Chapter 13

She belongs to me. I will have her.

Thomas Blankenship ascended the steps to his townhouse, seething. He knew what that fool Parr was up to. He means to play me against Essex in a secret bidding war. Well, I won't play that game. She's mine.

He pounded his fist on the door rather than use the knocker.

His wizened butler, Baltus, appeared at the door. "Welcome back, sir."

Blankenship only growled and stamped past him into the hall. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it at the footman who waited by the stairs.

"Bring me brandy in my study, Baltus."

The dimly-lit study reflected the remainder of the house. Years of grime coated the windows and fireplace. Dust layered the books on the shelves and ink stains splotched the worn carpet beneath his desk. He had more than enough money to keep his house clean and in good repair, but he rather liked the symbolic decay of his living quarters. It reminded him of his own life, and urged him to fight harder to claim what he desired. Emily Parr.

Blankenship threw himself into his chair and closed his eyes. His anger was a living, breathing creature, burrowed deep in his chest. Its bloody claws raked his insides and its beady black eyes fixed on his soul. He challenged the beast, pinning it inside the dark place in his head. He still had control, for a while yet.

The butler entered with a decanter of brandy and poured a glass, setting it on the counter.

"Will there be anything else?" Baltus wheezed.

"No."

Blankenship wrapped a fist around the crystal and swirled the amber contents around. The rich color was like Emily's hair. His thoughts drifted back to the girl. He had to possess her. Her mother had escaped his grasp, but Emily would not.

Nineteen years ago, when he'd been in his late thirties, he'd still made social rounds in pursuit of a bride. The simpering, delicate flowers of the ton hadn't impressed him until he met Clara.

Clara Belarmy. Witty, intelligent and a true diamond of the first water. With auburn gold hair, eyes the color of succulent plums. She was an original.

He had loved her, like every other man. He spent a fortune in bouquets on her, danced more than one of those dreadful quadrilles with her. Yet she never turned her gaze his way. She always slipped off in the middle of balls to be with that young, idealistic fool, Robert Parr.

Yet Blankenship had held out hope she might consider him for a husband, given his wealth. He'd shown up on her doorstop, his mother's ring fitted just for her. Clara hadn't been available for visitors, and the butler turned him away. As he passed the window that faced the street, he caught a glimpse of Clara tucked in Robert's arms, kissing him with wild abandon.

He knew what sort of woman gave her charms to the first willing man. A harlot.

After that he abandoned London's ballrooms altogether. He focused on his business deals and harmed any investments Robert Parr made, forcing the young wedded couple to relocate to the country, where living expenses weren't so high.

But it hadn't been enough. He needed to wound Clara as much as she'd wounded him.

The news of her and Robert's deaths left him cold inside. He ground his teeth at the memory. Without the fires of hatred to fuel him, he'd kept a loaded pistol in his study, ready to fill his mouth.

Then he learned of Emily.

How Clara kept the girl a secret he didn't know. But, once he heard the girl had moved in with her uncle, he had to see her.

He began to visit Albert at his club, talking him into taking loans for investment opportunities. It was only too easy to convince Albert to invest with him and even easier to see that such schemes failed miserably. Parr had been forced to offer Emily up as a potential bride in order to settle debts. In a matter of days he secured an invitation to Parr's residence.

Finally, Blankenship caught a glimpse of her, seated at a table in the small library, her hair undressed so that it hung in riotous waves the color of evening sunlight about her shoulders. She looked every inch the wanton creature he craved beneath him in his bed.

For a second, his youthful longing flared up, like a distant star, before night fell heavy in his hardened heart.

She was just like her mother. A tease.

Women like her belonged on their knees.

In his study, Blankenship's lips curved in a lazy smile. Soon she would be his. Emily would wear the loveliest gowns, the most expensive jewels. The ton would know he was her master, and with her by his side, he would put those aristocrats in their place.

Each night, he would rip the clothes from Emily's body, bend her over the nearest hard surface and plow her until she begged for mercy. He'd let her maintain a fiery spirit, just to keep things interesting. Punishing her rebelliousness would be intensely arousing. Having Emily under his control would ease the ache of losing her mother. It was only fair.

He palmed his aching arousal, groaning at the thought of digging his hands into Emily's hair to force himself into her mouth. Her body would be a haven for his own longings and would make up for the years of dissatisfaction he'd had with other women when all he'd wanted had been Clara. If he pretended hard enough, Emily would be Clara, Clara would be Emily, they would be one and the same and his hunger for pleasure and for Clara would be sated.

Visions of Clara still haunted his closed eyes. He hadn't always craved to hurt, to punish. If only he'd had Clara for his own, he would have been gentle, taken care of her. But she'd refused him, married that young buck, and dashed every dream Blankenship had.

Emily was the price of revenge for his shattered dreams. She would pay for her mother's betrayal. She would bear his brats, secure his line and curry favor with the ton so that he could line his pockets with their wealth.

He sipped his glass of brandy and leaned back in his chair.

***

Luncheon was a much quieter affair than breakfast.

Charles's desire to kiss her had brought an issue to the forefront, and the gentlemen were still coming to terms with the danger that she presented to them. She was contemplating this amusing form of karma when a hand settled on her knee under cover of the table, heavy and possessive as it tightened then coasted up her thigh, gently pulling her dress up with it.

A rising blush on her face mimicked the heat that rose between her legs.

Her lowered gaze drifted in Godric's direction. His right hand was conspicuously absent from the table.

"Are you all right, Emily?" Lucian asked. "You look a bit flushed."

Emily shoved her bowl of soup away.

"I think the soup has overheated me." She tried not to look at Godric.

The hand, which had paused while she answered Lucien, began to move back and forth along her thigh, fingers digging into the rumpled fabric of her dress, seeking bare skin. The sensation was so overpowering that she barely held her teacup without shaking. She dared not try to remove his hand.

Her only thought was of Godric's body on hers, and his mouth on hers, kissing in sweet agony as he had at the lake that morning. Would she ever be free of such memories? Did she want to be?

The moment luncheon was over, Emily jumped out of her seat. All of the men looked up at her with concern.

"Excuse me!" She ran to her room. It was the only place in which she felt safe enough to hide as she fought off the unwelcome desire she held for her captor.

She climbed onto the massive bed and curled up on her side near the headboard, clutching a pillow to her chest. The heat had spread to her whole body, and she needed a moment alone to regain control.

Ashton appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.

"Am I not to have a moment's peace?" she asked.

The room seemed to shrink as he strode in. Every movement he made was graceful, yet she sensed he calculated every action. He approached her vanity table, pausing to let a finger trail over the wood surface before it bumped into a silver hairbrush. Lifting the brush up, he studied it intensely.

He was the most polished of the rogues, yet for all of his barely concealed strength, a weakness shimmered in him. In his eyes, the way they softened on her when he looked up.

As though sensing her thoughts, Ashton set the brush down, and leaned casually on the bed post at the foot of the bed. He crossed his arms and stared at her, a silent challenge, not a threat.

"I'm not going to run," she said. Not right now.

A corner of Ashton's mouth curved up. "You're too clever for that." But he remained all the same. She sighed heavily.

"I am surprised you haven't asked me about him yet," Ashton said cryptically.

"Asked about whom?"

"Godric."

"Oh, you must pardon me." Her tone was light but sarcastic. "My usual curiosity has a way of waning when I'm held against my will."

Ashton ignored the sarcasm. "Would you like to know about him?"

"Yes." She wished she hadn't replied. The last thing she needed was for Ashton to think she was interested in Godric, for if he told Godric, she'd fight even harder against his amorous advances.

"Godric has had a hard life, despite being a duke. His mother died when he was barely six years old."

"He told me." Emily said.

"I doubt he told you all." A pause followed, as if Ashton felt Godric's pain. "The deaths devastated his father so that he turned to drink. He was a harsh man when deep in his cups."

"Did he hurt Godric?" Emily rolled over to face Ashton, her frustration and confusion gone. Godric's tragic life wrapped her up as it unfolded.

"Often. Godric was more familiar with the cane than any other young man I knew at Eton. He used to laugh when his professors threatened to thrash him."

"But I've seen Godric's back. He has no scars."

"Caning, if done well, does not break the skin but leaves only bruises and broken bones. Godric's father was a master."

She shuddered with sympathetic pain at Ashton's words. She'd never been caned or even spanked. She'd been a well-behaved child, for the most part. But when she was nine she'd witnessed the canning of a neighbor boy and his screams still echoed in her nightmares. She couldn't imagine the tall, muscled duke brutalized as a tiny boy. What had it been like for him? To have his only remaining parent strike out in despair and fury at the loss of the woman who held them together?

Emily had been fortunate to never know such abuse, and to discover that pain and torture marked Godric's childhood was like breathing in smoke. She hated that Godric had suffered the way no child should.

"How is it possible that he is gentle, at least most of the time?" Emily asked.

"He has much of his mother in him, more compassion than cruelty. He could have become a brute like his father, but instead he became a champion for those who are abused. You've witnessed his tenderness first hand."

She ignored that and tried to change the subject. "Then, why abduct me? Where was his compassion when you were all grabbing me and tackling me to the ground, drugging me with that awful laudanum! That was cruel, very cruel. Why didn't he just confront my uncle?"

"He has no proof of your uncle's crime except the loss of money. The way I understand it, he gave your uncle authority to access the investment account."

"Dare I ask in what capacity these funds were given?"

Ashton gave her a devilish smile born of amusement. "It is nothing as horrible as you might have imagined. He invested money with your uncle in a silver mine that doesn't exist."

"Can't he prove that then? Show that no such mine exists?"

"There is a plot of land that once was mined for silver, but it no longer is profitable. The investment papers are tied to that land. The only proof lies in the sum of money Godric paid your uncle and how it disappeared entirely."

Emily bolted upright on her bed. The vision of her uncle's ledgers flashed through her mind. She'd seen the figures herself, the very crime Ashton spoke of. He watched her closely now, blue eyes searching for meaning behind her reaction."You wouldn't happen to know more about this than we thought?"

The problem was Emily didn't know if her knowledge would help her cause or hinder it. "I am a woman, Ashton. I've no head for figures or business, but I do remember my uncle mention the mine once in passing to a friend of his. I was shocked by the coincidence, that was all."

"It has often been my experience that women make excellent men of business. Your sex can often be far more competitive when pitched into battles of markets and money schemes." There was a strange look on his face as he said this. A calculating gleam heightening his already vibrant blue eyes. Did he have a woman in mind, someone other than her?

Emily smiled inwardly. Lord Lennox, you have secrets too.

"Ashton, if Godric had proof of my uncle's embezzlingwould he let me go?"

Before Ashton replied, Lucien and Cedric burst into the room.

"Quick, grab Emily! We've got to hide her!" Cedric said, panting.

Emily took in the sight of their heaving chests. They'd been running to get here. Had something happened? If they wished to hide her, someone must have arrived at the estate and they didn't wish for her to be seen.

I have to find whoever's come and get help!

She scrambled off the bed and over to the other side near the window, trying to distance herself from the three advancing men.

"What's going on, Lucien?" Ashton demanded.

"A magistrate and another man are riding down the road and will be at the door any moment. Godric thinks Parr must have told the authorities and they've come to take Emily back to London."

"Finally!" Emily cried out, a little too triumphantly. There were three men plotting to hide her, after all. She threw herself under the bed, just as Cedric's arms enclosed around the air where she'd stood moments before. Sliding on her belly, she moved further under the bed, praying she was out of reach.

Lucien's well-polished boots stepped in front of her, and Ashton's on the other side.

She was surrounded.

"Come on, Emily, we've no time for this!" Cedric growled as his hands scraped at her ankles.

Emily kicked out at him, but in doing so, came too close to Lucien's side of the bed. He latched on, hauling her out like a kitten by the scruff of the neck. A cloud of dust billowed out, and both she and Lucien sneezed. He nearly dropped her as the sneeze wracked his body.

"Can't you stay clean for even half a day?" Lucien pushed her down onto the bed.

Emily kicked him hard in the stomach. He doubled over with a pained moan, clutching his abdomen and leaving her an opening. She slid off the bed and bolted towards the door. She had to get downstairs and reach the magistrate. He would save her from this madness, get her back to London, and perhaps Anne could help salvage a marriage to a man who didn't care about scandal.

She took the stairs two at a time, and skidded to a halt just in front of the entryway, heart lurching high up into her throat, the pounding sound of boots behind her.

Godric came into the hall from his study, no doubt hearing the commotion. His eyes fixed on her, then the men rushing down the stairs, then flicked to the unguarded front door. The blood drained from his face.

"No! Emily, no!"

"Oh, go to blazes!" She spun and wrapped her arms around the door. She flung it wide so that it crashed against the wall, rattling a nearby mirror. The rush of fresh country air was a blessed relief. She'd made it, as soon as the magistrate saw her she was as good as delivered.

Two figures on horseback were close by. One she was certain was the magistrate.

"Here! I'm here!" Emily shouted, waving her arms to attract their attention. One of the men, a more rotund looking man sat up straighter in his saddle and craned forward. She would know that man anywhere. Emily dashed back inside and slammed into Godric's chest. "Quick! I've got to hide, he's coming for me!"

Godric stared down at her in anger and confusion. "Now you want to hide? Perhaps I'm too busy packing a valise since you've so politely informed me I'm to leave for Blazes."

"Quit being so stubborn and help hide me or we'll both be in serious trouble."

Godric reached around her and slammed the front door shut. "Who's after you?"

"There isn't time to explain. Can you find a place to hide me or not?" Emily demanded.

He gestured to the stairs. "This way."

They returned to her room where the rest of the League joined them.

"You have to hide Emily. I think she might have been seen. I must see to the magistrate." Godric stalked off, shooting a dark glance over his shoulder. Emily gulped.

"Bloody hell." Ashton muttered. "Well, does someone have a plan?"

"I do," Lucien pulled Emily over to the huge armoire in her chamber.

It was only half full of clothes and plenty of spare room remained in the bottom. They would be easily concealed.

"Get in, I'll join you." He tucked himself into the bottom of the armoire then pulled her onto his lap before the others shut the door to cloak them in darkness.

Godric couldn't believe it.

This manThomas Blankenshippossessed the nerve to come into his home armed with a representative of the court.

What Blankenship didn't know was that Mr. John Seaton, the magistrate, had known Godric and his family for years. In fact, Godric's father turned down the magistrate position when the Crown offered it, and recommended Seaton in his place.

Godric asked Simkins to put the two men in the drawing room while he spoke with his friends.

"You three go to Emily's chamber at once and see that every bit of clothing, every stocking, is taken below stairs, and hidden with the maids. I want no evidence that she was ever here. Send me her maid, have her dress in one of Emily's gowns. I'll require some way to explain this if they saw Emily."

Ashton, Charles and Cedric nodded, then bounded back up the stairs.

Godric stood alone, fists clenched at his sides. It was time to deal with the magistrate and this Blankenship fellow.

Seaton, the magistrate, was a wizened old man who possessed the refined features of a country gentleman. He flashed an apologetic look at Godric, and Godric reassured him with a nod before he turned his attention to the other man.

Thomas Blankenship was tall, but his wide girth and sour face took away any chance of decent appearance. Beetle black eyes and a sharp hawk nose contributed to the man's predatory state, one that unsettled Godric. Blankenship was older, perhaps in his sixties, but the sense of power in him left Godric uneasy.

Godric gestured for them to sit. "What brings you here, gentlemen?" The magistrate gratefully dropped into the nearest chair. Blankenship, however, watched Godric for a long moment, studying him, before he finally sat.

"My deepest apologies, Your Grace. I had no wish to disturb you, especially not here"

"It's no trouble, Mr. Seaton."

"This man, Mr. Blankenship, insists that you are holding a young lady captive. I refused to listen to such nonsense and he said he would come here anyway. Your Grace, I do not come here in my office's capacity, but merely to assure you that I know his assertions are groundless. I will not be making any inquires or searches of this home."

"What is the name of the lady?"

"He says her name is Emily Parr."

"Who?" Godric masked his reaction to Blankenship's face. A possessiveness had taken root there, a look Godric didn't like.

What was Blankenship's relationship to Emily?

"Miss Emily Parr. She is the niece of a gentleman named Albert Parr. I believe, if my facts are correct, you and he know each other?"

"Ahh, Parr. Yes. I have done business with him. I haven't seen him in a few months, however." Godric stretched his legs, seeking to look calm and collected. "Now you say you are here about his niece? What's happened to her?"

Blankenship sat at the edge of his chair. A dark shadow passed across his face. "Don't play the fool, Essex! I know you've taken her. We saw her come out of the door, she was shouting and waving at us."

"Sir!" the magistrate snapped. "Restrain yourself in His Grace's presence."

"Why the devil would I wish to take Parr's niece? What would I do with her? I have no need of some young chit just out of the schoolroom. I certainly don't have to kidnap a lady if I desire one."

"You took her because you believe Parr is indebted to you. We saw the girl ourselves and I showed the magistrate your note."

"My what?" Godric laughed softly, genuinely amused.

With a weary sigh, Seaton pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to Godric.

He scanned the note he'd written and contained a smile. "This is not my handwriting."

"Of course it is," Blankenship said. "Parr recognized your hand."

"Well, that is easily put to rest. Come, I shall show you." Godric stood and quickly walked to a writing desk in the far corner. Both visitors followed.

He grabbed a sheet of paper and inked his quill. Holding the quill deftly with his right hand he scrawled a few sentences, blotted the paper and handed it to the magistrate.

Seaton pulled out his quizzing glass and examined the two works side by side. "Mr. Blankenship, take a look for yourself. This handwriting is not at all like the original note."

"Nonsense!" Blankenship snatched the two notes out of the magistrate's hand and studied them.

Godric fought the devious smile tugging at his lips. He'd written both notes, of course. The real one with his left hand and this one with his right. As a child, he'd had few friends. To occupy himself, he'd learned to write with both hands. The effect was two very different writing styles. Neither of his guests knew that he only wrote a few notes to Parr, always using his left handsomething he had never done in his normal correspondence. There was something he had never fully trusted about Parr and therefore he had never left much evidence by way of letters.

"Butthat's not possible. I know he wrote this. He's tricking us. He had a servant write it for him." Blankenship tossed both notes back at Godric.

"Mr. Blankenship, I believe it is time for you to leave. You have disturbed His Grace and as magistrate here, I'm telling you there is nothing to see here." Seaton put a hand on Blankenship's shoulder, but the man thrust him away.

"I am not satisfied. You and I both saw the girl on the road. I know it was Miss Parr. I wish to see every room in this bloody place."

Godric gave a dramatic sigh. He could easily send the man packing, but he'd rather just show him the rooms and be done with it. He didn't want the man skulking around his home. "If that will ease your concerns for the lady, then I will happily open my house to your inspection. I daresay you'll be disappointed. I'm sure she's merely run off."

The three men left the drawing room.

"Run off? That little chit wouldn't know where to go." Blankenship frowned. "Besides, no one would take her in."

Godric scowled. Blankenship spoke as though Emily hadn't an intelligent thought in her head. Emily was nothing if not clever, and possessed two heads worth of knowledge.

"This way, gentlemen." Godric gestured for the two men to follow as he led them about the house. He opened every door, and not one contained a sign of Emily. Her chamber had been immaculately cleaned. Emily's maid, wearing a gown similar to Emily's, sat on the bed, reading a book. The maid blushed when Godric and the two men noticed her.

"Ahh, sweetheart, there you are. I'm sorry to have upset you, we must never quarrel again." He bent to press a kiss on the maid's hand, and she ducked her head bashfully. Godric turned back to two men.

"Excuse me, gentleman, this is a dear friend of mine, Libba. She is the lady you saw when you arrived. I'm afraid we had a row. But all is well." Godric flashed a quick look at the maid. "You ought to go to the kitchens. Cook is preparing those pies you like so much."

The maid gratefully escaped the watchful gazes of the three men and departed.

When they finished their inspection, the magistrate seemed convinced that Blankenship was destined for the nearest madhouse.

"I'll show you out now. I have estate matters to attend to today and tenants to visit. I can't delay any longer."

"Of course, Your Grace." Seaton walked outside and took the reins of his horse from the waiting groom.

Blankenship whirled to face Godric, bringing himself far too close for his liking.

"I know you took her. But know this. She is mine. Parr gave her to me. I will get her back and she'll be punished for staying here with you."

"You would punish a woman for leaving home?"

"I would punish her for trying to escape me. The girl belongs on her knees before me and I'll have her there, soon. And you, with all of your bloody arrogance and pride, I'll tear you down before this is done."

Godric laughed. "Tear me down? You, my dear fellow, have no idea whom you're dealing with. Your insolence is matched only by your stupidity. It's you who should worry. I've destroyed greater men for less than the insult of your presence in my home. Even if I did have Miss Parr, I'd keep her just to spite you."

But Blankenship was not easily cowed. "You might want to ask your friend Lord Rochester, what happened to Lord Pitherington. Terrible bad luck can befall even the mightiest of us. Bear that in mind."

"And you bear thisI don't like men who abuse women. When you threaten me, you threaten four more men far above you in intelligence, power and fortune. Should I wish to tell them about your hasty words, you might not wake up tomorrow morning. Good day to you." Godric finished with such a menacing growl that Blankenship staggered back, then hurried to his horse without looking back.

"Pleasant journey!" Godric hollered as the horses left a trail of dust in their wake.

"And good riddance," Ashton echoed from behind. The others, save Lucien, were with him.

"Are we in the clear then?" Charles asked.

Godric turned to face his friends. "I wish I could say otherwise, but the truth is no. We aren't the only ones with an interest in Emily. I believe our interest in the lady is far better than the alternative."