Too Tempting to Resist

by Cara Elliott

  His praise stirred a tingle of heat inside her. “Thank you. Most people don’t really notice how flowers can be arranged and combined to…make a statement, as it were.”

  He grinned. “Perhaps that’s because most people don’t understand their secret language.” He pointed at a stand of graceful calla lilies. “They say ‘magnificent beauty’ and I heartily agree.”

  She paused and regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, sir, during all of our outdoor interludes here at the Abbey you have shown yourself to be very articulate on plants, and the subtle shapes and nuances of Nature. It speaks of more than a casual knowledge of landscape design.”

  It may have been the scudding of a leaf or a cloud, but it seemed to her as if a slight shadow flitted across his face. “Does it? I’m flattered that you think so,” replied Gryff evasively. “Ah, walnuts!” he exclaimed an instant later, spotting the bowl in her hands. “How nice.”

  “Yes, but Elf seems to have dragged off the nutcracker to some feline hiding place.”

  “Never fear, I know an old soldierly trick.” He took a seat on the grass and stretched out his leg. “If you would kindly help me remove my boot, Lady Brentford.”

  She regarded him quizzically. “Your boot?”

  Pointing to the decorative stone tiles set around the sundial, he mimed a hammering motion. “One simply places a nut on the flat stone and whack!”

  “With a boot?”

  “Hoby crafts a very fine heel.”

  Eliza grasped his ankle and gave a hard tug. “Does he charge extra?”

  “Oh, no, not for English walnuts,” said Gryff with a straight face. “Only for Spanish almonds and French filberts.”

  A laugh welled up in her throat, and all at once her worries seemed to loosen their grip. “What about American pecans?”

  “That’s double.”

  As he spoke, the boot suddenly slipped free, sending her tumbling backward onto the grass.

  He began to laugh.

  “Oh, you odious man! You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Untangling herself, she sat up and took aim at his head with the shiny leather. However, a fit of giggles ruined the threat.

  The gesture made Gryff start laughing harder. “You look like an enraged Earth Goddess, sprung to life from a bed of flowers.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “What offering must I make to placate your wrath?”

  The boot landed by his side. “Nuts,” commanded Eliza. “Shelled and fed to me as I recline on my grassy throne.”

  Leaning back on her elbows, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun-dappled ground suffuse her body. A swirl of sweet perfumes tickled her nostrils, the soft serenade of the garden birds and bees danced on the breeze. It would, she reflected, be wonderful if some magical moments could be captured in a bottle and saved forever.

  “Dream on,” she whispered.

  Whack, whack, whack. The sound of Gryff’s labors snapped her back to the present, and with a rueful smile she reminded herself of an old adage. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow…

  Tomorrow—she would not think of tomorrow.

  Lifting a lid, she watched him gather up the cracked walnuts and come take a seat beside her.

  “Lean back and open your mouth, Your Majesty.”

  A nutmeat touched her tongue. “Mmmmm.” She chewed slowly and swallowed. “Ambrosial. I could get used to this.”

  He popped a piece into his mouth. “The High Servant of Shoe Leather is at your beck and call anytime.”

  “Mmmmm.” Eliza accepted another offering. “Have a care, Lord Haddan. You might find yourself shackled into a lifetime of service.” Belatedly realizing the implication of her words, she flushed. “That is, I—”

  Another morsel silenced her stammering.

  “I can think of worse fates,” he said lightly. Stripping off his stocking, Gryff wriggled his toes in the grass. “I can see why you come here. It’s very peaceful.”

  “Do you spend much time at your country estate, sir?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered. “I’ve been neglecting it for too long.” He inhaled a deep breath and released it very slowly. “But London is losing its allure.”

  “I think you would be happy in the country.”

  He cocked his head. “And I don’t strike you as happy now?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  One dark brow rose in question. “Well?”

  “It seems to me that you would be happier at this moment if you took off your other boot.” She, too, could evade an uncomfortable query. “Your left leg must be hot as Hades.”

  He waggled his foot. “The Limb would be very grateful for your kind assistance.”

  A few quick pulls removed the boot without further mishap. “The Limb now owes me a custard tart.”

  Gryff chuckled. “Done.”

  They sat for a bit in companionable silence, their shoulders touching, their toes playing in the same patch of fragrant grass. His closeness was strangely comfortable. It seemed to fit like a familiar shoe.

  “Why are you smiling?” asked Gryff.

  “I was imagining Your Lordship as a well-worn shoe.”

  He gave a feline stretch. “And here I thought I was the very soul of Manly Magnificence.”

  “Are you always this silly with ladies?”

  “No. I know so very few who dare to let themselves laugh.” There was an odd note in his voice. “Or wear gypsy trousers, or eat custard tarts in the wild.”

  “We are a very odd couple,” she mused.

  A rumbled sound, impossible to interpret. It might have been a laugh, or merely a cough to clear his throat.

  “By the by, how did you come to have such a fetching ensemble in your wardrobe?” asked Gryff.

  “There is a Gypsy caravan that comes through Harpden each summer. I’ve become friends with one of the women, a healer who is skilled in the use of medicinal herbs and plants,” replied Eliza. “She gave these clothes to me as a gift in return for some paintings I did for her.”

  “Ah. And yet, you’ve told me that your talents with a paintbrush were sadly lacking.”

  Damn. “Th-they weren’t very good.”

  He looked down his nose at her for a long, thoughtful moment. “Once again, I think you are being far too modest, Lady Brentford. And I can’t help but wonder, what secrets are you hiding from me?” And why?

  “We all have secrets, Lord Haddan.” She recalled his little notebook, and how reluctant he was to share its contents. “Are you going to tell me that your private life is an open book?”

  “No, indeed.” His mouth quirked. “Though a good deal of it has been splashed on the front pages of the scandal sheets.”

  Eliza didn’t want to think about those exploits, many of which involved sparkling champagne and voluptuous women. She suddenly felt very dull and plain.

  “Feed me another nut, High Servant of the Shoe Leather.” Might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasted. Illusions had a nasty habit of disappearing in a puff of putrid smoke.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty.” Shells crackled. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

  “If you put an earthworm inside it, I shall turn you into a frog,” she warned.

  “Then I shall beg a kiss from a fairy princess and turn into a handsome prince.”

  “Don’t press your luck.” Sitting up a little straighter, she primly parted her lips.

  “Eyes closed!” he repeated. “No cheating.”

  “Oh, very well.” Eliza squeezed off her peeking, though she felt a little foolish sitting there like a flytrap.

  A piece of walnut hit softly upon her tongue, followed by another.

  “Very clever,” she said after swallowing the morsels.

  “I’m a dab hand at cricket,” he replied. “Let’s try a spin pitch.”

  The next nut bounced off her lip and fell beneath the open collar of her shirt. Her eyes flew open as it rolled inside her chemise.

  “Oops.”


  The marquess’s laughing face was just inches from hers. His green-gold eyes glinted with unholy mischief and his lordly mouth quivered with boyish merriment.

  “Oops,” she whispered.

  As his laugh grew louder, the ground began to tilt and spin beneath her. Reason blew away in the breeze, and suddenly Eliza pitched forward, capturing him in a shameless kiss.

  “Mmmm, you taste good,” she murmured, after enjoying a long, leisurely embrace.

  Gryff nipped her chin. “Mmmm, so do you.” Framing her face with his sun-warmed palms, he teased his teeth along the swell of her lower lip. “Delicious.” A sigh tickled her cheek. “But I didn’t come here to seduce you, to use you for my own selfish pleasure.”

  “There is a question of just who is seducing whom,” she murmured, twining her arms around his neck and scooting into his lap. “If you are afraid for your virtue, Lord Haddan, I give you leave to withdraw.”

  “Oh, I think my virtue is up to the challenge, Lady Brentford.” A stirring beneath her bottom punctuated his reply.

  “Is it?” She shifted slowly from side to side.

  “You,” he rasped, “are very…very…” Her wriggling reduced his words to a gasp.

  “Wicked?” she offered. “Wanton?”

  “Alluring,” he answered. “Enticing. Enchanting.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Me?” No one had ever seen her as such.

  “Yes, you. And do you know what I intend to do about it?”

  Her skin began to prickle all over. “What?”

  “Listen very carefully, Lady Brentford.” He inched a little closer. “First, I am going to take the tassels of your shirt and untie them.” His fingers worked the strings free. “Then I am going to ask you to raise your arms to the sky.”

  Her hands shot up. Slowly, slowly, the embroidered cloth slithered up over her head.

  “Now for your chemise. Let me think.” Gryff cocked his head, his gaze studying her breasts. “I could suckle your perfect little nipples through the cloth. The friction of the wet fabric would set them afire.”

  Eliza let out a little moan.

  “Or I could tear the delicate fabric straight down the middle…” He drew his thumb from her breastbone down to her navel. “And peel it away, like a harem slave disrobing a plump, sweet grape for the sultan to devour.”

  She shivered, aware of a honeyed heat forming between her legs.

  He teased his touch lightly over her nipples. “Choices, choices. I can’t seem to decide.”

  “Haddan,” she gasped in throaty protest. “Stop. No—that is, don’t stop.”

  He leaned back, and their bodies were no longer touching. “What is it you want, sweeting?”

  “I—I want you to make love to me,” she whispered. The ground felt deliciously warm as she raked her fingers through the fragrant blades of grass. “Without delay.”

  A husky chuckle teased a thrill along her spine. “Then perhaps you had better help things along.” Gryff folded his arms across his chest. “Why don’t you undress yourself. I’ll watch.”

  Her eyes widened. What he proposed sounded indecently…intriguing. She hesitated, but on catching a glimpse of the smoldering heat in his gaze, she slowly stripped off her chemise, baring her breasts to the tickle of the breeze.

  “Go on,” he rasped.

  Eliza loosened the strings of her trousers. Oh, it was exquisitely erotic to be taking off her garments while he watched. The sinuous slide of fabric aroused every inch of her skin to heightened sensations—the currents of the breeze, the softness of the grass, the heat of his gaze.

  Her hips lifted, allowing the gypsy trousers to slither down past her knees. A little kick freed them from her ankles. Gryff made a strange little sound in his throat as she inched off her drawers, leaving her entirely naked.

  Reaching out, she caught the tail of his cravat and gave a tug. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Smiling, he complied, drawing out the dance with a lazy, languid grace.

  “You,” she chided, “are a very maddening male. Perhaps I’ve changed my mind in the interim.”

  “Then I shall have to exercise the powers of my persuasion.” Gryff pushed her back in the grass and covered her body with his. “And make you think again.”

  “I don’t want to think,” she said dreamily, as his cock nudged up against her passage. “I just want to feel.”

  “Hmmm.” He nibbled her earlobe. “How does this feel?” he whispered, entering her with a slow, smooth thrust.

  “Heavenly,” she responded, staring up at the sky. “I wish it could…” Last for a lifetime. “…go on all afternoon.”

  “Very well—we’ll take it very slowly.”

  He set a leisurely rhythm, and Eliza followed his lead, matching his movements, letting her imagination wander along with the flickering sunbeams. It was oh-so scandalous, to be lying outside in broad daylight, twining her hands in his hair, exploring the chiseling of his body, the texture of his muscles, the taste of his mouth. And oh-so exhilarating. Kissing and caressing him made her whole being thrum with pleasure.

  Shifting his weight, Gryff slipped his hand between their bodies and touched the soft curls between her legs.

  “Oh, Haddan.”

  “Gryff,” he corrected. “Say it.”

  “Gryff,” she whispered, his name like honey on her lips. “That feels so good.”

  His fingers dipped and danced against her flesh.

  Liquid fire coursed through her, the heat of it growing unbearable.

  “Gryff!”

  He surged into her, his cry joining hers.

  And then…and then she was floating—floating on a warm, zephyrous bed of lighter-than-air spun gold, its winking shimmers of light brighter than the sun.

  Coming back down to earth, Eliza opened her eyes from a drowsy half-sleep to see Gryff was still deep in repose, his long, lithe body stretched out, face up, on the grass. The leaves of the foliage painted shades of light and shadow over his belly and the dragon tattoo.

  On impish impulse, she crept over to her paintbox and set it up on the grass beside him. Choosing a pointed sable-hair brush, she wet it in water, and twirled it to a fine point.

  He made a snuffling sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t wake.

  She mixed up a deep azure blue and with quick, bold strokes, began painting a second dragon around the tattoo.

  His eyes flew open.

  “Don’t jump,” she cautioned, “or you’ll ruin the snout.”

  “Snout is not a term I use for…” He gingerly lifted his head. “Oh, I see what you mean.” He watched her sketch in a long, curling neck and wings. “Very clever,” he murmured. “You are exceedingly skilled with a brush.”

  “Art requires diligent practice,” said Eliza, ducking her head to hide her grin. She flicked the bristles lower, brushing soft sable against the head of his cock.

  His reaction was immediate—and physical.

  “I think your two dragons need another playfellow,” she teased, taking up a smaller brush and dipping it in a pool of scarlet paint. With a few more strokes she drew in fanciful slanted eyes, and a mouth with curved fangs.

  Roused from repose, his privy part was now standing at attention.

  Giggling, Eliza switched to alternating hues of turquoise and emerald to draw in an intricate pattern of scales beneath the flanged head.

  Gryff was growing more and more aroused by the moment. “Have a care. Your new beastie seems to be waking from a nap and may have an urge to show off his newfound splendor.”

  “Maybe the beastie only wants to play with the dragons,” she said.

  “My beastie a molly beastie?” he exclaimed in mock outrage. “No, I assure you, he only waggles his scales for women.”

  They were laughing too loudly to hear the faint creak of the gate hinges. It took a loud cough to catch Gryff’s attention.

  “Forgive me for interrupting.”

  Gryff sat up and snatched for hi
s breeches. “Bloody hell, Cam, you ought to knock before barging into a private place.”

  “I did. Several times.” He inclined a curt nod to Eliza. “Milady.”

  She had her shirt clutched to her chest.

  “Might I have a word with you, Gryff?” went on Cameron. “Outside if you please.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  What the devil do you mean, barging in on us like that,” demanded Gryff. His initial shock had been replaced by equal measures of anger and embarrassment. “This time your cursed sense of humor has overstepped its boundaries.”

  Cameron’s face was oddly expressionless. “I’m aware of the fact that you consider this no laughing matter.” Taking Gryff by the arm, he drew him away from the wall. “The thing is, you pressed me to find out certain information as quickly as I could, so I assumed you wished to hear it without delay.”

  “Given the circumstances, another hour or two would hardly have made a difference,” he growled.

  “I beg to differ.” His friend’s gaze had grown shuttered.

  Gryff felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Why?”

  Cameron answered with a question of his own. “Just how involved are you with Leete’s sister?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Must I spell it out in graphic detail?” A martyred sigh. “It appears that you are in much deeper into this dalliance you indicated. And that, I fear, may present a problem.”

  Gryff clenched his jaw. “My private affairs are none of your concern, Cam.”

  A tense silence quivered between them for a moment before his friend expelled another sharp breath. “Lady Brentford is your elusive Linden,” he said without preamble.

  “Impossible,” whispered Gryff. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I assure you, I’m not. I had a look at Watkins’s correspondence last night, and it’s all there in writing—every last detail about the commission.”

  “But she claims to have no artistic talent.”

  “Then she is not being truthful,” replied Cameron. “According to the letters, Watkins considers her to be one of the finest botanical artists in all of England.”