by Anna Bennett
She was thinking about his tongue, tasting and sucking until she’d cried out in bliss.
She was thinking about his wicked fingers, and the pleasure he could bring her just by—
“Oh.”
Her climax blossomed like a perfect sunrise—slow, sweet, and warm. Exquisite sensations echoed through her core, pulling Gray closer, deeper. Tendrils of pleasure unfurled through her body and stretched through her limbs.
Just as she crested, he did, too. He groaned as he came, and she felt his release inside her, a potent mix of raw power and sultry heat. All the while, he held her close and whispered her name.
When at last he was spent, he leaned forward, resting on top of her. She savored the comforting weight of his body and the way he nuzzled the back of her neck—like a puppy craving affection. “Are you all right?” he asked, with a tenderness that made her eyes burn.
“Yes. But there’s—”
“Wait. Let me find something to clean you up.” He left her briefly and returned with a soft linen napkin, which he gently pressed between her legs, wiping away his seed. “There, that’s better.” He carefully pulled her skirts down, then grabbed another napkin off the shelf to clean himself.
As he stuffed his shirttail back into his trousers and buttoned up, he grinned at her like she’d given him … the world. “That was amazing.” He stepped closer and cradled her head in his hands. “You are amazing. And I cannot wait to announce our engagement tonight.”
Oh no. She could feel the tears coming, and already her throat was closing up. “About that—”
Boom. A deafening crash was followed by the clinking of shattered glass. Screams erupted.
And the commotion came from the direction of the ballroom.
Gray cocked his head. “What the hell—” He grabbed the door handle. “I must go. Stay here for a while at least. Don’t return to the ballroom till we know it’s safe. I’ll find you as soon as I can.” He pressed his lips to hers in a short but soulful kiss before releasing her.
“I love you, Gray.” The words had tumbled out of her mouth, and while they were true, she shouldn’t have said them. Because they couldn’t be together after tonight. She couldn’t be the reason he lost everything he owned or the reason his family’s name was dragged through the mud.
“I love you, too.” He shot her a look so warm and genuine and happy that her chest felt like it was cracking open. Then he bolted into the corridor.
She held back tears as the door clicked shut behind him.
Chapter 30
Gray sprinted out of the linen closet and headed down the corridor toward the ballroom, almost too terrified to imagine what had caused the earthshaking boom.
What if a chandelier had crashed down upon the guests? Or a large chunk of the plaster ceiling had dropped on their heads? Sweet Lucifer.
His gut clenched. He had to find his grandmother, had to make sure she was all right.
He jogged into the ballroom through the side entrance, relieved to see the chandeliers still hanging and the ceiling intact—but the far side of the room was in a shamble.
It looked as though someone had used a large tree as a battering ram on the French doors that led to the terrace. Thick, leafy boughs protruded through the panes, and splintered wood littered the parquet floor. Wind whipped through the room, blowing soggy sheet music everywhere. Most of the guests had gathered around the rubble.
Gray started to maneuver his way to the front where he saw Kirby. “Is anyone hurt?” he shouted.
“A few cuts and scratches, but nothing serious as far as I can tell.” Kirby stood between the tree and the crowd, arms outstretched to keep people back from the sharp glass and broken beams. “I haven’t inspected the terrace yet.”
“The countess?” Gray asked. He’d already spotted Fiona’s family and the rest of the house party guests in the throng. “Has anyone seen her?”
“I spoke with her a few minutes ago,” Mrs. Hartley said. “Just before I heard an awful crack. My hair stood on end, and then the tree came right into the ballroom.” She sobbed into her handkerchief, hysterical.
“My grandmother,” he said slowly. “Where was she?”
“Right over there, beneath the decorative trellis.” Mrs. Hartley waved in the direction of the rubble. “But after the crash, it was complete chaos. Glass raining down. People running everywhere. Armageddon, I tell you.”
Gray dragged a hand down his face and addressed the crowd. “Please check that everyone in your party is accounted for. Then carefully make your way to the drawing room.”
The guests gingerly walked over the shards of glass, wet leaves, bits of tree bark. As they milled about, Gray located Dr. Hopewell. “Would you tend to the cuts and bruises?”
“Of course.”
“Kirby, will you lead everyone out of here? Ask the staff to bring towels and tea for the guests. I’ll meet you in the drawing room as soon as I find my grandmother.”
His friend clasped his shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod. “Certainly. I pray she’s safe.”
Gray hopped onto the trunk of the fallen tree and shimmied toward the exposed roots until debris from the broken doorframe prevented him from going farther. Craning his neck, he looked out onto the terrace. “Is anyone out there?”
His only answer was a steady rain punctuated by distant thunder.
He scanned the rubble around the tree, looking for a way onto the terrace. On the floor, in a corner where the French doors had been, he spotted an opening big enough for him to crawl through. He jumped down, dropped to his stomach, and used his elbows to drag his body through the tight space.
“Grandmother?” Part of him wanted to hear her respond because it would mean she was conscious—and alive. But mostly he prayed she was nowhere near this mess. Mrs. Hartley said she’d been sitting by the doors before the tree crashed into the room, but maybe she’d had enough warning to get out of the way.
He squeezed his hips and legs through the opening, then scrambled to his feet. “Grandmother,” he called again. “Is anyone out here?”
He grabbed a lantern hanging from the exterior wall overlooking the terrace and checked beneath every branch of the fallen tree. The weight of the trunk had crushed one of the marble benches on the terrace, but thankfully there was no sign of anyone hurt or trapped. Rain quickly soaked through Gray’s jacket and shirt as he examined the base of the tree located just beyond the stone patio. Charred and jagged, it jutted from the ground like a miniature angry volcano. On the border of the terrace and the lawn was a hole ten times the size of a man’s hat—a calling card left by the lightning strike.
Gray exhaled in relief. His grandmother wasn’t out there—and she hadn’t been crushed by the tree. Miraculously, no one had been. He hoped that he’d find his grandmother inside, wrapped in a shawl and sipping a cup of warm tea. Or in her chambers, tucked into bed by her maid. Anywhere, really—as long as she was safe.
Rather than crawl back into the ballroom, he walked outside the house toward the drawing room. Pentham spotted him from inside and unlocked the French doors. “I just sent Carter looking for you. The countess is here—she’s fine. Her maid whisked her from the ballroom as soon as the wind began rattling the windows.”
“Thank God.” Gray wound his way through the packed room to his grandmother’s chair beside the fire and wrapped her in a fierce hug. “You are all right?”
“Of course I am, dear boy. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know—because the ballroom’s been reduced to rubble?” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “You gave me a scare.”
“No one sustained more than a scratch.” She gestured around the room at the guests squeezed onto every sofa, settee, and chair, happily sipping their drinks and chatting. “And thanks to the tree falling, they’ll be talking about our ball for decades.”
“I suppose that’s true.” His grandmother always found a silver lining.
“You’re soaked. You should
change before you catch your death of a cold,” she said with a tsk. She narrowed her eyes. “And you should have the doctor examine that hand—you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. He looked around the room for Fiona, hoping she wasn’t still waiting in the linen closet.
As if his grandmother knew exactly what he was about, she said slyly, “Fiona is over there, comforting some of the matrons from the village.”
He followed the direction of his grandmother’s gaze and spotted her in a far corner of the room. With her fiery red hair and turquoise gown, she was a vision, bold and beautiful.
She circulated among the older guests, offering them small sandwiches, scones, and biscuits from the platter she held. She paused to talk with a plump white-haired woman seated on the pianoforte bench, momentarily setting down the platter to offer the woman her shawl. When the older woman appeared to protest, Fiona insisted she take it, smiling as she wrapped the fine silk around her shoulders.
Gray was riveted to her every move. She may have considered herself awkward and accident-prone, but he disagreed. To him, she was grace personified. Kind and thoughtful, she had a gift for putting others—including him—at ease.
Tonight’s ball was supposed to have been a special occasion for her, the celebration of their engagement. All of that had changed with a bolt of lightning.
But maybe it didn’t have to.
He stretched his neck above the crowd, trying to attract Fiona’s attention. As though she felt his gaze on her, she looked up at him, and their eyes met.
Hers flashed with relief and affection and then … something sadder. Perhaps regret.
She must have been dismayed by the way the evening had turned out, and he didn’t blame her. But he intended to remedy the situation immediately.
He hopped onto a small footstool so that he stood a couple of heads above everyone else. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called above the din, “may I have your attention?”
The crowd quickly quieted, and everyone turned toward him expectantly.
“First of all, I want to apologize for the scare we had tonight. I’m happy to report that no one was seriously hurt. I appreciate your cooperation and your understanding more than you know. I especially want to thank my friend Kirby—who I’ve always been able to count on—for helping to keep everyone calm in the aftermath.”
Several of the guests raised their glasses. “Hear, hear!”
Gray inclined his head as he toasted Kirby, who, in turn, waved away the praise.
After a smattering of applause, Gray continued. “As many of you know, the Fortress—and this entire estate—has been largely neglected for many years. There have been no balls, no dinner parties, no celebrations of any kind. But I’m hoping to change all that … starting tonight.”
Gasps of anticipation filled the room, and several of the ladies tittered in delight.
Gray wished he’d rehearsed the announcement a little—for Fiona’s sake. He didn’t have a fancy engagement ring or flowers to give her, but he’d suspected what she really wanted was a romantic gesture. Something that required him to step outside of the comfortable role of cynical, brooding earl—and express what she meant to him.
With poetry. Bad poetry. It was going to be humiliating. Kirby would mock him for the rest of his godforsaken life. But if it made Fiona happy, it would be worth it.
Swallowing his nervousness, he pulled a rumpled paper from his breast pocket, and unfolded it.
“I am the furthest thing from a poet, but earlier today I wrote a few lines for someone special.” He looked back at the corner where he’d last seen Fiona, but she wasn’t there. Surely she was somewhere in the crowd—maybe with her sister or his grandmother. Where else could she have gone?
And then he spied her standing by the door, her expression wistful. His heart swelled, and he forged ahead.
“Her beauty is so great no mermaid can compare.
To challenge her in archery I would not dare.
And whether we travel by horse or by boat,
Her company keeps my troubled soul afloat.”
God, this was an abomination. He stared at his paper and prepared to deliver the final couplet.
“With her, my future I intend to plan,
Forever striving to be a better man.”
Several of the ladies sighed. More than a few gentlemen snickered.
Gray brushed it off, stuffed the poem back in his pocket, and continued. “Tonight’s ball was intended to be a celebration—and a chance for me to share some news.” He glanced back up at the doorway to find Fiona … only she wasn’t there.
“Who is she, Ravenport?” Carter shouted. “Don’t keep us all in suspense!”
Gray scanned the drawing room but didn’t see Fiona anywhere, damn it. Maybe she’d taken ill. Maybe she’d been appalled by his attempt at poetry. “I’d hoped to make an announcement tonight,” he said, “but it turns out the timing’s not quite right.”
“Of course it is, my darling.”
Holy hell. Helena tossed a cascade of curls over her shoulder and wound her way through the crowded drawing room. Before he knew what she was about, she’d tugged him off the stool and was standing at his side, hooking her arm through his.
“No,” he warned under his breath. “You misunderstand.”
As though she hadn’t heard him, she smiled broadly and addressed the crowd. “It’s the perfect time to announce that we have realized we are indeed meant to be together. Our engagement is officially resumed, and I couldn’t be happier.”
“No,” Gray repeated firmly. But the guests were already exclaiming over the news, cheering, and toasting the couple of the hour. He pulled away from Helena, but it was too late. Fiona’s father stormed out of the drawing room, scowling. Mrs. Hartley clutched Lily’s arm for support and fanned herself vigorously. His grandmother slumped in her chair, looking like she’d aged a decade in the last five minutes.
How the devil had events spiraled so out of control?
As women swarmed around Helena, eager to offer her their congratulations, Gray jumped back onto the stool. “Your attention, everyone.” Slowly the buzz of chatter died down, and the crowd faced him once more. “Lady Helena and I are not engaged.”
Gasps of shock and confusion filled the room.
“The poem was intended for another—Miss Fiona Hartley—but she seems to have … disappeared.” He’d bared his soul, poured out his heart, and after everything they’d shared that evening, she’d left him.
He’d been so sure that Fiona was different. That she was courageous enough to weather any storm they might face. But it had only taken one storm—a literal storm—to send her running. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.
Though he wanted nothing more than to go in search of her and the answers to all the questions swirling in his head, he suspected she needed time and space. All he could do was mitigate the damage—and end the evening before things could get worse.
“I suspect that Miss Hartley, like many of you, may have felt overwhelmed by the events of the night—an understandable reaction after the near tragedy we experienced in the ballroom. All things considered, it seems prudent that we bring the evening to a close. I shall make my coach available to anyone who requires a ride back to the village. We’ll have the rest of your carriages brought round as well, and my footmen will stand ready with umbrellas to escort you to your conveyances.”
Somewhat reluctantly, the guests set down their drinks and began to say their good-byes. As Gray circulated throughout the room, offering apologies for having to cut short the festivities, Helena confronted him, blue eyes flashing with indignation.
“You’ve made a monumental mistake,” she said icily. “I was willing to save your pride and take you back. I would have married you in spite of your empty coffers and this crumbling excuse for a house. Now you’ve destroyed any chance we had at reconciling.”
“I’ve no interest in reconciling—and yo
u shouldn’t have assumed I did. You shouldn’t have come tonight, Helena.”
“In hindsight, I wish I had not. You don’t deserve me. The gauche rich girl with the complete lack of breeding is a much better match for you. But perhaps she is having second thoughts as well? You’re handsome enough that many women would be willing to look past your financial woes, Ravenport. What’s harder to accept is the coldness in your heart. It’s going to take more than a few lines of horrid poetry to convince a woman you’re capable of love.”
“You’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “Except for the part about Fiona—you couldn’t be more wrong about her. She’s smart, kind, and loyal. And while she may not be of noble birth, she is a lady—and one of the most generous, selfless people I know.”
“How very touching,” Helena said dryly. “You should have used some of that material in your poem instead of the bit about the mermaid.”
“Kirby,” Gray called. His friend ambled over and arched a brow. “Would you be so good as to escort Lady Helena to her uncle’s carriage?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Kirby offered his arm, and Helena took it stiffly. As they walked from the room, Helena called over her shoulder—one final, parting shot. “Whatever haunts you can’t be fixed with plaster and wood and nails. I’m not certain it can be fixed at all.”
“That’s nonsense, you know.” Gray turned to find his grandmother standing at his side. “Anything can be fixed if you’re willing to put in the work.”
He slipped an around her shoulders. “I know … and thank you. The evening didn’t turn out as I’d hoped.” It was the understatement of the century.
He grandmother shrugged. “Perhaps it can be salvaged. Whatever you do, don’t give up on her.”
“Don’t worry—I won’t.” And he prayed she hadn’t given up on him. “Will you be all right for a few moments? I want to talk with Lily.” He could trust her to give Fiona a message.
“Go. It’s time for me to retire, and my maid will attend to me.” She patted his hand affectionately. “I shall see you in the morning, my dear boy.”