluttered and she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. Godric gently caressed her body, as though to comfort her, but only confusion and fear followed her into the encompassing blackness.

* * *

Cedric, Viscount Sheridan, cupped the girl’s chin and tilted her face to examine her. “Is she really out?”

The moonlight bathed her body, affording the men a decent look at their victim. Long, dark lashes lay against porcelain cheeks, which were tinted with a rosy blush.

“There’s one way to find out.” Godric’s hands swept over her body, returning several times to her waist where he’d discovered she was ticklish.

She remained limp and unresponsive to his exploration. “She is definitely out.” He climbed off her.

Charles and Lucien sauntered over on their horses.

Charles chuckled. “How many lords did you say it would take to subdue this little hellion?”

Lucien Russell, the Marquess of Rochester, bit back a grin.

“More than we guessed,” Ashton replied in amusement, gazing down at Emily.

Godric took in the dirty, but stunning little captive at his feet. “She’s not at all like her uncle.”

Heat pooled deep inside him. His brief memory of her had not done justice to the puzzle of Miss Emily Parr. He could not forget the way she’d fought him, even in fear. But knowing he’d scared her left a hollowness in his chest. He had expected to ignore her protestations and carry her off. What he hadn’t expected was for Emily to fight valiantly against him and leave him feeling every inch the villain.

Cedric stuffed the bottle of laudanum back into his waistcoat pocket. “Having second thoughts?”

Godric barked out a laugh and shrugged off his guilt. “Lord, no. You know me better than that, Cedric. She’s mine now.” He glanced at Emily again.

He felt oddly possessive of Emily, not that he had any right to. Still, the sudden urge to deposit the girl in a walled garden appealed greatly. Trap her in a tower like a princess from a fairy tale.

“The girl’s intrigued him,” Lucien said to his friends.

Godric gathered Emily into his arms.

He knew he must look a strange sight to his friends, taking such care with Emily. But something about her called to him. He ached for sensual touches, the slide of satin sheets against his skin, her silky body beneath his own. He hadn’t planned to seduce her, but the little hellion’s bravery had aroused him. She’d make for a wild bed partner. His lips curved into a smile at the thought.

“She can ride with me,” Charles offered hopefully.

“I’d sooner trust her with a drunken sailor.” With reluctance, his hands lingering, Godric handed Emily to Ashton instead.

Godric mounted his horse, then leaned down to retrieve her.

He cradled Emily sideways across his lap, one arm tightly about her waist, tucking her head under his chin to keep her steady.

The mere memory that Emily had almost outwitted him twice left Godric smiling. He’d not had such fun in ages. If he hadn’t given in to his urge to touch her, he’d never have found that ticklish spot at her waist, and she might have crept off while he and the others talked. Ashton was right; she was cunning—a trait she must have inherited from that uncle of hers. But her beauty? It amazed him. She bore not a single resemblance to the reedy Albert Parr.

The ride back to Godric’s country estate took an hour. They stopped once to dose Emily again with laudanum when she stirred like a sleepy kitten. The rub of her curled fists against his chest and her face burrowed against his throat, sent a thrill of pleasure through him.

He tried not to think about Emily or whether her lips tasted as sweet as they looked. He focused on the road ahead of them and his home, which lay just beyond.

The St. Laurent estate consisted of an extensive Georgian manor that rivaled the beauty of Chiswick House. His father and the Duke of Devonshire once had a friendly rivalry on the matter.

He studied the estate with new eyes, trying to imagine how Emily would perceive it.

The architect had styled the house, with six ivory columns in the front, like many of the greater Palladian homes in England. Godric’s ancestors built the upper parts of the manor with lovely ashlar stone, while the lower was rusticated, lending a lacing of texture to the manor, like a woman’s dress embroidered at the hem. Godric was surprised to find he was eager for Emily’s approval. If she was going to stay here for a while, he wanted her to find pleasure in her surroundings.

As soon as Godric rode up to his manor’s steps, a weary footman appeared and called for a groom. The elderly butler, Simkins, came to the door a moment later, escorting all the men into the hall once he assured care of their horses.

“Your Grace, we were not expecting visitors.” Simkins eyed Godric’s sleeping captive with open curiosity.

“Simkins, this is Miss Emily Parr. She will be my guest here for a while. Have Mrs. Downing assign her an upstairs maid to help her dress. See to her every need, but do not allow her to leave.”

“Of course, Your Grace. She shall be treated like a princess.”

“Don’t spoil her, Simkins,” Godric said, reconsidering. She was to be kept in a cage, so to speak, and it would be wise not to gild that cage, at least until she understood he was in control.

A sudden thought occurred to him. His valet, Jonathan Helprin, would need to be kept away from Emily. She was a temptation to any man, and young Helprin was not a typical valet. Having been born and raised under Godric’s roof, the younger man had a keen eye for the ladies, rather than clothes, where a good valet’s interests should be. “Oh, and Simkins,” Godric caught the butler’s attention. “Reassign Mr. Helprin to duties that keep him far away from my chambers. The house, if possible. Have one of the footman see to my needs in the interim.”

The older man hesitated, clearly confused. “Uh…yes, Your Grace. I will see Mr. Helprin is occupied elsewhere while your guest is in residence.”

“Thank you.”

Simkins then greeted the other four men who had followed Godric into the main hall. “My lords.”

“Simkins, you devil, how are you?” Charles laughed. “Miss me?”

Simkins almost smiled, but kept his controlled demeanor. “I am fine, Lord Lonsdale. The house has been much quieter since your last visit and I have slept well knowing that I did not need a fleet of footmen to scrub port stains out of the carpet in the drawing room.”

“Hmm, port sounds delightful. Bring me a glass when you have a chance?” Charles grinned at Simkins, who shook his head, muttering as he took his leave of the gentlemen.

Cedric pointed the way down the hall with the silver lion’s head of his cane. “Come on, Lucien. Let’s go warm ourselves by the fire.” They left, Charles tramping along after them.

Ashton followed Godric up the staircase, Emily still in his arms. Godric chose the room next to his, the one most often inhabited by a mistress. Unlike other gentlemen, he brazenly kept his mistresses at his estate, heedless of the gossip that might result.

Godric nodded his head to the door, indicating for Ashton to open it.

“Er…you mean to keep her so close to you?” Ashton politely inquired.

“Yes. She’ll likely keep trying to run off. I’ll be able to hear her better if she’s this close.”

Ashton swung the door open to reveal a four-poster bed adorned with a blue coverlet and lilac curtains. He set Emily down, lifted her head and placed a pillow under the gleaming coils of her hair. The pins from her coiffure had come loose during the struggle and he found he liked the wild disarray.

Ashton eyed the small door disguised as part of the wall, and Godric grinned.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ash…” The door led directly to his bedchamber.

“What you do with her is none of my business.” Despite his constant attempts to keep his close-knit group of friends under control, Ashton was no saint.

With a nod, Ashton excused himself and Godric remained behind. His eyes drifted over the helpless young woman on the bed. Mud and grit had stained the muslin of her gown. Smudges of dust colored her nose and cheeks. At first glance, she looked like a wild little orphan but the curves of her body left Godric painfully aware she was a woman. Unable to resist, he cupped her face in his hands, running the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks to rub the dirt away. Her skin was soft, and Emily stirred slightly at his touch, her body shifting against his right hip where he’d sat down next to her.

Emotions he’d long buried welled up, tightening his throat and burning in his chest. He was a lad again, mesmerized by the allure of a young woman. A time he could never reclaim, an innocence ripped from his bleeding soul years ago.

Standing up, he retreated to the doorway. He lingered there, his eyes tracing the shape of her body. An acute sense of longing struck him. He wanted to bind her to him, but she would slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

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 in The 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 of her 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 across the wooden floor, toward him. His breathing was soft and slow; still fast asleep.

“Ah, yes.” A small set of brass keys, secured to Godric’s wrist by a leather string, gleamed underneath the sunlight. Emily debated: wait until he woke on his own, or try to escape now and chance waking him in her attempt to snatch the keys.

The hand with the keys lay on the opposite side of the bed, which was a little too close to the wall for her to get to. To reach them, Emily had to crawl over him. Her pulse beat wildly and her blood roared in her ears as she tried to accept what she would have to do. She’d have to touch him, the man who’d kidnapped and drugged her. Not just touch him…but crawl over the length of his body…in his bed. Could she do this? Her father had always called her brave. But being so close to a man, alone and locked inside with him in a bedroom, was she brave enough to get the keys?

Her eyes closed and she summoned the courage she’d called upon so easily the night before.

I can do this. I must do this.

She lifted her skirts past her knees and put one foot on the oak bed frame as she climbed. Hands and knees far apart, she dispersed her weight. The last thing she needed was to dip the bed and waken the devil.

Godric was so big, she had to reach with much care to grab the keys without falling. Emily held her breath and leaned over, her breasts inches from skimming over his back as she sought the tools to her freedom. She looped one finger under the leather strap around his wrist, and pulled it toward her, but the leather stuck to his skin.

She would have to touch him. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The air in her lungs burned and she tried in vain to find an alternative. There wasn’t one. She needed the keys and they were attached to the man in the bed.

Emily used her thumb and forefinger to lift his wrist an inch off the bed as her other hand dragged the keys from under his arm.

The fabric around her knees started to slide. Gravity worked against her precarious position. Another second and she’d—

Thump!

Emily fell onto Godric’s back lying perpendicular to him. He groaned softly, rolling onto his back beneath her and she shifted over him to stay on top. His right hand—the keys still laced there—settled on her lower back, patting it.

Emily inhaled sharply. She was stretched out across his stomach and groin. He was still asleep. She shifted, trying to reach his hand without alerting him.

“Hmm…you naughty girl.” Godric’s face broke into a dreamy smile. “Evangeline, now don’t squirm.”

Evangeline? Probably his mistress. Emily scowled and reached for his hand again, but her movement was pointless. Godric’s hand drifted over her backside and struck her bottom in a playful spank.

She wrenched her body free. “How dare you!” Her feet tangled in the covers and she tripped onto the floor, trying to escape the bed.

Godric blinked at her. “What the—Miss Parr? What in God’s name are you doing in my bedchamber?” He shot up but fell back down against the pillows, slinging his forearm over his eyes with a groan.

Emily fled to the far corner of the room, heart beating against her ribs like a caged bird. His muscles flexed as he moved, like a large, sleek panther. For a second, she imagined the protection he could offer—his body cast before her as a shield, his muscles taut and forearms tense. Then she remembered how he’d taken her from the coach and the violence of the battle between them.

“Let me go at once!”

“I’m not holding you,” he said in an irritated growl.

“I meant, let me leave. My chamber is locked.” She stamped her slippered foot and glared, but the force was lost on him because he remained flat on his back, his eyes shut. “I demand to be released!”

“I demand peace and quiet in the morning,” Godric muttered under his breath.

“Well?” Emily stamped the ground again, rather annoyed that she had no other means to get his attention. She didn’t dare go closer. The memory of his body overpowering hers the previous night left her quaking anew with fear, but she was determined to maintain a brave front.

He cast off his bed sheet and sat up. She nearly swooned upon the glimpse of his bare chest. He smiled and took his time reaching for the sheet to recover himself. Emily struggled to breathe, her face afire. Was that what a half-clothed man looked like? He looked…fierce. Every strip of muscle and corded steel beneath his flesh whispered of violence and danger. Her throat went dry and she licked her lips as she tried to calm her racing heart.

“Care to join me, Miss Parr?” He patted the bed.

Emily took an involuntary step back, her shoulder blades hitting the door behind her.

“I was only joking.” A slight frown wilted his lips, as though her reaction unsettled him.

“A joke? Please, Your Grace, enlighten me as to how this situation is remotely amusing. I must get back to London immediately and try to repair the damage you’ve wrought to my reputation.” To my life. She wrung her hands together, trying anything to ease the anxiety that rippled just beneath her skin.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” His reply didn’t make sense at first, because she hadn’t expected him to deny her the right to leave.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I brought you here to ruin you.”

She studied the stubborn angle of his chin and his frosted-green eyes, looking for any signs of his intentions.

“Well, at least you are direct. Or is this another joke?” She couldn’t imagine how she’d save her reputation, even if this was a joke.

Then she spied the slight purple bruise that marked his cheek. The blow she’d dealt the previous night had been as strong as she’d hoped. She’d never hurt anyone before, but he deserved that and much more if he dared touch her again.

Her situation had suddenly become clear and she didn’t like it one bit. When she returned to London, only the most desperate sort of fortune hunters would take her on. After such a scandal, she’d be lucky to be received anywhere socially, let alone find a decent man to marry. But then again…her eyes flicked to Godric’s face. Would he do the honorable thing after whatever part of his plan that required ruination had been fulfilled? Can I convince him to own up to his actions and marry me? It was him or fortune hunters. She refused to consider Blankenship as an option.

* * *

With a sigh, Godric climbed out of bed to get dressed. Emily danced back, well out of his immediate reach, her face a cherry red as she pretended to look away from his naked body. It was charming, her innocent belief that if she stayed out of his way she would be safe. If he truly wanted to, he could haul her to the bed and take her. But there was little fun in that. The journey of the seduction was half of the pleasure in bedding a woman.

She stopped fidgeting and met his eyes with a strong glare.

“Why ruin me? There are many other young heiresses with more money. Do you plan to marry me?” She raised a golden-brown brow at him, a silent challenge that he found amusing. Emily was a forward and brash little creature, he would give her credit for that.

“Revenge is my only interest in you. Is that a simple enough answer? Your uncle is to blame.” Godric crossed the room to wash his face.

“My uncle?” Emily’s brows drew together and her lips parted as though deep in thought over the revelation of being leverage.

Godric bent, washed his face in the basin at the bedside table and then toweled himself dry. Then he pulled on a robe.

“Your uncle acquired a great sum of money from me, and I have it on good authority he’s paid off his other creditors with it rather than invest it. My money is gone.”

“That still doesn’t explain why I’m here.” She bit her lower lip, an expression of keen intelligence in her eyes. It had been ages since he’d really looked at a woman’s face and found intelligence attractive. Emily was certainly both.

“What is your intention towards me?” Despair laced her tone in such a way that she drew Godric’s attention.

Emily sat down on the edge of his bed, her eyes wide in disbelief. Abandoning his quest for proper clothes, Godric crossed the room, caught her chin in his hand and tilted her head back so she was forced to look up at him.

“I must keep you here a while until I see your uncle thoroughly destroyed, then perhaps I’ll return you to London. While you’re here, you’re welcome to share my bed.” He tapped her nose with a fingertip, attempting to tease her, but his words only drew a deeper frown from her. He knelt in front of her. “No harm will come to you, Miss Parr. You have my word as a gentleman.”

“Gentleman?” she scoffed. “Some gentleman you are. Dragging women from carriages, drugging them. You have not one ounce of honor. I don’t even see what this has to do with my uncle. Men like you ruin women like me and never look back. I dare you to deny it.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of denying it. I do however insist you understand I only ruin women for a purpose, not for sport.” He leaned one hip against the dresser, watching her intently. “I’m sure you know how easy it would be for your uncle to sell you to a man in marriage to settle his debts. Well, no one will take you if I’ve been there first.”

Emily’s eyes darkened. “So you hurt me to strike out at my uncle?” Her voice rose in pitch but it wasn’t shrill. “Have you not considered me? I am an innocent party in this. My uncle will demand you marry me, and then we’ll be stuck together.”

Godric gave a bark of laughter. “Ash said you were clever. I hadn’t realized you had a sense of humor as well.”

“Humor? I see nothing amusing in this at all. I had aspirations for marriage, yes, but it didn’t include marrying someone like you.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest.

“Miss Parr, I’m not sure if you know exactly who I am.”

Godric saw a flash of pain in her eyes. “I know who you are. The Duke of Essex. A veritable devil, or so the ladies say. You bring ruination upon a woman with one look.”

“Just a look? I thought I had to at least say a lady’s name…” he chuckled, but she did not laugh.

A splash of pink blossomed on her cheeks. Her lips parted further, and her bosom began to rise and fall with her quickened breaths. It reminded him of a startled sparrow that had flown into his study once. He had to help it escape out the window before it hurt itself by striking something in its terror.

“Let me be clear, Miss Parr. I have never let society and its rules dictate my life. Your uncle could attempt to wage a social war against me in order to leg shackle me to you, but we shall never set foot inside a church together. Do you understand? Now don’t look so put out, my dear. I am a generous lover. If I find that you and I suit, I shall take you as my mistress. I’m not inclined to permanent relationships, but I would keep you well cared for the rest of your life. It wouldn’t be so horrible to be the lover of a duke.”

Her violet eyes reflected a place far away, but were still resigned, a quality echoed in her voice. “Are all men as heartless as you? Don’t you understand what you’ve taken from me? I need to marry. My parents are dead. I had but one chance at happiness and peace, and you destroyed it the moment you took control of my coach.” Her eyes misted over with tears, and a second later, she keened, a quiet, small sound, before her body quaked in repressed, silent sobs.

Godric blinked in horror. Everything in his body clenched. It wasn’t the first time he had made a woman cry, but these tears weren’t from an angry mistress, but a young lady, a veritable innocent.

Without a second thought, he pulled her into his arms. A fierce need to protect her rose up in him, and he couldn’t seem to rid himself of it. Her body trembled against his, her hands exploring his bare chest, arms, and hands. A faint tug followed on his right wrist; he jerked back, amazed to see her clutching the leather band of keys. He extracted the keys from her fingers, prying them open one by one.

Godric burst into laughter at her furious glare. “Miss Parr, you have remarkably nimble hands. Oh, the things I could teach you…” He started to embrace her again, but she ducked.

Emily sidled back a few steps, eyes wary. Gone was the woman who’d been crying in his arms. Quite a believable ruse. Clever girl.

“I seriously doubt you have anything useful to teach me, Your Grace.” She dipped into a shallow mocking curtsey before she darted back into her room, slamming the door in her wake. The scraping sound of a vanity table being dragged in front of the door followed seconds later. He grinned and then started to whistle softly.

Let her wait. He certainly needed a few minutes to regain control, especially below his waistline.

* * *

“What do you mean, abducted?”

Albert Parr’s townhouse echoed with Thomas Blankenship’s fury. Albert sat at his desk, forefinger and thumb rubbing his eyes as he did his best to remain calm in front of his business partner, a man he was still heavily indebted to.

“It’s all in the letter.” He pushed the paper toward Blankenship, who snapped it up. The man stood before Albert with his chest heaving, his double chin wobbly against his jugular, a sight that should have lessened Albert’s fear—but didn’t. Quite the opposite. Blankenship had revealed the demon inside him with claws, salivating teeth and cold fire churning in his black eyes.

Albert sighed. Last night he’d arrived at Chessley House to retrieve Emily. The baron’s daughter, Anne, informed him that Emily never arrived. Albert had been concerned immediately. He hadn’t thought she would miss out on an occasion to see her friend, but maybe he’d been mistaken and Emily had decided to become difficult.

Perhaps she’d decided to avoid Blankenship and sought refuge with a friend. Not that she had many, at least none of whom he knew.

It wasn’t until he arrived home, exhausted and irritated at Emily’s stunt, that he had learned the truth. His butler handed him the letter left by the jarvey he’d hired to drive Emily to the ball. The weary driver confirmed that five men had abducted her, but refused to part with any more details unless he received some reward. Albert grimaced and slapped several coins into the driver’s wrinkled palm.

The story the coachman told was fantastical. His innocent niece had managed to trick the rogues and nearly escape twice. As he heard the tale, Albert imagined Emily as some sort of heroine in a grand adventure. It seemed she had more strength of character than he’d credited her with, but once the notion ceased to be amusing, apprehension set in.

He’d recognized the sloping cursive style of the letter at once, even though the letter was vague in its details and unsigned. After several dealings with the Duke of Essex, Albert had become intimately familiar with his unusual penmanship. But it was the letter’s contents that were most upsetting. Essex had stated that he knew about the money Albert had stolen and that he had taken “repayment” of a kind. He meant Emily of course.

Albert’s brow furrowed as he studied the note again, ignoring Blankenship, who paced back and forth like a caged lion. If Essex sullied her reputation, she would have every right to demand marriage and that would mean… Dread filled his limbs. If Essex became an in-law, Albert would forever be at the man’s mercy. That was assuming he could even get the Duke within a mile of the nearest church.

No, the duke wouldn’t marry Emily. Albert had no way of forcing him, and Essex knew it. Emily was ruined, and without her he had no way to repay Blankenship. Albert struggled for breath as he fought off panic. “Dear God.”

“What?” Blankenship growled.

“Nothing. I’m weary and this abduction has upset me.” The last thing he would do would be to confess his fears to Blankenship. Everything depended on getting Emily married to him. The side deal they had arranged would ensure that Emily’s inheritance, money tied up in Albert’s brother’s shipping company, would go to Blankenship and all of Albert’s debts would disappear.

Blankenship stopped his pacing. “How positive are you that it is the Duke of Essex who holds her?”

Albert looked down at his desk, avoiding the gleam in the other man’s eyes.

“I would recognize this handwriting anywhere.”

Blankenship digested this before replying. “What would cause him to take the girl?”

“I owe Essex twenty thousand pounds. He invested it with me, but the investment fell short. I used his funds to repay you for part of the debt I owe. He’s discovered his money is gone.” Albert fought the urge to set his head on the desk and remain still until he died. “The man has a violent temper and now he’s taken Emily as revenge.”

Blankenship studied the letter, his nose and cheeks reddened with irritation. “Why would a duke risk the rumors of the ton over such a meager amount? He has ten times that tucked away in investments, and his annual income makes this amount laughable.”

“It is just the sort of thing he would do. He’s one of those rogues, that group that meets at the Berkley’s club every month.”

“Yes, yes, the League of Rogues, or whoever they are. Spoiled paramours and nothing more. They do not matter. I want the girl returned to me. She is mine!” Blankenship snarled with such venom that Albert slid back a foot in his chair.

“How do you propose I get her back? The duke has taken her. Her reputation is ruined, even if he hasn’t yet touched her.”

“Demand he send her back at once.” Blankenship then tossed the letter onto Albert’s desk.

“Even if I challenged him to a duel, he’d probably laugh it off. He has what he wants now, and he won’t give her back—not until he’s satisfied she’s beyond redemption in the eyes of the ton.”

“You don’t want to have her back?” The deadly chill in Blankenship’s eyes unsettled Albert. “What about our bargain? Your debts to me would be satisfied when the girl is mine.”