by Anna Bennett
Gray knew that would make her happy—and, more than anything, he wanted her to be happy.
He also wanted her to know that she didn’t have to marry him to protect her sister. He would help Fiona regardless. So would her father.
She shouldn’t make the decision to marry Gray out of sheer desperation. She had options.
To be clear, Gray wanted her to know she had options—and choose to marry him anyway.
He’d been contemplating the best way to explain his feelings to Fiona when Helena made her entrance, looking like a Roman goddess who’d graciously deigned to join some lesser mortals at their quaint version of a ball.
He wanted her gone.
“Good evening, Gray.”
Keenly aware that his grandmother, who stood on his left, listened to every word he uttered, he inclined his head. “Lady Helena.”
“I hope my presence here isn’t unwelcome.”
“I confess it’s rather baffling.”
She cast her gaze downward, her dark lashes fluttering over her cheeks. “I realized that I owe you an apology.”
He arched a skeptical brow. “And you thought the best time and place to deliver it was in the midst of a ball I’m hosting?”
She had the good grace to look contrite. “I was curious to see how you’d managed it—and what improvements you’d made.” She stared at the transformed ballroom with undisguised appreciation. “It’s lovely. This house has more potential than I realized.”
Once, he would have given anything to hear her say those words.
Now … he didn’t give a damn what she thought. He wished her no malice, but he no longer cared to impress her. No longer sought her approval.
And he definitely didn’t want her interfering with his plans. “Now that we’ve satisfied your curiosity, I see no reason—”
He was about to say for you to stay, but his grandmother gently squeezed his forearm, reminding him of his manners, damn it all.
“I see no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy the rest of your evening,” he improvised.
Helena shot him a distinctively sultry look. “I hope to,” she said, before turning her attention to his grandmother, who was polite but reserved—a sure sign that she did not hold the younger woman in high regard. But Helena seemed unperturbed by the cool reception as she walked toward the center of the room like this ball was her coronation.
At least most of the guests had arrived and Gray was now free to seek out Fiona. He escorted his grandmother to a chair beneath a decorative trellis—part of Sophie’s fanciful design—where some of the other matrons sat, looking out over the dance floor. “Would you care for a drink, Grandmother?”
“No, my dear boy. I shall be fine. Go enjoy yourself.” Her eyes twinkled. “I suggest you start by dancing with Fiona.”
“That is the plan.” He planted a kiss on her soft cheek and easily spotted Fiona, a vision in her blue-green gown, talking with some of the villagers on the other side of the room.
He’d taken exactly two steps in her direction when someone seized him by the elbow.
“There you are.” Kirby handed Gray a glass of brandy, which only partially made up for the annoyance Gray felt at being intercepted on his way to Fiona. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Gray rubbed the back of his neck. “By all means. But make it quick—I’m looking for someone.”
“It’s about Fiona Hartley.”
Kirby suddenly had Gray’s full attention. “What about her?”
“Have you noticed her behaving strangely?”
Gray blinked at his friend. “What do you mean?”
Kirby’s forehead wrinkled as though he were perplexed. “I spoke with her after dinner tonight, and she seemed … nervous. Almost as if she were plotting something.”
“You’re being paranoid. Perhaps she was preoccupied with the ball. She, Lily, and Sophie have worked tirelessly preparing this place.”
“Maybe that’s it.” Kirby waved his glass in the direction of the dance floor. “Is she the one you’re looking for?”
“Yes, damn it. And now she’s waltzing with Carter.” Gray muttered a curse and decided he might as well do his duty as host. “I’m going to ask the vicar’s daughter to dance. You might try playing the part of the gentleman, too.”
Kirby snorted. “What’s the fun in that?”
“Suit yourself,” Gray said with a shrug. “Just stay out of trouble.”
Determined to take his own advice, Gray located his partner and made his way to the dance floor. He caught Fiona’s eye a few times as she turned, wishing he were the one holding her hand and touching the small of her back. Now that he’d defined exactly what it was he felt for her, he could hardly wait to tell her.
But when the set was over, he was obliged to escort the vicar’s daughter back to her mother, and by the time he found Fiona, she was dancing with the baker.
He’d begun to despair of ever claiming a dance with her, but at the end of the second set he spotted her speaking with his grandmother before scurrying from the room.
At last, he had a chance to catch up with her—away from the crowd. Damned if he’d let that golden opportunity go to waste.
* * *
When Fiona entered the countess’s bedchamber, rain pelted the windows and wind rattled the panes. She closed the curtains and found the countess’s lorgnette on her dressing table, precisely where the older woman had told her it would be. She took a moment to check her own reflection, somewhat shocked to see that the angst she felt inside wasn’t plain on her face. She was grateful for the chance to escape the ballroom for a short while, so she could cease pretending that everything was fine. But there was no time to soak her handkerchief with tears.
Fiona had to give the lorgnette to the countess and then find a way to speak with Gray.
Hoping to avoid as many people as possible, she took the back stairs and made her way down a corridor that led to the ballroom. Most of the rooms along the hallway were closed off, but one door hung slightly ajar, and as she passed it she heard a man whisper her name.
A chill skittered up the back of her neck. The last thing she needed was another confrontation with Mr. Kirby.
“Fiona,” the voice said again. “It’s me—Gray.” He poked his head out of the doorway and shot her a smile that melted her knees. How on earth was she ever going to summon the strength to tell him she couldn’t marry him?
“Gray? What are you doing in there?”
He glanced up and down the hall. “Waiting for you.”
She waved the lorgnette in front of her. “I … ah, I have to give this to your grandmother.”
“I’ll see to it.” He darted out the door and took the glasses from her. “Will you wait for me inside? I shall return in no less than two minutes.”
“You once made me a similar promise,” she teased. “I seem to recall spending half the night in your garden. Alone.”
He stepped closer and slid a hand over her hip, making her belly flutter. “I won’t fail you this time.”
“I’ll wait.” She did need to speak to him. “But please hurry.”
“Lock the door and don’t open it till I knock,” he said, before striding toward the ballroom.
Fiona stepped inside the small, windowless room and locked the door before looking around. A lone candle flickered on a small table, and she picked it up to better inspect her surroundings. The room was scarcely bigger than a closet, and she doubted she could take four steps in any direction. The shelves that covered one entire wall contained baskets of yellowed linens, dusty china, and chipped glassware. The wooden table in the center of the room was taller than average, as though it had been used for ironing tablecloths and such. A utilitarian chair was tucked into the corner, but Fiona was too anxious to sit.
Instead, she carefully set the candle back on the table and paced as best she could in the cramped space.
Before long, a knock sounded at the door. “It’s Gray.”
Thank God. She opened the door and he rushed in, his broad shoulders and considerable height instantly filling the room. He locked the door, turned to her, and pulled her into his arms. Like he couldn’t wait to hold her. Like he’d … missed her.
Her breath hitched in her throat because she’d missed him, too. And because now that he was here, she didn’t want to say good-bye.
He cradled her face in his hands and took her mouth in a kiss that was impatient, hungry, and hot. His hips pressed against hers, and her bottom bumped into the table, almost toppling the candle.
He caught it in one hand and swiftly propped it on a high shelf where it cast a soft glow over the room. “God, Fiona. It seems like I’ve been waiting forever to touch you. To taste you.”
“I’ve been eager to see you, too.” She paused to swallow the painful knot in her throat.
“Listen,” he said earnestly, “I didn’t invite Helena, and I don’t want her here. If I could send her away without making a scene I would.”
His words were a balm to Fiona’s soul. Even if there was no future for her and Gray, she needed to believe that what they’d shared over the last few weeks was real. “That’s sweet of you to say, but it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right,” he said smoothly. Her heart squeezed in her chest as he backed her up against the table again, lifting her a few inches so that her bottom rested on the edge. “It doesn’t matter who’s in that bloody ballroom. The prince himself could make an appearance and I wouldn’t give a damn. As far as I’m concerned, tonight is all about you. Starting. Right. Now.”
Sweet Jesus. She should end it here, before his kisses rendered her completely incapable of coherent thought. Before she lost the resolve to tell him what she must. But his mouth was on hers and his hands were everywhere—caressing her neck, cupping her breasts, stroking between her legs.
Yes, she should most definitely put a halt to this. Instead, she was spearing her fingers through his hair, wrapping her legs around his, and kissing him with wild abandon.
Would it be so wrong to surrender—and savor her last night with him?
Perhaps it was greedy of her, but she wanted one more precious memory to tuck away. One more chance to feel adored and cherished and loved.
“You’re so beautiful.” He dragged his mouth down her neck, kissing every inch of her exposed skin. “All through dinner, as I watched you across the table, I imagined stripping this gown off you. Making you mine.”
Good heavens. “We’re taking enough chances as it is,” she said, her voice breathless to her own ears. “I can’t remove my gown.”
Gray growled. “Fair enough. We’ll work around it. For now.”
Fiona gulped as he bent and raised the hem of her gown and shift, exposing her legs all the way up to her thighs. He wrapped an arm around her waist and effortlessly lifted her off the table, hiked her dress around her waist, and gently set her down again. Only, this time her bottom rested on the smooth wood of the table.
A wicked gleam lit his eyes and he knelt before her, making her heart flutter. “Ever since that morning in the cottage, I’ve been wanting to do this again.”
He parted her thighs and tasted her, tentative at first. But soon his tongue grew bolder, his mouth more insistent. She arched her back, leaning into him, and he moaned in approval—which sent delicious vibrations through her body. Suddenly, her bodice felt tight and her legs felt weak. As if he knew, he lifted her knees over his shoulders and gripped her hips, steadying her.
Here was the man she loved, kneeling before her, completely and selflessly devoting himself to the task of pleasing her. He’d claimed he couldn’t love her, but this … well, if it wasn’t love, it was an excellent imitation.
With every wicked flick of his tongue and every sensual caress, he coaxed her closer. She let her head fall back and gave herself up to the pure, potent pleasure that coiled inside her, crying out as her release came.
Sweet little waves still pulsed through her as Gray stood and looked at her solemnly. “I swear to you that I will never, ever tire of that.”
His admission made her smile, even as it broke her heart. When she was certain her legs would support her, she eased herself off the table and pressed her body to his. “There’s something I must tell you, Gray.”
He cradled her head in his hand and brushed a finger over her bottom lip. “May I tell you something first? Please?”
His earnest gaze and the hitch in his voice made it impossible to deny him. “Of course.”
“I realized something earlier tonight. Our engagement might have started out as a business arrangement, but sometime after you kissed me and before you sketched the Fortress, it became much, much more.”
Dear God. These were the words she’d been dying to hear. But the timing was all wrong. It was too late for her and Gray. “I care for you, too,” she began. “And when I wrote that letter proposing to you, I never dreamed that things would turn out like this.”
“Nor did I.” Gray picked her up and spun her around in the center of the tiny closet—as if he could barely contain his joy. “I love you, Fiona Hartley. I didn’t think I was capable, but the last two weeks have changed me. You’ve changed me.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Truly?”
He nodded. “I’ve been in a stupor for the last two decades. Living without really living, if that makes sense. Now I’ve started to see things the way you see them—full of possibility and hope.”
“That’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s said to me.” Fiona swallowed the huge lump in her throat.
“I couldn’t wait to tell you,” he said, caressing her cheek. “But now you may tell me what’s on your mind. You said you wanted to talk.”
“I do,” she said. But she couldn’t break off their engagement only moments after he’d bared his soul to her. And selfishly, she wanted this night with him. She needed a taste of what might have been if fate had been kinder to them both. “But it can wait.”
She unbuttoned his waistcoat and the front of his trousers, wishing she had the slightest clue as to what she was doing. But what she lacked in experience she would simply have to make up for with determination.
Letting instinct be her guide, she pushed Gray back so that he sat on the edge of the table. With uncharacteristic daring, she circled her fingers around his erection and stroked, pleased to hear him moan in response. When she would have knelt, he stopped her.
“Wait. Don’t spoil your gown.” He grabbed the back of the wooden chair and placed it behind her. When she sat and scooted the chair between his sprawled legs, she found she was at the perfect height for … well, for doing what she was about to do.
Boldly, she brushed her lips up and down his shaft. He seemed to approve, so she tried swirling her tongue around the top. When he muttered a curse, she took him in her mouth and sucked.
“God, Fiona.” He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “You’ll be the death of me.”
Encouraged, she took her cues from him. Every groan, gasp, and muscle flex helped her discern what he liked. Knowing she could give him such pleasure thrilled her.
This night was but another thread in the intimate tapestry they’d woven. Another wall she’d broken down. Another memory.
“Fiona,” he said hoarsely. “Please, stop.”
She sat up, momentarily wondering if she’d done something wrong, but he quickly pulled her to her feet and kissed her … almost reverently.
“I need you,” he said. “Now.”
She slid her fingers through the curls at his nape. “I am yours,” she said simply. And it was true. Even if she couldn’t marry him, she would always be his. He would always have her heart.
“You are amazing.” He touched his forehead to hers. “And I am the luckiest man in the world.”
Fiona refused to cry. It would spoil everything, and she would not allow their final evening together to turn into some maudlin scene. So she kissed him.
He steered her
toward the table and gently spun her so that his chest was to her back. She rested her palms on the table and glanced at him over her shoulder. He pulled her skirts up again, but this time he bunched the fabric on the table in front of her.
She felt exceedingly wanton, but Gray’s growl of appreciation alleviated any embarrassment.
When he caressed the insides of her thighs, just above the tops of her stockings, the tips of her breasts tightened into hard little buds.
When he trailed hot kisses down the side of her neck, desire pooled in her belly.
And when he stroked the folds at her entrance and eased a finger inside her, she moaned with pleasure.
A sweet, insistent pulsing began at her core and radiated through her body. “Gray. I want you.”
He kissed her beneath her ear and nipped at her lobe. Glided his hands over her hips and gently lifted them so that she stood on the tips of her toes. Positioned himself at her entrance and slowly thrust.
“Oh. My.” He inched deeper and deeper, filling her and moving in a rhythm that made her dizzy with desire.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. So good. Pleasantly light-headed, she focused only on her connection with Gray. She moved in time with him, matching his pace, meeting him thrust for thrust. She listened to his breathing and the low moans that escaped his throat. She basked in the knowledge that in this moment he was hers. Completely and utterly. Hers.
“Come for me, Fiona.”
“Again?” She hadn’t realized it was possible, but then she did feel a delicious sort of tingling inside, and the pulsing beckoned—like a gift begging to be unwrapped.
He slid a hand around her front and dipped it between her legs, expertly locating the center of her desire. “I have every faith in you, siren. Just think wicked thoughts.”
That much was easy—in fact, Miss Haywinkle would have suffered a bout of apoplexy if she had any inkling of what Fiona was thinking.
Because she was thinking about Gray’s callused hands, roving over her naked skin.