Griffin Stone: Duke Of Decadence (Dangerous Dukes Book 3)

by Carole Mortimer

  The English Crown and its people could breathe easily again, for a time at least.

  Griffin had also informed Maystone that he had carried out his last mission for the Crown, and intended to retire to his estate in Lancashire.

  All of those things had been positive.

  The negative had been Griffin’s own enforced separation from Bea. Days and days when he had not so much as been able to set sight on her.

  Days when she would no doubt have been left to her own thoughts for hours at a time, and have decided that Griffin Stone, the gruff Duke of Rotherham, had no place in the life she now led in quiet solitude with her guardian.

  Griffin’s own newfound freedom, from believing that the unhappiness of his marriage had been his fault, and that he was also responsible for Felicity’s suicide, now sat light as a bird upon his shoulders. Most of all, he now accepted that he could never have made someone like Felicity happy.

  The knowledge that Michael had not been the love of Bea’s life after all, but Maystone’s grandson, had come as even more welcome news. Michael had become a spectre in Bea’s dreams only because of the warmth of her heart, her concern for a little boy she had believed to be orphaned, like herself.

  That knowledge was the only thing that had kept Griffin sane as he’d dealt with all the other matters in need of his attention before he was free to return to Lancashire.

  To return to Bea.

  She looked so very beautiful. She was wearing a gown he had never seen before. No doubt one of her own, which had now been delivered from the house in Worcestershire. A gown of the palest blue silk that made her skin appear both pale and luminescent.

  Her face appeared a little thinner than Griffin remembered, but that was surely to be expected after the upset of the previous weeks. And the added knowledge that it was her own aunt who was responsible for her abduction and the beatings she had received while held prisoner in the filthy woodcutters’ shed.

  One of Griffin’s last instructions, before he’d departed Stonehurst Park in the company of Christian and Maystone ten long days ago, had been for that shed to be burnt to the ground. That not a single sliver of wood was to remain.

  And now here was Bea, looking more beautiful to him than ever.

  But with a new wariness in those deep blue eyes as she looked up at him questioningly.

  Griffin did his best to gentle his own expression, when what he really wanted to do was take Bea in his arms and kiss her until they were both senseless. A move guaranteed, he suspected, to increase rather than lessen that look of apprehension!

  ‘Are you well, Bea?’ he enquired guardedly.

  Bea had managed to blink away her tears, and she now offered Griffin a reassuring smile. ‘I am perfectly well, thank you. Sir Walter has proved to be an amiable companion these past ten days.’

  Griffin removed his fingers from beneath her chin but still studied her intently. ‘You are comfortable here, then?’

  She moistened her lips before speaking. ‘Sir Walter is my guardian. Where else should I go?’

  ‘You seemed to enjoy living at Stonehurst Park.’

  Bea gave him a quick glance before turning away to look out of the window facing out towards the gardens at the side of the house. ‘I take it you will not be remaining there for long yourself, now that your other business is resolved?’ Indeed, she had no idea why Griffin had come back to Stonehurst at all, when there must be so much to do in London now.

  Although she was not disappointed that he had; just to see him again, to be with him, to smell that unique smell that was Griffin—a combination of lemon, sandalwood and a healthy man in his prime—was enough to make her pulse beat faster. In fact, she would be surprised if Griffin could not hear the loud beating of her heart caused just by being near him again.

  But it would be foolish of her to read any more into his visit to Latham Manor this morning than a courtesy call. To ensure that Bea was happy with her new guardian.

  ‘I have stepped down from my work for the Crown, Bea.’

  She was frowning slightly as she turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. ‘You are perhaps tired of the intrigue and danger?’

  Griffin gave a smile. ‘I believe I would describe it more that I have found a reason to live.’

  Bea’s expression softened. ‘I am so sorry for the things you have learnt about your late wife. It must have been such a shock to you.’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘I cannot imagine—’

  ‘It was a relief, Bea,’ he cut in firmly. ‘Such a blessed relief,’ he breathed thankfully. ‘For years now I have blamed myself for the failure of my marriage, for not loving Felicity, or she me, so much so that she had preferred to take her own life rather than suffer to live with me another day. To finally know, even in such a way as I learnt the truth, that I was not responsible has caused me to hope—to dare to hope...’

  Bea turned fully to face him, her gaze searching on his face as it now seemed to her that Griffin looked at her with hope in his expressive grey eyes. ‘What is it you hope for, Griffin?’ she prompted huskily.

  His smile became rueful. ‘What every man hopes for, I suspect. To be happy with the woman he loves.’

  Bea’s heart leapt once again in her chest. ‘And do you already have such a woman in your life?’

  Griffin drew in a sharp breath, knowing he still had much he needed to say before he went any further with this conversation. ‘There are things I should tell you about myself, Bea. Things I have not shared, until very recently, with anyone beyond my closest friends. My father’s indifference to me during my childhood being one of them.’

  ‘You must try not to blame your father too much for that, Griffin,’ she put in quickly. ‘Christian told me a little of that situation,’ she explained guiltily as Griffin raised questioning brows. ‘He did not mean to break any confidences, he was merely trying to explain—to explain—’

  ‘The reason for some of my gruffness of nature, no doubt,’ Griffin guessed dryly.

  ‘I do not find you in the least taciturn, Griffin,’ she reproved primly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘You are everything that is amiable as far as I am concerned,’ she insisted.

  ‘Thank you,’ Griffin murmured huskily. ‘But we digress.’ He straightened. ‘Something else I never talked of was the utter failure of my marriage.’ He sighed. ‘I realise the reason for that now. I accept it. But for those two reasons I have for years believed myself to be unlovable rather than just unloved.’

  ‘Your friends all love you dearly,’ she told him.

  ‘Yes, I believe they do,’ he acknowledged softly. ‘But I had believed myself too dour, too austere, too physically overbearing, to deserve the love of any decent woman. I have lived my life accordingly, never wanting, never expecting, never asking for more than I had.’

  The slenderness of Bea’s throat moved as she swallowed. ‘And that has now changed?’

  ‘Completely,’ Griffin stated without hesitation. ‘Now I want it all. The wife. The children. The happy home. The love of the woman whom I love in return. My homes filled with vases of flowers,’ he added ruefully.

  Bea could barely breathe, so great was her own hope now that Griffin was talking to her of these things for a reason. ‘And have you come here so that I might wish you well on this venture?’

  ‘I want so much more from you than that, Bea,’ he assured her firmly. ‘I want, one day, for you to be my wife, the mother of my children, the mistress of my happy home, the woman who might love me as I have loved and continue to love you, and who will fill our homes with vases of flowers. I am more than happy to be patient, of course, to woo you, to court you, as you deserve to be—’

  ‘But—I overheard you tell Seaton that our lovemaking was a mistake.’

  ‘Because I believed you to be in lo
ve with the man you called out for in your sleep. A man called Michael.’

  ‘Lord Maystone’s grandson?’

  ‘I did not know that at the time, Bea. I believed that by loving you, by making love with you, I was encouraging you to be unfaithful to the man you loved. It was only when Maystone finally referred to his grandson as Michael that I realised the truth.’ Griffin was prevented from saying more as Bea launched herself into his arms. ‘Bea?’ he groaned even as his arms closed tightly about her and he crushed her against his much harder body.

  Bea beamed up at him, eyes glowing. ‘I find I am not patient at all, Griffin. I want all of those things you described now. I want you now,’ she added shyly.

  ‘Bea?’ Griffin still looked down at her uncertainly.

  She reached up to curve her hands about the hardness of his cheeks as she smiled up at him. ‘I already love you, Griffin,’ she told him firmly. ‘I believe I have loved you almost since the moment I first opened my eyes and saw you seated beside my bed acting as my protector. And that love has only continued to grow every moment of every day since. I love you, Griffin,’ she repeated emotionally.

  He looked uncertain, confused, two emotions Bea had never associated with this strong and decisive man. ‘Are you sure you are not confusing gratitude with love?’

  ‘Of course, I am grateful for your having rescued me, and caring for me even though you had no idea who I was or where I came from; what sort of woman would I be if I were not?’ she dismissed indulgently. ‘I am grateful for all that, but it is you that I love, Griffin. The man, the lover, not the rescuer. These last few days, of not knowing if I would ever see you again, have passed in a haze of agony for me,’ she acknowledged huskily. ‘I love you so much, Griffin, I cannot bear to be apart from you, even for a moment.’

  It was so much how Griffin felt in regard to Bea. ‘Will you marry me, Bea, and be my duchess?’

  ‘I will marry you, and gladly, but so that we need never be separated again, not to become your duchess,’ she answered him without hesitation.

  Griffin grinned and gave a heartfelt whoop of gladness before he claimed her lips with his own.

  * * *

  ‘If you do not mind, I believe the wedding must be soon, my love,’ he murmured indulgently some time later, as the two of them sat together upon the sofa, Bea’s head resting comfortably on his shoulder, his arms about her as he continued to hold her close. ‘I find I want to make love to you again so very much, and I should not like our heir to make his appearance eight, or even seven, months after the wedding.’

  Bea chuckled softly, so happy to be with Griffin again, to know that he loved her as much as she loved him, that they would never be parted ever again. ‘I believe it should be possible for a Special Licence to be arranged for a man who has been so loyal to the Crown for so many years?’

  Griffin chuckled softly. ‘I believe you might be right, my love.’

  ‘Sir Walter will give me away and Christian can stand up with you.’

  ‘Christian is not in England at the moment,’ he confided.

  Bea looked up at him searchingly. ‘Is he in danger?’ she finally asked with concern.

  Griffin felt a momentary twinge of that past jealousy before just as quickly dismissing it; Bea loved him. He had no doubt of it and he never would. ‘Not that I am aware, no,’ he answered dismissively. ‘I am no longer privy to such knowledge, Bea, for Christian’s sake, more than my own.’

  ‘Of course you are not.’ Bea once again settled herself on his shoulder. ‘Then one of your other friends will have to stand up with you, for I find I do not wish to wait either.’

  Which was reason enough for Griffin to begin kissing her all over again...

  * * * * *

  Don’t miss the next book in Carole Mortimer’s

  dazzling DANGEROUS DUKES duet:

  CHRISTIAN SEATON: DUKE OF DANGER

  Keep reading for an excerpt from RAKE MOST LIKELY TO THRILL by Bronwyn Scott.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

  You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

  Rake Most Likely to Thrill

  by Bronwyn Scott

  Chapter One

  The Antwerp Hotel, Dover—March 1835

  There was going to be blood. It had become a forgone conclusion the moment the teamster brought the whip down across the hindquarters of the Cleveland Bay straining in the traces of the overloaded dray. How much blood, and whose, remained to be seen.

  Archer Crawford had not stepped outside in the predawn darkness looking for trouble. Indeed, he’d been trying to avoid it. Inside, his travelling companion and long-time friend Nolan Gray’s card game was starting to take a turn for the worse. But it seemed trouble had found him anyway. He could not stand idly by and watch any horse abused. From the looks of this horse’s ragged coat, this wasn’t the first time. But it might be the last if Archer didn’t intervene. The teamster’s whip fell again, the beefy driver determined the horse pull the load or die trying. The latter was highly likely and the horse knew it. The Cleveland Bay showed no fear. He merely stood with resignation. Waiting. Knowing. Deciding: death now, or death pulling a weight more appropriate for two.

  The whip rose a third time, and Archer stepped out from the hotel’s overhang. In a lightning move, Archer’s gloved hand intercepted the thong of the whip and he wrapped it about his wrist, reeling in the teamster on his high seat like fish from the river. ‘Perhaps you might try a sting or two of this lash yourself before delivering it to your animal.’ Archer gave the whip a strong tug. Each pull threatened to unseat the teamster. The man leaned back in his seat, trying for leverage.

  ‘Let go of the whip or come off the seat!’ Archer commanded sternly, his eyes locking with the other man’s as he gave another compelling tug.

  ‘This is none of your business,’ the teamster growled. ‘That horse has to earn his keep and I do too.’ But he released his end of the whip—forcefully, of course, probably with the hopes the force of his release would send Archer sprawling in the mud. But Archer was braced. The abrupt release did nothing more than seal his opinion of the man: bully, brute.

  Archer wound the whip into a coil around his arm. ‘Not with loads that are best drawn by a team of horses.’ Archer jerked his head towards the horse. ‘That horse won’t finish the day, then where will you be?’

  The man seemed to recognise the logic but his mouth pursed into a grim line. ‘There’s nothin’ to be done about it, if you’ll be givin’ me my whip back, guv’nor, I’ll be on my way.’ The hint of a threat glimmered in the man’s eye and he began to make his way down off the seat. That was the last thing Archer wanted.

  He had a boat to catch within the hour. There was no time for fisticuffs. Archer was fast and light on his feet, thanks to hours of practice at Jackson’s salon, but that didn’t change the fact that the teamster outweighed him by two stone. Leaving on his Grand Tour sporting a split lip and black eye didn’t exactly appeal.

  The horse whinnied and stamped in the traces, his head rolling towards Archer as if in warning. The big man stopped a few feet from Archer and held out his hand. ‘The whip.’

  Archer grinned. ‘I’ll trade you for it. Give me t
he horse.’

  The man spat on the ground. ‘A whip for a horse?’ His tone was derisive. ‘That seems a bit unequal to me.’

  ‘And for whatever is in my pocket.’ Archer patted the pocket of his great coat.

  ‘Maybe your pocket is empty.’ The teamster’s eyes narrowed. ‘Show me.’

  Archer nodded, careful to keep his body between the teamster and the horse. He could feel the horse’s nose nudging his shoulder blade, perhaps in encouragement. Archer held up a gold money clip to the street lamp, letting it catch the light. He turned it, showing off the collection of pound notes folded together. ‘It’s fair. You can buy two horses for what’s in this clip.’ He was not going to doom another horse to the same fate simply by freeing this one.

  Archer tried to assess the man’s reaction. Money was usually the fastest way to settle a dispute, even if it wasn’t the most moral. He waved the clip again in the beam of light. Behind him, he could hear the clatter of an oncoming coach, probably the one that was to take him and Nolan to the docks. He was running out of the time. ‘The whip and the clip for the horse,’ Archer pressed. What was there to think over? The man was letting pride get in his way.

  ‘All right,’ the man said gruffly, taking the money clip out of Archer’s hand in a rough swipe. He jerked his head towards the horse. ‘He’s yours now, you unharness him.’

  Archer had the horse free in short measure. There was triumph in knowing he’d rescued the animal from a certain fate, but what was he to do now? The coach he’d heard was indeed theirs and the driver was waiting. He had ten minutes to see the horse settled. He led the horse by a rope bridle towards the hotel’s stable, sneaking a peek through the hotel’s long street-front windows at Nolan. The situation inside didn’t look good. Nolan and the other card players were standing. One of them was gesturing wildly at the cards and money on the table. Ten minutes might be a generous estimate.

  Inside the stable, Archer roused the ostler, issuing rapid-fire instructions. ‘This horse needs to be boarded.’ He plunked down some coins on a small crude wood table. ‘This will keep him until you can deliver him.’ Money helped the ostler rub the sleep from his eyes. It was more than what was necessary. ‘When the horse has been rested, have a boy deliver him to this address.’ Archer pulled a card from a coat pocket. ‘The man there will pay well. Here’s additional money for the journey.’ His nearest friend was a day’s ride from Dover, but it was the best he could do under the hasty circumstances. Archer hoped the promise of more money would be enough to ensure the ostler didn’t sell the horse instead of deliver it.