Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03]

by What the Bride Wore

  Out, in.

  Faster—

  Out, in.

  Harder—

  Out, in.

  He lifted his head. Their eyes met and held.

  No breath to speak.

  Out, in.

  She gripped him without relenting.

  He fought her grip.

  Drawing out, slamming in.

  Hard!

  The trigger inside her clicked. Her body clenched and exploded.

  Yes!

  He bellowed, his whole body jerking against her.

  His explosion filled her. Mind and body pounding to his rhythm.

  She squeezed him, over and over.

  He flooded her with heavy pulses.

  Yesyesyes!

  A steady beat of joy.

  Twelve

  Irene woke feeling both wonderful and strange. Unfamiliar bed, unfamiliar room, but the scent of lovemaking and the warm body spooned against her brought back all the glorious memories of the night before. Which made everything all the more complicated. She was beyond happy about last night, and yet she couldn’t deny that she’d stepped into unfamiliar waters. And she wasn’t the least bit comfortable with her decision.

  Then again, she thought as her eyes drifted closed, it was wonderful to feel a man, his organ stiffening as she stirred. She could stretch into him—encourage a return to last night’s activities. But if they started that again, who knew how long she’d linger here? Her mind was already churning with what she would say to her in-laws. What if they discovered she had not stayed with Wendy last night? What would they say? What would they think?

  So she gingerly inched out of bed, feeling the loss of his heat keenly. There was enough light coming from the window to see, and she slipped behind his dressing screen to perform her morning ablutions. But when she was done, she realized she was completely naked, and her clothing lay in a neat pile across the room.

  Frowning, she looked around the tiny area behind the dressing screen. For a member of the aristocracy, Grant had precious little attire, and most of it meant for Mr. Grant, rather than Lord Crowle. She lifted up one of his work shirts, feeling the softness of well-worn cotton. It was large, but she slipped it on, loving the scent and feel. She felt surrounded by him, even though she was afraid to step out and face him.

  What a contrary creature she was! So taking a deep breath, she steeled her spine and slipped from behind the screen.

  He was awake, lying stretched and lazy like a morning cat on the bed. His gaze followed her movements, and a smile curved his sensuous mouth.

  “I like the look of you in my shirt.”

  “I… um… I like the feel. Do you mind?”

  He shook his head slowly then peeled back the covers on the bed. “Come let me see if it feels as soft as it looks.”

  Her eyebrows rose. She knew he was teasing her, but she was not quite ready to return to bed. Not when he played the indolent aristocrat so well. It felt discordant, and so she stayed back. “This is your shirt, Grant,” she said quietly. “You know exactly how it feels.”

  “Not when it’s against your skin. Not when…” He bit his lip, slowly straightening on the bed as he looked at her. Then his expression changed into one of chagrin. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. You’re not the usual flyer, and this must feel awkward.”

  She blinked, startled by his sudden shift from casual seduction to honest, plain speaking. It was dizzying how quickly he became Mr. Grant—a simple manager of a factory. She swallowed and nodded.

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Of course not.” He shifted on the bed, adjusting to face her directly. “I know you probably want to rush home, but if you have the time… I should like to talk with you. For a little bit.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “So much happened last night that I’m feeling rather disoriented from it all.”

  She understood exactly, and so she settled on the edge of the bed. He didn’t move to draw her closer, but she saw his nearest hand twitch as if he wanted to touch her. She wanted it too, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to reach for him. Not yet.

  They sat in silence for a moment, both struggling for something to say. He looked at her, and for a moment she thought there was longing in his eyes. A desperate hunger quickly buried under a tide of uncertainty.

  “You’re not hurt, are you? I mean from what we did. Or the fight earlier.”

  “No, no,” she said. “I’m fine. A little sore maybe, but it’s a nice kind of soreness.”

  He flashed her a smile.

  “And you?” she asked. “We should replace your bandage.”

  He looked down. Sometime in the night, he’d discarded the cumbersome linen. He lifted his torso enough to expose his wound to the light. “It looks good,” he said. Then he gingerly touched around it, pressing until he winced. “Not too painful.”

  She abruptly grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his wound. “Don’t fiddle with it. You don’t want to re-open it.”

  He shot her a wry glance. “If it didn’t burst wide open last night, then I doubt poking at it now will have any effect. It wasn’t that deep a cut.” He grimaced and pulled his foot from beneath the cover. “The real problem is my ankle. That’s why I couldn’t walk very well. I think I wrenched it during the fight.”

  She peered at it while he began poking there. It did appear a little swollen. “Just take care of yourself.”

  He smiled as he looked back at her. Then he gently twisted his hand in her grip until he could entwine his fingers with hers. “I’ll be careful,” he said. Then he took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about that attack. There was something wrong about it.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Of course it was wrong! A man came at us with a knife.”

  “That’s just it. He ran at us with his knife drawn. The normal footpad would stop and demand money. Too risky with just the one against us two.”

  “I was no help at all in the fight.”

  “On the contrary, you screamed. You fought.”

  “Badly and very little. It happened so fast.”

  “You were a big help, and you got me to the inn.” He drew her hand to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss to the back of her hand. It was a courtly gesture, but it was also filled with genuine warmth, and she flushed at his attention. Especially as his fingertips stroked the inside of her palm. It was ridiculous to feel this shy. She wasn’t a green girl, and yet everything he did with her, every way he looked at her, felt fresh and new. She peered at him, seeing him watch her with a steady, patient gaze.

  Eventually, his thoughts shifted. She knew because his gaze grew less intense, more abstract. “What did the constable say?”

  She shrugged. “That next time we should hand over our money. That we were fortunate you got off so lightly.”

  Grant grimaced. “That’s just it. He didn’t ask for our money. He just attacked.”

  She thought back and realized he was right. “But why…” Her words trailed away, and a creeping sense of terror stole over her. She bit her lip, refusing to cry out, and her fingers tightened hard on Grant’s hand.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm. “Irene?”

  She shook her head. “I thought I was done with feeling afraid. I thought it was over.”

  He scooted across the bed and gathered her into his arms. She had pulled so tight into herself that she didn’t want to move at first. But his touch was gentle even as he steadily tugged her close. A moment later, she crumpled and burrowed into his arms like a terrified kitten.

  “I am being silly,” she said to herself.

  “Maybe not. Tell me what made you so afraid.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts. It took awhile, but cradled as she was in his arms, she found the strength to talk about her fears. “I started working for Helaine almost a year ago. Before that, I was… floating.”

  “Floating?”

  “Just existing. Living without
purpose. Counting the ticks of the clock in my room. Maybe I was lost in grief, but it felt more like I had no direction to any part of my day or night. My every need was taken care of. My in-laws are lovely people, but there was no reason to get up every morning because there was absolutely nothing to do.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  She shot him a skeptical look. “Grant, you run a mill. And you are an earl. I doubt you have ever been so lost.”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ve had my share of useless days. None lately, but I know something of having the time hang.”

  She nodded. “Helaine came and offered me the job as purchaser. Suddenly, I had a reason to rise every morning. With my father-in-law’s help, I was able to make deals for fabric and the like. Mama was appalled, but I loved it. And even she could not deny that I was happier because of the work.”

  “That I understand well, though don’t tell Robert that.”

  “Robert?”

  “Lord Redhill, our host last night. He is the one who forced me into managing the mill. Best thing for me, though God knows I cursed it often enough.” He squeezed her. “So you see, we are not so different. Each of us working for our bread.”

  “And enjoying it.”

  He snorted. “I am not sure I would say that.” Then, at her look, he shrugged. “Oh very well, yes, I like my work. Or at least parts of it.” His expression turned serious. “Tell me the rest, Irene.”

  “There’s not much more to tell. I started thinking someone was watching me. When I was at the dock or later at the shop. It wasn’t anything specific. Just a niggle, like a tickle at the base of my neck.”

  “Did you ever see anyone?”

  “I didn’t, but Penny’s fiancé did. Mr. Samuel Morrison, the Bow Street Runner. You met him last night. Anyway, he chased the boy, but was knocked on the head.”

  Grant straightened, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. “Someone was following you?”

  “Yes. Mr. Morrison said it was a street boy, probably paid to watch my movements. But he was working with a larger man. That’s who knocked Mr. Morrison out.”

  “Did you ever find the man or boy?”

  “No. There never was anything other than that one incident. I took precautions, of course. And I was forever looking over my shoulder, but there’s been nothing for months. I’d begun to relax again.”

  “That’s very strange, you know. Being followed, then not. You never learned anything about it?”

  She shook her head. “And I have talked with Mr. Morrison about it extensively. He seems to think it has something to do with Wendy, and after what she said last night with the gambling debts, I agree there’s some concern.”

  “But why would the Demon follow you?”

  She sighed. “That’s what Mr. Morrison asked, but I have no idea. It’s been months with no incident at all.” She tried for a smile, but she doubted she managed a good one. And he didn’t seem the least bit inclined to humor.

  “I think I should talk to Mr. Morrison.”

  Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Grant, surely you have more important things to do than chase down my ghosts.”

  He looked at her, silent for too long. And she realized with a bit of shock that he seemed to be at a total loss.

  “Grant?”

  “For five years I have lived with one goal, Irene. I had to make a success of the mill so that I could buy back my land.”

  She nodded. “And did you?”

  “No,” he said, the word filled with pain. “No, I didn’t. But now, I know that my brother Will managed to get it.”

  “Well, that’s good. You have the land then.”

  He shifted awkwardly, and she could feel his withdrawal. “It will stay in his family, Irene, not with the title. He’s the better man to have it. I know that. He’s always been the better steward, but now, there is nothing to support the earldom, except a crumbling castle right next to my brother’s wealthy home.” He dropped his head back until it thunked lightly against the wall. “I had meant to spend the next years working there, rebuilding it as I did the mill.”

  “And now?”

  He looked at her and flashed a mischievous smile. “Now I have nothing but time to spend. On you.” He rolled toward her, his expression seductive. She gasped and pulled back, but with a smile on her lips.

  “Grant, I thought we were going to talk.”

  He stopped and flopped back, but with an air of acceptance. He’d known she’d refuse him. “See?” he said. “If I cannot spend time with you, then perhaps I shall spend it on you. On talking with this Mr. Morrison about your mysterious followers.”

  “It was a long while ago.”

  “It is suspicious, and I want to know more.”

  He was adamant, jaw thrust forward and expression focused. Irene felt uncomfortable at his sudden intensity. She had barely come to accept that they had spent the night together, and now, he was to investigate her mysterious attack? It seemed like too much, though logically, after their intimacies last night, a few questions with Mr. Morrison were hardly earth-shattering. Still, she tried to distract him.

  “You don’t have to return to the mill?”

  “I thought I’d be headed to Yorkshire now, a victorious landowner again.”

  “But surely there are other things you could be doing.”

  He turned to look at her, and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t want me asking questions. What haven’t you told me?”

  “No, no! It’s not that. I just… I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not.”

  “And you’re an earl. Grant, surely this is beneath your notice.”

  He didn’t answer at first. He just looked at her, flashes of emotion shifting in his eyes. They went too fast for her to catch. In the end, he touched her cheek, and with his index finger he stroked across to her lips.

  “You’re uncomfortable with me now. You don’t want to see me anymore.”

  She shook her head, unable to deny the truth, even as her heart pounded in her throat. “I do,” she whispered through dry lips. “I just need a little time.”

  He nodded slowly. “Perfectly understandable.” Then he shifted his hands to cup her face. He held her still as he gently settled his mouth on hers. The kiss was slow and sweet. Unable to resist, she opened to him, softening her back, melting so completely into him that when the kiss changed, she relished it.

  What began gentle became more demanding. Soon his tongue was thrusting into her, and he was rolling her onto her back on the bed. He followed her down, his hands opening his shirt with ease.

  She gasped as he pulled back, her breath short, her body already on fire. Looking into his eyes, she knew how easily she could lose herself in him. He was so intense, his focus so heady. When had a man looked at her with such hunger? What man had ever touched her like his next breath depended on her accepting him?

  “You steal my reason,” she whispered.

  “Let it go,” he answered as he brushed the edges of his shirt aside. She was naked before him, and his hand began to stroke her breast.

  She closed her eyes, feeling the strength in his hands, the rough brush of his callouses on her skin, and the pinch and twist he did to her nipples. Her belly trembled, and she went liquid. How easily he aroused her. She ought to be frightened—she was frightened—but not enough to stop him.

  “Irene,” he said softly. “Irene, look at me.”

  She opened her eyes. It should have been easy, but he was still applying himself to her breasts, and everything he did made her languid. Then he lifted, shifting his body to settle between her thighs. She didn’t fight him. Didn’t want to. But as his weight fell onto her, he touched her face.

  “It was a near thing last night.”

  She gasped slightly, her eyes widening, but he quickly shook his head.

  “Not the attack. Long before then at the ball. I had just found out about my brother. That Will would get everything.”


  She nodded, not understanding what he was trying to say. It was especially distracting as he began to push himself inside her. Slowly, but with inevitable pressure. She was open and ready, but the push—and the pleasure it engendered—was a potent drag on her thoughts.

  “I went straight to the card room, Irene. And I called for a bottle of brandy.”

  Her arms had wrapped around him, and her grip tightened on his back. “How much did you lose?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t play, and I didn’t really drink, but it was a near thing. If I’d stayed, I would have.”

  “But you didn’t stay. You didn’t gamble.” She could tell he had a fear of gambling. She heard it in his voice—an evening of cards or dice would be a very bad thing indeed.

  “I only left because I remembered our dance.”

  “You missed our dance.”

  He flexed his hips and seated himself fully inside her. “I remembered you.”

  Her hands gentled on his back, stroking him, feeling his smooth skin and the ripple of his muscles beneath. He was a potent man.

  “I know this is too soon for you,” he said as he began the slow withdrawal. “I know you need some distance from me. Time to understand what we are about. Space to see that you want to be with me.”

  He had pulled back all but his tip, and with a sharp look he thrust forward again. Hard and thick, he impaled her, and she gasped in pleasure.

  She lifted her knees, slowly drawing her legs up his calves and thighs. Soon she framed his hips and gripped him with her thighs. “I choose where I go and what I do, Grant. You do not frighten me.”

  It wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of how quickly and deeply she had involved herself with a virtual stranger.

  “I am the one afraid,” he said. He dropped his head, pressing his forehead to hers. His breath heated the air between them, mingling with her soft pants. “I wasn’t a gambler like my father. I wasn’t—I’m not—that big a fool. But I could be, Irene. So easily. I could be.”

  He slid back again, the rhythm slow, but building fast. His words frightened her though. Her father’s gambling had been a nightmare without end.