by Heather Boyd
Meredith saw the flinch of pain in his eyes at the mention of death. She rose up on her toes and kissed his jaw. “Can you not accept me as I am?”
He tightened his grip on her hand and stared down at her, the intensity of his gaze growing until she feared the answer would be no. She lowered her heels to the floor, but her arms remained trapped high above her head. When Grayling did not soften one inch, she dropped her eyes to his cravat. The mathematical knot was perfectly tied. Would she ever gain the satisfaction of untying it again?
Grayling lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. “Are you like this with every man who comes to your bed?”
Meredith rolled her eyes. Must every man demand to know he was the best when it came to pleasure? “No. You seem to bring out the worst in me. But that brings to mind a problem. I need to talk to you. Please, won’t you release me so we might talk in a civilized fashion?”
He dropped her hand so abruptly that it wouldn’t surprise her to discover he’d forgotten how he’d held her. Meredith rubbed her wrists and directed him to the couch by the window so she could see his expression clearly as they talked. “In my line of work, it is unusual for a woman to be bound to one patron every night for so long a stretch of time. In most cases, she would not spend the entire night with one man alone. She would service several. That is how such establishments—and myself, to a degree—make a living.”
His face reddened. “I hadn’t realized I’d become an inconvenience to your games.”
Meredith pressed her slick palms together. “I didn’t say I don’t enjoy your company, but my exclusivity has become a sticking point with several patrons. As you just discovered, Lord Squires has an interest in my available time.”
“Would you rather they fucked you instead?”
Meredith winced at the harshly worded question but did her best not to show her discomfort. “I never said that. What I’m trying to say, to warn you about, is that Mrs. Cohen may try to increase the fee she charges you and if you don’t pay, I’ll be forced to leave your bed before you might be ready for me to go. I cannot continue to sleep all night in your arms. It is impractical for a woman in my profession.”
“A woman like you,” he repeated. He crowded her, forcing her into the corner of the couch until she had nowhere else to go. His green eyes burned hot. “I’ve not imagined you lust for my touch.”
Oh, how she wanted him. When he had her under his control, wringing pleasure from every nerve, she couldn’t deny him. Even now, when he was so angry, his eyes had darkened to a shade she’d never seen and she still wanted him. “I’ve never denied it.”
He blinked slowly. “So what do you want me to do? Offer you the position as my mistress? Bring you enough jewels and trinkets to slip on your arms that you could not lift them?”
Meredith grasped his shoulders. “I want nothing from you. Have I ever mentioned a hope of becoming your mistress?” She shook him. “No, I never intended to, but I do have a question to pose to you about your intentions. What on earth are you doing, coming here night after night? If you keep this up, you’ll be nothing more than a penniless beggar. You have a wife. Go back to her.”
“I can’t go back. She left me.”
Meredith caught her breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “When?”
“Two years ago now.”
The woman was a fool to have walked away from such a man. Grayling had never struck her as a hard person to be around. Possessive, determined, and diabolically wicked with his need to have his way in bed, perhaps. She cupped his face with both hands and brushed her lips against his. “You’ve been lonely?”
“Never when I’m with you.”
He stood and crossed the room to squat before the fire. He grabbed a poker and fussed with the embers, added more wood, and then dusted his hands off. When he faced her again, his expression was one of extreme sadness. He must have loved his wife very much. He must have been cruelly disappointed.
Determined to turn his mind from his troubles, Meredith rose and took his hand. She led him to bed, covered his glorious body with hers, and did her utmost to drive his loneliness from his mind. It was only later, when Meredith had exhausted every trick she knew to please him without intercourse and was on the brink of sleep, that she dared to ask why his wife had left him.
Grayling sighed heavily and tucked her against his chest, curling around her body to keep her warm through the night. His lips whispered over her shoulder in a gentle kiss. “You misunderstand. She didn’t go voluntarily. I killed my wife.”
Meredith held still until his breath evened out into the sleep of an exhausted man and then carefully slipped from his embrace. She huddled on the far side of the bed and tried to make sense of his words. Grayling couldn’t possibly be a killer and admit it so freely. She didn’t believe he was the least bit dangerous. Tomorrow, she would get the truth of it, but for now, just to be sure, she wouldn’t sleep a wink.
CHAPTER 8
THE HEAVY WEIGHT lying in Constantine’s pocket burned a hole through his coat. Calista had not been available when he’d arrived, and he’d been cooling his heels in the red-velvet bedchamber for at least half an hour. He supposed he deserved to wait after skulking like a thief from the bed where Calista slept in careless abandon this morning. He had a lot to make up for.
A woman moaned and he scowled at the wall dividing this room from the next. When the moans turned to full-throated cries of a passably believable orgasm, he shook his head. The question Calista had asked him yesterday came back to haunt him. What was he doing here again? The seventh day in a row. He’d spent a fortune to be with Calista. A fortune he’d spend a dozen times over to have more time with her. To have her all to himself.
He glanced at the clock again, wondering if she really was involved in the new prostitute’s tutelage or writhing beneath a man like the woman next door. Calista had told him she couldn’t be his alone. The madam expected her to service other men. But he didn’t like it one bit. Calista was his. He couldn’t imagine giving her up.
Jealousy was not a new sensation for him. He had always wanted what was his. The fact that he’d grown possessive over a woman so free with her favors, one he’d known less than a week, spoke volumes for his addled state of mind. He had meant his offer yesterday to make her his mistress. They could be very comfortable lovers.
But Calista didn’t want to belong to him or any man.
He paced to the window and peered out at the gardens Calista could never bear to look at. The sun was setting over the distant valley, bathing the clipped rosemary hedges in fading light. A pretty scene. He couldn’t understand why Calista disliked the view so much that she refused to look out the window. That same wild, earthy scent clung about her body and skin. A fragrance that drove him wild. Perhaps he’d lost his mind.
He turned as the door opened. Calista stopped in the doorway momentarily and surveyed him. He relaxed at the sight of her. She was wearing the blue velvet carriage dress he’d purchased to keep her warm. For one insane moment, he considered throwing her over his shoulder and stealing her away from this place, but then he noticed a footman lingered in the hallway beyond. He appeared idle, but perhaps he listened in.
From the wall beside them, a male voice shouted out and then the brothel’s other occupants grew silent once more.
Calista, and the footman beyond, behaved as if they’d heard none of it. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
Wary, shadowed eyes met his. She moved away from the door and into the room but did not close the door behind her. The footman came closer and paused where he could see into the room. Constantine walked toward the footman. “Is there a message for me?”
“No, my lord.”
“Good, then go away.” He closed the door on the man and spun about. “What was that about?”
Calista clasped her hands before her. “A precaution.”
That made no sense. “What for? Has a guest caused a difficulty for you?”
&nbs
p; “No, of course not,” she murmured softly. “Linnie is just being meddlesome. It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He gestured to the couch where they began each day. The routine of simply talking over events in their lives soothed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. “Shall we sit?”
Calista nodded and glided toward him. As she drew level, Constantine reached for her hand, but she kept them before her. He frowned at the absence of affection. He’d grown accustomed to her frequent caresses, and the lack troubled him. Something had changed.
He smiled to reassure her he would be the least of her problems. “Have you had a troubling day?”
“No, not really. It was an exceptionally pleasant one.”
“Did you meet with someone?” The moment the question left his lips he knew he sounded like a jealous lover. He paid for her time, her body to be his alone. He didn’t want to share her with other men. “Another man.” The harsh edge to his voice made Calista jump where she sat. He swallowed nervously. He’d have to do better at keeping his possessive tendencies under wraps.
Calista shifted slightly, adding another degree of distance between them. “A dear friend returned to visit, Cook’s son, and I spent the morning hearing Robbie’s news.”
White-hot jealousy burned the back of his throat over the question he wanted to demand answers to. He swallowed to avoid asking if she’d fucked him.
“And then we dined formally for luncheon to give Oralia more practice,” she added in a clear voice. “I swear that girl’s parents taught her nothing of deportment.”
“And who taught you to choose the correct fork? Your mother?”
Calista didn’t answer his question. She smoothed out imaginary creases in her carriage dress, and a frown appeared between her eyes. “You seem out of sorts today.”
“I wonder why?” Constantine raked a hand through his hair and stood. “Yesterday I made you a perfectly respectable offer and you turned me down without apology or hesitation.”
“I don’t want to be your mistress, Grayling. Not every woman dreams of that life.”
He would give his left arm to learn what she did dream of. If he asked, he doubted she’d honor him with a truthful answer. “So you prefer being whore to hundreds, thousands.”
“Not quite that many. I made my choices long ago.” She smoothed the folds in her dress again. “Regret is for the weak and sentimental. If I had either of those two character traits I would not have survived. T’is the reason I like to reinvent myself. I’ve had a dozen or more fresh starts.”
Constantine considered her admission. A dozen or more names and no one knew her. That meant she’d been running from trouble for a long time. What if she was a wanted woman? She might need a man she could rely on one day. “Then start over again as my mistress.”
“No. I couldn’t do that to you. You barely wish to enter me as it is.” She drew in a deep breath and stood. “Am I in danger with you? You’ve never struck me as a cruel or violent man, but after yesterday’s admission I’m not sure I’m capable of judging your character. Did you kill your wife?”
He nodded slowly, remembering his joy at learning Augusta was with child again and then the crushing agony as he discovered her last breath had left her lips, her body bloody and limp across her bed. He clenched his jaw to hold back the grief that always came when he remembered. He did not want to burden Calista with such a scene. “I am responsible for her death.”
She was silent for a long time. When he eventually looked at her, there was sadness in her eyes. “You still mourn her?”
He nodded and her hand rose toward him, then fell without connecting. He frowned at her continued distance.
Her head tipped to the side slightly. “How exactly did your wife die?”
“She died after my daughter was born.”
“In childbirth?”
He nodded again, and instead of the sympathy he expected, Calista scowled at him. She strode to the door, spoke a few urgent words to the footman who had remained close to the door, and gestured toward the stairs. Eventually the footman nodded and hurried away.
Calista slammed the door shut. “For heaven’s sake, never say you killed your wife again.”
“Why not? If not for my need for an heir she would still be alive.”
Calista crawled onto his lap. “T’is difficult to forget the ones you’ve loved and lost. There is no shame in mourning them.”
Relieved to have her so close to him again, Constantine wrapped his arms about her waist. “You sound like Lady Farnsworth.”
“A woman of sense.” Calista pointed to the doorway. “Do you even realize why William was standing guard at the door?”
Constantine frowned at the door and then several things fell into place. Her distance, the wariness he’d sensed from his arrival. “I told you I killed my wife.”
“And you made me doubt the wisdom of being alone with you.” She shook him. “You wretched man. Don’t ever do that to me again.”
Calista pulled his head to hers and clung to him. Constantine gathered her into his arms and inhaled the tiny woman’s distinctive scent. He’d never harm her. He’d taken every precaution he could to protect Calista from the same fate his wife had suffered. Although it wasn’t proven, his good friend Rothwell claimed a condom could prevent the beginning of a new life in a woman’s body. Since Rothwell had considerable experience in the area, and no offspring to date, Constantine had taken his advice and purchased one for himself.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” he murmured against her ear.
“Fool. Women die in childbirth all the time. Her death can hardly be your fault.”
It had been two years and the loss cut as deeply as the first day. “But it is.”
Calista drew back and searched his face. “Did you beat her? Refuse her any comfort she needed? Deny her a midwife or physician’s care? Let her wonder if you were thinking of her?”
He shook his head. “No. I did everything I could.”
“Do you hear yourself, Gray? You did everything you could and it was not your fault.”
He struggled with her denial of his guilt. He should have been able to do something to prevent her death. He’d never meant to risk her life. He bowed his head onto Calista’s slender shoulder and held her tightly. Was she correct? Had he truly done all that he could?
“Men like to think they have the power to do anything they wish, but fighting against death is beyond even you. You must forgive yourself. Surely your wife wouldn’t want you to suffer like this.”
Constantine squeezed his eyes closed. Damn it all, he was on the verge of tears. He would not weep before Calista. How did she do this to him? Continue to turn his world upside down and side to side just with a few words from her clever mouth? The woman who had disrupted his life from the moment she’d walked into view. He couldn’t give her up so easily. If she wouldn’t be his mistress, perhaps there was another position he could offer her, a role that would not require her to be in his bed unless she wished to be there.
He caught her hand in his. “What if I offered you a different sort of employment? Could you be happy without earning your living on your back?”
Calista drew back, confusion filling her eyes “What are you suggesting? There is nothing else appropriate for me, my lord.”
“I have three daughters.” Constantine drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They are in need of a governess.” A governess was always held in the highest regard.
Calista turned away, a laugh on her lips. “Of all the absurd things to suggest I might be suited for. I am a whore, my lord. There is no way to smooth away that blemish or make my past disappear. How could you even consider it?”
“From the moment we met, I’ve had the feeling that each meeting might be our last. I don’t want to lose you, Calista. Not yet. Please.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but a knock silenced her. She crawled off his lap and took care of setting out food. When she turned, h
e dug into his pocket and held out the jewelry box. Calista shook her head. “I’m not suited to the position of governess for an earl’s daughters. Tutoring a young woman to be a whore is quite different. How old are they?”
“The eldest is not yet five.”
“There, you see, what they need is a new mother, not me.”
Constantine opened the box so she could see the rose-cut garnet rivière. “But I did not ask you to marry me, you will not be my mistress, so my only other option is to ask you to come and live with me and my daughters. I’d like to know where you are spending your nights.”
Calista shifted closer to the necklace and shut the lid. After a moment, she began to laugh. “You, sir, are beyond amusing. You must think of your girls.”
“I am.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw and scowled. “When I am here, I’m thinking of them. And when I am there, I am wondering what mischief you’re up to here. I don’t like Squires or any other man sniffing round your skirts. But if you won’t be mine exclusively, then consider this. My daughters don’t need another mother. They need a friend. Someone who can make them laugh as they once did. You have far more intelligence than anyone I’ve interviewed for the position in the past. I choose you for them.”
Constantine sucked in a sharp breath, determined to convince her his offer was worth considering. “If you remain here, I will waste my fortune to keep you to myself. The governess position is yours if you want it with no strings attached.”
“Strings?”
“You would not be expected to share my bed.”
“You’ve tired of me?” Her expression lost all animation.
“I never said I’ve tired of you.” He held her hand to his chest. “I doubt I’ll ever get enough, but I’ve come to believe you deserve better surroundings.”
Her lips twisted and then she laughed. “How sweet. You mean to be a champion of old, a hero to take me safe into your realm and protect me from the harsh world. I am so very sorry for how your wife died and the suffering you and your daughters have gone through, but I could not inflict myself on them. I’m the least appropriate person to teach three young girls how to be ladies one day.”