As an answer, it was perfect.
Alyssa stared at Lord Abernathy’s enticing lips. What a charming actor he was turning out to be! His words, delivered in such an earnest manner, were meant to melt a young girl’s most tentative heart. Or an older, more experienced woman’s most deliberate heart. They were practiced, calculating words, cleverly disguised as sentiment, and they were—quite simply—the most eloquent argument for accepting a proposal she’d ever heard.
His words were so eloquent that Alyssa’s heart seemed to stop at the beauty of them. They were so eloquent that she came within a hair’s breadth of believing them.
The fact is that she would have believed him if she hadn’t heard the truth spoken from his own lips three-quarters of an hour earlier when she’d stood hidden by a row of potted palms and accidentally overhead the conversation between Viscounts Grantham and Abernathy and the Marquess of Shepherdston—the mysterious trio who referred to themselves as the Free Fellows League.
But she had overheard their conversation, and she knew that—his pretty words to the contrary—he had no interest in becoming any woman’s husband.
She knew because she’d heard him swear it.
And now, three-quarters of an hour later, Alyssa knew that she would be wise to ignore his eloquent words because she couldn’t possibly believe him. But there was a part of her—a secret, highly impractical, girlish, and romantic part of her—that thought how nice it would be to have a man like Griffin Abernathy whisper those words and to know in her heart of hearts that he meant them.
No wonder tenderhearted Lady Cowper had smiled broadly at her request for a discreet introduction and had obligingly brought Viscount Abernathy over to make her acquaintance. Lady Cowper no doubt knew that while Griffin Abernathy might not bear the lofty title of a duke or a marquess, he had charm and looks that were certain to make any young lady’s heart flutter.
Including the heart of an Incomparable Beauty.
Alyssa pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow in concentration. She didn’t want her heart to flutter. Possessing a heart that fluttered at every handsome gentleman’s pretty whispers was hazardous to one’s virtue and peace of mind. It was also most insensible. And Alyssa had earned her reputation for being the most sensible of girls. She didn’t want to succumb to the impractical notion of falling in love. She knew better. She didn’t want to think that she could be susceptible to his charm. She was under no illusions. She was different from the other virginal—the word stuck in her mind like a burr beneath her flesh—young ladies clamoring for attention. She hadn’t come to Almack’s in hopes of snaring a suitable husband. Alyssa had come kicking and screaming, protesting the injustice of being put on display and sold to the highest bidder like cattle at auction. Of all the young ladies present, she had thought herself the least likely to be noticed. She had thought herself the least likely to receive undue attention from any of the gentlemen she had spent her first season discouraging. And she had prayed that would continue to be the case. But Alyssa had discovered, to her mother’s eternal delight and to her eternal dismay, that she’d been named an Incomparable Beauty.
Unfortunately, Incomparable Beauties were expected to make extraordinary matches, and Alyssa wanted no part of it. She didn’t want a husband. Extraordinary or otherwise.
What she wanted—what she craved, above all else—was freedom. An escape from the unrelenting rounds of social calls and parties and routs and balls. And therein lay her dilemma, because the endless rounds of parties would continue unabated unless she found a way off the merry-go-round. There would be no respite from it until the season ended and no escaping into the garden or the stables.
The only hope for a way out was by accepting a proposal from a suitable gentleman.
The question was: suitable for whom? Her mama and papa? Or herself?
“Is that a yes? A no? Or an invitation?”
Alyssa blinked, thrown off balance by the look in his blue eyes and his softly spoken statement as he maneuvered her further into the room, into the shadows, away from the other people wandering in and out of the assembly rooms. “Invitation?”
“I accept.” Griff brought his face closer to hers. “Because, in any event, I find the expression on your face and the pucker of your lips fascinating and quite suddenly, irresistible.” Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers.
Griff meant to satisfy his curiosity, to see if her plump, rosy lips were as soft as they appeared to be, but Alyssa gave a startled gasp at the unexpected intimacy, and he took advantage of the opportunity. He teased at the seam of her lips, running the tip of his tongue across it, gently entreating her to grant him full access to the sweet recesses of her mouth.
Alyssa didn’t disappoint him. She made a soft sound of willing surrender and allowed him further liberties.
Griff captured her breath, swallowing the soft sigh that escaped her lips as he deepened the kiss. She tasted of orgeat, of barley water and almond flavoring, and the tart sweetness of untutored innocence.
A door to one of the card rooms slid closed, and the sound of the orchestra striking up another tune drifted from the ballroom along with bits of hushed conversation and soft laughter. Griffin broke the kiss.
Alyssa opened her eyes and murmured a protest. “What?”
“Shhh.” Griff pressed his finger against her lips, feeling the dampness he’d left there. “We’ve company.” He motioned Alyssa to the couch, then stepped back, turning so that his broad shoulders shielded her from view as another couple started toward the room.
Griff grabbed a match and dipped it into the bottle of igniting liquid. The match caught. A flame shot up from the end of it, and the odor of sulfur filled the air. Griff singed the end of a feather, waved it around for good measure, then extinguished it and the match.
The footsteps outside the door halted. The couple exchanged a few whispers and moved on.
The unmistakable smell of sulfur had signaled that the room was occupied.
Griff exhaled a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t have been enough to stop a worried mama, a light-headed deb, or one of the patronesses, but it had been enough to deter another couple hoping for privacy. He glanced around. The fact that he’d been kissing Alyssa Carrollton in full view of anyone who happened to venture into the ladies’ retiring room or—Griff crossed the room and peeked around the draperies—across the corridor from anyone in the card room who happened to look up from play, was a sobering thought.
“Are we safe?” Alyssa whispered from behind.
“I am,” Griff answered. “But I fear you may be in grave danger.”
“From what?” She stood on tiptoe, looking for the menace, trying to see over his shoulder.
“Not what,” he murmured. “But whom.”
Alyssa leaned back, staring up at his face. “I very much doubt that anyone would dare to accost me with you here to protect me.”
“That’s true,” he replied in a low, husky tone ripe with layers of meaning. “But who will protect you from me?”
Alyssa’s breath quickened, and her heart began a rapid tattoo.
Griff stared at her neck, mesmerized by the tiny pulse point rising and falling in the soft, vulnerable hollow of her throat.
“I wasn’t aware that I needed protection from you, Lord Abernathy.” Her voice quavered, and she pressed her knees together to keep from shaking or collapsing at his feet.
“Then allow me to make you aware.”
He closed his eyes and pressed a kiss against the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, then slowly, tenderly kissed his way up the curve of her neck. He nipped at her earlobe, and Alyssa sucked in a breath as a rush of warmth flooded her body from head to toe. Her legs began to tremble, and her knees nearly buckled at the surge of raw emotion flowing through her.
Griff tightened his arm about her waist to keep her from sinking to the floor, then smiled a wicked little smile and breathed against her ear.
The warm, moist air against her earlobe became a current o
f electrical charges, carrying dozens of tiny shocks that imprinted themselves upon her soul. The atmosphere around them crackled with tension and the stirrings of desire. Her whole body seemed to tingle, and Alyssa marveled at her reaction. She’d never felt anything like it, and she wondered, suddenly, how many other surprises Lord Abernathy had in store.
She didn’t have long to wonder, for he flicked his tongue against the pearl drop fastened to her earlobe, before plunging the hot wet tip of his tongue into the shell-like contour inside her ear. She nearly yelped in astonishment as the sudden, startling impropriety of that touch sent her senses reeling. He laved her ear, and Alyssa settled comfortably in his arms, yielding to his naughty breach of etiquette, opening herself up to more of his tantalizing surprises, welcoming the erotic sensation as he sent more shivers up and down her spine.
Griff felt her tremble in his arms and paused briefly to savor the effect, then continued his journey, kissing his way along her jaw until he reached her mouth.
Griff brushed her lips with his—once, twice, thrice—then covered them with his own, paying particular attention to her plump bottom lip as he savored the texture, tracing his tongue over it, memorizing the pattern of the fine lines that marked it. He sucked on her bottom lip, teasing her, tempting her to open her mouth and allow him right of entry and permission to explore.
Alyssa surrendered to temptation, parting her lips, inviting him inside, silently entreating him to deepen the kiss. He complied, moving his lips on hers, kissing her harder, then softer, then harder once more, testing her response, slipping his tongue past her teeth, investigating the sweet, hot interior of her mouth with practiced finesse.
He traced the elegant line of her neck with the tips of his fingers, then tangled his fingers in her hair as he leisurely stroked the inside of her mouth in a provocative imitation of lovemaking. And while Lady Alyssa was ignorant of the language of love, her body was not. It recognized the ancient mating ritual and responded in kind. Her breasts plumped, the tips of them hardening into insistent little points, clamoring to be noticed, and the surge of current that went through her body at the boldness of his kiss settled in the region between her thighs, causing an unrelenting ache for something she couldn’t name—something she suspected he would have no trouble recognizing or supplying.
Alyssa moaned softly, pressing herself against him in an effort to assuage the aching as she returned his kiss, following his lead, learning the taste of him, the thrust and parry of his tongue and the rasp of his teeth.
He heard her soft moan and somewhere in the midst of kissing her, Griff forgot she was an innocent. He held her close against him with one hand splayed against the small of her back, while he used his other hand to blaze a path with the palm of his hand from the soft curls at the nape of her neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, and between their bodies, gently cupping the soft underside of her breast. Satisfying the ache in his body, Griff pressed her hips to his, allowing her to feel the hard line of his body through the thin silk of her skirts.
He was wedging his thigh between hers when a soft giggle somewhere to the right caught his attention. Blister it! But he’d managed once again to come within a hair’s breadth of compromising Lady Alyssa Carrollton—and not just compromising her, but taking her right there. Right then. On the couch in the ladies’ retiring room at Almack’s.
What the devil had happened to his self-control? His discipline? Griffin broke the kiss and stepped away, struggling to gain control of his raging desire. He looked down at her upturned face, the moisture on her lips, and her blissful yet slightly dazed expression, and decided he would marry Alyssa Carrollton or no one.
Suddenly bereft of his touch and his kisses, Alyssa opened her eyes. Griffin had turned to look over his right shoulder. Alyssa studied the strong line of his lean jaw and felt a compelling urge to sweep her tongue along it. Standing on tiptoe, she attempted to do just that, but his jaw remained enticingly out of reach. She settled for the sun-baked bit of flesh barely visible above his starched neckcloth.
Griffin whirled around, nearly knocking her aside. “What—”
“It’s called a kiss, and I was aiming for your jaw, but still, I’m gratified to know you’re not entirely unaffected by it,” she said softly.
“Shhh,” he warned in a husky whisper, reaching out to steady her. “We aren’t alone any longer.”
“Not again!” Alyssa blew out an exasperated breath.
“I vow this room is as crowded as the ballroom. Isn’t there someplace we can go for privacy?”
A vision of his coach popped into Griff’s mind. It was dark inside the coach, comfortable, private, and convenient. The seats were upholstered in thick, soft velvet, and the windows were hung with matching curtains. It was parked a block or so down the street, and after he and Alyssa… Griffin sighed. After he relieved Lady Alyssa of her virtue, he could see her home. Safe and sound. With no one the wiser and only his offer of marriage between them.
He waited until the latest threat of discovery passed, then took Alyssa by the hand and drew her out of the shadows. “I could take you to my carriage.” Griff surprised himself by answering honestly and by half-hoping she’d say yes. “But come morning, your reputation would be in shreds.”
“Bother my reputation!” Alyssa exclaimed. “Protecting it has proven to be an endless source of frustration.”
Griff laughed. “Reputations are like that. The trouble is that we never realize their value unless we lose them. Only then do we find that they were irreplaceable and that no amount of gold or prestige can restore them completely.” He gave her wistful smile. “We’d better get you back to the assembly before your mother decides you’ve been gone much too long.”
“Wait!” She ordered. “How do I look?”
She looked beautiful. Her eyes were luminous, her skin flushed, and her mouth, bee-stung. She looked as if she’d been well and thoroughly kissed. Griff reached out and tucked a stray curl into place. “You look as if you’ve been kissing a man in the ladies’ retiring room.”
Alyssa blinked. “Are you certain?”
Griff nodded.
“Can people really tell from looking at me that I’ve been kissed?”
“Not everyone, but a great many of the people in there”—he gestured toward the assembly room—“could discern it. And not simply that you’ve been kissed, but that you’ve been kissing in return.”
Alyssa beamed. “How remarkable!”
Griff frowned at her. “Quite remarkable. Very remarkable. Extremely remarkable. Reputation-ruining remarkable.”
“Oh, yes, well…” Her voice was low, disheartened. “There is that.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Unfortunately, there is that.” She brightened suddenly. “How can they tell?”
“Your eyes are bright, your skin is flushed, and your lips are swollen.”
“As if I’d been crying?”
Griff nodded. “Your nose isn’t red, but other than that, you do look as if you might have been crying.”
“That’s it,” she replied. “If anyone is rude enough to inquire, I’ll simply say I’ve been crying.”
He grimaced. “Thereby ruining my reputation.”
Alyssa was stunned. “How could I ruin your reputation?”
“No one will inquire directly, Lady Innocence. Except, perhaps, your mother. Everyone else will gossip and speculate and offer your reputation up as fodder for the latest on-dit. And when they tire of gossiping and speculating about you, they’ll want to know what I did to cause your tears. Because I was, after all, the man you were with when you shed those phantom tears. Either way, both our reputations would suffer, and that’s something I would prefer to avoid.”
Alyssa was quiet for a moment. “Unless I let it be known that I was crying tears of happiness because you proposed.”
“That might work.” Griff pursed his lips, considering her suggestion. “But, my position as an officer and a gentleman precludes my speaking to you on
such a delicate subject until I’ve spoken to your father.”
Alyssa sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well,” she told him. “Because I rarely cry, and no one who knows me well would ever believe that a marriage proposal would cause me to shed tears of happiness.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, and Griff was captivated by her expression. “Do I still look as if I’ve been kissed?”
“’Fraid so,” Griff murmured, very much aware that she was in danger of being kissed again. And soon.
“Then it will have to be an accident,” she replied.
“Pardon?”
“No matter,” Alyssa tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and gave him an impish grin. “Shall we?”
Griff checked to make certain the way was clear before preceding her out of the room. He hovered near the door of the first card room, waiting until she appeared, then escorted her back into the ballroom. “If anyone says anything, I’ll tell them you felt faint and that I escorted you to the retiring room and burnt a feather to help revive you because the crush was so thick we couldn’t get to your mother.”
“Don’t worry,” Alyssa whispered. “No one will say anything.”
Griff smiled. “That’s what you think. We reek of sulfur and burnt feathers.”
“In this crowd, everyone reeks of something.” She gave him a glorious smile. “I promise, your reputation is safe with me. I’ll take care of everything. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The teasing note in her voice should have alerted him; still, Griffin was unprepared for what came next. “Lady Alyssa?”
“Oops!” Alyssa slipped the silk cord of her fan off her wrist and let it fall to the floor. It bounced off the toe of Griffin’s buckle shoe, clattered against the polished marble, then skidded to a stop inches away.
Griffin automatically bent down to retrieve it. Alyssa did the same, timing it so that they bumped heads with enough force to bring tears to her eyes.
She saw stars and bit her bottom lip so hard it drew blood.
Griff gritted his teeth against the pain. “Your fan, milady.” He handed her her silk and ivory fan, then pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dabbed at the spot of blood on her bottom lip. “Nicely done, milady. You managed to bring tears to both our eyes and to disguise your swollen lips—all at the same time.”
Alyssa attempted a smile. “It was the best I could do in the midst of an audience and on such short notice. Besides, now I have reason to feel faint.”
“Wellesley couldn’t have done any better,” Griff replied, rubbing his forehead. There would be a knot there tomorrow. He could feel it swelling already. Griff sat back on his heels and was just about to offer Alyssa his hand, when a pair of purple satin slippers stepped into view.
“Lady Alyssa, Lord Abernathy… Are you all right?”
Alyssa looked up to find Lady Jersey, the most acid-tongued of Almack’s patronesses, standing over them.
Griff pushed himself to his feet and helped Alyssa to hers.
“I’m fine, Lady Jersey,” Alyssa answered. “I dropped my fan, and Lord Abernathy was kind enough to retrieve it for me.” She looked the Almack’s patroness in the eye, daring her to contradict.
Lady Jersey smiled thinly. “Of course he did, my dear. That’s to be expected. Lord Abernathy is, after all, a gentleman.” She batted her eyes at Griffin.
Griff cleared his throat.
Lady Jersey smiled at him once again. “Lord Abernathy, if you’ll forgive me for taking her away from you, I’ll see that Lady Alyssa is returned to her mother. I believe Lady Tressingham is looking for her.”
Griff gave Lady Jersey his most charming smile. “Thank you, Lady Jersey, but I believe it’s my duty and my pleasure to see that Lady Alyssa is returned safely to her mother. If you’ll excuse us.” He offered Alyssa his arm.
“Thank you,” Alyssa whispered as he guided her through the crowded ballroom toward her mother.
“Before I give you back into your mother’s keeping, I must ask if we’ve a bargain?” Griff reminded her.
“Yes,” Alyssa said.
Griff nodded. “Then I’ll speak to your father as soon as it can be arranged.”
Alyssa groaned. “Can we not simply elope to Gretna Green? You have a coach. It would be much less bother than the alternative.” And much more romantic.
Griff shook his head. “I’m afraid running away to Scotland is out of the question.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my father—” Alyssa began.
“I do know your father,” Griff replied. “At least, in passing.”
“Then you understand how much simpler it would be not to seek his permission.”
“You’re forgetting that I, too, have parents to consider,” Griff reminded her. “And my parents would consider my elopement a great insult to you and to them. No,” he murmured almost to himself. “I won’t disappoint them or make them or us fodder for gossipmongers. If we’re going to do this thing, we’re going to do it properly with a wedding at Saint Paul’s and a breakfast to follow.”
The wheels began turning in Alyssa’s head. “For how many guests?”
“However many you think proper,” Griff answered. “You’ve more experience in this sort of thing than I.” Alyssa narrowed her gaze at him. “I hate to disappoint you, Lord Abernathy, but I’m not quite as experienced as you seem to believe. This is, after all, my first wedding, too.”
There was no escaping the biting sarcasm in her voice. “I meant that you had more experience attending—perhaps even, participating—in weddings and wedding breakfasts than I,” he amended. “I haven’t any siblings, and as a bachelor, I rarely attend weddings.” The truth was that he had never attended any weddings. “Surely, you know more about how it’s done than I. How many guests would you suggest in order to quell gossip and speculation among the ton?”
She tapped her bottom lip with her index finger as she considered his question. “Fifty or so of our closest friends would be a minimum.”
“Then invite two hundred,” Griff advised.
“That sort of wedding takes months of planning.”
“We don’t have months,” Griff said. “So you’ll just have to do the best you can.” He smiled at her. “If Wellesley can move an entire army to Spain and Portugal in mere weeks, you should be able to plan and execute the sort of wedding we require within days.”
“Spoken like a man who has no experience with this sort of thing,” Alyssa retorted, refusing to be cajoled by his blue eyes or his incredible smile.
“I have complete faith in your ability,” he added. Alyssa snorted in an unladylike fashion.
“Would it help if I told you that money was no object?”
She smiled at him. “It might, but you’re forgetting about my father. He and my mother have their hearts set on a duke or at the very least, a marquess, for me. He might not consider a viscount.”
Griff had forgotten about that. “I’ve good prospects. I’ll take my chances.”
“Then you should speak with my mother.”
“I can’t agree more,” Griff said. “Unfortunately, it isn’t done. Duty and honor require that I speak with your father.”
Alyssa nodded. “More’s the pity.”
Griff fought to keep from laughing aloud. “It isn’t too late to change your mind.”
“Are you suggesting I should?”
“No,” Griff said. “I’m not.” He paused and looked down at her. “I’m quite satisfied with my choice.”
“You’re certain of that?” Alyssa asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Are you?”
“Of course, I’m certain,” Alyssa told him. “This is my second season. I had suitors and offers last season, but fortunately my two older sisters received better offers. Since two weddings a season were all my father would agree to finance and attend, I was spared. But if I don’t find a husband this season, my parents will find one for me.”
Griff met her gaze. �
�Why me?”
“Why not?” she replied. “You’re in need of a wife, and you happen to be the only gentleman I’ve ever seen who made me feel as if I were meant to be his wife.” She threw his words back at him.
“Touché.” He smiled. “Did those words sound as well-rehearsed when I said them to you?”
“Oh, no.” She looked up at him. “Quite the opposite. They sounded entirely sincere.”
“That’s nice,” he said. “Because they were.” He winked at her. “Make no mistake about it, Lady Alyssa Carrollton, I want you for my viscountess.”
Recognizing the gleam in his eye for the challenge that it was, Alyssa met his gaze, “Then don’t disappoint me.”
Griff almost kissed her on the spot. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He escorted Alyssa to her mother. Lifting her hand as he bowed at the waist, he brushed his lips across the back of it and murmured, “A pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Alyssa. Thank you most kindly for the dance.”
“My pleasure, Lord Abernathy.”
He let go of Alyssa’s hand and turned to her mother. “With your permission, ma’am, I would like to call upon Lord Tressingham tomorrow in order to pay my respects.”
Lady Tressingham eyed him speculatively. “I’ll see that he’s made aware of your impending arrival,” she said. “And now, we shall bid you good night, Lord Abernathy, and good luck.”
Griff accepted the dismissal. He bowed once more, then turned on his heel and made his way through the crowd toward the card room.
Alyssa lifted her fan to her face in an effort to disguise the fact that she was following his every move.
“Don’t bother, Alyssa,” Lady Tressingham remarked from behind her own fan. “He’s a dream to look upon, but Abernathy’s only a viscount and quite unsuitable as long as there are marquesses and a duke in the running.”
Chapter Eight
“According to the War Office’s latest dispatches, Massena has chosen his field marshals and is preparing for battle. I have chosen my bride and am preparing to marry.”
—Griffin, Viscount Abernathy, journal entry, 26 April 1810
Barely a Bride Page 14