Wicked Designs novel Chapter 5

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.

"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.