Price of Desire

by Goodman, Jo

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. He bent his head, found the curve of her neck and shoulder that she offered up, and kissed her. He touched his mouth to the corner of hers, then her cheek, and finally her temple before he straightened. Disengaging his fingers from her hair was done most reluctantly. He took up the chair opposite her. Her smile was soft, her eyes heavy-lidded. He would have abandoned his meal altogether if she had not broken off the heel of the bread loaf and offered it to him. Her hand grazed his; the touch was light but deliberate.

  “He’s asleep?” she asked.

  “Mmm. Soundly this time.”

  “Good.” Olivia drizzled a bit of honey on her bread. “I took it for granted that he understood what he had become to us. I suppose some things need to be said. He was delighted to learn he was your second. You showed a deft touch to place such a meaning on it. Battles. Duels. He understands all about those.”

  “He’s never had a father. I suppose there is a great deal for him to learn in that regard.”

  “And you? What you said about Nat being your blood, have you come to know that it’s true?”

  “What I’ve come to know is that it doesn’t matter. He’s my son if I want him to be. You opened my eyes to that. I do want him to be, Olivia.”

  “That’s all right, then,” she said, just as Nat had. “You’ve a heart big enough for the both of us.”

  Griffin gave her a most significant look. “And more besides.”

  Olivia was having none of it. She pointed her spoon at him. “Your soup will grow cold. One suspects your ardor will not.”

  He laughed. “One would be right.” He tapped her spoon with his own and encouraged her to eat as well. It had not escaped his notice that she’d eaten very little throughout the day. Every time he sought her out she was engaged in conversation with one, two, or all three of his sisters. He rescued her as often as possible, steering her toward Restell’s wife or even the clutch that surrounded Lady Rivendale, but it seemed that Jenny, Kate, and Juliet invariably managed to separate her from others, just as if they were culling a lamb from the fold. It was little wonder that Olivia had no real appetite for their wedding feast and made only a pretense of eating what was placed before her.

  “My sisters did not press you overmuch, I hope,” he said.

  “Press me? No. They were telling stories about you.”

  He almost believed her, then he saw the corner of her mouth curl ever so slightly. “No, they weren’t. They were asking for every detail of our meeting, courtship, and engagement. Did I not predict they would?”

  “I was not entirely comfortable lying to them.”

  “It’s not your strong suit, I agree, but the truth will not serve.”

  “Then I suppose it was well done by you to protect my identity all these many months.”

  “Why, that is almost in the way of thanks, Miss Shepard.” He chuckled when she primly pursed her lips at him. “You realize there were very few guests who know the truth. Mr. Gardner, perhaps his wife. Lady Rivendale. Your brother. Your four gentlemen protectors. We know we can depend upon their discretion.”

  She nodded. It was enough that she knew now Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Rollins were one and the same. She was not certain that she believed he died by his own hand, but it was the only story that could be had from his friends. Neither Restell Gardner nor Griffin pressed to discover a different truth, and in that way her protectors were also shielded.

  “As for your father,” Griffin said, “he will never breathe a word of it.”

  “That’s because he knows the ton sanctions this marriage.”

  It was because Sir Hadrien knew his life would be worth nothing if he spoke in less than favorable accents to anyone about his daughter, but if Olivia believed what she’d said, Griffin decided he could leave it alone. “Lady Rivendale lent our ceremony considerable consequence.”

  “It was kind of her to accept our invitation.” Olivia chewed on a piece of bread. “You did not allow for much notice or preparation.”

  He shrugged. “I was afraid you would change your mind. You accepted my proposal under unusual conditions. It seemed best to go forward quickly.”

  “Unusual conditions.” As she recalled, her father, Mrs. Christie, and Johnny Crocker had been loudly protesting their confinement while blaming one another for the cause of it. Innocence had probably never been claimed by such caterwauling. “Yes, that describes it nicely.”

  “I thought so. Neville Burton has taken himself off to the continent.”

  Olivia’s head snapped up. “He has?”

  “Some encouragement was necessary, but apparently he believed he’d pressed his luck as far as he could when Alastair’s aim went wide.”

  “The others?”

  “Johnny Crocker booked passage on the Fair Ariana and is bound for Boston in two days’ time. His companion, as I am given to understand by Mr. Gardner, is Mrs. Christie. They deserve each other, but I fear for the fine people of Boston.”

  “Do you owe Mr. Gardner another favor?”

  He shook his head. “It was all done more in the way of a wedding gift.”

  “I am imagining that you had a hand in it as well.”

  “Merely as an educator. In geography, most specifically.” When Olivia frowned at his cryptic reply, he went on. “I pointed out how small our island is compared to the length and breadth of the continent and the Americas. I told them that if they were desirous of living on an island, transport to Van Diemen’s land could be easily arranged. Oddly enough, none of them chose the convict colony.”

  “You teach a good lesson. I’ve heard you with Nat.”

  “It seemed to speak to them.”

  Firelight glanced off Olivia’s ring, setting the emerald center aglow, and capturing her attention. She raised her hand slightly, twisted it back and forth, and watched the diamonds wink at her. “Alastair told me it was fitting that I should have it.”

  “So it is.” Griffin could have mentioned that Alastair hardly had any say in the matter, but he was feeling almost warm toward his brother-in-law of late and kept his tongue in his head. Having acquired both Olivia and the ring in one ceremony, well, he could afford to be generous. “I saw Lady Rivendale exclaiming over it.”

  “She did. Several times. Your sisters also.” Olivia set her spoon down and pushed her empty bowl aside. “I refrained from telling them that your nature is to be so tightfisted that you presented me with my own family’s heirloom.”

  “There is that, though I like to think it speaks more to romantic sentiment than the other.”

  Smiling, she rubbed her index finger over the facets of the emerald. “It did bring us together.”

  Griffin took up her hand, raised it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, then turned her hand over and kissed the delicate underside of her wrist. She came to her feet easily when he stood and did not hesitate to step into his embrace. The fit was still there, the sheltering shoulder, the inviting arm, curve to angle, and she wondered why she had thought for even a moment that it might not be.

  “It does not seem so long now,” she whispered. “But when we were parted, I thought I comprehended the length of forever.”

  Griffin held her tight, stroked her back. He was of the same opinion. Five weeks, three days, had been forever, or just this side of it. The moment she accepted his proposal he knew everything about their arrangement would have to change. She’d argued with him, but in this he was intractable, and she moved back to her brother’s home, stepped reluctantly out into society, and with the Countess of Rivendale’s timely assistance and devilishly inspired planning, set herself directly in his path.

  Their courtship supplied the most delicious on-dit as the London Season began, and when the ton realized a marriage was in the offing, the betting books opened for the date that their firstborn would appear. To the best of his knowledge, Olivia was unaware of the wagers or that certain wags were watching her belly. He did not know what she’d make of it and did not care to find
out, at least until they exchanged their vows.

  Sir Hadrien’s absence during their brief engagement was the source of some speculation, but as he was known to have little enough use for town, nothing came of it. Alastair filled in nicely for his father, and his mother was sufficiently glad of his safe release that she willingly returned to Coleridge Park with Sir Hadrien.

  “I wonder if you know how often I was tempted to visit Jericho Mews in the dead of night,” he said.

  “Perhaps as often as I was tempted to return to the hell.”

  “You were missed there. Faro revenues are most seriously compromised.”

  She pressed her smile against his cheek. “I am willing to return, you know.”

  “Perish the thought.” He lifted her so suddenly that she gasped, though she recovered quickly enough to throw her arms about his neck. He carried her to the bed, dropped her inelegantly upon it, and while she was still laughing, he followed her down. “There is no going back, not even as Honey. I sent my mistress packing as I intend to be faithful to my wife.”

  She caught his face in her hands. “I am very glad to hear it.”

  He dipped his head when she nudged him closer, brushed his lips against hers. “There is another reason, though, that you can’t return.”

  “Oh?”

  “Someone has approached me about purchasing the hell. I am not going to sell it outright, but I will be acquiring a partner. He will have the running of the establishment day to day.”

  Olivia released his face and pushed herself up by her elbows. “What?”

  “It’s a good offer. I can collect a percentage of the house’s profits simply by continuing to lend my name to the enterprise. He will have a larger share, but that is only as it should be.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. And I have you to help me with the accounts and every confidence in your ability to know if something is off.”

  Olivia regarded Griffin carefully. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

  “I am. Our income will be less, but perfectly manageable, and by choosing to live at Wright Hall, we will be able to oversee the development of the lands and finish the renovation of the house. The purchase price of the partnership will bring enough of the ready so that the family debt will finally be paid in full. It is an excellent compromise, so much so that it does not seem a compromise at all.”

  Olivia was still skeptical and took no pains to hide it. “It’s not Alastair, is it?”

  “Alastair?”

  “Your partner,” she said flatly. “You have not entered into an agreement with my brother, have you?”

  Griffin’s hard laughter weakened his position, and he was forced to roll away, else collapse fully on top of her.

  “I suppose that is answer enough to my question,” Olivia said. “Still, it is hardly complimentary of Alastair.”

  Griffin caught his breath, reined in his smile. “True, though I was thinking that your question complimented neither your brother nor me. I admit to a certain growing respect for Alastair, but I am not so witless that I would accept an offer of partnership from him.”

  Olivia turned, levered herself on an elbow, and walked her fingers up Griffin’s chest, tapping the buttons of his waistcoat as she went. “If it is not Alastair, and really, Griffin, I am glad for all our sakes that it is not, then who?”

  “Mr. Warner.”

  “Lady Rivendale’s friend?”

  “The very same.”

  “That surprises.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? I am of the opinion that the countess has a vested interest. She is certain to have put the idea in his head.”

  “Your trust is not misplaced then.”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  Olivia’s fingers had reached the top of his waistcoat. She lightly traced the edge of the fabric. “The knot in your neckcloth is impressive.”

  “The Oriental.”

  “I know. Mr. Mason told me. Do you know that the least wrinkle or crease means it could not be named such? It is a most particular art, the tying of neckcloths.”

  “At this moment, I am far and away more interested in the untying of them. Do you think you could manage it?”

  Olivia tugged at fabric. “It’s very stiff.”

  “You’re still speaking of the neckcloth, is that right?”

  “Is the other in a knot?”

  “All of me is in a knot.” He groaned softly when she pressed her hip against his groin. “Ah, yes, that is a good beginning.”

  She chuckled, but kept her hip exactly where it was. Tugging on the linen fall she said, “Allow me to deal with this first, then I shall see about the other.”

  Griffin gave himself over to her, and she to him. It suited them both, the sharing. There was no disguising the wanting, nor any need to. In a nod to their wedding night, there was an attempt at tenderness. He framed her face gently with his hands, kissed her mouth, her cheeks, the space just between her eyebrows. She buried her face in his neck, set a line of kisses along the cord, others at the underside of his jaw, and still more at the hollow below his ear. They exchanged endearments, whispered words that would have made them laugh, even roll their eyes in the full light of day, but here, now, seemed exactly right.

  It didn’t last, couldn’t. Their long separation trumped what romantic notions they had conceived about their wedding night. Their kisses became more urgent, the caresses less gentle. Olivia’s fingers tunneled into his thick hair, clutched his head as she pressed a deep, hot, hungry kiss.

  The blankets tangled as their legs did. Their clothes, so carelessly discarded, slipped off the foot of the bed and onto the floor—except for Griffin’s neckcloth, which wrapped itself sinuously around Olivia’s thigh as though it had a life of its own. She tugged at it, produced it so triumphantly that it tickled Griffin’s humor, then snapped it smartly against his hip when he dared laugh. He made short work of the piece after that, taking it from her before she set her aim at any other part of his anatomy, and flung it as far away from the bed as he could.

  She watched it sail through the air, then turned on him, her smile so satisfied with this result that it was very nearly smug. She gave him everything, all of her, held nothing back. He answered in the same manner, as needy as she, equally generous, equally selfish.

  Turning, twisting, he brought her to pleasure’s finely honed edge and balanced both of them on it until no choice was left to them but to go on. He watched her face, felt the tension building, and seated himself deeply inside her as she came. Then it was his turn, and her body cradled him as he followed her.

  Their breathing slowed, calmed. Olivia’s yawn was wide enough to make her jaw crack. Griffin gave her a sideways glance, then drew her close and made a niche for her head against his shoulder. Neither of them said anything for a long time, content to let silence linger, even comforted by it.

  What more, then, needed to be said?

  It was Olivia who remembered. “How much have you wagered?”

  “Hmm?”

  “In the betting books. How much have you wagered?”

  Sensing a trap was being laid, Griffin tread carefully. “You are speaking of a particular wager?”

  “How can you not know of it? Alastair says it is all about.”

  “All about what?”

  “Town, of course. A consequence of so much haste in regard to our wedding. We may as well have been wed by special license. Having the banns read was hardly any delay at all. Speculation is rife.”

  “Rife.” Still practicing caution, he said, “What is the speculation?”

  “That I am already carrying your child.”

  “I see.”

  “There are wagers. Whole pages in the clubs devoted to the date that I will deliver. It is unseemly, Griffin.”

  “I agree.”

  “You really didn’t know?”

  The trap yawned as widely as she had. His foot hovered over it. How to answer in a way that wo
uld keep him well out of it? “It seems I might have heard something.”

  She tilted her head back to better take his measure. “I thought so.”

  “I didn’t wager,” he said quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? I thought we agreed the speculation was unseemly.”

  “It is, but there is also a great deal of money to be won. Enough to renovate the library here at Wright Hall, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  She was probably right, Griffin thought. Still, he couldn’t place a wager for the very same reasons he didn’t play cards in his own hell. “It is generally accepted that I should have some inkling of such a date. It would hardly be fair.”

  Olivia turned over, levered herself up so that she could see his face as clearly as the firelight defined it. “I like that you have regard for certain conventions,” she said. “Fair play. Honoring your vows. Appreciation of your responsibilities. I love all of that about you. Depend on it, really. That is why I made the wager.”

  “You?” He heard the trap snap, but his foot was well wide of its jaws. “You made a wager?”

  “Lady Rivendale did. On my behalf. She was completely amenable.”

  “She would be. She will think of it as a very good joke on the wags. What date did you give her?”

  Olivia told him.

  “But that’s nine months from now.”

  “It is, yes.” She smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth, and settled herself comfortably against him, breast to chest. “Nine months exactly. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  He did. His hands slipped to the small of her back, then lower to the curve of her bottom. “It means we shall have to apply ourselves to just that end.” He touched his lips to hers, whispered against her mouth, “My clever and resourceful wife. My dearest Olivia.”

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  850 Third Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  Copyright © 2008 by Joanne Dobrzanski

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.