He stepped down, his gaze locked on her. His hands found the silken ties of his dressing gown, and he hurriedly covered his flaccid intimate part. "It would be better if you simply submitted. Better for us both. You'll come to regret this, m'lady."
She ran her finger along the warm glass globe of the lamp. "Oh, I think not." She glanced up, unafraid of him now. "Goto bed, Mr. Gordy, and do not take these stairs again. Ever. Not as long as I draw breath in this household. Else I will set you on fire. Then, if I can. Later, if not. Perhaps when you sleep in your bed and think yourself safe." She narrowed her eyes. "I swear by all that's holy, I will."
Halfway down the steps, Mr. Gordy turned and ran. She closed the door and tilted a chair beneath the knob for good measure.
Then and only then did Julia lower the oil lamp with a shaky hand and dissolve into sobbing tears.
For half the night Julia sat in a rocking chair, rocking rhythmically, staring at the panelled door of the back staircase.
Again, she had underestimated the Earl of St. Martin. How could he be so vile? How could Simeon have sent his secretary to bed her?
Julia had been willing to sleep with her husband to keep up her side of the bargain. And then the bastard did this. As far as she was concerned, the deal was nullified. Simeon had stepped beyond the rules, therefore, she was no longer obligated to them either. If Simeon ever dared show his face to her bed curtains, she would turn him away. If he tried to force her, she would fight with every stone of her strength. She would not lie with St. Martin, even if it meant dying a virgin.
But she was still his wife. Bound to him by law and God until death did part them.
The long case clock on the landing outside her chambers chimed four in the morning.
Julia lowered her face to her hands and sobbed. What was she going to do now? She couldn't run because she had no one and nowhere to run to, not with Lizzy to care for. It was hopeless . . . hopeless. Julia rocked back and forth, filled with an ache of desperate loneliness.
Griffin. His image appeared suddenly in her head as if coming to her rescue. His smile. His laughter. The way he spoke her name. Those ridiculous high-heeled shoes of his.
She needed Griffin.
He was the only one who could ease her grief.
Julia lifted her face from her hands and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her bride's sleeping gown.
She wasn't even certain where Griffin slept. On the third floor, she knew, east wing.
With a sniff, she pushed away all thoughts of feeling sorry for herself. She rose from her chair and lifted the oil lamp she'd kept burning all night. She slipped her feet into a pair of silk mules and shrugged into her dressing gown.
She wanted Griffin. Now. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to hear him whisper words of comfort in her ear. The idea was insanity, of course. Simeon was right. She was asylum-bound. What other woman would dare go to a man, not her husband, on her wedding night?
Julia slipped out of her bedchamber, through her sitting room, and into the dark hallway. What woman, indeed?
On the third floor, Julia walked slowly down the hallway. She wasn't afraid anyone would see her. So early in the morning the servants were surely still asleep, and the wedding guests who had stayed over still deep in a drink- and rich food-induced slumber.
Julia didn't know which door was Griffin's, but he had once mentioned his view of Aldersgate Street below. She halted at a mahogany panelled door at the far end of the dark hallway. Beside the door stood a full set of armor.
Instinctively she knew the room was Griffin's. When she closed her eyes she could imagine him lying in bed, his hair that she didn't know the color of, fanned across his pillow, his face gentle in sleep.
Julia lifted the lamp and rested the palm of her hand on the smooth wood of the door. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She could smell the lemon oil of the freshly polished wood, the hint of rust on ancient chain mail . . . and the heavenly aroma of him.
Julia turned the knob. Unlocked.
She pushed the door open. The hinges did not squeak.
The door swung shut behind her with the aid of her foot.
The chamber was dark save for the light of the lamp she carried. The windows were heavily draped. It smelled entirely masculine; rich, dark wood, stoked embers, shaving soap, tobacco, oiled leather, but mostly it smelled of him.
Julia slowly approached the great shadow of a bed to her far left. The chamber was disorderly, with chairs turned on their sides, paper and clothing scattered on the floor and piled on the tables. Her foot met with one of his shoes and she set it skittering across the polished hardwood floor, until it struck one of the feet of the bed and disappeared underneath.
The sound didn't disturb him.
The velvet curtains of the bed hung open so that in the pale lamplight she could see Griffin sprawled on his stomach, arms and legs askew, naked, his bare, muscular buttocks in full view. She had never seen a man totally naked before, and the sight made her smile with wicked warmth. God had created a magnificent thing when he had made a man's body.
Griffin's face was turned away from her, his cheek flat on a pillow, his hair, his golden blond hair, fanned out on the dark fabric, just as she had imagined.
Of course. A Greek God, all muscle and sinew, with hair of gold and eyes as blue as the summer sky.
Julia lowered the lamp to the cluttered table beside the bed and stepped out of her mules. As she watched Griffin sleep, her fingers found the ties of her dressing robe. She wasn't sure what she had come for, except his comfort. Now, staring boldly at Griffin's nakedness, she knew.
Her dressing robe slipped to the floor. Lastly came her torn gown. She would not soil what would be between her and Griffin with Simeon's filth.
She thought to blow out the lamp, but decided against it. She wanted to see him. She wanted him to see her.
Unclothed, unashamed, Julia slipped into Griffin's bed. She stretched out beside him, her head on the pillow beside his. Almost afraid to wake him, for fear it would break the magical spell, she stroked his silky blond hair. She closed her eyes, breathed in the clean scent of it. She brushed her lips against the back of his head. He felt so warm, so safe. A haven in this house that had become a hell.
Griffin stirred.
Boldly, she lowered her hand to his bare hip and glided it down his upper thigh. His body fascinated her. He was so muscular. From riding, no doubt. Or perhaps from fighting.
Griffin gave a soft, deep sigh.
With one finger, she traced the ridge of one of his leg muscles to his inner thigh.
He sighed again and rolled toward her.
Griffin's leg fell over hers, trapping her. He now faced her, his lips only a finger's span from hers. His breath smelled slightly of brandy still, but she could tell by his easy breathing that he was no longer intoxicated. His eyes remained shut in sleep.
She stroked the leg that held her down, then hesitantly inched her hand over his hip and up to the light sprinkling of hair covering his chest, crisp and intriguing. Her finger accidentally brushed his nipple and he startled her with a sigh, close to a moan.
Julia stilled her hand.
He mumbled something.
Then she smiled in the semidarkness.
"Julia," he whispered in his sleep. "Julia."
Gently, Julia brushed her lips against his and again caressed the hard nub of his male nipple. "Griffin," she whispered.
He slid his hand over her bare waist. His simple gesture sent sparks of shivering pleasure to every fiber of her being.
This time his lips touched hers.
Griffin pressed his body closer to hers, molding his hard, muscular frame to her softer, rounder one. The curling hair of his groin teased hers. He slipped his hand between them and cupped one breast.
Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as a sigh escaped her lips.
Sin. Everlasting hell. The flames of iniquity were not just lapping at her feet, but consuming her. M
arried to one man, lying with another. A crime punishable by death here, and everlasting torment in the hereafter. Julia was lost, lost forever.
She didn't care.
Griffin's warm lips found hers and she opened her mouth to his with a groan of bittersweet resignation. "Love me, love me," Julia whispered desperately.
Griffin delved his tongue deep into her mouth as he rolled her onto her back. She clung to him, savoring the taste of him, the weight of his body pressed against hers. Their tongues danced in passionate celebration of a moment neither had thought would ever come.
When both were breathless from the kiss, he slid his warm, damp mouth across her cheek to her ear. Still, he didn't open his eyes. "If this is a dream . . ." His voice was throaty and utterly intoxicating. "If it is, please God, let it never end."
"Not a dream," she whispered, so happy she was near to tears. She gazed at his face, so handsome in the lamplight that it was beautiful. "Not a dream, my love."
His eyelids flickered, and she found herself staring deeply into his sleepy eyes. "How? Wh—"
She pressed her finger to his lips to silence him. "Shhhh," she cajoled. "It will be daylight soon. There's not much time."
He stared into her eyes so long that she feared he might push her from his bed. If he did, she would take her life right then and there. But he didn't cast her away. Instead, he drew her into his arms, pressed his hips to hers, his swollen member against her thighs, and kissed her again. It was a kiss of lovers. A kiss of man and wife.
"I love you," Griffin told her, brushing her loose hair from her forehead. "I will love you forever."
She slipped her hands over his broad shoulders. "I ask for no promises neither of us may be able to keep. Just love me now."
"Forever," he insisted. Then he reached over her to the table beside the bed and pulled out a drawer. From the drawer he removed a small object. "Give me your hand."
"My hand?" Julia raised her left hand.
He slipped something cold and heavy over her middle finger.
She studied it in the dim light. A ring. An extraordinary man's ring, gold, and encrusted with tiny jewels.
Griffin propped himself over her with his arm and clasped her hand passionately. "With this ring I do betroth my heart to yours, Julia. Forever."
She smiled. "With this kiss, I betroth my heart, my soul," she whispered. She kissed him softly.
With a groan Griffin lowered his mouth to the base of her throat and pressed his warm lips to her flesh. She sighed and closed her eyes. "Love me, love me," she begged.
"Forever."
Again and again Julia cried out in pleasure as Griffin stroked and kissed her flesh until she thought she would burst into flames. Their joining was all she had dreamed it would be. More. She had never imagined someone could make her feel this way.
He touched her everywhere. Not her intimate parts at first, but her arms, her legs, her hands, her feet. He pressed kisses to the backs of her knees, to the crooks of her elbows. He drew his blunt nails over her back, her shoulders, her calves. He nibbled from her earlobes to the tips of her toes.
Julia's breasts longed with a need to be touched, stroked, suckled. Her woman's place ached with such need that she thought she would scream.
"Griffin, please." She parted her thighs and lifted her hips to meet the bulge of his manhood. "I've waited so long for this."
"No need to hurry," he soothed in her ear.
She laughed and rolled her head on his pillow, her eyes half-closed. "Need to hurry—" she panted. "Before—before I—I shatter."
His laughter was deep and husky. "Ah, Julia . . ."
Her eyes opened wide as he took her with a single thrust.
"Oh!"
He held still, buried deep inside her.
She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her.
"Still a virgin?" he whispered.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears of joy, of sadness that burned the backs of her eyelids. "Don't ask. Swear you'll never ask."
After a moment, "I'll never ask," he promised.
She smiled, her eyes still closed, and lifted her hips against his, fascinated by the new sensation. "Teach me what this is all about." She groaned with pleasure as he moved inside her. "And hurry . . ."
Griffin buried his face in Julia's hair and thrust again and again, first slowly, then faster. She rose to meet each thrust, amazed, thrilled by each new sensation that built upon the last.
And this was what Simeon thought so detestable? He truly was a madman.
"Julia, Julia." Griffin called her name as he delved deeper, raising her to a higher plane of sensation.
She clung to him as he lifted her over a precipice from which she could not turn back. "Griffin!" She dug her nails into his flesh as she truly did shatter . . . into a million shards of sparkling bright ecstasy.
Julia's muscles contracted and released again and again. "Oh, oh," she cried.
Griffin thrust once more, groaned, and collapsed over her.
Julia felt dizzy as she brushed his hair from her mouth and gasped for breath. Rivulets of pleasure still trickled through her veins.
After a moment Griffin rolled off her, onto his side, and pressed his cheek against hers. He wrapped one arm around her, drew her close to his warm body, and covered them both with the counterpane they'd flung off sometime during their lovemaking. "You're certain this isn't a dream?" he breathed, nuzzling her neck.
"A drunken dream?" she teased. "Entirely possible considering your earlier state, sir."
He groaned and covered his face with his hand. "I made an ass of myself, didn't I?"
"Mm, hm."
He lowered his hand and opened his eyes. "But you still love me anyway?" He brushed his lips against her cheek as if she could be persuaded.
"Aye. Forever."
"Forever," he echoed.
Chapter Sixteen
Julia drifted with the tide of their lovemaking. She felt as if she were floating in Griffin's arms, snuggled beneath the counterpane of his bed. The sound of his rhythmic breathing, the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, the scent of their satiated bodies, all combined as one sensation.
She had never felt such inner peace. No matter what happened now, she would always carry this peace within her heart. Even if she and Griffin never joined as one again, she would carry, to her grave, the knowledge that she had truly been loved.
As Julia slowly woke, she came to the realization that there was a weight on her legs that wasn't Griffin. She opened her eyes. Early morning sunlight was just beginning to spill through the cracks in the heavy navy velvet of the window curtains.
A cat?
A black cat? She smiled. Griffin had a cat?
Taking care not to disturb Griffin, who slept with one arm flung over her waist, she reached out to stroke the cat. Its long black fur was smooth and silky beneath her fingertips. It began to purr in its sleep.
She would never have guessed that the dangerous man she had seen in that tavern passageway would have a pet—a cat no less. The thought delighted her. This man of hers was many faceted.
Of hers.
Julia laid back on the pillow. Of hers? Had she lost what little sense she'd ever possessed? Griffin was not hers. He was Lena's. Julia was not his; she belonged to the Earl of St. Martin. She would never be Griffin's. Not as long as they lived.
Julia bolted upright at the alarming sound of a doorknob turning. The cat leaped from the bed and disappeared beneath it.
Griffin startled her almost as much as the sound of the door as he rolled away from her and back, sleepy-eyed, a blunderbuss pistol drawn.
"Get up!" came a familiar feminine voice.
The door opened and Lena walked in, closing it behind her.
With a sigh of relief, Griffin fell back on the pillow. "Lena, what the hell are you doing here? I could have blown your head off your shoulders."
"Julia, get up quickly," Lena ordered again.
Julia dre
w the counterpane up over her bare breasts.
Griffin brushed Julia's arm beneath the coverlet to reassure her. "This is a private chamber, Lena. Get out."
"Oh, no, Lena. I'll not lie with her," the older woman mimicked as she approached the bed.
Julia could do nothing but stare. Griffin and Lena had discussed that?
"I'll not sleep with St. Martin's wife," Lena continued, one graceful hand poised on her hip.
Griffin groaned and switched the pistol from his right to his left hand and set it on the table beside the bed. "It wasn't planned. I had no intentions—"
"It was my fault," Julia confessed, touching the counterpane to her chin. "I came to him." She stared up at Lena, who was dressed this morning in a rich green velvet gown befitting a queen. "I—"
Lena softened as if she found no fault with Julia. "No time for explanations, sweet." She lifted her dressing gown and gave it a shake. "It was fate, pure and simple. Couldn't be prevented any more than the rising sun. Now get up. We've got to get you back to your chambers before your husband finds you missing. He catches you here, and you'll both be swinging from your necks at Tyburn Crossing before supper is served."
Griffin reached out his hand, perhaps to stop her, but she slid out of bed. She hastily slipped into her dressing gown, her eyes downcast, embarrassed to be seen nude by Lena. In her husband's bed, no less—even a husband she didn't sleep with. It was all quite confusing.
Julia pushed her tumbled, red blond hair from her face and tied the sash of the silk gown. On her feet, beyond Griffin's silken reach, she could think more clearly.
She couldn't believe she'd come here last night. She couldn't believe she'd cuckolded her husband on their wedding night. What could she have been thinking? Even considering the circumstances of last night, to sleep with a man not her husband was insanity.
And how had Lena known she was here? If she knew she'd come here, how much of the rest of last night did she know about? The idea that someone might know her husband had sent his secretary to her bed mortified her.
"Come, come, come." Lena straightened Julia's mules on the floor so that she could slide into them, and gently took her arm. "We haven't much time." She glanced at Griffin, who lay on his side, the bedclothes thrown over his waist, but much of his glorious body exposed. "And you, Romeo, get yourself up and bathed."
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 16