Bea almost laughed as she asked herself that question; even if Griffin were to ever attend such frivolities, which she seriously doubted, then she did not believe he would have noticed her existence.
Just as she had absolutely no doubt that she most certainly would have noticed Griffin, whatever the circumstances of their meeting!
He had such presence, was so tall and handsome, it would be impossible for any woman not to notice, or to be attracted to the charismatic Duke of Rotherham.
And yet he had never remarried.
Because he had loved his wife so much the idea of marriage to another woman repulsed him?
That had to be the explanation, Bea accepted wistfully.
Oh, but it would have been so wonderful to meet Griffin under different circumstances. For him to have asked to dance with her at a ball. To have him accompany her into supper. To have him call or send flowers the following day.
Bea brought her thoughts up sharply as she realised that all of those things seemed perfectly natural to her. That perhaps they had happened in her previous life?
Oh, not with Griffin, more was the pity, but she was sure she had danced at balls, and been accompanied into suppers by handsome gentlemen, and that they had called or sent flowers the following day.
Slowly, too slowly for Bea’s peace of mind, her memories seemed to be returning to her.
Griffin sat quiet and unmoving as he watched Bea slowly relax, her lids fluttering and then falling softly downwards, dark lashes caressing the paleness of her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, as she fell asleep.
He breathed out a soft and relieved sigh as he relaxed back into the same uncomfortable chair in which he had dozed fitfully the previous night. Sitting at Bea’s bedside seemed to be becoming something of a habit! He continued to watch her for several minutes longer, before his own lack of sleep the night before finally caught up with him and he lay his head back against the chair and fell asleep himself.
* * *
Bea woke to the feel of the warmth of the sun caressing her cheeks, and a deeper warmth down the left side of her body, and with a not uncomfortable weight across her abdomen and her legs. Almost as if—
She quickly opened her eyes, slowly turning her head to the left as she looked beside her, her breath catching in her throat as she saw that Griffin lay next to her, one of his arms curved about her waist, a leg thrown over the top of both of hers.
As if he were protecting her, even in his sleep.
He lay above the covers rather than under them, Bea discovered on closer inspection, the darkness of his hair more tousled than ever as his head lay on the pillows beside her own, his harshly chiselled features appearing much softer in sleep.
Bea’s fingers itched to trace those finely arched brows. The sharply etched cheeks and the length of his aristocratic nose. As for those chiselled lips...
They looked so much softer when Griffin’s mouth was not set in the habitually grim and determined shape it bore when he was awake. Lips so soft and inviting, in fact, that Bea’s temptation to taste them became too much for her, her lids fluttering closed as she began to move her face closer towards his.
‘What are you doing?’
Bea froze with her own lips just inches away from Griffin’s, guilty colouring warming her cheeks as she looked up at him; she had been so intent on kissing the softness of his lips, she had failed to notice that Griffin had raised his own lids and was now looking at her with stormy grey eyes.
Angry eyes?
She moistened her own parted lips before answering him. ‘I was...merely taken aback at finding you here in bed beside me.’ She turned the explanation into a challenge, having no intention of owning up to the yearning she had known to kiss him, to taste the soft temptation of his lips.
Lips that were once again set in that grim, uncompromising line as he sat up in the bed before swinging his legs to the floor and standing up.
‘I apologise,’ he rasped gruffly as he looked down at her between narrowed lids, his back stiff and unyielding, shoulders tensed. He had removed his boots, and unbuttoned his waistcoat, but otherwise was still as fully dressed as he had been the night before. ‘I meant only to hold you for several minutes after your upset, and that blasted chair is so uncomfortable.’ He scowled at the offending piece of furniture. ‘I must have drifted off to sleep myself once you were settled.’
Only one part of that explanation held any significance for Bea. ‘After my upset?’ Her face paled at the thought she might have had another nightmare. One that might possibly have revealed even more of the events of her captivity.
‘You did not wake, just became restless and disturbed, and muttered a little in your sleep.’ Griffin frowned as he recalled how he had been woken from his own fitful dozing in the chair in the early hours of the morning to see Bea thrashing restlessly in the bed, her words incomprehensible to him as she muttered and protested and cried out in her sleep.
Except for...
He looked down at her searchingly. ‘Who is Michael?’
Bea returned his gaze blankly, her face unnaturally pale.
‘Michael?’ she repeated uncertainly.
‘Michael,’ Griffin confirmed abruptly. ‘You called out for him in your sleep.’
‘I did?’ Her expression remained uncomprehending.
He nodded. ‘You kept repeating his name, and then you said, “Michael must be so alone, so very alone!” and then you began to cry.’
Griffin could still remember the clenching of his gut as Bea had called out for the other man in her sleep, and how she had shed tears because she could not be with him.
He had no memory of having fallen asleep on the bed beside her after he had sought to comfort her, but he did recall the weight of her obvious love for the other man as weighing heavily on his chest.
Because he had enjoyed kissing her?
Because he wanted to kiss her again?
Because he was growing fond of Bea himself?
Griffin briskly dismissed such thoughts as nonsense. He merely felt responsible for Bea, and was concerned as to what had happened to her and why. Saddened for her, too, because she seemed to be so alone in the world.
Except she obviously was not as alone as he had thought she was. Because she was obviously concerned for—loved?—a man named Michael.
Did this Michael love her in return?
Of course he did; how could any man not fall in love with Bea if she chose to give her love to him?
Then where was this Michael now?
Why was he not the one here to comfort Bea when she was so lost and in pain? And why was he not ripping the country apart in his efforts to find her? To rescue her?
As Griffin was sure he would have done, in the same circumstances!
An obvious answer to those questions was that perhaps the other man was dead.
That the reason this Michael was not searching for Bea was because the people who had taken her might possibly have killed her lover during that abduction? It might even be that it was the shock of that death that was responsible for her amnesia, rather than the blow she had received to the head, or the horror of her abduction.
Bea gave a shake of her head, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I do not recall knowing anyone named Michael. Who could he be?’ she added agitatedly.
‘Please do not upset yourself, Bea.’ Griffin heard the clock out in the hallway striking the hour of six. ‘I believe I must now return to my own bedchamber.’ He grimaced. ‘The maid will arrive with my morning tea very shortly, and my valet not long after, to prepare my bath and lay out my clothes.’
‘I— Of course.’ Bea blinked. ‘I have inconvenienced you far too much already, without the added scandal of your being found in my bedchamber at this hour, and in a state of undress.’
It would certai
nly be a first in this house for Griffin to be found in any lady’s bedchamber in the morning, he acknowledged grimly. Even in the early days of their marriage Felicity had rarely allowed him entry to her bedchamber, and when she did she had always insisted that he leave again immediately after one of their less than satisfactory couplings, with the claim that she could not possibly fall asleep with his bulk in the bed beside her.
As Bea had done so easily and comfortably the night before.
And making comparisons of the way in which the two women regarded him was not only unproductive but also painful. It was like comparing night and day, rain or shine, when Bea was so obviously daylight and sunshine, after the dark and stormy years of being Felicity’s barely tolerated husband.
His mouth tightened at those memories. ‘I really do have to go now.’ For the sake of his sanity, if nothing else! ‘We will talk of this further over breakfast, if you wish.’ He gave a terse bow before collecting up his boots and departing the room.
Bea was left momentarily stunned at the abruptness with which Griffin had left her. She felt guilty as she realised how her presence here was a constant inconvenience to him. Firstly, by his being forced into the position of becoming her saviour at all. And latterly, her presence here, an unaccompanied and young lady, surely bringing his reputation into question within his own household.
And who could this man Michael be? Someone she obviously felt an affection for, if she was calling out for him in her sleep. Perhaps he was a brother or other relative? Or a fiancé?
The thought of a fiancé caused Bea to go cold inside.
She had only known Griffin for a day, but it had been a significant and highly emotional time. And her attraction to him, her physical response to his having kissed her, her complete trust in him, could not be denied.
So perhaps her restlessness last night, her calling out for this man named Michael, had been because of a guilty conscience on her part, because she now found herself so inexplicably drawn to the man who had become her rescuer?
Whatever the reason, she resolved to be as little of a burden to Griffin as was possible in the coming days.
And nights.
* * *
‘Sir Walter Latham has called to see you, Your Grace.’
Griffin looked up from the papers on his desk to first look at Pelham and then to glance frowningly across his study at Bea, as she sat curled up in a chair beside the fire reading a book. He noted pleasurably how the afternoon sun made her hair appear a particularly beautiful shade of blue-black against the pale lemon of her gown.
These past three days had been surprisingly companionable ones, with just the two of them sitting here together in the library during the day, he working on estate business, Bea quietly engrossed in her book, before they dined together in the evenings. Their conversations together had flowed surprisingly easily, Bea proving to be an intelligent woman, knowledgeable and able to discuss many subjects, despite her continued lack of memories of her own former life.
Much as Griffin had once imagined he would spend tranquil days and quiet evenings at home with his wife. Except Felicity had never wanted to sit companionably with him anywhere. In fact, towards the end of their marriage, it had become almost too much to expect her to even occupy the same house as him.
He frowned as he once again firmly put thoughts of Felicity from his mind to turn and look at his butler standing in the doorway. ‘Show Sir Walter into the blue salon, if you please, Pelham,’ he instructed impatiently.
‘Very good, Your Grace.’ The butler bowed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘Sir Walter Latham?’ Bea repeated curiously as she closed her book.
‘A neighbour who was away from home when I called upon him three days ago,’ Griffin dismissed as he stood up from behind his desk to pull on his jacket. ‘He is obviously home again now and simply returning my visit to him. I think it might be for the best if you were to remain here while I speak with him.’
‘Of course.’ Bea readily agreed to the suggestion; she had absolutely no interest in meeting any of Griffin’s neighbours.
People who would no doubt be curious as to who she was, and what she was doing here.
People who might know Griffin well enough to know that he did not have a goddaughter named Beatrix.
Although she was a little disappointed at having their tranquillity interrupted. A surprising tranquillity, considering the unusual manner in which they had first met, and the uncertainty that still surrounded Bea’s past.
Her bruises were rapidly fading, and she no longer wore the bandages on her wrists and ankles, but unfortunately her memory beyond her abduction and imprisonment continued to remain elusively out of her reach.
By tacit agreement it seemed, the two of them had not referred again to Bea’s disturbed dreams of three nights ago, or of her having called out for another man. Bea felt distinctly uncomfortable at the thought she might have a fiancé pining away for her somewhere, and Griffin was no doubt respecting her own silence on the subject.
Consequently they had fallen into an easy routine during the past three days. Bea, in keeping with her decision not to be any more of a burden to Griffin than necessary, had chosen to suffer her sleepless nights in silence. Although she often fell asleep here in the library beside the fire during the daylight hours, reassured, no doubt, by Griffin’s presence across the room.
‘I am perfectly content to remain in here until after your visitor has gone,’ she now assured him lightly.
‘This should not take long.’ He deftly straightened the cuffs of his white shirt beneath his jacket, looking every inch the Duke in his perfectly tailored dark grey superfine, black waistcoat, pale grey pantaloons and highly polished black Hessians. ‘Amiable he might be, but one can only listen to so much of Sir Walter’s conversation on the hunt and the magnificent horse flesh in his stable!’ he added dryly.
Bea chuckled softly. ‘He sounds a dear.’
Griffin considered the idea. ‘He is most certainly one of the more congenial of my closest neighbours.’
‘And is there also a Lady Latham?’
‘She is something less than a dear,’ Griffin assured him with feeling, more than a little relieved that Lady Francesca appeared not to have returned as yet to accompany her husband on this visit to Stonehurst Park.
Why was it, he wondered, that amiable men such as Sir Walter more often than not burdened themselves with a controlling wife? An attraction of opposites, perhaps? Although Griffin could not claim to have ever seen much of that attraction in regard to Francesca Latham and Sir Walter!
‘Would you like me to ask Pelham to bring you some tea in my absence?’ he added briskly.
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ Bea gave him a grateful smile.
Griffin drew in a deep breath as he felt himself bathed in the warm glow of that smile, before just as quickly giving himself an inner shake as he reminded himself that this current arrangement could only ever be a temporary one. That, in fact, he might not have the right to enjoy Bea’s companionship at all, or to wallow in the warmth of her smiles.
That those things might all belong to a man called Michael.
Hopefully Aubrey Maystone would have received his letter by now, and might at this very moment be making the enquiries Griffin had requested, and thus soon putting an end to the mystery that was Bea.
Griffin’s feelings on the subject had become mixed over these past three days. The longer Bea remained here at Stonehurst Park, the more he came to enjoy her company. At the same time it was foolish to do so, when at any moment her memories might come back to her, and she would then be returned to her former life, her time spent at Stonehurst Park, and with Griffin himself, both things she would rather put to the farthest reaches of her mind.
Griffin had ensured there had been no
opportunity for a repeat of the kiss they had shared that first day, but that did not mean he did not feel desire every time he so much as looked at her.
A desire that Bea, so innocently trusting, obviously did not see or recognise.
Or return.
‘I won’t be long,’ Griffin said harshly before turning sharply on his heel and leaving the room, instructing Pelham regarding Bea’s tea, and striding determinedly into the blue salon to join Sir Walter.
At the same time as he determined he must put all thoughts of kissing Bea again from his mind.
Or try to, at least.
Chapter Seven
‘Good to see you again, Rotherham!’ The older and much shorter man rose at Griffin’s entrance, his round face flushed, his riding jacket dark brown, the gaudily checked waistcoat beneath stretched to its limits over the portliness of his stomach, his brown Hessians dusty from his ride over to Stonehurst Park. ‘You don’t come to Stonehurst nearly enough!’
‘Sir Walter.’ Griffin nodded his cool acknowledgement of the other man. ‘May I offer you some refreshment?’ He chose to ignore Latham’s comment regarding the frequency of his visits here; since Felicity died Griffin only came to Stonehurst perhaps once or twice a year, the memories of that disastrous marriage far too oppressive and immediate here, the place where Felicity had died.
‘Thank you, but no.’
‘Your visit into Yorkshire was successful, I hope?’ He lowered his bulk down into one of the armchairs.
‘Oh, my, yes.’ The older man grinned as he resumed his seat opposite. ‘I managed to buy myself a beautiful grey hunter.’ He nodded his satisfaction.
Griffin nodded. ‘Your butler informed me that Lady Francesca is away from home at the moment?’
‘She was in London for part of the Season, acting as chaperone to my young niece. The two of them are presently making their way to Lancashire via several house parties.’ The older man grimaced. ‘I cannot abide London, or house parties, but for some reason Francesca enjoys all that social nonsense.’
Griffin smiled in sympathy; he too hated all that social nonsense, but had been forced to attend a certain amount of those functions when he was Felicity’s husband. ‘I am sure you will be pleased to have her and your niece returned to you.’
Griffin Stone: Duke Of Decadence (Dangerous Dukes Book 3) Page 9