by Julia London
He debated what to tell her. “The Scottish Lockharts are estranged from the English Lockharts, and have been for a very long time. Now, then—”
“But even so, why should you hide your true identity? And why should your brother want that horrid gargoyle? And why—”
“Ach, ye ask too many questions, lass!”
She blinked. “Are you an outlaw?” she whispered excitedly.
“No, I am no’ an outlaw,” he said gruffly. “If ye must know, I have hidden me identity from Lockhart because we are engaged in something of a family dispute. So now ye might put yer imagination to rest.”
“If it’s a family dispute, why won’t you just go to him?” she asked, brightening. “He’s really very fair, and very thoughtful—”
“Did ye come to resolve me family’s dilemma, or to learn the art of seduction?” he demanded.
She paused and seemed to debate that for a long moment. “The latter,” she said at last.
“Very well, then, Anna—”
“Miss Addison will do,” she said pertly.
“Ah, but if I am to teach ye to seduce a man, Miss Addison, it might be a sight easier if I knew ye by something a wee bit more… intimate.”
She pursed her lips, considering it.
“Anna,” he repeated softly, and pushed himself to his feet, clasped his hands behind his back, and moved toward her. “What a pretty name for the diabhal.”
She frowned. “That’s hardly polite.”
“I beg yer pardon, lass, but I believe we’ve gone well past polite.”
Anna folded her arms across her middle. “Then might we agree,” she suggested in a sweet voice that belied the look in her eye, “that you’ll not speak in your native tongue? I confess to feeling rather at a loss when you do.”
“Do ye, indeed?” he asked, and slowly circled her, openly and honestly admiring her feminine form. “We canna have ye feeling at a loss, can we? After all, ye hold all the cards, do ye no’? I’ll use the language of the Highlands only when I refer to yer body, so as no’ to upset ye, aye?”
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded stiffly.
Grif laughed at her. “Come now,” he chided her as he stepped up behind her, so close that his lips could, if he were of a mind, brush the crown of her head. “Ye canna ask me to teach ye how to seduce a man and no’ imagine it would mean the involvement of yer body, could ye…. Anna?” he whispered, and casually, softly, brushed the hair from the nape of her neck so that he could see the smooth column.
She flinched at the touch of his hand. “You…you need not be so bold,” she said, and stepped forward, walking away from him.
“Need no’ be so bold?” He laughed incredulously. “Mo chreach, Anna! Ye’ve taught me the very meaning of the word, ye have!”
Her back still to him, she lifted a delicate hand to her nape, to the place he’d just touched. “You may think me bold, sir, but you cannot truly appreciate my situation.” She dropped her hand and turned to face him. “And frankly, I don’t understand why a woman can’t ask to learn such things. It’s not as if we are taught seduction along with geography or embroidery.”
Grif snorted.
She sighed with exasperation. “Nor will I attempt to make you understand, for I fear it is beyond your capability, and we do have our sworn agreement, so if you please, might we begin?”
“Certainly,” he said, and returned to the chair, irreverently fell into it, his legs sprawled before him, and tried to conjure up something—anything—to say.
She stood there rather anxiously, watching him, waiting for some signal.
Grif lifted one brow. “Well, then?”
“Yes?”
“A woman is seductive when she tends to a man’s needs,” he blurted, and thought it not a bad start, all in all.
It certainly flustered Miss Anna Addison. She glanced around the room, perhaps looking for a footman. “Ah… what is it you need?” she asked uncertainly.
Aye, this had the potential to be quite entertaining, Grif suddenly realized. “Do ye mean to imply ye canna recognize a man’s needs, lass?” he asked, feigning shock.
She blushed and looked at her hands.
“A spot of whiskey to begin.”
She glanced around again, as if she expected the footman to magically appear, and when he did not, she moved woodenly to the sideboard, studied the decanters there, and finally selected one. Not the whiskey he might have chosen, but there would be time for that.
She looked around for a glass, rattling the crystal glassware in the process, and found a tot, and poured the whiskey to the rim. With the tot firmly in hand, she turned round and marched toward him, her expression one of consternation, as if she had never served another human being in her life. Holding the tot as far away from her as she could, she placed it on the small walnut end table directly next to Grif.
A savory thought occurred to him—while he might not know the art of seduction, he had a much keener sense for the art of retaliation. And he saw an opportunity now, a chance to punish the strumpet for ever having heaped this predicament on him.
Aye, this would be entertaining.
Grif glanced at the tot, shook his head as he made a clucking sound of disapproval, and frowned up at her.
“What?” she demanded.
“Ye think that seductive, do ye? Ye bring a man his whiskey and put it away from ye as if it were a two-headed snake?”
She blinked, looked at the tot, then at him again, delightfully confused.
“Pick it up,” he commanded her.
With a bit of hesitation and a bigger frown, she picked it up.
“Now, then,” he said with a wicked smile, “come down on yer knees before me and put it just there,” he said, nodding at the table.
Her mouth dropped open. “You cannot possibly be serious!”
Grif shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, then. If ye donna want yer bloody English Lockhart, we might end this farce now, aye?”
At the very least, his suggestion had the desired effect of quelling her protestations. She stared at him, then the tot, then pulled a face as if it truly pained her.
“Kneel before me and put the tot there,” he softly commanded her.
Judging by the murderous way she looked at him, Anna was having a difficult time making herself obey him, and Grif could not possibly have been more amused. With her eyes glaring daggers at him, she glanced down to where his legs were sprawled before him, then looked at the table. She tried to dip before his knees, but Grif moved his legs, indicating she should kneel between them.
With a bit of sidestepping and general wrangling, she at last knelt between his knees, put the tot on the table next to him.
“Is that all, then?” he asked.
“What could possibly be left undone?” she hissed at him.
“Yer kind and thoughtful inquiry as to anything else I might require,” he suggested pleasantly.
“You’re insane,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No, lass, that would be ye. Go on, then. Inquire,” he said, his smile fading.
“Is there anything else you require?” she repeated through clenched teeth.
“Hmm… no’ particularly pleasant, but it will do for the time being,” he said. “Aye, lass, I should very much like ye to rub me feet.”
Her shock was brief; her lovely coppery eyes suddenly flashed with anger, and she bounced to her feet, staggering back away from him. “You are a…a blackguard!” she cried. “You are toying with me!”
Her indignant fury made Grif laugh. Her little gasp of rage at his laughter only made him laugh that much harder, and while he tried to contain himself, she whirled about, stalked to the settee where she’d put her things, and, grabbing them up, started for the door.
Somehow Grif managed to come out of his chair and reach her before she could escape. He grabbed her upper arm and forced her about. “Ye’ll no’ leave, lass,” he said, still trying to swallow his laughter. “Ye’ll no�
� fly off in such a huff.”
“I did not come here to be humiliated!”
“No, no, of course no’,” he said, the laughter in him dying. “Ye came to merely extort.”
The woman had the good sense not to deny it, but she yanked her arm from his grasp. “As I said,” she said to the floor, “I have reasons you could not possibly understand.”
“I donna want to understand yer bloody reasons,” he said coldly. “I just want to be done with this as soon as possible, claim what is rightfully mine, and return to Scotland.” But that, he realized, was easier said than done, and he turned away from her, stalked to the table and the tot of whiskey, picked it up, and tossed it down his throat.
“I’m not trying to be indistinct,” she said. “It’s really rather a long and convoluted explanation, that’s all.”
He barely glanced at her as he went to the sideboard to help himself to more whiskey.
“I…I don’t mean to be difficult, truly.”
“Then donna be difficult,” he suggested. “’Tis no’ as if I wanted this,” he reminded her, and poured another whiskey, tossed that down, and set the glass aside.
“I understand how you must… perceive this,” she said, waving vaguely to the room. “But I am rather determined.”
Grif shrugged at her absurd attempt to justify this.
“So if you would,” she said, gesturing nervously at him, “kindly stop looking at me as if I am some sort of… doxy.”
He said nothing, just watched her fidget with the watch pinned primly to her collar. When it seemed as if she might faint from nerves, Grif said casually, “Are we quite finished for the day, then?”
“I, ah…I don’t…I suppose—”
“Good. If ye’d excuse me?”
Anna blinked big doe eyes at him, and looked, unbelievably, as if she’d been hurt. Hurt! The woman swam in an ocean of contradiction! She turned away, started for the door. He watched the way her gown moved around her shapely hips and a thought suddenly came to him.
“One thing, Anna,” he said.
She stopped mid-stride, glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Yer appearance…. When ye return on the morrow, wear something a wee bit less”—he paused there, searching for the right word—“priggish.”
“Priggish?” she exclaimed, looking down at her brown gown.
“Aye, priggish. Ye look like a vicar’s wife, ye do.”
“But this gown is the latest from Paris—”
“I donna care how fashionable or expensive it is. It doesna attract a man’s eye.”
She glanced up, her eyes wide with wonder for the first time since Grif had met her, as if she had no notion of what a man found attractive.
“On the morrow, wear something that allows a man to catch a glimpse of the promise beneath,” he said gruffly, and looked down at his feet, waiting for her to be gone.
There was no sound, nothing but silence.
When he could no longer abide the silence, he glanced up, saw that she was rooted to the floor, staring at him with those lovely eyes, eyes which, for some reason, unnerved him. “Are ye still here, then?” he asked.
That seemed to wake her from her trance, and she unthinkingly put a hand to her bodice, dipped her head demurely. “No,” she said softly. “No, I was just leaving.” And with one last, curious glance at him, she walked out the door.
Fifteen
H ow Anna managed to survive the remainder of that day and evening in the company of her family, as if nothing had happened, was just short of miraculous—the encounter with the Lying Scotsman had left her breathless, almost feverish, and she could think of nothing but those cold green eyes, the way his breath felt on her neck and his hand felt on her skin.
As she sat in the drawing room, surreptitiously looking at her family around her, she wondered if any of them had ever known someone as unwholesomely prurient as Griffin Lockhart. What a pity for them if they hadn’t.
Just thinking about him had her feeling hot again, and she absently fanned herself as she pretended to peruse the bookshelves of the drawing room while her mother and father played a round of cards, Lucy and Bette pored over the latest fashion plates from Paris, and David, Lord Featherstone, Bette’s husband, sat quietly reading before the fire.
“By the bye,” David said after a time, “Bette and I are planning a weekend affair at Featherstone Manor at the end of the month. A gathering of friends before it becomes unseemly for Bette to be about town.”
“I’ve never understood why pregnancy is unseemly, my lord,” Anna said. “It’s not as if the miracle of birth is a secret. Practically all of us came into this world as the result of a pregnancy, save Lucy.”
“Anna,” her mother said, “it is impolite to speak of such things.”
“What do you mean, ‘save Lucy’?” her younger sister demanded.
“Anna, love,” her father said patiently as he dipped his head to have a look at his cards over the rims of his spectacles, “you mustn’t tease your sister so. You know how sensitive she is.”
“Why is it impolite, Mother?” Anna asked, ignoring Lucy. “It’s perhaps the most natural thing in the world! Why should anything God gives us be considered impolite?”
“No matter the customs of our society,” David interjected, “we are nevertheless determined to host an affair at the end of the month.”
“We plan to invite all the bachelor gentlemen!” Bette added in a singsong voice.
“Why?” Lucy pouted as she flipped the pages of fashion plates. “I am forbidden to entertain even the smallest of offers until Anna is offered for. You might as well save yourself the expense.”
“They will not be invited for your benefit,” Bette said cheerfully. “But for Anna’s.”
Anna laughed at Bette’s teasing; Lucy made a face.
“That’s lovely they are invited for Anna’s benefit!” Mother exclaimed happily. “After all, Lucy, you are the most determined of all of us to see her married.”
“No one wishes it more than me,” Lucy said with a huff. “But she’ll not receive an offer from any of the gentlemen Bette shall invite.”
“And why not?” Mother asked. “She’s as accomplished and favored as you, and as they all can’t offer for you, Lucy, it stands to reason that at least one of them might see their way to offering for Anna,” Mother defiantly argued.
Lucy gave a very unladylike snort to that, and made a show of busying herself with the fashion plates.
Anna just shook her head and returned her attention to the books before her. Actually, a weekend at Featherstone was just the thing, really—just the image of Drake Lockhart sleeping nearby made her smile, and she didn’t give a damn what Lucy thought of it.
But it was not the thought of Drake sleeping nearby that brought the peculiar heat to her face again. Not that Lockhart at all, and she absently fanned herself again.
The next afternoon, at quarter past three, Anna was at the back stoop in the mews of the house on Cavendish Street, still shaken after the spectacular misfortune of having run into Lady Worthall on the street. She had, of course, been forced to make up an excuse for being in this part of town on such a dreary and rain-soaked day. If she was discovered calling on a bachelor gentleman, unescorted… she’d be painted a loose woman.
“Calling on an old friend,” she had answered politely when the meddlesome woman inquired.
“Who?” Lady Worthall demanded loudly, pretending she was deaf.
“A friend,” Anna said again. “But I think I am quite mistaken—I believe she must be on the other end of Cavendish Street,” she said, and turned away, as if studying the other end of the street.
“If you tell me who, dear, perhaps I can help you,” Lady Worthall insisted.
“Aha! I am quite mistaken!” Anna said gaily. “Thank you for your help,” she said, smiling brightly as she reached out to squeeze the woman’s hand. “Good day!” And with that, she pivoted about, went marching off in the opposite d
irection, and did not stop until she had gone at least a quarter of a mile. Only then did she circle around, using her umbrella as a shield, walking through the alleys and mews that meandered through the neighborhood.
When she at last had managed to slip into the mews undetected, she knocked frantically, watching the street entrance.
The old man who had seen her in yesterday opened the door with a frown. Anna paid him no mind, but quickly stepped past him into the dark interior and closed her umbrella. “I beg your pardon, sir, but there is a frightfully intrusive woman who lives somewhere close by.”
“Directly adjacent, she does.”
Anna glanced up at the old man in shock as the thought that Lady Worthall could be so close sunk into her brain. “Are you quite certain? Lady Worthall?”
“Aye, miss, I’ve naugh’ been more certain of anything in me life,” he said grumpily. “If ye will please follow me, his lordship awaits.”
His lordship, such that he was, was waiting, all right, standing at the windows, his hands at his back, his legs braced far apart. He turned sharply when she was shown in the door by the old man, a frown on his face. “Ye’re late.”
“I beg your pardon, but I was unavoidably detained by Lady Worthall.”
“Lady Worthall!” he exclaimed wildly. “Did she see ye enter here, then?”
“Of course not!” Anna shot back. “Do you take me for a fool?” Instantly, she held up a hand. “I will thank you not to answer that,” she added before he could speak, and angrily tossed aside her cloak, bonnet, and umbrella. “Honestly, Mr. Lockhart, I’m not any happier about this than you! I was forced to lie, and then it began to rain, and my slippers are near to ruined!”
“I donna give a damn about yer slippers,” he said. “But if that old battle-ax discovers ye are here, there’ll be hell to pay for it, mark me.”
“I am quite accustomed to there being talk of me, sir. I assure you that if she is to mention seeing me abroad, it will not come as a surprise to—”
“God blind me, then, I’m no’ speaking of ye, I am speaking of me!”