Releasing the fall of his breeches, he bounded free, heavy and thick, into her waiting hand. Griffin groaned, his gaze molten and seething beneath the surface. That heat speared her, causing her blood to catch fire. She gripped him, shaping her hand around his considerable girth. When he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, she was unsure if he liked it or not. However, when she slid her hand up to the tip and he groaned again, she had her answer. Repeating the action, she felt her own body respond, drawing up with that sensation of a reticule being cinched closed tightly. Mmm . . .
Griffin stilled her hand and withdrew from her grasp with a shudder. “Now for your torment, my fiery one.”
Leaving her mouth, he brushed his lips along her jaw, down her throat, and to the hollow between her breasts. With his tongue, he outlined the teardrop shape of one breast and then the other. Her aching flesh throbbed. She wanted him to repeat what he’d done a week ago and to kiss her deeply. She’d never been good at waiting. Inside, she felt like a blaze burning out of control. Flames crackled beneath her skin.
Seeking something cool, she set her hands, palms flat, atop his coat. But it wasn’t cool enough. His mouth moved inward now, tracing the same line but slightly closer to her aching center. Reaching out beyond his coat to the soft, cool grass beneath it, she sighed with a modicum of relief. Then his mouth closed over one agonized peak.
She combusted. Her arms rose to surround him, but he stopped her before she could complete the motion. With gentle pressure, he held them down. This forced her to focus on the feel of his tongue rasping against her flesh, the heat of his mouth as he drew her deeper. She released a choked sob. Arching her neck, her head rolled back as she gasped for breath. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he lifted away.
“I knew it would be like this,” he growled against her lips, shifting between her thighs, urging her wider. Reaching down between them, he slid the length of his manhood against her, earning another gasp in response. “You’re so hot here. Fire inside and out. That’s what you are—a living, breathing fire.”
Unable to form words, she nodded in agreement. He continued to slide his flesh against hers, over and over again. Now, with her arms free, she clutched him, rising up to press her mouth to his. In the same instant, he edged inside. Her body seemed to lock around him. She could feel every fine distinction of his shape, the heat of him, the ridge that teased the outer folds of her flesh.
“My firestorm,” he said with a fierce kiss.
Then, he drove inside her. Fast. Hard. Ripping through her barrier. Stretching the swollen walls of her most intimate flesh.
She cried out. Her nails bit into his shoulders a moment before her hands fisted as she tried to push him away. “Griffin!” Hot, angry tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, trailing down to get caught in the whorls of her ears. “You’re such a tyrant. You make me lie still for eons to endure your torment. You offer the sweetest pleasures. Whisper endearments from your lips. And then you impale me with that caber between your legs and make absolutely no apologies.”
He chuckled against her mouth as he kissed her into silence. Cradling her face, he smoothed away her tears. “But I’m not sorry. There was no other way to get my caber inside of you.” The arrogant man grinned down at her. “And if you would stop fuming for a moment, you’d realize your body isn’t angry at me either. I can feel every one of your tremors. They grip me like a vise, inviting me deeper.”
Only now was she aware of the subtle rocking motion of his hips. That swift searing pain had faded, merging into a different type of ache. He watched her closely. The raw intimacy in his gaze ignited a new fire within her. The flame consumed her and made her fully aware of the heated length of him buried inside her. Her body cinched around him tightly.
Griffin’s eyes glazed over as he hissed a breath through clenched teeth. Moving within her, over her, he lifted her hips. Those tremors intensified. Did he feel it too?
He groaned in response.
Delaney kissed his jaw, the tight cording of this throat. They were connected so intimately, she wondered if he could feel the burning intensity of her love as well. Lifting her legs to surround his hips, she clung, matching his rhythm. Slick heat coated the length of him as he drove deep inside her. Waves of searing pleasure swelled within her, like a dam about to give way beneath a tide of molten heat.
“Yes,” he whispered hotly against her lips, as if he felt it too. There was no stopping it. As his thrusts quickened, all thought fled. All she could do was hold on and—
Ah! The dam broke. Flames licked over her flesh, so hot they burned cool against her skin. She cried out again and again as the inferno consumed her. Griffin answered in kind. His shout echoed around them as he buried himself deep within her.
Together like this, they seemed more a part of nature than the grass and trees around them. No matter what happened now, her life would never be the same. And she would have a memory to keep with her always.
But would it be enough?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Griffin tugged on the familiar handkerchief pinned inside the bodice of Delaney’s gown as he helped her dress. His knowing smirk earned him a swat of her fingers against his. This fearsome, fiery beauty loved him. And because he couldn’t contain the joy he felt, he pulled her against him for another kiss.
She slanted her mouth across his, matching his hunger. Her lips parted to reveal the heat within her. He knew those internal flames quite well now. Already, he was eager to have her again, preferably in his bed. Not that the soft cushion of grass had been a deterrent in any way.
Of course, he hadn’t intended to make love to her here. Then again, when had any of his plans turned out where Delaney was concerned?
This morning, from his window, he’d spied her walking toward the stream that separated them. As luck would have it, she’d been near the footbridge just as he was stepping across to join her.
Now, Delaney set her hands against his forearms before he could lower her to the ground once more. “I’ve been gone for hours. Mrs. Shaw might send someone looking for me.”
He kept her close. “Then we won’t let them find us. Besides, we have everything we need here. The convenience of a stream. The scattered remains of your lunch pail. We could forage, naked in the forest, for days . . . weeks, even.”
“As much as I enjoy being naked with you, Mr. Croft,” she said with a laugh against his lips. “I fear I would soon be forced to wear flower garlands and leaves. After all, I do enjoy clothes immensely.”
“And yet you ran away from the shops of London.” He brushed the hair from her face and gently tucked it behind her ear. “You ran away from me.”
She shied away from his gaze. “It wasn’t as easy as you make it sound.”
“I was furious at first,” he said without any of that anger in him. At the moment, he wouldn’t know what anger was. He could only feel this pleasant, humming bliss. Taking her hands and gathering up her pail, he led them along the path toward the footbridge he’d crossed earlier. “I thought you were trying to prove a point by asserting your independence. Then I realized I was angry at myself for how horribly I’d botched my proposal. I thought the depth of my feelings were evident when I offered you exactly what you wanted—a marriage in name only. After all, I was willing to sacrifice every need of my own just to be tied to you, in separate houses or not, for all the days of my life.” He looked at her as he said the words, his hands settling on her waist. Delaney’s eyes were wide and pale, like amethyst jewels. Leaning closer, he kissed her parted lips. “Now, however, I know I cannot take any separation from you. I love you far too much.”
At last, the words that had been trapped inside him for a week were out. He marveled at the sense of release and lifted her high in a spin as they came to rest on the other side of the bridge.
It took a moment for him to realize that Delaney wasn’t sharing his joy.
He set her down slowly as cold suspicion trickled through
him. “Surely after everything that’s transpired, you knew the outcome.”
Now, all the color drained from her cheeks. “Griffin, I still cannot marry you.”
“You have proven enough times that you are capable of anything you set your mind to,” he said, his jaw clenching until he feared it would crack. “I believe what you are intending to say is that you will not. You choose not to marry me. After all, the word cannot suggests you have no choice in the matter.”
“But I don’t have a choice,” she pleaded, her gaze softening as she lifted her hand to his face. “You know my reasons.”
He drew her hand away and took her by the wrist. “To hell with your reasons! Do you think I care a fig for your fortune?”
Pulling her alongside him, he started to walk in the direction of Brannaleigh Hall, not two miles from there. Cresting the low hill beside the bank and away from the trees, they reached the long drive. “Look there, up the path. Could your fortune buy such a grand house and keep it in good standing for your lifetime and the next?”
“I don’t know,” she said, out of breath but keeping pace with him. “Perhaps.” She tugged on his arm in order for him to turn to her, but he stayed the course.
He had a point to make, once and for all. “What about two houses?”
“Not likely. You know very well that I’d want part of it to go to Warthall Place.” The last of her words were said with a bit of ire.
Good. If he was angry, he wanted her to be as well. “Wouldn’t you think that the man who possessed such a house had a fortune of his own?” Apparently, the woman who’d employed a spy to track his social calendar hadn’t bothered to inquire about his wealth or lands. That same woman likely knew every detail concerning each destitute reprobate amongst the ton. The fact that she’d never once looked into his background only made her goal, from beginning, all the more plain.
“Griffin, I don’t care about the man who owns this house. Can you please stop this and let me return?”
He did stop and turned sharply to face her. “Only a moment ago, you claimed to love the man who owns this house.”
The instant he said the words, he released her. Delaney felt the loss of his touch as quickly as a bucket of water douses a single flame. “Mrs. Shaw said it belonged to the late Viscount Brinley.”
“And he was the Earl of Marlbrook’s son,” he said succinctly before he began to walk up the drive again. “Without an heir, the courtesy title passed to my father, who bequeathed the estate to me.”
She’d known Mr. Croft would eventually inherit an earldom and therefore wasn’t a pauper, but she’d had no idea he had a considerable fortune of his own. That was why he didn’t care a fig for hers. He’d never cared. A strange, terrifying thrill sprang to life inside her. All he wanted was her. The words kept turning around and around in her head as she followed him the rest of the way in complete silence.
Within half an hour, he stopped in front of the wide white door and spoke briefly with the manservant.
Once the servant disappeared, Griffin gestured to dark brick façade of the house. “Here is Brannaleigh Hall,” he said with a measure of resignation before he stepped over the threshold.
Still reeling and stunned, she followed him inside. An expanse of white marble tiles veined with grays and silver covered the foyer floor. The furniture and the chandelier overhead were draped in white sheets. The walls were painted and trimmed in white as well. She was very glad that she wasn’t holding a glass of red wine, for she’d be the first to spill it.
Griffin swept his arm into the space around him. “Here is the hall where I first arrived yesterday, exhausted and weary, but also exhilarated because I’d just come from seeing your face.”
She drew in a quick breath. There was no mockery in his tone but only more resignation. Lifting her gaze to search his face, she caught only his profile before he turned and began up the stairs.
At the very top, he walked down a wide hall trimmed in white wainscoting. More white? Imagine the disaster she would bring to such a pristine hallway. The lack of color was starting to tweak at her frayed nerves.
At the end of the hall, he turned and walked through an open door. It wasn’t until she followed that she realized it was an expansive bedchamber, accented in pale gray silks, from the walls to the coverlet.
Griffin didn’t look at her but stared at the bed, his expression hard and inscrutable. “Here is the bed where I spent hours dreaming of you last night.”
Of her, not her fortune.
And then he walked past her and out into the hall again. The other doorways were closed and likely had sheets covering all the furniture. At the end of a second hall was a wide window facing west, with the light from the setting sun filtering in. The room beside it opened up to a grand portrait gallery.
“Here is the hall of my ancestors. You might recognize the one on the end as my father’s portrait. One day, mine will hang beside his.” Now, he faced her. The blue and brown of his irises shifted in the light as his gaze dipped from her face down to her stomach. “And my son’s will hang beside mine.”
His son. Automatically, her hand splayed over her abdomen, as if to protect the mere idea of his child. “It is unlikely that”—she swallowed down a sudden rush of sadness—“this afternoon will result in a child. The women in my family do not conceive easily.” It had taken her mother two years and her aunt five. She could only assume the same would be true for her. Then again, she’d never allowed herself to imagine having a child until now.
Griffin stared at her, his face unreadable. After a moment, he shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Your words would make a sane man breathe a sigh of relief and run in the opposite direction. And yet, here I stand, contemplating ways to prove you wrong. To prove that you are not like any other woman, within your family or outside of it.”
“Stop making me love you more,” she pleaded, aching with need to leap into his arms. The distance between them felt like a tide, pulling her to him. She didn’t know how much longer she could resist. She took a step back and then another. “Loving you has doomed me to a lifetime of misery.”
He recoiled as if her words were the lash of Dorsey’s whip. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because I cannot marry you, but I fear I will always love you and want to be with you.”
“Then be with me!”
“I’m too afraid, Griffin!” There. Now it was out. He had to understand. “You told your sisters that I’m fearless, but that was a lie. I’ve lived with this fear inside me since the moment I met you.”
Instead of the truth making him understand, he seemed only to grow distant and more incensed. “That is the real reason you want a marriage in name only. So that you never have to risk your heart.”
“I don’t want what happened to my parents to happen to us. We are already fighting! What happens in a few years, after I’ve given you an heir, and you stop loving me? Will that pain drive me away, compel me to abandon my children and live in another country? I would rather be alone and miserable than bring that pain to our children.” Like the last threads of a dream upon waking, her mind conjured an image of a small, perfect face sleeping peacefully in her arms . . . Then, it disappeared too soon.
“I am fighting for something, not against. There is a difference.” He took a step toward her, hands open as if to pull her into his arms. And then he stopped. “You cannot say that you love me, yet you don’t trust me with your heart or mine.” His hands fell to his sides.
“It isn’t about trust. Of course I trust—”
“I have ordered the carriage,” he said, cutting her off. “Go now, before I further strip myself of honor.”
From the window, Griffin watched the carriage drive away. He stood there until it disappeared from view behind the old abbey ruins, and there his gaze remained, amongst the crumbled walls and barren landscape.
He felt just as desolate. He’d poured out his heart, felt that unspoken connection
—only to learn that his love wasn’t enough for her. She would trust a stranger with her fortune, but she wouldn’t trust the man she claimed to love with her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Delaney lay in bed, listening to the steady beat of her heart. The resilience of that organ surprised her. She hadn’t thought something so mangled and broken would make it through the night. And yet . . . it was still there, beating.
“Only to mock me, no doubt,” she whispered to the empty bedchamber. Each double beat of her heart seemed to whisper Griffin’s name with longing. “To make me live for the next forty years, each day wishing I could take back everything I said.”
All this time, she was afraid of Griffin’s breaking her heart, but in the end, she’d done it to herself. Even when confronted with the fact that her fortune didn’t matter, she’d still refused him—which meant that the only thing truly keeping them apart was her fear.
But she already loved him—she couldn’t change that. She couldn’t go back to a time before she loved him, even if she wanted to. Terrifying or not, her heart, her mind, her entire being wanted Griffin Croft.
Was she willing to risk everything for him?
Yes! And gladly too. It was as if the answer had always been inside her, without question.
However, before her heart could mend and rejoice, she thought back to yesterday. He’d been so closed off before she left him. She realized the instant he’d finally heard her. Those lake-water eyes had gone still, with no love or passion churning beneath the surface. Griffin was so proud and in control. And yet, she’d stripped him of his honor by refusing his proposal after they made love. She’d hurt him, the wound evident in his cold demeanor. Delaney didn’t think he could ever forgive her.
Thinking about it now, she was ready to curl onto her side and give in to another bout of self-deprecating misery, but just then, she heard a carriage not far in the distance.
She sat up quickly. “Griffin!” Perhaps he wasn’t through with her after all. Perhaps there was still a chance to tell him that she was ready to risk her heart.
Finding Miss McFarland Page 18