“All right,” she said. “You can turn around again.”
Grif turned back to face his nemesis. The damned night slip looked even worse than it had earlier. Probably because he now had a very good idea of what was barely hidden by the thin fabric. Focusing on a spot somewhere around her ear, Grif held out his hand. “Your clothes.”
Grumbling, Kyra threw her breeches and shirt at his head. With an air of nonchalance that he certainly did not feel, Grif picked the garments off of his face and shoulders. Then he held out his hand and said, “Your boots. And do not even think about throwing them.”
Kyra scooped her boots from the floor and handed them to him with a huff. He bundled the garments in one hand and stared her down.
“Now,” he said, hoping his tone sounded even. “I trust that even you aren’t foolish enough to run naked into the night. I will return these items to you in the morning. Until then, I suggest you go to bed.”
She took a deep breath and raised her chin, making his stomach clench tight. “You, my lord, are the poorest excuse for a gentleman I have ever encountered.”
He took a step closer. She didn’t budge, but her eyes grew quite round, giving him immense satisfaction. “I’m a nobleman, Kay. Not a gentleman. You’d best remember the difference.”
He turned and walked away, quite happy to have had the last word for once. Thomas was eyeing Kyra’s nightgown, an interested gleam in his blue eyes. Grif pushed his friend from the room and followed him out, slamming the door soundly behind them.
“Well, Grif,” Thomas drawled as Grif settled himself at Kyra’s threshold. “I certainly agree with your description of her—with the exception of ‘small chest.’”
Grif scowled at his friend. “I suggest you remember the difference, as well.”
Chapter Seven
Kyra awoke before dawn with a groan. Her entire body seemed to be on fire. What had she been thinking? That was the problem: apparently she had ceased rational thought. No wonder she could barely move. Running wild through a sheep pasture, hiding in a cramped hole, jumping out of windows, wrestling with Grif—
Best not to think much on that last one, she reminded herself. The memory caused her body to tingle in a way that had nothing to do with sore muscles. By his rather apparent discomfiture after the whole incident in the stable, Grif no doubt thought he’d frightened the poor, hapless virgin. And Kyra had to admit she had been frightened. Just not by Grif.
She felt herself flush at the recollection of him pressed so intimately against her, at her disturbing desire to arch further into him, as though she might absorb him with her body. She had wanted him to push hard against her, his chest rising and falling heavily against her sensitive breasts. Somehow it felt...right.
Kyra bit her lip. She was indecent. Grif would be mortified to learn of her lack of propriety, particularly as it was directed at him. Proper ladies didn’t feel such things. Of course, she’d rarely conducted herself in a proper manner, especially around Grif.
This was just one more black mark he could add to the ever-growing list of her bad behavior.
Thank goodness he couldn’t read her thoughts.
He simply brought out the very worst in her. It was because of Grif and his cursed teasing that she’d once shattered a window. She’d been eight and he’d told her she couldn’t play with them because girls couldn’t throw as far as boys. So of course she simply had to prove him wrong. She’d lobbed an apple so hard and so fast that it hadn’t even began descending when it crashed into her father’s bedchamber—on the second floor. Now, if he’d claimed that girls couldn’t aim as well boys, then he may have had a point.
Kyra forced herself up, pushing aside thoughts of Grif and her own shameful behavior. She groaned again; every one of yesterday’s ill-used muscles protested as she gingerly pulled herself out of bed. On the table next to her were a pile of neatly folded clothes and a tray containing bread and jam and a pot of steaming tea. Her boots, completely free from weeks of dust and slop, were tucked under the chair. Kyra peered at the washbasin near the door. Sure enough there was fresh, warm water and a new bar of soap. A clean cloth hung on the side.
So he’d taken it upon himself to anticipate her needs again. For some reason, the thought made her feel like crying. How could he be so kind to her, fulfill her every unvoiced need, and yet not care?
She sniffed at the thought, reminding herself that Grif and his diatribes didn’t matter. He was here to take her back to Brumley, after all, and she wasn’t going back without a fight. Kyra busied herself washing and dressing, then tied her hair back in a thick plait. She scrubbed her teeth vigorously, telling herself, several times, that Ethan Ashford could go to the devil.
She had almost convinced herself when a soft knock at the door made her jump. Her heart leaped at the thought of seeing him, and Kyra frowned, forcing the giddy feeling back down. She would not allow herself to be distracted by a pair of sea-green eyes and broad shoulders. Schooling her expression to cool indifference, Kyra crossed the room and flung open the door.
Grif’s big, blond friend—Thomas?—grinned at her from the hallway. Kyra tried not to let her disappointment show. If it did, the man was too polite to acknowledge it.
“Good morning, Lady Kyra,” he said cheerfully. “Grif sent me to roust you, but it seems my presence is unnecessary.”
“Thank you anyway,” she said coolly, starting to shut the door.
His brow arched, but he firmly held the door in place. “I’m also to tell you that we leave in a quarter hour, so please take care to be ready on time. Grif doesn’t like to wait.”
“Of course,” she said, pushing at the door.
The door didn’t budge. “As Grif has the manners of a bull, we haven’t yet been properly introduced,” he continued smoothly. “We both know, of course, that you are Lady Kyra Deverill, daughter of the late marquess of Sheffield. What we might not both know, however, is that I am Sir Thomas Harting, youngest son of Lord Avery Harting, and Grif’s boon companion.”
Kyra forced a practiced smile and inclined her head a fraction. She had no interest in knowing this man. In fact, she’d had quite enough of soldiers and glory-seekers to last a lifetime, especially one who seemed to have replaced her brother in Grif’s life.
“Delighted,” she said dryly. “As I am already, as you say, ‘rousted,’ you may consider your duty fulfilled, Sir Harting.”
Thomas’s blue eyes twinkled playfully. He leaned forward just a bit and took a conspiratorial tone. “I usually prefer that beautiful ladies of my acquaintance call me Thomas.”
“I’m certain you do, Sir Harting.” Kyra sniffed. “But as you’re helping Grif return me to England against my will, I prefer not to be overly familiar with you or your acquaintances.”
“Ah, but you, my lady, have knocked me off my feet, both physically and figuratively, so I believe we are already overly familiar. Therefore I must insist you call me Thomas. Besides,” he stated mischievously, “it will likely annoy Grif if you do.”
Kyra narrowed her eyes at that. “I thought you claimed to be his friend.”
Thomas’s lips quirked slightly. “Oh, I am, my lady. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy tweaking his nose. A trait you seem to share.”
Kyra felt her lips twitch in response. It was proving rather hard not to like Thomas. And her familiarity with his friend probably would annoy Grif. “If I agree to call you Thomas,” she said slowly, “I should expect you to call me Kay.”
“Of course. Forgive me for being forward, but in my mind I already think of you as Kay.” At Kyra’s frown, Thomas held up his hand in surrender. “Don’t skewer me, Lady Kyra. It’s just...in the cavalry there’s not much to break up the monotony of camp life, you know. So we’d talk about home to those we trusted. I spent so much time listening to Grif and Dev and the twins recount thei
r, or rather your, antics that I feel I know you, as well.”
Kyra immediately felt herself soften. “You knew Riley?” she asked.
Thomas’s expression became serious. “Your brother was a good man. The best. I don’t think any of us will ever get over losing him—” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. Then he bowed deeply. “I’m honored to have known Dev. And I am honored to know his sister.”
Kyra smiled sadly. “If Riley called you friend, then I consider you one, as well.”
“In that case, Kay,” Thomas said, his persona lighthearted once again, “perhaps you’ll answer a question for me.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”
“I was curious where a young lady of your standing learns to knock a full-grown man off his feet.”
Kyra felt her cheeks flaming. “Ah, about yesterday, Thomas, I assure you I am quite ashamed of my behavior—”
Thomas’s entire face lit up with his smile. “Nonsense! You had every right to do so with me charging at you thus. I only ask because if the finishing governesses are teaching street brawling alongside etiquette and deportment, I fear I may need to change my tactics in pursuing young ladies.”
Kyra grinned in spite of herself. “It was rather effective, wasn’t it?”
“Effective? It was brilliant,” Thomas raved as he rubbed the lump on his head that she’d given him. “You’d have made a fine soldier. Where did you learn it?”
“Well, it was actually something Griffin—”
“I beg your pardon!” a voice thundered from behind Thomas. “I never taught you to throw yourself headfirst at a man’s legs!”
Thomas stepped aside a bit to allow Grif a place in the door frame. Grif frowned down at her, his expression black. Kyra knew he was deliberately trying to intimidate her, yet she had to confess he did just that.
Forcing herself to appear more aloof than she felt, she retorted, “Well, of course you didn’t teach me any such thing. You’re much too important and self-righteous to bother with a mere girl. You taught it to Simon and Phillip. They taught it to me.”
“What?” he bellowed.
“As I was about to tell Thomas, before you so rudely interrupted—”
Grif looked at his friend, brow raised. “Thomas, eh?”
Thomas just shrugged a shoulder and turned to Kyra. “You were saying, Kay?”
Kyra ignored the offended noise Grif made. “The summer before Grif and Riley went off for their final year at Eton, they had watched a wrestling match at the county fair. Catch wrestling, I believe it was called. Anyway, they practiced on the twins for most of the summer, until they left for placement exams. The twins didn’t have to return as early, so once Grif and Riley were gone, Phillip and Simon agreed to teach me several of the more...interesting moves. They insisted, in fact.”
Grif’s jaw seemed rather tight. “They did, did they?”
Kyra nodded, wondering what he was so mad about. “Yes, they did. We agreed that it couldn’t hurt for a lady to know a few...defensive maneuvers.”
“You took to it very well,” Thomas chimed in helpfully, noting the color rising in Grif’s cheeks. “I imagine you must have practiced quite a bit.”
“Oh, loads,” Kyra agreed eagerly, either deliberately ignoring Grif’s near apoplexy or being truly unaware of it. “Simon was a real pip about letting me knock him down. I must have landed him on his backside dozens of times. Phillip, naturally, preferred to knock me down. He always did want to dominate our play.
“After a week or so of practicing,” she went on, striving for a casual tone, “I had gotten quite good at it. The twins, however, seemed to be getting worse and worse. Every time we landed, they seemed to catch themselves in my skirts. At one point, Simon very nearly ripped my petticoat clean off my person.”
Kyra peeked at Grif from the corner of her eye. His lips were completely colorless, and a muscle in his jaw seemed to be working of its own volition. Thomas was making a rather stifled sputtering sound.
“Finally, the twins got so bad that one day Phillip somehow entangled his hand in the hem of my sheath. But instead of trying to pull his hand down, he kept pulling it up. He’d almost gotten it past my knee when I realized they hadn’t been teaching me how to defend myself. They’d been getting fresh all along. So I took matters into my own hands.”
Thomas’s shoulders were shaking so violently it was a wonder he didn’t pass out. Grif, on the other hand, remained almost preternaturally still. “What did you do about it?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.
Kyra looked at him intently. “I did exactly what you and Riley told me to do if a beau got out of hand.” At Grif’s questioning look, Kyra smiled sweetly. “I kneed him in the, ah, family jewels. Actually, I was so angry that I proceeded to administer the same to Simon. After that I felt much better, and they both apologized to me the next day.”
At that, Thomas lost the battle and burst out laughing. Grif’s jaw relaxed slightly and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “At least I don’t have to shoot the bloody twins.”
“The point is, Grif,” Kyra said quietly, “Simon and Phillip underestimated me. They thought because I was smaller, and female, that I couldn’t take care of myself.”
“A mistake I’ll never make,” Grif replied.
“You have already if you think I’ll go back to Edmund without a fight.”
“Kay—”
Kyra shook her head, knowing the concern in his eyes was contrived. “Now, as I have provided the morning entertainment for you both, I have nothing more to say. Please inform me when you are ready to leave.”
He started to protest again, but she carefully shut the door in his face. Then she leaned back against it and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could block out thoughts of him as easily. The way he looked at her, the way he felt against her, the way he spoke to her. She wanted to forget it all.
Kyra sighed. Their lives were simply too entangled to just disregard him. Trying to forget about Grif was like trying to forget herself—he was too much a part of her to just rub out.
Kyra took a deep breath to steady herself. She may not be able to cut Grif out of her heart, but that didn’t mean she had to comply with his wishes. If she had to marry, she would at least have a say. She would return to Uncle Cam’s and choose a suitor, and Grif never need bother with her again. Somehow the thought made her feel worse.
* * *
They rode hard, stopping only occasionally to water the horses and heed the call of nature. Grif’s stomach ailment had unexpectedly returned, though he couldn’t figure out why. At first he’d thought it was because he was still concerned for her safety, so he’d intercepted the maid before she entered Kay’s room, relieving the befuddled girl of Kyra’s breakfast and clean clothing to return it himself. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until he’d opened the door to her room and found her sleeping peacefully in her bed. His relief had been palpable.
Yet he still felt sick. The sight of Thomas standing in her doorway, and Kyra laughing and blushing at his friend, hadn’t helped. It wasn’t that he was jealous, he told himself. He was just tired of watching his friend seduce every available female between the ages of nineteen and ninety. The man needed standards.
Then of course there’d been that ridiculous story about the twins. Grif shook his head. No doubt she’d fabricated the whole silly tale to vex him. It would be just like her.
And now the little shrew wouldn’t even spare him a glance. She was much too busy ogling Thomas, he supposed. Grif silently cursed his shaggy blond friend, wishing Thomas would fall from his horse. Every time they stopped for a brief reprieve, the two of them chatted and laughed and teased each other like old friends. Right now she was even touching Thomas’s arm as she told him one of her ridiculous stories. Of course, Thomas didn’t
help matters. He kept smiling down at her, looking at her as though she were a Greek goddess personified. Aphrodite in breeches.
Grif seethed. If this was how she acted in Society it was no wonder his uncle wanted to marry her off straightaway. His stomach clenched at the thought and an awful realization dawned. He didn’t want to return Kyra to his uncle. He didn’t want her married off to an unknown suitor, especially knowing she felt so strongly opposed to the union. He didn’t want her unhappy.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered to himself. Apparently she wasn’t content to merely affect his body; she was invading his brain, as well. At this rate he might as well detour their little caravan through Gretna Green so he could marry the chit and be done with it.
Grif stopped breathing. Where had that come from? He didn’t want to marry Kyra Deverill. While he had no doubt that he would immensely enjoy certain parts of the marriage, she was much too opinionated to allow him any sort of peaceful existence.
Besides, he reminded himself, he was broke.
The wind carried Kyra’s laugh to him, and Grif turned instinctively to the source of the sound. Thomas was showing her a late spring bloom. Kyra leaned closer to him to smell the blossom’s fragrance and smiled up at his friend. Grif gazed at her for a long moment, wishing he’d been the one to bring that smile to her face. Instead, all he could do was stand silently by as his best friend wooed the bride he could never have.
Kyra looked up suddenly, catching his eye, and her smile immediately fell. She rose quickly, mumbled something to Thomas and stalked out of sight. Thomas watched her go then turned his gaze expectantly to Grif. After a long moment, he shook his head and rose. Walking toward the horses, he passed by Grif muttering, “You’re a fool, friend.”
“We ride in ten minutes,” was his only reply.
They stopped just after nightfall at a coaching inn that was almost entirely vacant and secured two rooms. Grif sent the men into the tavern to eat and ordered wash water and supper to be brought up to Kyra’s room. Then he followed his nemesis up the stairs.
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