by Maya Banks
She groaned inwardly, wondering again if the pursuit of bedroom activities was really worth all the anguish it was causing thus far. But it wasn’t just bedroom activities. At least not now. She was drawn to Gray and wanted very much to be near him again.
Gathering up her skirts, she hastened down the stairs. At the bottom she looked around the corner to see the light on in her father’s study. Good. Sebastian was still there. She turned to head toward the front door when a cloak appeared in front of her.
“You’ll have need of this, my lady.”
She stared at Thomas in consternation, wondering if he was really that perceptive or if she was a terrible sneak. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I trust there’ll be no mention of this to my brothers?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Mention of what, my lady?”
She grinned and ducked out of the door, pulling the cloak tightly around her. Heavy fog enveloped her into its embrace as she walked to the street. The glow of the street lamps was barely discernible through the heavy blanket. She looked anxiously around for Gray’s carriage. The faint clip clop of hooves alerted her to an oncoming vehicle, and she hurried in the direction of the sound.
At the street corner, she climbed into the carriage and nervously looked out the window as they rolled away. Most of London was still quite active at this hour, and she scanned the streets for any carriages that could have seen her.
Moments later, she arrived at Gray’s townhouse and hurried to the door where Masterson ushered her in. The maid from the night before took her cloak and disappeared from the foyer.
“Mr. Douglas awaits you in the library,” Masterson said gesturing her to follow him up the stairs.
“I remember the way,” she replied.
He bowed and left her to ascend the stairs alone. She stood on the first step for a long moment, her hand resting on the polished railing. Finally in irritation, she marched up the stairs. These nightly battles with her conscience were beginning to wear on her.
She knocked lightly on the library door and heard a muffled “Come” from inside. She eased the door open and entered, her eyes doing an immediate search for him.
He was sitting at his desk holding a quill, but when he saw her, he laid it aside and leaned back in his chair. “Good evening, Jenna.”
She crossed the room and walked around his desk to stand to the side of him. An open ledger sat in front of him next to an inkwell, and it was apparent he’d been working on it before her arrival. “What are you doing?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“I am going over my accounts.”
“But surely you have a solicitor for such things.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t get to where I am by trusting others to do things for me.”
She turned and sat down on the desk, sliding back a few inches until her feet dangled over the edge as she had done so often when conversing with her brothers. “So what is it that you do anyway?”
“I am a businessman.”
She snorted. “Aren’t you all? What sort of business do you dabble in?”
He laughed again and rose from his chair. “Spoken like a true aristocrat’s daughter. Come, let’s adjourn by the fire. We’ll talk more there.”
He helped her from the desk and guided her to the rug in front of the stone fireplace. Silk pillows almost as large as Jenna were arranged on the floor, and he settled down onto one of them. He motioned for her to follow suit, and she sank onto one, carefully arranging her skirts around her.
“I don’t dabble in business. I buy them or invest in them, but I take them all very seriously.”
“Were you always so enormously wealthy or did you make your fortune in trade?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you so certain I am enormously wealthy?”
“Rumor has it you are as rich as Croesus. You aren’t titled so I assume you weren’t born into wealth.”
He shifted and settled onto his side in front of her, raising up on his elbow to look at her. A glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Not everyone who is born into wealth is titled, Jenna. But no, I was hardly born to it. Quite the opposite actually.”
She leaned forward in interest. “Do go on.”
“I wasn’t a bastard,” he said with a grin. “I am aware of that particular rumor circulating the ton. My father was a Scot and my mother was English. I grew up close to the docks and learned early that the only way to assure myself a meal was to work for it.”
“So your parents were poor,” she said softly.
“I don’t think poor accurately describes our living conditions. We lived in squalor and often went days without eating. As soon as I was old enough to work I did, and I’ve not stopped since.”
He glanced down at the floor, his dark hair falling over his forehead. “I used to wonder what would become of me if something happened to my parents. I would have no place to live, nothing to eat...”
“How awful,” she murmured sympathetically.
“I fund an orphanage for that very reason,” he said looking back up at her. “That’s what I was going over when you came in. The ledgers for the children’s home.”
She blinked in surprise, wondering if the depths to this man knew no bounds. He held her gaze as if searching for disdain or scorn in her face. Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. She’d only been in an orphanage once in her life, and it hadn’t been one of her favorite experiences.
But imagining him as a small boy, alone on the streets tugged at her heart. How must these other children feel to be in the same position?
“Which orphanage do you fund?” she asked lightly in an attempt to cover her shame.
“The old Newton place on Oxford. Do you know of it?”
She nodded, not about to admit she knew nothing of any orphanage. But she tucked the information away.
“So what did happen to your parents?” she asked diverting the conversation away from the orphanage.
“When I turned fifteen, I signed on with a ship carrying supplies to our troops. I made a good wage and arranged for my parents to return to Scotland to live near my father’s family. I try and visit them as often as I can.”
She stared at him a long moment, mentally calculating his age. “How old are you?” she blurted.
He smiled. “I just celebrated my twenty-eighth birthday in March. And you, Jenna? How old you are?”
“I’ll soon be celebrating my twenty-first birthday.”
He looked at her in surprise. “I would have thought you no more than eighteen.”
She made a face. “I wasn’t ever presented at court. This really isn’t an official season for me at all. My parents saw no need since I was already affianced to Stuart.”
“Is that his name...Stuart?”
“Yes, he is Viscount Dudley’s son.”
“Interesting fellow, your fiancé.”
“You’ve met him?”
“Not formally, of course, but I did see him at a few balls I attended.”
Jenna looked down at her hands. “He didn’t used to be so...so foppish. I don’t know why he became such.”
“Well I can certainly understand why you came to me with your proposition.”
She looked up, and he winked devilishly at her. Peals of laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she gasped for breath as she laughed even harder.
She gazed down at the man lying in front of her and marveled at how she’d come to this. She’d never spoken this frankly with anyone apart from Quinn. Nor had she enjoyed herself as thoroughly in another’s company.
A completely different kind of ache assailed her as she took in his warm smile and casual air. If only she could look forward to such a relationship with Stuart.
His voice broke through her thoughts, and she blinked rapidly.
“How was your evening?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him of her brush with danger at the opera, but she had no desire to ruin the mood betw
een them. “I looked forward to seeing you the entire evening,” she admitted.
Gray smiled then stretched out and turned away to look into the flames of the fireplace. Muscles rippled across his back, barely disguised by the thin dressing shirt he wore. His black curls lingered temptingly above his collar, and she wanted to run her fingertips through them.
Propelled by something she couldn’t explain, she moved forward, kneeling behind him. Immediately, his scent surrounded her and beckoned her even closer. Her fingers came out and softly stroked the ebony strands of hair. He turned over and caught her hand in his, pulling her down to his chest.
Their faces were just inches apart and their eyes locked, neither looking away from the intense perusal. Finally, she lowered her lips and softly moved them over his.
He groaned low in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her solidly against his chest. Encouraged by his response, she deepened her kiss, prodding his mouth open with her tongue. He tasted like wine and mint, and she couldn’t get enough of him.
When she finally drew away, their eyes met again, and she was lost in a swirl of smoke. “I think I just might like you, Grayson Douglas.”
His chest rumbled underneath her, and he rolled her over to rest beside him. “And what prompted this most startling revelation?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt as comfortable in another person’s company as I do yours.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know what to say. I think perhaps that is the best compliment anyone has ever paid me.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she felt an unexpected pleasure at his words. His hand came to rest on her waist, and he slid his other arm under her head so they were looking one another in the eye. “Now I’d like to know more about you,” he said.
“There isn’t much to tell.”
“Nonsense. Let’s start with what you like to do in your free time.”
She ducked her head. “I like to write,” she mumbled.
“Really?”
She peeked back up at him and nodded her head. “This is my first extended trip to London. Most of my time has been spent at my family’s home in Westerleigh. I often walked down to the stream that runs through our estate and sat under the big oak tree. I’d spend hours writing and dreaming up things to write.”
“And what did you write?”
“Oh lots of things. Children’s tales, romantic novels, mystery stories, poetry, and I kept a journal.”
“I’d love to read some of them.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, of course. I’d wager you’re quite talented.”
Warmth curled in her stomach and tightened her chest. “You are too kind.”
He gazed intently at her. “You should know I never say anything I don’t mean.”
“Somehow I have no difficulty believing that,” she said breathily.
“Now that we’ve covered what you like to do, let’s go onto what you’d like to do but never have.”
“Oh that’s easy. I’d like to travel to faraway exotic places. Africa...India and the like.”
“An adventurer at heart are you?” he asked with a chuckle.
“It would be terribly exciting, don’t you think? Taking in a sunset over the Taj Mahal...surely there isn’t a more romantic story anywhere.”
“So you are a romantic.”
She lowered her eyes breaking the connection between them. “It’s silly, I know. But still, I can’t seem to stop dreaming of romance and sunsets in exotic locations.”
“And what of the pyramids of Egypt? I can attest to their awe-inspiring power.”
Her jaw dropped and she stared at him in amazement. “You’ve been to Egypt?”
“Indeed. In fact I only returned last autumn.”
“Oh you must tell me everything!” she exclaimed, pouncing on him with her hands.
He gathered her hands and pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Everything?”
“Yes! And don’t leave out a single detail.” She shifted and tucked her legs underneath her and leaned forward, eager to hear every word that fell from his lips.
Jenna listened with rapt attention as he outlined his travels. From Egypt their conversation turned to his trip to the colonies, and she found herself entranced by his accounts of the upstart Americans.
The candles and the fire burned low as they talked of dreams and goals and finally they were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Mr. Douglas, the carriage awaits Lady Jenna,” Masterson called.
Her head came up in surprise. How had the time passed so quickly? And they hadn’t even...her eyes found Gray’s and she scrambled hastily up. He also rose and offered a steadying hand to her. “I cannot recollect ever enjoying an evening as much as I have enjoyed this one,” he murmured.
“I must admit the same,” she replied. “But we didn’t even...” Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head in embarrassment.
He smiled and pulled her to him, kissing her lips in a brief fashion. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
Long after Jenna had departed, Gray sat on the silk pillows staring into the fire. Something truly frightening had happened between the time she had first approached him with her scandalous proposition and now. He needed her.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. Though he had vowed to have complete control over their meetings, he felt it slipping away each time she looked into his eyes.
The things he had shared with her had spilled forth like a fountain. Never before had he shared the details of his childhood with anyone, not even Roslyn. He had spent a lot of years ashamed of his past.
But Jenna hadn’t judged him, nor had she turned away in disgust. She had listened with rapt attention to every account he shared. She was everything he had ever dreamed of in a life mate.
“Fool,” he hissed as he rose from the pillow he was sitting on. He was letting his emotions get the best of him. This was supposed to be an affair. Nothing more. To expect more...to want more was not only disastrous, but impossible.
He had learned his lesson the hard way, and if there was one thing he knew, society never changed for anyone. He would give her what she wanted, but nothing more.
###
Jenna stifled a yawn and tried to concentrate on Stuart’s ramblings. Her eyes kept crossing, and she feared she would nod off at any moment. How long could one dither on about the proper way to tie a cravat anyway?
She smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, wondering what exactly she’d just approved of. Dear God, let him shut up soon before her eyes rolled up into her head, and she died from sheer boredom.
Even Margaret, who was always fastidious in her duties as chaperone, seemed ready to bolt from the room.
For an hour now, she’d tortured herself with thoughts of how wonderful her pillow would feel. If only she could close her eyes for just a few minutes. When she’d returned home, she’d only gotten an hour’s sleep before Margaret roused her for breakfast. The result had been feet that felt lead-filled and a head to match.
She blinked rapidly as Stuart looked expectantly at her. Oh dear what had he just said? She took a chance and said, “Yes, of course.”
He beamed in response and gathered her hands in his. “It’s settled then. I’ll come around at seven to collect you.”
Her befuddled mind raced, trying to figure out what she’d just agreed to and where he was going to take her. And she couldn’t ask or she’d make a cake of herself.
She smiled brightly and moved toward the door to see him out. Thomas stood at the entry and handed Stuart his hat and cane. Once Stuart had departed, Thomas turned to her. “I do hope you haven’t forgotten your afternoon appointment at the mantua maker, my lady.”
She stared at him blankly. “Do I have such an appointment?”
“Well no, bu
t I thought you might like the opportunity for a nap,” he said with barely disguised amusement.
“Quite right!” she exclaimed. “How remiss of me to have forgotten such an important appointment. I’ll be up in my room.” She turned away, but as she reached the steps, she whirled around once more. “Thomas? You don’t happen to know where Stuart is taking me tonight, do you?”
His eyes twinkled merrily. “I believe Mr. Eglin asked you to attend Lady Westlake’s musicale.”
“He didn’t!” she gasped. “Saints above. Of all the things to agree to. An evening of caterwauling.” With a heavy sigh, she turned and trudged up the stairs, Thomas’s laughter filtering up the steps after her.
Sebastian and Quinn were at their club, and if her luck held, they’d not return until much later in the afternoon. Now that she’d performed the obligatory duty of entertaining Stuart, she could retire to her room until tonight’s musicale.
A frown twisted her face as she opened the door to her room. Everyone knew of Lady Westlake’s musicales, and everyone fastidiously avoided them. Two years ago, when she and Mamma received an invitation, she’d been delighted to go. That is until she’d attended.
The entertainment, if you could call such a debacle true entertainment, consisted of Lady Westlake’s eldest daughter, who was firmly on the shelf, singing and playing the pianoforte. All the grand masters of the past were surely covering their ears.
Lady Westlake was convinced that her daughter would gain a husband as a result of the performances. So much so that she handed out fliers at the door extolling all of Lucretia’s virtues, including a few invented ones. Gentlemen were encouraged to pay call the following day, but Jenna had it on good authority that Lady Westlake’s drawing room had remained empty.
She knew she couldn’t count on Quinn to accompany her tonight. To do so would make him a target of the overzealous matron. She’d be left alone to contend with Stuart.
Unwilling to spend precious time lamenting the evening ahead, she shrugged out of her clothing and climbed nude between the covers. She closed her eyes, but sleep was elusive. Though her body was exhausted, her mind was alive and racing, images of her night with Gray replaying over and over.