“You certainly do have a way with the ladies, Grif,” Thomas drawled from across the hall. “’Course, it doesn’t seem to be a very good way.”
Grif, still staring at Kyra’s door, shook his head. “I should have known. She only calls me Ethan when she’s ready to do bodily harm.”
Thomas chuckled softly. “I never thought I’d see the day when a woman would get to you, old boy.”
Grif took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. “She has not gotten to me. Lady Kyra is a job, nothing more.”
His friend raised a golden brow. “I see,” he said, his tone implying he did indeed see. “Dev’s sister is merely a...what, an investment?”
“Precisely,” Grif agreed. “A business opportunity.” He crossed to their shared quarters and grabbed his greatcoat. “I need you to take first watch on her door tonight.”
Thomas sighed but took a post at Kyra’s door. “What are you doing?”
Grif shrugged into his greatcoat and walked down the hall, calling over his shoulder. “Protecting my interests.”
Chapter Six
Kyra peered out into the darkness. It was several hours after their appalling discussion, and she still couldn’t quite accept that Grif of all people would wed her off to a troll like Brumley. Grif’s particularly repellent discourse on the importance of reputation over happiness still left a rather bitter taste in her mouth and an empty feeling in her chest.
So much for Grif being reasonable.
Well, she was not about to roll over just because Ethan Ashford decreed it. Oh no. She was made of sterner stuff than that—the last few months had proven that. She would fight to the bitter end. Apollo could make better time than the other horses in the stable, save Lucifer. She would have at least a few hours’ lead. And Lachlan and Dougal had told her that they would be staying at Cade MacKenzie’s for the night. If she could get there, they’d no doubt find a safe hovel to hole up in until Grif gave up and went away. After that, she could decide what to do about Uncle Cam’s list.
Shortly after she’d slammed the door in Grif’s face—a very satisfying sensation—Kyra had unrolled the woolen blanket she still carried under Riley’s haversack. Grif, of course, had rifled through the pack and the gun pouch, divesting her of all things sharp, pointy and explosive. He did not, however, look in her blanket. Had he done so, he most likely would have pinched the extra clothes tucked securely within it.
So, long after all sounds of movement had died within the inn, Kyra donned her spare breeches and shirt. The maid had very thoughtfully overlooked Kyra’s mud-spattered boots—which had just happened to be tucked neatly under the bed when the girl had taken the rest of Kyra’s clothing to the laundry. After all, a lady must never allow herself to be without appropriate footwear. Kyra pulled them on over her thick socks and tiptoed to the window.
Looking out into the night, with just the barest sliver of moonlight illuminating the suffocating darkness, Kyra reconsidered her plan. Her stomach fluttered. The window was narrow, but she was pretty sure she’d fit. Swallowing, Kyra tamped down thoughts of just how humiliating it would be to have Grif discover her stuck in the aperture.
Of course, once through, she’d still need to get down. It was a bit of a drop, as her room was on the second story. She hated to risk twisting her ankle. A tree or a trellis would have been nice, she thought sourly. As she had neither, however, she would just have to fall and pray that none of her appendages snapped.
Now or never, she told herself. Blowing out a big breath, she grabbed the chair Grif had earlier inhabited and placed it under the window. She stealthily lifted the latch and swung the glass wide. Climbing onto the seat, she turned and kicked a leg out into the cool night air. Trying not to think about what she was about to do, she awkwardly wedged her other leg out. It was indeed a tight squeeze; she had to shimmy around quite a bit in order to maneuver enough to let go so she could hang on to the windowsill and lower herself down.
It wasn’t until she was through the window and her arms were completely extended that Kyra allowed herself to glance at the ground. It was still a long way down. Of course, pulling herself up now was impossible. She really had no other choice but to drop and hope she wasn’t landing in the midden.
Kyra let go and plunged to the ground, a sharp pain shooting through her calves and knees at the impact. A second later, she landed soundly on her backside. She inwardly swore; she would never forgive Grif for making her do this. She picked herself up and hobbled to the stables, wiping hot tears from her eyes.
Alone in the darkness, Kyra had never felt so, well, alone. It was not a nice feeling. Not even when she’d taken off for Scotland had she felt this way. It had been surprisingly comforting today, letting Grif shoulder some of her burden, even for a few hours. Especially when he had such lovely shoulders. Too bad the feeling was so short-lived.
Once in the stable, Kyra looked around for Apollo. She caught sight of his huge form in the stall farthest from the door. Kyra walked quietly over to him, softly cooing at the stallion so he wouldn’t get excited. The stall next to his was open. The groom likely thought it best to leave as much room as possible between Apollo and Lucifer, whose manners were as coarse as his owner’s. She reached her beloved horse and nuzzled his nose. He happily nipped her braid. He seemed well-tended. No doubt Grif’s doing.
Thinking of Grif’s betrayal steeled Kyra’s resolve. No one, not Edmund Ashford, not her uncle Cam, not even the high and mighty earl of Griffin, would decide her future for her. She was done placing her fate in other people’s hands.
“Thinks he knows everything,” Kyra complained softly to Apollo, grabbing her bridle. “‘I wouldn’t have given a whit about your blessing,’” she mimicked. “‘Reputation is forever.’ Of all the thickheaded, arrogant—”
“‘Allo, Kay.”
Kyra spun around, but couldn’t see anything in the shadows. The next thing she knew, Grif had yanked her off her feet and dumped her into a pile of hay in the unoccupied stable. As her eyes readjusted to the blackness, Kyra saw him grinning smugly down at her.
“Going somewhere?” he teased.
Thrashing around in what she prayed was fresh hay, Kyra bit back her scream and sat up. Blast the man! Lurking in stables. This was quite beyond the pale, even for him. Well, thank goodness Riley had taught her exactly how to deal calmly and rationally with a bully such as Grif.
She kicked him in the shin.
Hard.
Grif cursed, hopping furiously on one foot and rubbing his injured leg. Kyra struggled up from the hay, only to be knocked immediately back into it by something very large and very solid. She gasped for air, hoping her breathlessness had more to do with being knocked flat than it did with having him on top of her. The instant she caught her breath, or at least most of it, Kyra raised her knee. He seemed to anticipate the move and shifted enough to avoid taking the impact in the groin. Instead, she solidly connected with a strong thigh, sending a jolt of pain through her own leg and drawing a pained grunt from him.
She pushed at him—fists flying, legs flailing—trying to squirm out from under him. But the more she wriggled, the tighter his hold became. Grif was leaning more and more heavily on to her to subdue her. Something about him lying on top of her made her more agitated, and Kyra felt herself beginning to panic. Her struggles grew frantic.
* * *
Grif felt a bit frantic as well, though for quite a different reason. He was enjoying this too, too much. Her lithe body arched into his in an attempt to shift his weight, and a wave of lust jolted his entire being. A stray fist grazed his temple, bringing him somewhat back to his senses.
He put all of his weight crushingly into her. In an instant her struggles grew fainter. He grabbed her fists and yanked them above her head. Then he raised his body slightly and resettled his weight, pinning her thighs with his. She undu
lated against his hips, and his arousal was so sudden and intense it was painful. If he didn’t stop her blasted writhing soon he feared he might burst.
“Stop moving, Kay,” he grated. “Or we’ll not need to concern ourselves with protecting your virtue.”
She went completely still except for her labored breathing. Each ragged breath caused her breasts to graze his chest in exquisite torture. His own breathing was heavy, though it had little to do with exertion. In the meager light, he could see her eyes growing enormous. She must feel his arousal. How could she not? It was pressed rather intimately against her hip. He really should be embarrassed, he mused. Proper ladies did not like to be reminded of a gentleman’s carnal appetites, especially when the proper lady in question was likely still a virgin.
Of course, proper was really the last thing on his mind. She smelled of lavender and heat and fresh straw—an earthy combination that suited her. Grif’s head was swimming with raw lust. He could lose himself in the sensation. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her. It would be so easy to cover her mouth with his, to rip open her breeches and cover her body with his. To make her his.
“Grif?” she asked quietly.
“Hmm?” he murmured, reason feebly poking holes through the fog that had enveloped his brain.
“Let me up. Please.”
He looked down at her for a long time, gathering his wits. Exhaling heavily, he released her hands and rolled off of her. At least she didn’t scoot away, he thought sardonically, though it might be better for both of them if she did. He rose, dusted himself off and offered his hand. She surprised him by taking it, and he helped her to her feet.
Now came the truly awkward part.
“Kay,” he said quietly, his heart still hammering in his chest as he watched her pluck hay from her hair. “I, ah, apologize if I...” He cleared his throat. “That is, if I made you, um, uncomfortable, I am sorry.”
Kyra shook her head, very deliberately avoiding his gaze. “It’s okay. I know men are unable to control their...baser instincts. I imagine my thrashing about may have been—” she coughed delicately, “—a bit provocative.”
She had no idea.
“Indeed,” he said lightly.
They both stood silent for a heavy moment, staring at the ground between them. For the first time in memory, she let him speak first. “Ah, that was a rather impressive display of acrobatics you performed. I was surprised to see you actually get through the window.”
“It was a bit narrow,” she agreed, readily jumping on the change of subject. “I’m sure you also saw my less than impressive landing.”
“Mm,” he nodded. Grif regarded the suddenly shy young woman. Something powerful and primal surged through him—a need to protect, to possess—and he immediately quelled it. No good could come of that particular train of thought.
“How did you know I would try to leave?” she asked.
The question caught him off guard. But then, Kyra usually did. Grif shrugged. “I just knew.”
She looked at him, a deep sadness in her eyes. “Let me go, Ethan. Please.”
His heart felt like a stone in his chest. “I can’t, Kay.”
Kyra bit her lip. “You mean you won’t.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I won’t. I won’t let you throw your future away because you happen to take umbrage over the fact that for the first time in your life someone made a decision without your two-bits. God, Kyra, you should be tucked safely away in some rich man’s home, watching over a brood of insolent redheaded brats instead of running around this godforsaken landscape. This isn’t safe. You know that, Kay. You may not like it, perhaps, but you know it’s true.”
“And you consider marriage to someone I despise safe?”
Grif raked an exasperated hand through his hair. “Yes, damn it! For some reason you seem to have an overblown sense of marriage, Kay. I know ladies want to be wooed and romanced and all, but that is not the reality of marriage.”
Her spine stiffened at that. “Why don’t you tell me what you think the reality of it is, Ethan.”
He shook his head. His temper was starting to simmer. “The reality, Kyra, is that marriage is a contract between a woman and a man.”
“A contract?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“Yes, a contract. A deal in which two parties agree to certain terms and obligations.”
Kyra looked at him incredulously. “I know the word. I’m merely curious as to what you believe these ‘terms and obligations’ entail. Please, enlighten me.”
This discussion was doing nothing to help his temper. He should just throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to the inn instead of allowing her to question him endlessly.
“A lady,” he said measuring his tones, “enters into the contract for the purpose of securing her reputation and social rank. A gentleman enters into it for heirs or money. Sometimes both.”
“You have a very jaded view of people, Grif,” Kyra told him, shaking her head.
He felt his jaw clenching. “All I’m trying to point out, my dear, is that marriage is not the dire affair you seem to believe it is. You will marry the man Edmund has chosen, perform the occasional connubial duties to give him the expected heir and a spare, and then go your separate ways. A very civil union. It’s the way of most Society marriages.”
“And that’s good enough for you?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he said darkly. “And it should be good enough for you too.”
Her jaw fell open. She looked stunned. “I don’t know you,” she whispered.
“That is quite obvious,” he stated, trying not to sound petulant. He didn’t like that disappointed look he kept seeing in her eyes. It made him feel unclean. Still, it was better to have her believe the worst of him than have her suspect the truth.
“Now, as it is quite late and I am quite tired, I would appreciate it if you would return to your room.”
Kyra’s chin rose. “Are you taking me back to Edmund?” she asked haughtily.
“Yes,” he hissed through his teeth.
“Then no.”
“Return to your room at once.” His voice had dropped to a low, dangerous pitch. “Or I will return you.”
“You will do no such thing,” she shot back.
“The hell I won’t.”
Grif was on her in a trice, neatly collecting her and tossing her over his shoulder. He grabbed her legs tightly to him to avoid her wild kicks and headed out the stable and across the small yard to the inn, Kyra thrashing and cursing the entire way.
“You are the most insufferable, overbearing, spiteful—”
“You forgot ‘arrogant,’” he mocked.
“Put me down this instant!” she told him.
“Will you return to your room?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then no,” was his simple reply.
When he reached the front entrance, he warned, “If you wake even one person with your complaints, Kay, I swear on all that is holy that I will tan your miserable hide.”
Her protests continued, but she did at least lower the timbre of her voice. Maybe she was starting to take his masculine displays a bit more seriously, he thought, though he probably wouldn’t bet money on that. Not that he had money to bet.
Grif trudged through the door, ignoring the shocked look the little maid gave them. “And furthermore,” Kyra ranted quietly, heedless of the maid, “I find your entire discourse on guardianship and marriage beyond odious. How you ever got to be such a—”
She went on about what that such a something was, but Grif hardly listened. He took the stairs two at a time. Amazingly, Thomas did not seem surprised at the sight of Kyra’s derriere and Grif’s stormy expression. Kyra was still haranguing him as he s
trode down the hall. Thomas raised a questioning brow at Grif, who merely rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“And as for the deplorable way in which you have been manhandling me, Ethan Ainsley Ashford, let me just tell you that I—”
“Ainsley?” Thomas snickered, opening the door to Kyra’s room.
Grif shot him a warning look and strode into the room. He set her down and moved away quickly, ducking a small fist. “Do not push me,” he warned her.
She sniffed. “If you’re quite done impressing me with your masculine prowess, my lord, you may go.”
Yes, by God, he was going to throttle the little termagant. It was either that or make love to her. Neither would likely be good for him in the long run.
He sighed and shook his head. “Take off your clothes.”
“I beg your pardon,” she gasped.
“Take them off,” he said deliberately, “or I will take them off for you.” He grabbed her abandoned night rail from the bed, handing it to her.
Kyra glowered at him, but took the nightgown. She sniffed again and stated, “Turn around.” She sent some of her glower Thomas’s way, which made Grif feel a little better. “Both of you.”
Thomas turned in the doorway, shaking his head. “By God, Grif, I never thought to try that with a woman. Who knew it might actually work?”
Kyra was removing her boots. As she took off the second one, she looked at it and then at Grif’s head, her thoughts quite transparent.
“Do not throw that boot at me,” he informed her.
She eyed him for a moment, chin high, boot in hand. He stared back at her, seething. Something in his eyes caused her to pause, for she dropped the boot to the floor. “Turn around.”
Grif did as she bade, willing himself not to look over his shoulder. Do not turn around, his head sternly told his body, don’t even consider it. No silly, disrespectful chit was going to get to him. Not at all. Not even when he found himself hardening at the memory of warm skin and soft curves and silky hair pressed against him. Bloody hell, he was actually getting light-headed. Not surprising, as most of his blood seemed to have left his brain for places a bit farther south.
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