by Lisa Kleypas
She hesitated, sharply aware of her own need for caution. Nothing about the pregnancy must be mentioned...at least not until she discovered more about it. Settling deeper into his arms, relishing the solid muscularity of his body, she replied cautiously. "That he won't rest until I am dead."
"Did the voice sound familiar?"
"No, not at all."
Gently Grant pulled one of her sagging gloves back in place, his thumb coming to rest against the intimate softness of the hollow beneath her arm. Though his own hand was gloved, the touch was solid and reassuring. "Are you injured?" he asked,
"My leg...I hit the front of it, but I think it's only a bruise--" She squeaked in protest as he began to hike the front of her skirt upward. "No, not here!Wait --"
"The skin doesn't appear to be broken." Grant inspected the swelling bruise intently, ignoring her determined wriggling. "Hold still."
"I will not hold still while you expose my--Oh, do let go!" Mortified, she realized that someone else had joined them on the steps. Grant pulled her skirt back down, concealing the injured leg, but not before Sir Ross Cannon had reached them. Vivien pressed her crimson face against the front of Grant's coat and peered up at Cannon.
"Flagstad couldn't make out the man's face in the darkness," Cannon said without expression. "However, he did say our fellow is tall, gray-haired, and lean of build. And by an interesting coincidence, a carriage belonging to Lord Lane, who matches that description, is departing the estate as we speak."
"Lane," Grant repeated with a quizzical frown. "He's not on the list of suspects."
"Was he mentioned in Miss Duvall's book?"
"No," Grant and Vivien said in unison. Tentatively Vivien tugged at the front of Grant's coat. "There was an elderly man staring at me in the drawing room...He looked as if he hated me. He had a nose like a hawk's beak. Could that have been Lord Lane?"
"It could have been," Grant replied thoughtfully. "But I'll be damned if I can figure out what connection he has to you. No one has mentioned him before."
"Allow me to investigate what relevance he might have to Miss Duvall's case," Cannon said. Although the words were phrased as a question, he was clearly not asking for permission. "Lane happens to have led the opposition to my bill on the expansion of my night-watch patrols." He smiled grimly. "I would like to repay the favor."
"By all means," Grant replied. He moved Vivien from his lap and helped her to stand. She was grateful for the partial concealment of darkness around them, acutely aware of her disheveled condition and the way Grant's hands lingered on the rise of her hips.
"May I go home now?" she asked softly, and Sir Ross answered.
"I don't see why not. You did well tonight, Miss Duvall. In my opinion, it shouldn't be long before the case is concluded. Soon you'll be free to return to your old life."
"Thank you," Vivien said in a hollow voice. Perhaps she was being ungrateful, but the prospect of returning to her former life was hardly something she looked forward to. And what of her lost memory? How and when would it come back? Or would it come back at all? What if she had to flounder through the rest of her days without a past, without any of the secrets and memories that made a person complete? Even if Cannon and Grant solved the mystery of her would-be killer and made her safe from further assault, she would face her own future with dread. She didn't know who she was, who she should be. What a strange punishment, to be robbed of the first half of her life.
Perhaps sensing her inner despair, Grant took her arm in a gentle grip. He guided her toward a path that led around the manor to the row of carriages parked along the circular drive.
"What will Lady Lichfield and the others think if we disappear without saying good-bye?" Vivien asked.
"They'll assume that we left early so I could take you home and bed you."
She blinked at his flat statement, while prickles of heat and cold chased over every inch of her skin. Wondering at his mood, she was tempted to ask if that was indeed what he planned to do. But the words clashed together and clumped in one huge, choking ball...because it occurred to her that she wished him to do exactly that. It had something to do with recklessness, and hopelessness, and the simple need for a few moments of pleasurable closeness. Whom would it harm if she gave herself to him? They had already done it before. She just couldn't remember it. Why shouldn't she let it happen again? It wasn't as if she had a reputation to protect. She felt empty, lonely and afraid...She wanted to please him...and herself.
She should have recoiled from the direction her thoughts were taking. Instead she felt wild and unpleasantly giddy, as if she had already committed herself to a course from which it was too late to retreat.
The footman saw them approach the carriage and hastened to fetch the movable step for Vivien. He was too well trained to show surprise at their early departure, nor did he ask questions, other than making a brief inquiry about their destination. "Home," Grant said gruffly, handing Vivien into the carriage himself and gesturing for the footman to tell the driver.
Vivien reached beneath her skirts to touch the throbbing bruise on her shin, wincing slightly.
"Are you in pain?" A scowl crept over Grant's face.
"Not really, but..." She glanced at the fitted compartment that contained various crystal decanters. "Might I have a drink of brandy? I still feel a bit unsteady after what happened."
Wordlessly Grant poured a minute amount of brandy into a small glass and offered it to her. Vivien accepted the glass, raised it to her lips, and downed it in one swallow. The velvety fire spread down her throat and into her chest, bringing a sheen of moisture to her eyes. She suppressed a cough and held out the glass. "More, please," she said hoarsely.
One brow arched as he regarded her intently, and he filled her glass again. The second brandy went down more smoothly than the first, and the satisfying warmth drifted through her body. Sighing a little, Vivien surrendered the glass and snuggled in the corner of her seat. "Oh, that's better," she murmured.
"There's no reason to feel afraid, Vivien," Grant said, evidently deciding that was the reason she'd asked for the brandy. "I won't allow Lane or anyone else to hurt you."
"Yes, I know." She gave him a trusting smile, which he promptly dispelled with his next words.
"What did you and Gerard talk about in the lower garden?"
"Nothing of significance," she said.
"Tell me what was said. I'll decide if it is significant or not."
Since there was nothing on earth that would induce her to confide her secret pregnancy to him, she sought for something to tell him. "Well...Lord Gerard asked why I was with you, and he said that you were only flash gentry."
The comment elicited a smile of sardonic amusement. Vivien deduced that Grant had been the target of similar barbs many times in the past. "I'd say he's a fair judge of character," Grant commented dryly. "Go on."
"Then he asked me to leave you and return to him."
"How did you reply?"
"I didn't say yes or no, I only said I would consider it."
"A wise maneuver," he said coolly. "In your position, it's best to keep all options open."
"I'm not going to become his mistress again," she said, insulted that he assumed she might.
"Who knows?" It seemed he was deliberately trying to antagonize her. "When this is all over..."
"Is that what you want me to do?" she asked in annoyance. "Go back to Lord Gerard? Or find some other man to keep me?"
"No. That's not what I want."
"Then whatdo you--" She gasped as he reached for her, swift as a striking tiger, snatching her onto his lap. One large hand tangled in her coiffure, ruining the arrangement of curls and scattering a few stray pins to the carriage floor.
Grant's breath came in unsteady bursts, while heat climbed over his face. He was jealous, frustrated, painfully aroused, all because of the provoking creature in his arms. He was tired of wanting what he could not have, of repeatedly stumbling over his own conscience. She wa
s a tumbled heap of flesh and silk in his lap, and he longed to lose himself in her warmth.
"I want you to stay with me," he said hoarsely. "I want you to be mine."
Vivien stared at him with heavy-lidded blue eyes, seeming to understand his torment. Gently she touched his face with a cool gloved hand. "Then I will," she murmured, her sweet brandy-scented breath wafting in his face. "Because I want you too."
The words released the ravening devil inside him. Unable to stop himself, Grant reached for the edge of Vivien's glove and stripped it from her arm. He caught her bare hand and pressed it hard to his mouth and jaw, greedily savoring the tender skin. His mouth delved into her palm, and he closed his eyes in lust and pleasure.
Vivien tugged at her hand, and as soon as it was released, she slid her trembling fingers behind his taut neck. He needed no further urging. Lowering his head, he crushed his mouth over hers, demanding that she open to him. Her lips parted, welcoming him into her sweetness, her own tongue yielding to the aggressive sliding and stroking of his. Groaning, he gathered her more tightly into his lap, twisting his mouth harder over hers. The kiss turned frantic as he searched for a deeper taste of her, but instead of becoming sated, he was increasingly desperate for more.
He ripped his mouth away with a growl, his gaze raking over her flushed face. "I can't get enough of you," he said hoarsely. "You're so beautiful, so sweet...Vivien, let me..." His hands fumbled with the back of her gown, pulling and tearing at the uppermost fastenings. The bronze fabric gave way with a jagged sound, hooks popping free of their moorings, and the cups of her bodice fell away from her pale flesh. "Let me," he muttered again, one arm locked around her slender back to prevent her from shrinking away. His hand cupped beneath the firm globe of her breast, his thumb drawing over the soft pink nipple until it contracted and darkened to bright rose. Vivien bit her lips and writhed as his dark head bent over her chest. The wet heat of his mouth surrounded the tip of her breast, and he flicked the peak with his tongue.
Lost in a fog of brandy and sensation, Vivien curled both her arms around his head. He tugged at her nipple, gently, skillfully, his large body shaking with the ferocity of his need. Vivien's eyes closed as she surrendered to pure physical feeling. Only a brief flicker of shame intruded on her thoughts, the despairing awareness that only a shameless woman, a courtesan, would allow a man to do this to her in a carriage. But she didn't care. It didn't matter how, when, or where he touched her. She wanted him as badly as he seemed to want her, and nothing in the world would keep them apart now.
He moved to her other breast, his teeth closing on the tender peak, his tongue circling and darting until she arched upward with a groan. With each caress of his tongue, she felt a prickling sensation of delight deep in her stomach, and lower between her thighs. Agitated, she pressed her legs together and drew her knees upward, instinctively seeking to ease the gathering ache.
Grant tore off his glove and grasped her ankle, the calluses on his hand catching on her silk stocking. Spreading his fingers wide, he trailed them up to her knee and beyond, to the place where a garter held the silk against her thigh. He explored the soft skin above the garter and slid his hand beneath her crumpled linen drawers. Reaching higher and higher, he found the patch of curls between her thighs.
Vivien resisted in a reflex of modesty, quivering in his lap and gasping out a muffled protest. Instantly his mouth took hers in a surging kiss. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, all thought of refusal melting like ice in the sun. His hand searched the front of her drawers, found the ribbon-edged slit of the garment, and reached right up inside. His fingers slid gently amid the curls, a blunt fingertip drawing along the delicate furrow that protected her private place. Her body shook with confusion, fear, excitement, and her head dropped weakly against his shoulder.
The wicked exploration continued, his teasing fingertip repeating its long, light stroke until the feminine lips became swollen and unbearably sensitive. He touched the tiny, aching center of her desire, circling, shocking her with a visceral pleasure that made her want to scream.
Vivien writhed on his lap, against the protruding bulge that pressed upward into her buttocks. A shaken laugh bubbled up from her throat as she realized that he was more than ready to take her here, in the carriage.
His fingers had located a source of perplexing dampness and probed the soft hollow. Without warning, he slid his middle finger inside her. At first she resisted the gentle intrusion, a slight burn making her jerk and arch in an attempt to push him away. But her inner flesh gripped him tightly, and her thighs closed around his hand, and he pressed soothing words and kisses in the little cove beneath her earlobe.
"You're so tight," he said thickly. "Why? Are you afraid?"
"Yes." she whispered, her senses whirling.
"You have nothing to fear."
"I...I don't remember how to do this," she choked out. His finger slid more easily now, a surge of unexpected moisture preparing the way for him. A slow plunge, another, in a seductive rhythm that made her hips arch eagerly. The pleasurable ache grew stronger, sharper, until she quivered and clawed the back of his coat.
The world shifted off its axis, spinning out of control. She needed to touch his skin, but layers of clothes and starch and buttons prevented her. Lowering her to the carriage seat, he crouched over her with one foot braced on the floor. He held her head in the crook of his arm as he kissed her. His mouth was rough, hot, agitated, and they both moaned at the heart-thumping pleasure of the kiss.
The carriage became a lurching, swaying coccoon of shadows and leather, the air fragrant from her own vanilla-perfumed skin. Reaching up for him, Vivien locked her arms around his broad shoulders and nuzzled tightly into his throat.
"I love you," he whispered, pushing her flat against the seat, staring down at her face.
"You don't have to say that," she said unsteadily, though the words sent a rush of intense pleasure through her. "I love you," he repeated, his green eyes gleaming like a cat's in the darkness.
Wondering if he was truly aware of what he was saying, if he was possibly the kind of man who did not distinguish between love and desire, she stared at him wordlessly.
The carriage stopped, and she realized they were at King Street. Grant's dark head lowered, and his voice was a low scrape of sound in her ear. "Make love with me tonight, Vivien."
CHAPTER 11
The hour was late and the servants had retired for the evening, except for a lone footman who opened the door. After a blink of surprise, the footman averted his gaze from the small, disheveled form in Grant's arms.
Carrying his precious burden upstairs, his coat wrapped snugly around her, Grant glanced at Vivien's half-hidden face. She was flushed and silent, her expression conveying uncertainty but not unwillingness. Remembering his words of love to her in the carriage, he felt his own color heighten, though he did not, would not, regret having said it. This was the first time in his adult life that he had ever told a woman he loved her. He had discovered a side of himself that he had never known existed until tonight, and he wanted to show Vivien all the tenderness and passion he was capable of.
They reached his room, and he set Vivien beside the bed. Smoothing his hands over her tousled hair, he kissed her mouth, shaping her lips with his own. He pulled the pins from her fiery locks and loosened her braids, letting her hair flow soft and warm over his hands.
"Tell me what to do," she whispered, her hands slipping beneath his coat, exploring the hard lines of his waist and back. "I don't know how to satisfy you. I don't remember how to do any of this."
"You don't have to remember," he said, his voice soft and fierce. He held her against his tremendously aroused body, his breath catching at the delicious feel of her. Pressing his mouth to the top of her throat, he kissed and tasted the fragile skin, working his way downward until he reached the vanilla-scented valley of her cleavage. Vivien shivered and leaned back against the support of his arm, while her heart
beat fast beneath the pressure of his exploring mouth.
He undressed her slowly, pulling at the fastenings of her garments and letting them drop away from her. Her newly revealed skin was white and luminous, her body tender and abundantly curved...He closed his eyes briefly, striving to subdue his violent passion. When he opened them again, Vivien had moved away from him and hastily climbed into bed, pulling the linens over her nakedness. Her bashfulness was so genuine, so...well,virginal , that he wondered if this was what she had been like long ago, before embarking on her career as a courtesan.
"Don't cover yourself," he murmured. "Your body is too beautiful to be concealed."
The bedsheet did not lower an inch. "I'm cold," she said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.
"I'll warm you," he promised with a quick grin, stripping off his coat.
Vivien watched as his clothes were discarded, uncovering an expanse of skin much tougher and darker than her own, covered with springy hair in some places, scarred in others. She was amazed by the power and grace of his body, which had been honed and punished and exercised until no trace of softness remained. "You were right," she said unsteadily. "Youare an impressive sight without your clothes."
He smiled and approached her, bracing his hands on either side of her hips as he leaned over her. She felt the gentle brush of his mouth over her hair. "Any second thoughts?" he asked. "Tell me now, before I get into bed with you."
Vivien slid her arms around his neck for answer, and pulled him down to her. The full length of his body pressed against hers, and suddenly she could barely hear above the roaring pulse in her ears. Her thoughts scattered and vanished, and all that remained was sensation...the startling heat of his skin, the coarse hair on his chest, the exquisite glide of his mouth over her throat and shoulder and breast. His hands were everywhere, stroking and exploring, sliding between her limbs with no heed to modesty.
Had there been any doubts remaining in the back of her mind, they dissolved immediately. She had not suspected that a man so well acquainted with the harshness of life could be so tender, his hands unimaginably gentle as they searched the intimate places of her body. He breathed so fast, as if from great exertion, each forceful exhalation burning her like steam. Pressing her back to the mattress, he kissed and nuzzled the rise of her breasts, softly biting the stiffened tips.