“Try to see it from my point of view, Kay. Your ridiculous prank will cost us half a day’s ride, not to mention that I very possibly sent a young boy to his death on my devil of a horse, so that you might come out of hiding. By all accounts, I should be shouting you down, yet you’re the one sputtering in fury because I didn’t fall for your little stunt.”
She looked away and humphed.
Grif felt his anger resurfacing. “That’s nothing compared to the moments of abject terror you caused me personally when I thought you’d actually disappeared half-naked into the frigid night.”
Kyra rolled her eyes. “I would thank you for your concern, my lord, but as it is neither warranted nor welcomed, I must insist you keep it.”
If she’d been looking at him, she would have noticed the slight tightening of his jaw that marked the earl of Griffin’s rising temper. “Anyway,” Kyra went on, oblivious to the storm clouds gathering in his eyes, “you needn’t worry over me, Grif. I can take care of myself.”
“Foolish girl,” Grif drawled. “Do you think because you can manage a few dandies in a Society ballroom that you can protect yourself? The rakes and rogues you may have toyed with are nothing compared to the men outside of Society’s dictates. Many of them treat women as little more than objects. And believe me, my dear little Kay, they wouldn’t give one whit for your fortune or your virtue or your reputation before divesting you of each.”
Kyra glared at him. “I’m not completely witless.”
“You are if you don’t understand that you are vulnerable.” He gestured with his head toward their peculiar arrangement of limbs. “How can you not understand? You’re alone with a man in an empty inn, practically naked, pinned against a wall. Dammit, Kay, I could do anything to you right now.”
Kyra shook her head vehemently. “No, you couldn’t.”
Grif dipped his head closer to hers to peer into her wide eyes. “What’s stopping me? You? You can’t even move.”
To emphasize his point, he relaxed his grip slightly. As soon as she shifted, he grabbed her wrists, tighter this time, and pushed her harder against the wall, twisting his hips into hers as he did.
Her breathing became shallow; her lips were quivering. “Stop it, Grif,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”
“You should be scared,” he murmured. The tip of her tongue flickered nervously across her full lower lip, capturing his attention fully. A sharp longing pooled in his loins and Grif fought to rein it in. He was playing with fire. His self-restraint was already worn thin after the last couple of days, and having her pressed against him wasn’t helping.
He needed to repulse her, to frighten her so badly she loathed him. If she withdrew from him completely, he could end this. So he sought to be vulgar. Pressing his nascent erection into the valley of her belly, he murmured, “Kyra, right now the only thing stopping me from spreading your thighs is...me.”
Her eyes grew round at the crudity of his language, but she didn’t look disgusted. In fact, something primitive and eager smoldered in her eyes. His blood heated in response to that look. Grif wanted to curse. If he didn’t let go of her soon, he was going to lose control completely.
“So, my dear little Kay, do you still think you can take care of yourself?”
Kyra lifted her chin, her eyes blazing. “I can still scream, Grif.”
Apparently the little baggage wouldn’t be content until she’d pushed him to the brink of insanity. Grif smiled lasciviously—he might as well enjoy it.
“I suppose you could try.”
She opened her mouth, only to swallow her scream when Grif’s lips covered hers. A moment later, he heard her squeak in surprise when he touched his tongue to hers.
He really shouldn’t be kissing her, Grif reminded himself, not with an open mouth, and certainly not with such lush, sensual strokes. This was supposed to be a lesson, not a seduction. But she tasted so sweet, so fresh. And after all, this was the first and undoubtedly last time he would be kissing her, so he allowed himself to linger, to savor, to leisurely explore her warmth, the softness of her lips.
Grif was about to pull away, but Kyra sighed and met his tongue with her own—hesitant at first. With each passing moment, however, she became bolder, exploring his mouth in the same languid way he’d explored hers. The sensation, the knowledge that she was kissing him back, nearly brought him to his knees. It was too much. Not enough.
* * *
For her part, Kyra had no idea that kissing could be so utterly intoxicating. When he’d first covered her lips, his mouth open, she’d been too shocked to do anything. It was so unlike anything she had ever experienced. As the sensation of his mouth on hers became more familiar, more intense, Kyra couldn’t squelch the rising need to respond to him.
Grif traced her lips with his tongue. Kyra’s whole body trembled, and she instinctively softened against his hardness, drawing a moan from him. He let her hands go; they wrapped around his neck of their own volition. His hands bracketed her face, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering her mouth again and again.
Kyra’s knees buckled. Grif caught her weight and lifted her. Without thinking, she wrapped her legs around his hips. As soon as she did, he groaned and his kiss turned savage. Kyra’s mind went blank and she kissed him back, her mouth as desperate as his was ravenous. The only thing that mattered was Grif—his mouth covering her mouth, his body pressed against her body.
Grif seemed to be enjoying the kiss as much as she was, so it came as no small surprise when he lifted his head and pulled away. He stared down at her, eyes glazed, chest heaving, and shook his head. Kyra paid little heed to his silent protest. Instead, she found her gaze fixated on his lips. She was quite fascinated by them. Their texture. Their taste.
Without thought, Kyra leaned in to him and licked his velvety lower lip. It was so plush, so extravagant. She felt him shudder. When she nibbled the corner of his mouth, he made an anguished sound that at least partially drew her mind from her stupor. Strong hands seized her upper arms in a painful grip and yanked her ruthlessly away from the warmth of his body. He set her down, almost an arm’s length away, though his hands held her steady until she once again found her equilibrium.
Befuddled, Kyra met Grif’s dour green gaze. An instant later, the fog lifted from her mind. Humiliation, deep and painful, coursed through her entire body. He’d only kissed her to prove a point. And he was absolutely correct—she couldn’t take care of herself. At least not where he was concerned.
Grif shook his head. “Lord, Kay. I wasn’t prepared for that. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Well, Grif,” she managed in a strangled voice. “It seems I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me an apology?” he repeated numbly.
“You were right,” she forced out in rush, hoping to get the words out before she could regret saying them. “I can’t take care of myself. As you said, the only thing stopping you was you. I certainly wasn’t holding back.”
“If you think that was about me being right—”
Kyra raised her hand. “I don’t want to think about it, Grif, and I certainly don’t want to talk about it. I can be dressed and ready to go in ten minutes.”
“Kay—” He reached out to touch her, but she pulled away.
“Please go,” she said softly, unable to meet his gaze. She was acting a coward, she couldn’t deny it. But looking into those green eyes would be too painful, so she focused on the pile of clothes covering her bed. “Just go.”
He just stood there silent, and for a moment Kyra feared he would laugh at her. Why shouldn’t he? She’d made a complete fool of herself, kissing him like that. Worse, she’d thrown herself at him. Even after he’d pulled away she’d continued kissing him. It was beyond humiliating. It was mortifying.
Finally, after an eternity,
he answered in a tight voice, “As you wish.”
Kyra dared not look at him, even as he turned and walked out of her room.
Chapter Nine
By the time their peculiar party finally departed, just before midday, Grif had wrestled back his self-control. Or at least a small portion of it, he told himself as he watched her hips bouncing gently in the saddle.
He’d been so frustrated with her, on so many levels, that he’d quite seriously considered storming back into her room. Whether to rail at her or bury himself in her softness he wasn’t sure. Thankfully Thomas had returned before he could decide or he probably would have done both.
What was she doing kissing him with such abandon? He had expected to pull away and gloat, nicely illustrating his lesson on the dangers a gently bred woman faced in the real world. He’d expected to frighten her. He hadn’t expected her to be so...enthusiastic. She was a lady, after all. Ladies weren’t supposed to react to kisses with such heat. Such abandon. His head swam at the memory of her tongue caressing his lower lip.
It had nearly undone him.
And where had she learned to kiss that way? Of course, knowing Kyra as he did, he shouldn’t be surprised. She did everything with such fire, such determined passion. Why would he expect her lovemaking to be any different?
Grif shook his head. It was not lovemaking, he reminded himself. It was a kiss. One kiss. It meant nothing. Hell, her reaction to him afterward proved that. An innocent young lady would stammer and blush after very nearly being deflowered against a wall. Kyra had been much too cool, too composed. She hadn’t even bothered looking at him as she dismissed him. That bothered him as much as anything. She’d been so impersonal, so detached, while he’d felt entirely captivated.
Kyra probably kissed men passionately all the time, Grif scolded himself. Lord knew she was wild enough to do so. The thought of Kyra kissing someone else—like that—bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Several hours after crossing the border, he let them stop for a brief rest. Grif watched Kay slide gracefully from her horse. She didn’t even bother to glance back at him as she walked away, backside swaying. Grif sighed. It didn’t matter what he told his head. His body apparently had its own ideas where she was concerned.
Grif motioned for Conroy to keep an eye on her. The mountain of a man had been charged with leading Apollo today. Thomas was still a bit put out from this morning’s stunt and wanted nothing to do with her for the moment. As for Grif, he didn’t dare get too close. Until he knew he wouldn’t just pounce on her he couldn’t risk going near her. Maintaining a nice physical distance seemed the wisest tack.
They would reach the outskirts of Carlisle by nightfall. After that, it was a three-day ride—four at most—to the Ashford estate, where his uncle and the Deverill senior staff would be waiting for them. All he had to do was keep Kyra safe and keep his hands off of her for the next few days. Then he’d hand her over to his uncle, who would hand her over to her bridegroom, and she would be out of his life for good. Grif tried to brighten at the thought. Three days hence, he would never again have to spare another single, solitary thought for Lady Kyra Deverill.
Now if only he could convince himself that was what he wanted.
* * *
Crossing the border into England brought a renewed sense of panic for Kyra. As soon as they’d dismounted for their break, she’d taken the opportunity to stretch her legs and clear her head. She’d been so absorbed with thoughts of Grif these last two days that she’d quite forgotten to be truly scared of what awaited her at the end of their journey.
She blamed Grif for that, of course. He made her feel safe, even when he was leading her to her doom. Her escape attempts thus far had been admirable, but they had obviously been too timid. Sneaking off into the night might be well and good with anyone else guarding her, but it would never work with Grif around. He was far too sneaky himself to fall for such tactics. What she needed was something bold. Something Grif wouldn’t anticipate.
The problem was determining that something. He knew her so well that it was difficult imagining anything that might take him by surprise, though he’d certainly seemed genuinely surprised that she’d knocked Thomas down. Of course, as she’d given away that particular move, she doubted Grif would fall for it again. Not to mention that launching herself at Grif seemed a very bad idea, considering how they’d wound up the last couple of times they’d tussled.
Maybe she could kiss him again. That seemed to unsettle him a bit. Again, however, she’d already given away her trump, so he probably wouldn’t be surprised. And as she had no idea how she might turn kissing him to her advantage, it didn’t seem a very solid plan.
Kyra shoved the thought away. She thought too much about kissing him as it was.
Perhaps she could bribe him. He was a mercenary after all—maybe. There was plenty of blunt available to her as the Deverill heir. She could simply ask how much her freedom would cost...
Kyra scoffed and discarded the thought. Grif would never take money from her. He was too stubborn when he thought he was right. Why, when he was thirteen he had once refused a glass of lemonade after she’d dared him to eat a mouthful of peppercorns that Cook had intended for an entire pot of stew. She said he couldn’t do it without a drink, and the obstinate oaf did it anyway. He insisted he was fine, even as the tears rolled down his cheeks and he couldn’t stop coughing.
If he wouldn’t take a drink from her when he was choking then, he certainly wouldn’t take coin from her now. Not when he thought he could prove a point. Thomas would certainly follow Grif’s lead, so there was no point in attempting to bribe him either. So that left what? Compliance, perhaps. Grif would never expect her to fall in line with his orders. Kyra shook her head. He would never believe it. Of course, she mused, it might just keep him off balance enough that she might actually find a weak spot in Grif’s armor.
Tonight they would reach Carlisle. That meant she had three days before they reached Ashford’s estate, maybe four. She could afford to give acquiescence a go. If nothing came of it by tomorrow night, she still had two days to fight. And fight she would.
At the sound of Grif’s voice calling them all to mount up, Kyra didn’t dawdle as she usually did. She trotted obediently back to Apollo and scrambled into her saddle. Grif shot her a look of unabashed mistrust. Kyra countered the look by offering him a genuine smile. He blinked and seemed to step toward her. Then he shook his head slightly and regarded her warily.
Her smile deepened—she couldn’t help herself. He was just too delectable when he suspected her of something. His eyes narrowed into green slits.
As they rode out, her mount led by Conroy, Kyra smiled inwardly. This might prove to be fun.
* * *
By the time they reached the inn, Grif wanted to scream. Kyra had been nothing but utter obedience and warm smiles all afternoon. If she smiled at him like that one more time, he’d...he’d...well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do but it wouldn’t be nice.
“She’s up to something,” Grif grumbled to Thomas as they waited in the inn’s tavern for their room to be made up.
Thomas frowned and nodded. “I know. She’s so damned agreeable, answering every order with a nod and smile. It’s giving me the willies.”
“It must be bad for her to be this acquiescent.” Grif grimaced.
“Why don’t I take her door tonight and you take her window,” Thomas suggested. “And put Conroy in the stables. If she does manage to slip past one of us, at least he can stop her before she gets on her horse.”
Grif nodded as the innkeeper handed him their room keys. “Let Conroy know,” he said, cuffing Thomas’s arm. “I’m going to visit the little virago before she turns in.”
Kyra was already entering her room at the top of the stairs. Grif took the steps two at a time, only to find her door closed. He
smirked a bit, feeling justified for his earlier suspicions. She was starting her tricks early tonight.
“Kay,” he said softly, hoping the other travelers hadn’t yet turned in for the night. “Open the door.”
He heard some rustling, then nothing. Grif felt his blood heating. He knocked sharply on the door. “Kay,” he said through his teeth. “Open this door or I swear I will break it down—”
Before he could finish his threat, the door opened. Kyra stood before him, already dressed in her night shift. Grif’s jaw nearly dropped. She smiled and handed him her bundle of clothes, boots and all. “Good night, Grif,” she said sweetly, smiling at him as she closed the door.
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Grif looked down at the armful of clothes, then back at the closed door, mouth still agape. Muttering, he strode to his own room, tossed her clothes in a heap on his bed then bellowed for Thomas from the top of the stairs.
Thomas flew up the stairs, brow arched. Grif pointed to Kyra’s closed door. “Do not leave this doorway until I come to relieve you in the morning. I’ll have your supper sent up to you.”
Thomas nodded grimly, grabbed a chair from their room and positioned it to watch Kay’s door.
Grif stomped down the stairs, barked at Conroy to get to the stables, arranged for Thomas’s dinner delivery and marched outside to find the window to Kyra’s room. The shutters were open and in the dim glow of candlelight, he saw her figure cross the room to the window. She peered out, her thick tresses unbound, then leaned far enough through the window that he could see the slight mounds of her breasts against the thin cotton of her night slip. Grif’s mouth went dry.
She’s probably wondering if she can fly, he thought wryly. A moment later her eyes rested on him. Her lips curled into a smile so devastating, so alluring, he felt gutted.
“Sweet dreams,” she murmured. Then she disappeared from the window. A second later, the light went out and he could see nothing in the dark recesses of her room.
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