Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

T he day was exceedingly fine with sunny skies and a light breeze. Emily leaned down to let the knee-high silky grass brush under her palms. Cedric and Charles walked on either side of her, carrying on a conversation while Emily listened. Penelope, not tethered by a leash, moved about several yards ahead. The small puppy worked to jump through grass, a good five inches above her head. Emily smiled at the pup's black nose trained to the ground. She sniffed and then bounded over the grass only to resume sniffing again.

"So then," said Cedric, "I said to the sheikh, ‘Bet you eight hundred pounds I can win this hand,' and the sheikh, the haughty bastard, replied, ‘Let us make the wager on something more valuable. How would a pair of Arabian mares suit you?' And I told him I would accept that wager. "

"Are these the mares you mean to breed with Anne Chessley's stallion?"

"The very pair!" Cedric laughed.

"You won the horses from the sheikh then?" Emily asked in amazement. "Wasn't he angry?" She envisioned Cedric playing the winning hand before an olive-skinned sheikh whose eyes flamed when he lost his horses.

Cedric swung his cane low over the grass as he strolled.

"Was he angry? The man was livid! But I won fair and square in front of a dozen pairs of eyes. Honestly, foreigners don't know how to play whist. Too much impulse and bravado."

A wry smile creased Charles's lips. "I take it he was fond of his horses?"

"Fond of their lineage," Cedric clarified. "The mares were both sired by his best stallion, an Arabian called Firestorm. Even I couldn't afford to make an offer to buy them."

Emily was in awe. She'd seen an Arabian once, at a country fair, which had performed jumps and pawed the ground and danced. Its coat had been white, like the first snowfall.

Unlike most horses, the nose of Arabians curved up a little at the end. Their equine beauty was alluring and mysterious, and their trim legs lent them an air of delicacy while providing much strength. Their unique build also contributed to fast runs.

"Why aren't there more pure Arabians in England? I've only ever seen one in my life." Many Englishmen boasted that they owned fine Arabians, but those horses had been bred in England over countless generations. It was rare for Arabians fresh from the Middle East to arrive on English shores.

"The sheikhs jealously guard their horses. People have been killed over them."

"I'm rather surprised the sheikh let you walk out alive," Charles said.

"He let me leave the card room, but he told me one day I'd die a horrible death and he'd get his horses back."

Emily gasped, but the men only chuckled. Emily saw nothing humorous in a death threat.

"What did you say to that?" Charles asked.

"I told him if he wanted revenge for an honest game of cards he'd best wait his turn because I've done far worse to better men." Little in the world scared either of these men.

"But surely you don't mean that, Cedric. You have your flaws as all men do. But you are also kind. You wouldn't do something to a person undeserving." Emily hoped it was the truth. She knew they were capable of kindness, but an impish curiosity drove her to learn whether these two men would admit to their wicked pasts.

"Are you claiming then that women have no flaws?" There was a merry twinkle in Cedric's eyes.

"Hmm. I know of a flaw she has…" Charles spun and caught Emily about the waist, tickling her so that she dissolved into giggles and gasps for help.

"We try to be kind to you, kitten, because you are so helpless and sweet. "

Cedric crossed his arms and laughed as she struggled to escape Charles.

"Oh help! Cedric, make him stop!" She tried to free herself, but Charles would have none of it. Cedric gave a well-placed whack of his cane to the back of Charles's legs. Emily broke free and skirted around Cedric using him as a human shield, as Charles did his best to stalk her like a jungle cat.

"Enough!" Cedric dodged Charles's reaching hands and fended off Penelope as the pup joined in the fun. Finally Charles relented and let Emily catch her breath.

Cedric held out a hand. "Come along, Emily." She darted forward, sliding her hand in his, laughing as Charles told an amusing tale about his latest boxing match. It was a perfect day. Almost. Only one thing was missing. One person.

Whitechapel was a despicable area. During the day, carts and people selling cheap wares littered the streets. By night, the area transformed into a haven for prostitutes, degenerates and murderers. Side streets cut and slashed their way through the area, weaving a deadly maze of filth and danger.

Blankenship kept to the shadows. Though a large man, more than able to protect himself in a fight, he'd never believed that any such fight should be fair. He kept his palm tucked inside his jacket on a Manton-made pistol.

A sharp cry above was his only warning to sidestep as a chamber pot was emptied overhead. He moved into a yellow pool of light, bumping into a ragged whore.

"Care for a quickie, love?" The woman's painted face was a mask of disease and hardship. Blankenship cursed and ducked back into the shelter of the shadows. Something squirmed under his boot. He kicked out, sending a rat scurrying. The next turn he took was down Dorset Street, his fingers curled around the handle of his pistol as he approached a tavern called The Black Boar's Head.

The scrap of parchment in his pocket he'd received this afternoon had born the name of this tavern and a time for a meeting. Someone had known he needed help in acquiring the Parr girl and had suggested he come here to discuss an alternative to the legal means he had attempted and failed. He was too desperate not to try any method, even if it meant meeting a stranger here.

The moment the door swung open the scent of gin and unwashed bodies assailed him. His eyes watered and Blankenship nearly tossed his accounts.

He dodged a number of serving wenches, their breasts nearly toppling out of thin muslin bodices. Such low, dirty creatures held no appeal to him any longer. He craved soft, creamy skin, burnished gold hair and pale pink lips.

He craved Emily Parr.

Blankenship started to slide into a table near the door when something caught his eye. Near the back, a well-dressed man lounged at a table, one hand curled around a glass of gin. The other hand was fisted in the tangled mess of a woman's hair as he urged her head up and down over his groin. Blankenship stifled a moan, then shifted uncomfortably, and adjusted his trousers. His greatest desire was to have Emily at his knees, wrapping her lips around his length and taking him so deep she gagged.

The man at the table arched his hips in release and shoved the woman away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slunk away into a corner. The man held Blankenship's gaze, fixed his trousers and smiled. It was a cold expression, one of frozen metal. A flick of his hand indicated that Blankenship should join him.

"You've been watching me."

Blankenship was unable to hide his scowl. "You put on a distracting show."

The man laughed again. Soft. Dangerous. "Sit. I believe you need help."

The chair Blankenship took creaked in protest. "So it was you who sent me the note? Who are you?" He studied the other man. His long fingers were manicured, his hair styled, his clothing immaculate. A lord perhaps?

"Hugo Waverly."

He'd heard the name before but couldn't recall where.

"What interest do you have in my affairs?" His hand still rested on the gun tucked in his coat.

Waverly fixed cold brown eyes on him. "We share a common adversary, do we not?"

Blankenship's gut twisted. Any man who knew of his affairs was a threat, yet a man like this might be a potential ally.

"I assume you mean the Duke of Essex?" Blankenship leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you have against him?"

"It's personal. Suffice it to say I'd like to help. I know a man." Waverly's fingers danced on his shot glass as he swirled it in front of him, his eyes fixed on Blankenship. "He's highly skilled. Eyes and ears everywhere. He specializes in retrievals of a delicate nature. If you pay him well, he can retrieve what is rightfully yours." Waverly smiled. "And I'll have the pleasure of knowing something was taken from Essex, something he loves."

"You think he loves her?"

"I know nothing of any woman." His sly gaze met Blankenship's. "To my knowledge this involves a misappropriated piece of property, nothing more. Essex thinks he's entitled to this property and you and I both know it isn't his. That doesn't change the fact that he cares for this…property."

"Who's this man?"

Waverly reached into his pocket and withdrew a slender slip of paper. He slid it across the table. Blankenship took it, stared at the name and address.

"I should add there is someone else you might find useful. Someone who is intimately familiar with Essex's habits. You need only to consult The Quizzing Glass Gazette's Lady Society column to determine her identity."

Satisfied, Blankenship stood up to leave.

"Blankenship?"

His shoulders stiffened, but he stood facing Waverly.

"Essex especially hates it when the things he cares about are broken ."

Once Godric concluded his meeting with his solicitor, he and Ashton walked to the little jeweler's shop on Regent Street he'd frequented in his earlier years. Godric examined the glittering trinkets from the window display—mulling, picking, debating. After an intense study, he chose a gold comb adorned with a butterfly, with an opal-colored body and mother-of-pearl wings.

Emily reminded him of a butterfly. She flew to her freedom each time he sought to capture her, but when he sat very, very still, she rewarded him with the most enchanting kisses meant for him alone.

Godric brushed his thumb over the smooth opal and pearl, imagining it nestled in the waves of auburn gold hair. He would savor the moment of removing it at night when she climbed into his bed. Her hair would cascade down in a waterfall of color.

He was acting like a young man again, uncertain as to how to win a woman. How many years had passed since he and his friends had schemed about the best way to capture a girl's heart?

Godric selected a hairbrush to match the comb, then handed the shopkeeper a leather dog collar with a silver name plate to have it engraved for Penelope. Once the items were ready, he and Ashton departed.

It was time to pay a visit to Albert Parr.

Parr's sallow-faced butler showed them in with the stiffest and most unwelcoming behavior. He merely stepped aside for them, then led them down the hall. Godric frowned at the unkempt surroundings. He ran a gloved finger along the nearest banister, and his brow creased at the smudge of gray dust that marred his glove. The house was only a few streets away from Park Lane, yet it was clear that the employment and supervision of servants was not Albert Parr's primary concerns.

"Poor Emily," Ashton muttered under his breath. "Not exactly a warm place to live."

Godric growled. "My Emily belongs in a palace, with silk sheets and a thousand servants."

Ashton cocked an eyebrow at him. "You mean she belongs in a place like Essex House?"

Godric silently contemplated the comment. "For the moment, yes."

"Why not longer? Say…forever?"

"What would I do with her, Ash?"

"Woo her. She'll not long be an unplucked fruit, my friend. Wouldn't you rather it be you than some scoundrel like Blankenship? She deserves a man who would be tender and passionate with her."

"But what then? I've ruined her reputation. Am I to marry her and live happily ever after? You know better than that." The people he loved had either left him or betrayed him. He didn't want either with Emily.

"Isn't that what reformed rakes are supposed to do?"

"Who said I was reformed?"

Ashton merely smiled.

Neither man said anything more as the manservant led them to Parr's study. Emily's weasel of an uncle was reading some letters, bent over his desk. He glanced up, and then did a double take .

Rather than treat a duke and a baron with deserving deference, Parr rose reluctantly to his feet.

"What took you so long?"

Godric stared him down until the man added, "Your Grace."

Godric's fists clenched sharply at his sides. He had the oddest sense he was being played. "I would like to discuss my investment with you." He and Ashton approached Parr's desk, bearing down on him with scowls that would have sent any other man fleeing, as though the devil himself was on his heels.

Parr settled back into his chair, eyeing them. "Is that what you call my niece, Your Grace?"

"Oh? You have a niece?" Godric smiled but the warmth of it did not reach his eyes. "Ashton, did you hear that? Parr has a niece. How lovely."

"You are a terrible liar, Your Grace. I know that it was you who spirited Emily away." He stepped to his right, as if he planned to come around the desk, but then thought better of it. "Mr. Blankenship had no luck finding her, I understand, but I am sure you stuffed her in your cellar, or perhaps a cupboard. I imagine you had no reservations about doing so." Parr's thin lips stretched into a smile, one as cool as Godric's.

"Where's my money?"

"Your money is gone. I spent all of it paying off creditors, which you are well aware. There is nothing left for you to seize and sell in this house or I would give it to you. I also owe Mr. Blankenship a great deal more. Emily was my last bargaining piece. But of course, you already knew that as well, which is why you took her. "

"She's not a piece to be bargained. She's a woman!" Godric slammed his hand flat on Parr's desk. Ashton put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"If she's not something to bargain for, then why did you take her? If there has been some guileful behavior in my use of your investment, let us at least be honest and admit this dishonesty now runs both ways." Parr replied.

He wanted to leap across the desk and strangle the life out of Parr. But the urge had to fight with his own guilt. It was true. He was no better than Parr. He had not cared one wit that his actions would destroy her reputation. He'd counted on it. He'd laughed at the idea, thinking it all a game.

He was as much a villain as her uncle.

Ashton intervened. "Mr. Parr, just how much of a claim does Blankenship have on Em…uh…your niece?"

Parr's business demeanor returned. "Ironclad. I exchanged her for my debt. He agreed to honor his end of the bargain by marrying her. Unless, of course, she is no longer a maiden."

"And then she's free of him?" If so, Godric had victory within his sights again.

"No. Should she come to him devoid of her innocence, he'll keep her as his mistress."

"And you agreed to this?" The blood drained from Godric's face, not with horror, but rage.

Parr looked down, no longer able to mask some sense of guilt. "I did…and it was a devil's bargain. But what choice do I have? If Blankenship demands payment, I will be destroyed. I am not without sympathy for the gi rl, but if you knew Blankenship as I do, you would understand."

"We are not unfamiliar with his influence," said Ashton.

"Are you? The financial ruin of his enemies is only part of the man's reputation."

"And what of Emily? Has she no say in the matter?" Godric interjected.

"She'll do whatever is necessary. What other use is she?"

Godric planted him a facer and Parr fell back in his chair, clutching his mouth.

"That won't happen."

Parr's tongue probed his teeth, showing blood. "Oh? Why not?"

"Emily is no longer your concern. You won't have her to settle your debts."

Albert relished the pain with a small amount of satisfaction. Essex did have Emily, and what's more, she had caught his fancy. Who knew how long the Duke would enjoy her, but at least for now, she was under his protection. Blankenship would be hard pressed to find a way to get to her. Perhaps it was for the best. Blankenship certainly couldn't hold him responsible for this. He might be able to work this to his advantage and remind his niece of the kindness he'd shown her by being her guardian. Perhaps Essex would forgive Albert's debt for his efforts to take care of Emily .

The blow to his jaw proved that Emily was in far better hands than his. A man simply did not hit other men in polite society unless their emotions ran a thousand leagues deep.

Albert smiled, winced, then smiled again. It seemed Emily's sweet temperament was paying off. But for her sake he hoped Blankenship's ambitions for her were not as obsessive as they seemed to be.

Jim Tanner scouted the darkened street ahead of him. It was one of many clever routes in St. Giles where he could slip away into the impenetrable darkness, evading any who might pursue him. It was also the perfect place to meet a new client. Evening was drawing closer and shadows stretched over the maze of the rookery, darkening pawnshop windows and hovels. He had received a note through his connections that a man wished to pay him highly to recover a young lady from the clutches of a group of dangerous noblemen. The prospect had intrigued him enough to agree to meet the potential client an hour after sunset.

Scuffling steps in the darkness ahead had him reaching for the blade he kept tucked in his coat.

"I say…are you there?" A low rumbling voice demanded. "I brought the information and a down payment." The voice softened to a rough whisper as a tall, wide man stepped into a pool of fading light only a short distance away.

Tanner revealed himself, enjoying the gasp and the jump from the potential client. He'd been only four feet away, and the man never noticed.

"So you need me to acquire a lady?" Tanner clarified.

"Yes. She's currently hidden at the Duke of Essex's estate. Five men are guarding her at all times." The man said as he handed over a scrap of parchment with directions to the estate.

Tanner read the paper and then ripped it to pieces, discarding them in a pool of dirty water where the ink would smudge beyond readability.

He'd never crossed paths with the Duke of Essex, but he was sure to be like every other pompous aristocrat. Bored, rich and allowed far too much power.

As a young man, Tanner had felt such loyalty towards these men, especially his master, a middle-aged viscount. As a footman, he'd seen to the man's every need, expecting no extra kindness or treatment for his hard work. There had been pride, great pride in one's duty to his master.

At least until his master had discovered Tanner's sweetheart and violated her. Lacy. Tanner's blood boiled at the memory of finding her bent over his master's bed, skirts up around her hips, taking whatever his master wished to give her. She hadn't protested, no woman in the service ever did. To refuse their master was cause for dismissal.

Rage had destroyed Tanner's sanity. He'd killed his master, killed the man with his bare hands and then fled. Now, seven years later, he'd established himself as a professional thief for hire, one of the finest. The deft of hand talents, and the ability to go unseen by everyone, a footman's trade, worked even better for him as a specialist in acquiring items desired by paying clients.

The man, Thomas Blankenship, was certainly able to pay him well. His sources had confirmed it, though they also warned he was dangerous and deceptive.

"I want five hundred pounds upon delivery of the girl. Crossing a duke will require a time away from England."

His client huffed and tossed a leather bag at him. "Here's a hundred up front as your note required."

Tanner caught the bag and tested the weight. "Good. Here is what you must do for me. I need to have someone access the inside of Essex's estate, a friend, a confidant, a servant, anyone you can buy off to enter the house and give me details of schedules of watches and habits. These are things I cannot learn but need to know in order to acquire your possession ."

Blankenship shifted on his feet and then nodded. "I know of someone."

"Excellent, send it to the address you sent your previous note and it will find its way to me." He waited, curious to see what the client would do. The man obviously didn't like to take orders, but for the money he was paying, it was better to leave Tanner to do his job without interference.

"Very well. I will write to you when I have details."

Neither man shook hands, they simply met gazes, sealing the deal with a nod. With a soft little chuckle, Tanner pocketed his money and slithered into the darkness of the secret alleys of St. Giles.

Emily turned from the window. "When will Ashton and Godric return from London?"

"Sometime late tonight," Lucien said. "He guessed they would miss dinner."

Emily's heart pitched south in disappointment.

She missed Godric, missed the heated glances, the tenderness of his lips, the rough weight of his body, those hands that drove her to madness. But she also missed the rich timbre of his voice, the way he saw to her every need. She even missed his desire to sleep beside her, just to hear her breathe.

"Looking forward to his return?"

Emily nodded. A dark, vast emptiness had rooted itself inside her heart. Despite the pleasant time these men were providing her, the same darkness to her future remained. A tremor shook her body as panic and dread threatened to overtake her.

"Cheer up, my sweet." Lucien brushed a hand on her waist, tickling her just a little.

Unable to help it, a little laugh escaped her. She glowered. "It is ungentlemanly to use my weaknesses against me like that."

"Then it is fortunate that I don't often count myself a gentleman."

Simkins entered the room and announced dinner.

Emily settled down in the dining room between Lucien and Charles with Cedric across from her. "May I ask a question?"

"That depends." Lucien's eyes glinted. "We are not about to regale you with tales of our legendary adventures in the arms of our lovers. We do not kiss and tell."

Charles shot him a glance. "I thought that's all we did."

"Well, not to other women." Lucien rolled his eyes.

Cedric shrugged. "My mistresses always ask about my past…er…indiscretions with an avid curiosity."

"I cannot believe I am the voice of reason for once," said Lucien. "Emily is a proper lady. Neither of you will share one word or I'll box your ears."

Emily's giggled. "I only meant to ask, how is it that you all came to be friends? Surely that does not include tales of your lovers?"

Cedric and Charles exchanged an amused glance.

"No, no, our meeting is more adventure than romance," Lucien said.

"Will you tell it to me?"

Charles answered. "The tale is best told when all of us are here, but perhaps we can tell you how we each first met Godric. Those are stories in themselves."

"That would be wonderful!" There was nothing she loved better than a good story, and these five men had been at the center of many.

"Then I ought to go first." Cedric finished his plate and looked about the table for approval to proceed. "I was the first one to meet Godric, in 1807, when he and I were seventeen. I convinced him to sneak out of the dormitories of Magdalene College. We had dinner at a local pub and got into a brawl with an upper year named Hugo Waverly over a woman. I beat Waverly to a bloody pulp and took his cane as a matter of honor." Cedric's fingers gently twined about the stem of his wineglass.

Emily's gaze fell onto the silver lion's head of the cane that was propped up against the table. "Is that his cane you carry now?"

He held it out to Emily, who took it as though she held a precious artifact from ages gone. "Yes," he said.

She sensed by the strained look on Charles's face that there was something more they were not sharing with her. "Did Hugo Waverly ever exact his revenge?"

Charles dropped the bottle of wine he'd been examining. It hit the floor with a sickening crash and a spray of crimson ruined his clothes. He dove to pick up the pieces.

"Charles, are you all right?"

Lucien knelt to assist him.

"So what did happen to Hugo Waverly?" There was something about his name, or perhaps his memory, that had caused Charles to react. It was clear there was far more to this story than just a brawl and the acquisition of a cane. There had been reasons, and there had been consequences.

"It is as you said. He vowed revenge." Cedric's answer evaded her inquiry but she knew she would hear no more about the mysterious villain.

She gave the cane back, a shy wistful sigh escaping her lips. "I should have loved to have had adventures like that."

Every mouth was agape, as though her announcement had been a shock.

"What on earth do you call this, Emily? Abducted, fending off the advances of shameless rakehells… Nothing about that is for the faint of heart," Cedric said with mild amusement.

"I know…but it isn't really dangerous, though, is it?" She ran a fingertip over the surface of the white tablecloth then stifled a shudder. "Aside from Blankenship's visit here."

"Between riding like an Amazon and jumping walls you've put our lives in danger, and that should count for something," Lucien said.

Emily's lips changed to a disappointed frown. It was no use to explain to these men that she hungered for travel to foreign lands, for sights unseen, and art not yet made by painter's hands. There was so much she was missing.

If her uncle married her to Blankenship, her life would be over.

Stifling a yawn, Emily wondered when Godric would return. The conversation at dinner had distracted her for a short while.

"It is late. Perhaps you ought to retire for the night, Emily," Cedric said.

"I suppose you are right. I am fatigued." She bent down to retrieve Penelope, who rustled against her skirts. The little dog licked her chin and wriggled in excitement, and Emily couldn't help but take comfort from such innocent affection. Cedric escorted her upstairs, a shadowy reminder of her status as prisoner.

"You have your books and Penelope. Will you be all right the rest of the evening?"

"Yes. "

"All right then, kitten. I'll have Simkins send up bowls of food and water for Penelope."

"And a basket? Wouldn't she need one to sleep in?"

"I'll see that she has everything her little heart desires."

"Thank you, Cedric."

"You are most welcome. We will be downstairs, should you need anything."

Once alone she settled down on her bed with Penelope in her lap and pulled one of the novels off the side table. Lady Viola and the Dashing Duke . She wanted a good story.

As she read on about the plucky heroine and her first encounter with the dashing hero, she saw Godric, and her heart ached. Was he thinking of her now, or even at all? What if she fell asleep before he returned? Would he still come to collect his kiss goodnight?

She should not have wanted him to but, Lord help her, she did. She wanted him to sweep into her room and kiss her senseless. Godric's kiss was a wildfire on a dry meadow, and she craved that inferno like nothing else. It was madness to want him so much. Logically she knew the danger he presented to her heart, yet she couldn't seem to resist him.

Emily eased onto her bed and daydreamed of Godric. Penelope curled up against her chest, the dog's brown eyes drowsy as she fell asleep. Emily remained in that delightful state of partial wakefulness, picturing Godric's hands on her, his mouth on hers, soft words of love tickling her ear. But they were dreams and nothing more.