by Julia London
A knock at the door brought his head up; Grayson stepped away from her and called “Come!” A footman entered with Kate’s portmanteau. “There,” Grayson said, pointing, and moved farther away from Kate. As the footman put the portmanteau where Grayson had indicated, a maid walked into the room carrying a pitcher of fresh water and clean linens.
“I shall leave you to freshen up,” Grayson said, already moving toward the door.
“Oh. I … yes, all right,” Kate stammered, and watched him quit the room on the heels of the footman, leaving Kate with the young maid. Kate shifted her gaze to the girl, who curtsied before putting down her burden, but as she bustled about the room, Kate had the uncomfortable feeling that the girl was examining her. Judging her. Understanding who and what Kate was.
She was being ridiculous, for she was often observed and judged. But that was in London. She had had such high hopes for something better here! She’d harbored a fantasy that she could be a woman like any other for a few days. A woman who loved a man, who cooked and cared for him, who made love to him.
But she was a courtesan, and as it seemed she’d not escape that simple fact, she could feel herself slipping into that role. The stone walls were coming up, walls she’d learned to erect many years ago to protect her heart from hurt.
She didn’t want those walls to come up with Grayson. She wanted to be just Kate with him, but it was beginning to feel impossible.
When the maid left, Kate sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at the carpet. Aldous and Digby were right—she was playing a dangerous game. How had she failed to understand there would be servants here? Grayson was one of the most powerful men in England—he’d not be without his servants and Kate was a fool to have believed that he would step into her fantastical daydream. What in the bloody hell had she been thinking?
Kate stood up and walked to the window of her lovely room and looked out over the lovely park. Bloody fool, she told herself.
There had been times in Grayson’s life when he found the quiet of the country stifling, but on this early evening, he found it comforting. He sat before a fire in the drawing room, nursing a tot of whiskey Noakes had been so good to find him. There was no sound but the ticking of the mantel clock and the occasional hiss and crackle of the fire in the hearth.
A slight knock at the door brought him to his feet, and he turned to the door as a footman opened it. Kate peeked around the edge of it. “May I come in?” she asked, and started slightly when she saw the footman standing there.
“Please,” Grayson said, smiling.
Kate entered the room hesitantly and stood just over the threshold, looking at her surroundings. She was wearing a rich brown gown trimmed in shades of green that perfectly matched her eyes. She wore a plain gold cross at her neck.
Her beauty astounded Grayson every time he saw her. “Would you like some wine?” he asked, moving to the sideboard.
“Please.”
He poured a glass for her, which she held up in a toast and said, “To hunting lodges in the country.”
“To hunting lodges,” he agreed, and touched his tot to her glass. “I hope you have found the accommodations to your liking.”
“They are lovely,” she said. “Your hunting lodge is much larger than I imagined.”
“Is it?” He’d always thought it a small lodge. “It’s suitable for its purpose, I suppose.”
She smiled a little and glanced at the footman.
“Are you hungry?” Grayson asked. He was ravenous—for her. He could devour her here, before the hearth. “Mr. Noakes informs me venison will be served this evening.”
“Venison,” she said, nodding.
The way she said the word made him wonder if she approved of it. Frankly, it seemed some of the warmth had gone out of Kate. “It’s rather quiet here,” he said, thinking perhaps she was cowed by the silence in the country. “If one is accustomed to the bustle in London, this might seem rather … tedious.”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “It’s wonderful. I could not have imagined how wonderful. That is a beautiful painting,” she said, indicating one behind the settee.
Grayson looked at it. It was another pastoral scene, complete with a barefoot shepherdess.
“Your Grace.” It was Noakes, and Grayson was a bit relieved by the intrusion. “Supper is served.”
“Thank you, Noakes. Kate?” He offered his arm to her.
Kate looked at his arm as if she were debating whether to take it, but then walked across the room and put her hand lightly on top of it. She looked straight ahead as he led her out.
The dining room was long and narrow and the décor similar to the rest of the lodge—lots of stag heads and the accoutrements of hunting. There was even a pair of crossed swords above the door, the significance of which Grayson had long forgotten. “My father loved this place,” he said as a footman seated Kate. He waited until she was in her chair before taking his place on her left. “He was an avid hunter and we spent many weeks here when I was a child.”
“Are you an avid hunter?” she asked as another footman ladled soup into her bowl.
“Ah … no, not really,” he admitted. “I suppose if I had to hunt to put food on my table, I should like it more than I do. But as a sport, I do not care for it.” There was something about the useless slaughter of animals that made him a little ill, a fact that had earned him a lot of good-natured teasing from his friends through the years.
“What is your preferred sport, if I may ask?”
“Horses.”
Kate nodded and picked up her spoon. It almost seemed as if they were sitting at someone’s table in London, making the obligatory polite conversation.
It was too polite. They ate their first course in silence. Two footmen stood directly behind them, waiting to serve. The only sounds were the occasional clink of a spoon to the bowl, the wineglass on the table. When the soup was removed and the main course brought out, Kate sat with her hands in her lap, staring at the dish.
The meal was exceedingly uncomfortable, and for the life of him, Grayson could not imagine why that was. All his attempts at conversation failed. He ate quickly, wishing the meal to be over as soon as possible. But Kate scarcely ate at all. Grayson finally put down his fork and looked at her. “Is the food not to your liking?”
Startled, Kate looked at him wide-eyed. “It is excellent, Your Grace.”
“When did you revert to calling me Your Grace?” he asked, suddenly annoyed by it.
Kate blinked. She stole a look at the footman behind him, and picked up her fork.
Grayson sighed irritably. “What is wrong, Kate?”
She put down her fork. “Shall I speak plainly?”
“Have you ever spoken any other way?”
She frowned a little, and folded her hands in her lap. “It is this,” she said. “Everything.”
“What? The hunting lodge is rather rustic, I grant you—”
“No! No, it is not rustic! It is a castle, Grayson, not a cottage!”
“A cottage?” he repeated, confused.
“Yes! A cottage!” she exclaimed. “I had rather imagined a small cottage, and I imagined that …” She remembered the footmen and glanced slyly in their direction.
So did Grayson … for a moment. “You were saying?” he asked impatiently.
“Nothing.”
“You were saying something,” he argued.
She gave him a withering look and then glanced at the footmen again. Grayson understood her then. He looked at the pair and said, “Thank you. You may leave us now,” then drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for them to quit the room. When they were gone, he said, “You may speak.”
She looked at him with surprise. He hadn’t meant to speak so abruptly, but—
Kate suddenly stood from her chair, startling him. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Sit down!”
“I won’t! I was trying to tell you that I rather imagined a small cottage, and that there wo
uld only be the two of us, not a dozen, and I thought I would cook for you.”
It was so absurd that Grayson couldn’t help but laugh. “What … do you want me to send them away?”
She frowned darkly at his laughter. “Is that such an absurd suggestion? So impossible for you to imagine?”
“Frankly, yes,” he retorted. In all honesty, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She had to be the only woman in all of England who did not want a host of servants tending her every need, and he found her attitude preposterous. There were times he felt stifled by all that was done for him, but he had a very complicated life and a large number of properties and holdings. It was impossible for him to do it on his own. Houses the size of Kitridge Lodge did not tend to themselves.
But Kate must have believed differently, for she was suddenly marching for the door. “For God’s sake, don’t be so missish,” he chided her.
“Missish!” she cried, whirling around to him. “Perhaps you should not be so officious!”
That angered him. He stood up and threw his napkin aside. “What is the matter with you, Kate? You’ve been acting strangely all day!”
“So have you!” she insisted. “In the market, you could scarcely wait to be gone!”
“What of it?” he retorted angrily. “It was risking too much, and I cannot abide so much rabble in one place!”
“Rabble? Agnes was my friend.”
“I find that even more disconcerting,” he snapped.
She gasped. Her eyes narrowed dangerously and she folded her arms tightly across her. “You know who I am, Christie. You know I don’t have fancy friends with titles to suit your lofty world.”
“And you know who I am, madam. I have servants and houses larger than bloody cottages.”
She gaped at him. Her green eyes flashed with her anger, but she suddenly turned about and marched from the dining room.
Grayson listened to the door slam behind her, then resumed his seat. He pushed his plate away and reached for his wine. It would seem the serenity he had believed he’d found was fool’s gold. He finished his wine and reached for the decanter, pouring more.
This was a ridiculous plan. If he would only own to it, Grayson reasoned, he could salvage the situation and return to London with Kate on the morrow. There was really no other reasonable, sane thing he could possibly do. They shouldn’t be here! He should never have suggested it, much less brought her here! And now, their first few hours together had convinced him that it was possibly the most wretchedly stupid thing he’d ever done.
An hour of brooding convinced Grayson he was right, and he decided there was no time like the present to tell Kate of his decision. He walked up the narrow stairwell to the bedchambers, pausing to discard his coat and neck cloth on a chair outside the master suite before continuing on to the Queen’s room. He knocked on the door, opened it, and walked inside, holding a single candle aloft.
Kate was lying on her side, her back to the door. She’d let down her hair and it spilled like a river behind her. “Kate,” he said softly.
She did not respond.
He moved closer. “Kate.”
“I am here,” she said quietly.
He walked to the bed and stood beside it, peering down at her. She was staring at the darkened window, her face softened by the low light of the fire and his candle. “Kate, I’ve been thinking—”
“When I was a girl,” she interjected, “we lived in a tiny house with three rooms. Jude and I slept on pallets before the hearth. My mother used to lie with us at night and tell us stories until we went to sleep.” She smiled faintly. “One of her favorite tales was that faeries would come in the night and carry us away to a cottage in the forest. In that cottage, we’d have love and laughter and all the food we could possibly eat. And a cat,” she added, her smile deepening. “I always wanted a cat. We were to be very happy in our cottage in the forest.” She glanced at Grayson over her shoulder; he could see she’d been crying. “I naively believed you would find that fantasy appealing, too. I didn’t think how silly it must seem to someone like you. But then again, I can never seem to think much at all when you are near.”
“Ah, Kate,” Grayson said. He put aside the candle. He crawled into bed with her, curving himself around her, draping his arm over her middle and holding her close.
Kate twisted about to face him. She stroked his cheek with her finger. “I want to cook for you. I want to clean for you. I want to do whatever it is you need in a cottage in the forest. I want to be with you, Grayson. Only you,” she whispered, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Imagine, just the two of us,” she said softly as she trailed her fingers down his chest to his trousers, “free to lie about, to dine when we want, with or without our clothing—”
“Pardon?”
“To be as easy or as loud as we like in the queen’s bed.” She kissed the other corner of his mouth.
Grayson couldn’t help but smile as her fingers found the buttons of his trousers. “I will admit the idea has some merit.”
“I give you my word you won’t regret it,” she whispered, and slipped her hand into his trousers, taking him in hand. Grayson drew a steadying breath. “Just you and me,” she continued as she toyed with him. “No markets, no fancy friends, no rabble. It will be our fantasy, and for a few short days, we can pretend to be what we both know we can never be.”
It was an appealing idea.
Kate moved on top of him and kissed his throat. “Please?” she murmured, and kissed his lips.
Grayson had never been without servants. Never. But Kate’s hands and mouth were on him and he was her slave. “You render me powerless, Kate,” he sighed. “Do you promise me we shall not starve?”
She slipped her hand beneath his shirt and pushed it up. “I promise,” she said, and ran her tongue over his nipple, then licked a path to his groin. As her tongue and lips moved on him, Grayson groaned. He was lost in the pleasure she gave him, in his desire and his regard for her.
“All right,” he said, and groaned again as her tongue flicked around the head of his cock.
But he would not take his pleasure without giving her hers, and gripped her arms, hauling her up to him. Kate smiled and cupped his face. “Has anyone ever told you what a comely man you are?”
“No,” he said, and tangled his hand in her loose hair, searching for the clasp of her gown. The fire flared behind him as he solemnly undressed her; a flare of the fire filled the room with a bright light for a moment and reflected in her eyes. When he’d divested her of her clothing, Kate sat before him on her knees, watching him as he discarded his clothing. Kate was beautiful, too beautiful. Men could be driven to insanity by such beauty, and Grayson wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t been.
When he had removed his clothes, Kate leaned forward on all fours and kissed him. Her breath was warm, her lips moist, her breasts soft and full.
Grayson wrapped his arms around her, pulled her into his body, caressing her, savoring her softness, the feel of her hair on his skin as she feathered his torso with kisses, caressed his body and cock with her hands. Everything ceased to exist; he was aware of nothing but Kate, of his hands arousing her breasts, of his mouth inflaming her with his kisses and his tongue, stroking her to a dampness that stirred the deepest parts of him.
He put her on her back and covered them against the chill in the room, then moved down her body, to her breast, which he took in his mouth. All the while, his hands were moving, caressing her, making her slick with desire, and then retreating to more untouched skin. Kate’s breath was soon ragged, her body almost limp.
He straddled her body and pressed his cock into her belly, and kissed her eyes, her nose, and her mouth. He moved to the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, and down farther still, his hands cradling her hips.
Kate’s knees came up and apart as he sank between her thighs, she groaned with the madness of pleasure. Grayson swirled his tongue on her, circling around and dipping inside h
er, teasing her to greater madness. Her hips moved against him, her hands clutched at his head. When she began to pant, he closed his lips around her and sucked her in, drawing an intense climax.
Kate muffled her cry into a pillow. When she was spent, Grayson slowly eased himself up her body, sank his hand into her hair and his cock into her body with a long sigh of relief. He moved smoothly in and out, gaining strength as he felt himself nearing his release. His body moved in time to the pounding of his heart, until he erupted within her and felt the intense gratification rain down on him.
Yes, yes, he wanted to be alone with this woman, with only Kate, and no one else. He wanted every moment with her in these few days he could steal from his life. He wanted this glimpse of heaven, no matter how short or how painful in the end.
Grayson didn’t know how much time passed before she slept, but still he held her, occasionally brushing the hair from her face, marveling at his new and deep sense of fulfillment.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Cold seeped into Kate’s bones and woke her. She was shivering; she pulled the covers up beneath her chin and slid her hand out next to her. The linens were cool.
She opened her eyes—Grayson was gone, and she was nude and alone in bed. The fire had gone out, but in its place, the drapes had been pulled back and another gloriously sunny day was streaming in through the window.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, pulling the counterpane up around her shoulders. She drew her knees up and used both hands to feel the mess that was her hair. “Lud,” she muttered…
But she was smiling. Last night had been spectacular, one she would never forget.
She was contemplating how best to reach her chemise—it had somehow ended up on the chaise across the room—when the door suddenly opened and Grayson strode in. He was wearing buckskins and his shirttails hung to his thighs. He wore a blanket about his shoulders, but his feet were bare. And he was carrying a tray.
Kate laughed with surprise at the sight of him.
“Your breakfast, madam, such as it is,” he said, bowing low and almost toppling the small teapot off the tray. “I confess that I do not know much about kitchens,” he said, hastily righting the pot. “In fact, I had to search for the blasted room. One wonders why it is so very far away from where food is consumed. Nevertheless, I found it and Mrs. Williams was kind enough to assist me in boiling some water and in making toast points until Mr. Williams called for her. Regrettably, I burned it.”