Moreover, he was struggling to rein in his passion. And she knew all the reasons for doing so. Their being alone even in this shelter, if discovered by certain people, maybe by anyone, would be her ruin. In London, she could never have headed out alone with him. Her reputation would be in tatters for climbing up a rock face with a man, never mind entering a lean-to and picnicking with him.
Why did the Angsleys tolerate such behavior?
Perhaps she and Grayson had hidden their attraction well. Or maybe things truly were less strict in the country. Or it could simply be the Angsleys looked upon Grayson as family, and she was the sister of John Angsley’s wife.
What did that make her?
“I…,” she trailed off.
What did she want to tell him?
“I am glad we finally got to start our adventure,” she finished.
He seemed tense and frozen. With his jaw taut, Grayson reminded her of a cat in that moment before it pounced.
Eleanor swallowed, feeling a healthy measure of trepidation. No one knew where she was. It was thrilling! She was living the life of a Gothic heroine and loving every moment of it.
“You’re smiling,” he said. “A moment ago, you were not. Tell me your thoughts.”
She opened her mouth to speak when nearby thunder shook their lean-to. She shrieked with surprise, grabbing hold of him. Instantly, his arms went around her, drawing her onto his lap.
“It’s all right,” he soothed.
Her nerves remained on edge, especially now her breasts were crushed against his chest, and his hands were splayed across her back, feeling big and warm. Looking up, her eyes met his, their glances fusing.
His features twisted, beseeching and warning at the same time, as if tumultuous emotions were warring inside him.
“Grayson?” She had stripped off her gloves to eat. With bare fingers, she reached up and touched his face, stroking his cheek.
His eyes slammed closed, and she saw his throat bob with swallowing.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice thick and husky.
She still felt he was on the verge of snapping her up like a cat did its prey. Yet, she couldn’t help herself. Entwining her fingers behind his neck, she sunk them into his hair. Glorious!
Then, she did the unthinkable. Using her grasp on his hair, she tugged him down to her, until their mouths were a whisper apart.
“Eleanor,” he said again. It came out as a groan. “Have mercy,” he added.
“Gray,” she murmured against his lips, knowing she was behaving badly, but wanting more of him with every fiber of her being.
His eyes opened, and flames blazed in their depths as hot as any she’d ever stoked in the grate of a fireplace.
What happened next, she couldn’t describe, for her world tilted suddenly. She thought he simply started to kiss her, and she closed her eyes, but then he lifted her from his lap. The next thing she knew, she was on her back, lying on her damp cloak on the dry ground.
From this vantage point, looking up at him, his face was in shadow, his expression unreadable. How she wished for a crackling fire beside them, not only because the rain had chilled her, but so she could see him better.
Lowering his head, he claimed her lips. This kiss felt entirely different than their previous ones because of their position. While he kept most of his weight on his forearms on either side of her, his legs were nestled between hers. If her skirts hadn’t been tucked up for climbing, it wouldn’t have been easily possible for him to settle, flanked by her thighs without raising her gown to her waist.
As the weight of his hips pressed into hers, she couldn’t restrain from lifting her own to meet him. Her body sought to meld with his, seeking as close contact as possible.
After his skillful tongue had teased hers, he nibbled on her lower lip, and she sighed. His mouth left a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her slender neck, which she arched to give him better access. At the same time, she shivered, wanting more.
“My sweet,” he murmured, opening the fastening at her throat so her cloak fell away entirely, giving him access to the skin at her collarbone.
When he tasted her with a gentle flick of his tongue, she moaned.
Her fingers clasped his shoulders, wishing she could touch more of him.
She could! There was no one there to stop her.
Trying to open his jacket while he was on top of her was a trial, especially while his hands roamed every part of her, and his mouth sought every inch of bare skin above her neckline.
She’d only succeeded in unfastening a few buttons when he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She found herself splayed atop his body.
“I am a fiend,” he declared, “and we must stop.”
Still feeling a tingle where he’d kissed her neck and her décolletage, her body humming with pleasure, Eleanor didn’t want to stop and told him so, but he held her hands still on his chest.
“Remove your jacket,” she ordered him, “and your shirt so I can touch you.”
Grayson actually laughed at her. Mortifying!
“Why are you laughing?” She sat up, looking down at him, feeling tendrils of her hair falling around her face.
Oh, dear. She would have to fix that before she saw anyone.
Then she caught her breath, for he looked divinely handsome, lying beneath her, wearing a rueful grin.
“Because you look more like a woodland fairy than ever, though wearing a petulant expression. And because I cannot undress here, and you know it. We must tidy up and behave like civilized people.”
Still seated astride his hips, she could feel the heat of him coursing up through the layers of fabric that separated them, permeating the soft place between her legs. Yanking her hands free, she crossed her arms over her still tingling nipples.
“Civilized people!” she scoffed. “Those refined ninnies in the ballrooms do this kind of thing in the back gardens of every venue during the Season. I stumbled upon more than one tryst while escaping the stuffy rooms and simply trying to get a little air.”
He laughed again. “I’m sure that made you extremely unpopular. Imagine how we’d feel if a snoopy Miss So-and-So barged in upon us at this moment.”
“Snoopy! I never barge,” she declared. “And we are doing far less than what I saw others doing, believe me. Sometimes girls were lying back on a bench or even bent forward over a stone wall with their skirts over their heads, and the men were—”
“I get the idea,” he said, sounding displeased. “You were probably outside too much for your chaperone’s liking.”
“At least I was alone,” she said, then felt her cheeks heat up. She sounded like a prudish innocent.
“Mostly alone,” she added, hoping she sounded more worldly.
As if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “I respect you too much to continue down the path we’re on, no matter how pleasurable.”
With Grayson struggling to get up while she sat on him, Eleanor had no choice but to climb off or be dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. It was impossible not to be annoyed as all the wonderful sensations ceased, and she was left with only longing and frustration.
He took her hand as they rose to their feet.
“We are a sorry sight,” he said.
She didn’t care. He had rejected her, and easily, it seemed. For him, it had been merely pleasurable. For her, it had felt earthshattering, and she’d been prepared to give him all of her.
Now, he was worried about appearances, and she wanted to scream.
Withdrawing her hand from his, she decided she could be as calm as he was, and she set about to smoothing her skirts. First, she pulled them from the waistband and let them fall around her feet again. Then she reached behind her and shook her cloak, all without looking at him.
He respected her, did he? She would rather he’d been so overcome with desire…and love…he couldn’t help himself from making her his woman in that most intimate way.
“Your hair,” he began, but
she stopped him with a look.
“I will tuck it up under my hat. Where is my hat?”
They both spied where it had fallen, and retrieving it before she could, he held it out to her. She snatched it without a word of thanks, which wasn’t like her.
“And then I will put my cloak hood over the entire mess,” she added testily, “until I get back safely in my room.”
He still stared at her, absently wiping his large hands down his pants and over his jacket to remove any stray clumps of dirt.
“I hope you realize why we had to stop. I fear you are too young to understand what nearly occurred.”
She had been looking out into the pouring rain when he spoke those loathsome words. She whirled around to face him.
“That is the stupidest thing you have ever said to me, Mr. O’Connor. I am leaving.”
With that, she fastened her cloak at her neck, raised the hood over her hat, and walked out into the storm.
Let him deal with the picnic basket, and let the devil take him!
Chapter Fifteen
Gray watched Eleanor stride ahead of him, radiating fury, and he didn’t attempt to catch up. He had inadvertently offended her. Some part of him still wanted to protect her from…himself.
He knew she was a woman—God, did he know!—but the part of him that recalled the innocent girl from five years earlier definitely didn’t want her first time to be on the dirty floor of a fishing lean-to.
He was absolutely certain, nonetheless, he wanted her first time to be with him. And every time after that. For the rest of their lives.
Clearly, she didn’t care he was the son of a servant. They treated each other as equals, and a marriage between them would be a satisfying union. But he didn’t want to blurt out his intention after having gone to so much trouble to set up the game.
Wondering how to make amends, he kept her in his sights on the long walk back, though she could hardly get into trouble marching hell-bent toward Angsley Hall.
She entered through the terrace door, disappearing from his view, and he followed a few moments later. It was a sad ending to their otherwise enjoyable escapade.
Glancing at her Wellies, which looked as though they’d been hurled toward the mudroom, he removed his own before tucking all of them tidily out of the way, and then hanging up his sodden jacket.
Some dry clothing and hot tea were in order. Maybe he could even coax her to have the latter with him. Heading along the passageway to the main stairs, Gray was halted by the ever-present Mr. Stanley.
“Mr. O’Connor, a missive from the Earl of Cambrey arrived while you were out.”
Gray hoped nothing had befallen Maggie. Taking the note off the silver tray, he read it.
Dammit! He was needed back at once. He supposed it was about time he took back the mantle of being an estate manager. Two of the workhorses were displaying symptoms of colic, and their stablemaster wanted to consult with him. A blight in one section of the orchard was confounding the head gardener, who had some ideas to run past him. A strange crack had appeared in the drawing room ceiling, and the butler thought Mr. O’Connor might know of the best plasterer in the area. As a matter of fact, he did.
It was time to get home. They could leave after lunch if one of the Angsley maids could get Eleanor’s trunks packed. At least in the privacy of the carriage on the short trip to Turvey House, he could try to soothe her insulted womanhood.
When she didn’t come downstairs in a timely fashion, and he’d cooled his heels drinking a pot of tea and idly chatting with whichever Angsley happened by, he sent a maid up to tell Eleanor she must pack. Then Gray headed back outside. The rain had stopped entirely, as the breeze had blown the thick, dark clouds far to the west. He would tell his mother of his imminent departure and assure her he would see her as soon as possible.
To his surprise, her door was locked again. He rapped at the cheerfully painted door, recalling when Lady Angsley declared each should be done in a rich blue to let the retired servants know they were cared about. Her ladyship had told him and Cam about it at dinner a couple years earlier, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of those servants was his mother.
There, but for the grace of God, a thorough education, and having made a goodly amount in the stock market, went he. The blue door would never be his lot in life.
He jiggled the handle again. There was a brief delay as before, and then to his surprise, Eleanor answered.
“I don’t know how that got locked,” she muttered, looking at his feet and not his face. “I suppose I must have inadvertently done it.”
Then she stood back so he could see his mother seated at the table, the same lacework laid before her. To his eyes, they had made little progress, but then he knew nothing of the intricacy of such work.
“I had no idea you’d left the main house,” he said to Eleanor before greeting his mother.
“Tea, dear?” she asked him.
“No, thank you. I just had some. I was waiting for you to come down,” he said, turning to Eleanor, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.
She shrugged, looking sullen.
When he considered the passionate creature who had been lying beneath him an hour earlier—the one who had wanted to undress him!—he wished he could magically bring her back. Doubtless, he could do so when he had a private moment to explain himself.
But not in front of his mother, who was watching them carefully.
“I came to tell you we have to leave.”
Eleanor’s glance flew to meet his, her face already looking mutinous.
“I thought we agreed with Maggie not truly being ill, there was no rush.”
“No rush for you,” he said, “but I have work to do. They need me back on the estate. Things are starting to go awry.”
“Then you may go,” Eleanor said, sounding positively like a royal highness dismissing her knight.
“You must come with me,” he said.
“Why must I?”
Her hands on her hips was not a good sign. Moreover, he realized his mother’s head was going back and forth as if watching lawn tennis.
“Because Turvey House was your destination,” he pointed out.
She hesitated, shooting his mother a glance.
“I am not ready to leave.”
Eleanor was simply being obstinate. There was nothing to keep her here…except Kidd’s treasure.
“We can come back within days to finish our adventure,” he said. His mother would think they were barmy, but what could he do?
With a wave of her hand, Eleanor dismissed his words. “It’s not that.”
Really? “Then what?”
She levelled him with a glare. “I do not answer to you, Mr. O’Connor.”
At this, his mother’s eyes widened, and she turned away, obviously not wanting to be witness to their tiff.
“True, you don’t,” he agreed. “But the easiest way and the best time for you to finish your journey to Turvey House is with me today.”
“Today? That’s impossible. Even if I agreed, I couldn’t get all my things packed before dark.”
“That’s why I waited for you downstairs to tell you to gather your things.”
“But I was here,” Eleanor pointed out, as if she were being reasonable.
“I didn’t know that.” He realized he was speaking through clenched teeth and tried to relax his jaw. “Why don’t you want to leave?” This time, he tried to keep his tone light.
“I cannot say.”
For pity’s sake. She was trying his patience. “Cannot or will not?”
“Both.” She resumed her seat at his mother’s table.
“Is it the lacework?”
“Perhaps, among other things. I am not trying to be difficult.” Eleanor glanced at his mother. “I will come along soon. When do you leave?”
He hesitated. Truly, he had no control over Eleanor, and he had to accept that. However, it rankled him all the same.
“In an hou
r at the most.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling ill at ease leaving her behind, then he recalled another compelling reason for her to go with him.
“But your birthday,” he protested. “You’ll be here alone.”
“Your birthday?” his mother exclaimed, turning to Maggie.
“In a few days,” she admitted, keeping her gaze on him. “Anyway, won’t you come back?” For the first time, she sounded uncertain.
“Yes, when I can,” he promised. “But I wouldn’t have to leave my work and return here so quickly if you would come with me now. Besides, you should be with Maggie and Cam at Turvey.”
“I will see them soon enough.”
“Very well.” He was getting nowhere. Leaning down, he kissed his mother on the cheek. “Keep an eye on her.”
His mother nodded. “Of course.”
“I don’t need anyone to—” Eleanor began, but he cut her off.
“I know what you’re going to say. You don’t need an eye on you.” He shook his head.
Desperately, Gray wanted to kiss her and make things right, but he couldn’t do it here. “Will you come say goodbye.”
“I…,” Eleanor faltered, her cheeks immediately reddening, and she glanced at his mother. He would have laughed at her obvious display of emotion if she weren’t annoying him to Kingdom come.
In any case, she stood and followed him out the door.
What could Eleanor tell him? She couldn’t abandon Mrs. O’Connor, not when the woman had broken down in tears over her secret. Besides, it truly wouldn’t take long to teach her to write. Grayson’s mother was clever and quick.
“I want you to come with me,” he repeated when they were out of his mother’s hearing.
“We just went over this,” she reminded him. “Did you invite me out here to say goodbye properly or to argue further?”
“You are being childish,” he persisted.
Eleanor hadn’t expected that remark. She’d hoped he had moved past his initial impression of her as too young for a relationship. She’d shown herself to be smart enough to figure out the puzzle, and if he only knew, she was being dependable and keeping her word to his mother.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 66