“Little fool,” he sputtered. “I might have hurt you in all that thrashing about! Why must everything between us be a battle, Kay? Do you hate me so much?”
Kyra coughed some more, the cool air burning her throat and lungs as she struggled to inhale. Shaking her head, she tried to sit up. Grif gently pushed her back down, and Kyra surprised herself by complying. “I don’t hate you, Grif. I just don’t like you much,” she said lightly.
His lips twitched and he collapsed beside her. “If you think flattering me now is going to spare you later, young lady, think again.”
“You must have ridden like the devil himself to catch me,” Kyra murmured, enjoying their unusual amity. “I thought I had a good twenty minutes on you.”
“I didn’t bother replacing my saddle.” Grif shrugged. At Kyra’s “Oh” he suddenly seemed very interested in her lips.
She shivered involuntarily and Grif pulled back with a curse. “You must be freezing,” he muttered. He took off his soggy greatcoat and threw it over Kyra’s shoulders. She looked at him in bewilderment and after a moment, Grif laughed at his own foolishness. Soon she was laughing too.
When he laughed, she realized, really laughed, he didn’t look like the war-hardened, cynical mercenary she thought him to be. He looked like a handsome, young man. Which was exactly what he was, she reminded herself. Kyra noted with a bit of sadness that she hadn’t seen him laugh in years. She rather missed it.
She didn’t know she’d stopped laughing until Grif looked at her. His laughter stopped abruptly and an odd look crossed his face. “We should go before you catch a chill,” he said, busily wringing out his coat. “Thomas is probably looking for us.”
Kyra sat up. Thoughts of their kiss rushed back to her—the luxurious texture of his mouth, the sweetness of his breath—and Kyra found herself leaning into him. She could feel his rich, solid warmth just beneath his wet shirt. He turned his head to look at her, probably to remind her that it was time to go, and she ran a finger the length of his jaw. Grif’s eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed hard.
Kyra moved closer and brushed her lips to his, very gently. He inhaled sharply and the soft sound made her suddenly bold. She drew her lips across the strong line of his jaw, feeling the faint rasp of his incipient beard, reveling at his little gasp, and traced the whirl of his earlobe with her lips.
Returning to his lips, Kyra brushed them with hers. Then she gently traced their outline with her tongue. Grif remained very still as she did, and Kyra frowned inwardly. She didn’t want him merely accepting her kisses. She wanted him participating. She wanted the openmouthed, lush kisses he’d introduced to her the other morning.
She nipped his lower lip. Apparently that was the trick, because Grif was no longer sitting still. He was pushing her back into the mud and parting her lips with his tongue and grabbing her hips in his powerful hands. Kyra tangled her hands in his soggy shirt, as if she could somehow pull him even closer.
His kiss was incendiary. His tongue conquered her mouth again and again, entering and retreating, making her mindless, boneless. It was all she could do to cling to him, took all her energy, all her focus, to kiss him back. Despite the chill air and her wet clothes, Kyra was growing uncomfortably warm. And when Grif released her mouth, only to sink his teeth gently into her lower lip, Kyra thought she might burst into flames. She was so consumed by the sensation that she didn’t even hear the husky moan escape her throat.
* * *
Grif, however, heard it. And while he had no idea why Kyra had started kissing him, he knew exactly what that particular sound meant. Desire. His heart thudded in his chest. Kyra wanted him. Him. And by the thoroughly unrestrained way she was kissing him, it seemed possible that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She confirmed that suspicion a moment later when she yanked his shirt from his breeches and hesitantly ran her hands across his naked back.
While Grif’s body rejoiced at her touch, shuddering with each tentative caress, the small part of his brain that still managed to function on a rational level protested. He cared too much about Kyra to do her the disservice of taking her innocence without offering something in return. And he had nothing to offer her. Nothing.
He dragged his lips from hers, quaking with ill-contained desire when she followed. Putting a finger to her lips, swollen and rosy from his kisses, he swallowed and shook his head. “Enough,” he whispered.
Kyra blinked, her eyes still glazed with heat, her breath coming in little puffs of air against his finger. Her hands continued to draw small circles on his lower back. For a moment, Grif both feared and prayed that she wouldn’t heed him. Finally, her hands stilled and she flushed beautifully. Her eyes widened in horror, and Grif cursed himself for causing her even a moment’s embarrassment.
She seemed to struggle for something to say, then gave up and bit her trembling lower lip. Grif was nearly overcome by the urge to bite it himself. Shaking off the urge, he forced himself to roll free from her embrace and sat up.
He cleared his throat, striving to keep his tone steady when he spoke. “We need to get back, Kay. Now,” he added with a resolve he didn’t feel.
Kyra nodded, sitting up. “Of course,” she agreed in a deliciously husky voice. It went straight to his loins.
Grif stood and offered her his hand. Kyra took it, hesitantly, and the cool feel of her fingers jolted him anew. He released her hand as soon as she was on her feet, not daring to allow her touch to linger. Unable to look at her, Grif left her standing at the river’s edge while he rounded up Apollo and Lucifer. Looking at her would be too painful. Looking at her reminded him of what he was giving up...at what he never had in the first place.
He silently handed over Apollo’s reins, and they took their time scrabbling up the steep slope to the road. Grif still didn’t dare look at her as he tied Apollo’s lead to his saddle and then told her to mount up.
A half mile down the road, they met up with Thomas. The blond man was lazing against a large rock, allowing his horse to graze at the side of the road. Grif dismounted and walked over to his friend.
“I was wrong to think she’d make a good officer,” Thomas said. “She’s field marshal material. I still can’t believe she managed to knock Conroy cold.”
“Where have you been?” Grif demanded in lieu of an answer. He should be furious with him. If Thomas had been there, the kissing would never have happened. And he was furious, he told himself. Really. Furious. Well, mildly irritated at the least.
Thomas feigned innocence. Poorly. “I couldn’t catch up,” he said, shrugging out of his greatcoat. “You both ride like the devil. Besides, you seemed to have matters well in hand.”
“You saw?” Grif asked miserably. Ruining Kyra’s reputation was not part of his uncle’s arrangement.
“Enough to know I was de trop.” Thomas’s lips quirked as he handed Grif the heavy garment. “Glad to see you came up for air.”
“We didn’t—”
“I know,” Thomas said. “So does this mean you’ve reconsidered?”
Grif’s jaw clenched. “As I told you this morning, twice if memory serves, I cannot marry Lady Kyra.”
“You mean you won’t,” Thomas accused.
“That’s right,” Grif agreed. “I won’t. She deserves more than...than me.”
“Funny, the girl doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Thomas.”
“So you’re really going to bring her back to your uncle?” Thomas snorted incredulously. “Even knowing you’ll have to watch her marry someone else?”
“Apparently,” Grif said through gritted teeth.
“Think about it,” Thomas said, clearly exasperated. “Lady Kyra Deverill, one of the ton’s most celebrated ladies, looks at you as though you are the only person in the room. You could marry a woman who actually cares about you, not your title, not
your estate, not your pocketbook.”
“My estate and my pocketbook aren’t flush enough for anyone to care about,” Grif answered, tamping down his frustration.
“We both know she wouldn’t give one rip about either,” Thomas argued. “You did what you had to in order to save your family.”
Grif scoffed. “I may have saved my family from the wolves, but that doesn’t mean I have anything to offer Kay. I assure you, I have significantly less than her intended bridegroom.”
“I assure you,” Thomas shot back, “that if you’d get off your self-righteous arse and tell her—”
“Tell her what?” Grif snapped. “That I make a living by breaking the law? That my uncle doles out only enough money to keep me afloat—as long as I do whatever dirty work needs to be done? Maybe she’d like to know that I’ve made a career out of threatening my uncle’s enemies, or that I’ve helped him blackmail those who wouldn’t dance to his tune. That would make for a very sweet proposal, don’t you think?”
Thomas glowered at him. “Stop being dramatic, Grif. You’ve only done what was necessary. Yes, some of what we have done was immoral, and illegal, but the intentions were honorable. Kay would understand that.
“You’ve worked hard these last ten years to set things right with your estate,” Thomas said, cutting off Grif’s smart retort. “In spite of crippling debt you managed to give both of your sisters their comeouts and save enough to provide an inheritance for the twins. Grif, it’s nothing short of miraculous. You have fooled everyone in the ton into believing that the Griffin estate is just as wealthy as ever. Kay has no cause to deny you.”
Grif rolled his eyes. “I don’t know many Society women who’d be happy to hear that they’d been betrothed to a smuggler. I’m no better than a mercenary willing to hire himself out to the highest bidder. Some days I think it would have been easier to simply starve. The shame of losing my family’s good name pales in comparison to my crimes.”
“Fine,” Thomas said, throwing up his hands. “Be a stubborn ass. If you don’t wish to talk about it, we won’t. But since you won’t marry her, I might—”
“That’s enough,” Grif snapped. “This conversation is over.”
Thomas blew out an exaggerated breath at Grif’s black look. “You’re a fool, Grif.”
“I know,” he grumbled, marching back to Apollo.
He tossed Thomas’s greatcoat up to a half-conscious Kyra, noticing her hands shake as she wrapped the garment around herself and burrowed into its warmth. Grif wished he dared carry her on Lucifer. She needed to warm up. Her lips were looking purplish and her skin was pale. Yet he was too cowardly, too weak, to have her so close.
Grif swore. Pulling her down from her saddle, ignoring her weak protests, he carried her over to Thomas, who was already mounted. “She needs to warm up,” he muttered to his friend.
Thomas raised a brow.
“I can’t,” Grif grumbled to the unvoiced question.
“It’d be my pleasure, Grif,” his friend said with mock innocence. Thomas patted the spot in front of him. “I’ll keep her nice and warm.”
Grif cursed again. He stalked back to Lucifer, Kyra still in his arms. Tossing her onto his horse’s bare back, he followed her up and bundled her more tightly into the woolen cloak. She leaned against him, greedily snuggling into his heat, and he ignored his body’s reaction to her sudden nearness.
Thomas grinned at his obvious discomfort. “You know, Grif, we can wait if you need to go for another swim. I imagine the river is nice and cold.”
“Funny,” Grif hissed, spurring his horse. “You’d best pray you’re lucky enough to avoid this particular fate, my friend.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Thomas quipped. “It seems to have its advantages.”
Chapter Eleven
Kyra frowned. Grif was studiously ignoring her. Again. And here she was very sweetly trying to make amends. Again.
Ever since she’d kissed him—or rather, mauled him—on the riverbank, he’d made it painfully obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d ridden in his lap, nearly unconscious, to the inn, barely aware that he’d bellowed for a tub of hot water as he climbed the stairs to her room. She’d only slightly registered the bath’s arrival. What she did remember was that upon receiving it, Grif had calmly dumped her in the steaming liquid fully clothed and walked out. He hadn’t looked at her since.
That had been two days ago.
Much to Kyra’s surprise, they’d stayed at the inn a second night. In fact, she’d overheard Grif arguing with Dreyfus over it. Apparently Grif didn’t want to ride again until a doctor examined her, which one did shortly after she’d gotten out of the bath. The doctor pronounced Kyra healthy—though he did insist she eat something warm and go straight to bed. The treatment probably had less to do with her actually needing it and more to do with appeasing the very large, very intense man watching the doctor’s every move.
Yesterday morning, a knock on the door signaled her clothing had arrived. Except it wasn’t Grif delivering her apparel; it was a young maid. And it wasn’t Grif who fetched her; it was Thomas. And it wasn’t Grif who led her horse on the now too-short trek that neared the Ashford’s estate; it was Conroy.
In fact, the only time Grif bothered to speak to her was at the inn last night when he’d collected her clothes. Even then, he hadn’t looked at her, focusing instead on a spot somewhere past her ear. It had been the same this morning when she’d tried talking to him. And now it was past noon and he was still ignoring her.
Well, this was just ridiculous. How could he still be so angry over a silly little kiss? Two silly little kisses? Granted, kissing him—twice—had demonstrated a deplorable lack of judgment on her part, but really! Men and women kissed all the time; she doubted many of them made such a big deal out of it. Who knew Grif might be such a prude?
Breaking crockery over poor Mr. Conroy’s head was a much worse crime, and he’d been gracious enough to forgive her. In fact, when she’d tried to apologize to him, he’d merely laughed and patted her cheek. Perversely, the enormous man almost seemed to admire her for knocking him senseless. So really, Kyra told herself, Grif should at least try to be a bit more understanding about the whole kissing thing. It wasn’t as though she’d hurt him.
So when they’d stopped for a quick afternoon repast, she snagged his arm before he could escape. She blurted out her apology—granted with more haste than grace, but he wasn’t exactly making this any easier—and waited for his forgiveness.
It didn’t come.
He looked past her as she spoke, nodded when she finished and then quite simply pushed past her. It was infuriating.
Amazingly, Kyra felt a burning sensation in the corner of her eye. Oh, lovely. She was ready to blubber a lake over Grif. How she could possibly sink any lower was quite beyond her imagination. Marrying a troll could hardly be worse than this.
Brumley. She’d quite forgotten about him. They were less than a day’s ride from Ashford’s estate. No doubt these were her last hours of freedom, and she was spending all of her time fretting over Grif and his odd fit of pique. Kyra sighed.
Maybe marriage to Brumley wasn’t the horrible fate she thought it was. He wasn’t unattractive, though he was a bit thin and pasty for her taste. He was horribly wealthy and could keep her in duck ponds and embroidery needles for the rest of her days. If it weren’t for the occasional whisper that his mental state was rather less than perfect, and the fact that he made her skin crawl, Kyra might have considered him a potential suitor.
Grif could be right, a niggling voice in her head taunted. Society marriage was nothing more than a contract. Provide a husband with a child or two and go about life as usual. Maybe Brumley wouldn’t even need to touch her much. Several of her friends seemed to get pregnant practically overnight. And everyone knew that married
men satisfied their...appetites with their mistresses, not their wives. Didn’t they?
The thought of Brumley kissing her the way Grif had kissed her turned her stomach. No, she thought resolutely, marriage to a troll was out of the question. Unfortunately, Kyra was out of ideas. She was also out of time. If they rode hard this afternoon and late into this evening, they would reach Edmund’s estate before midnight.
“What new scheme are you plotting now, my lady?” Thomas’s voice broke through her thoughts. “If you’re wielding crockery, I’ll send Grif over.”
Kyra smiled at him. “I’m afraid I’ve no more schemes to plot, Thomas. Nor do I have the energy to wield anything.”
Thomas looked at her with such unexpected compassion it made her want to cry. “I’m sorry, Kay. I wish things could be different for you.”
“Well,” she said, her voice sounding brittle, “don’t you go getting all maudlin on me. It will just make it harder for me to break something over your head later.”
“Kyra,” he said slowly. “I could talk to Ashford. I know you’re already betrothed, but I could... I know this is a bit forward, but I would offer for you.”
Kyra’s breath came out on a small sob. “Thank you, Thomas. But I wouldn’t ask you to sacrifice yourself on my behalf. Besides, I dare not deny London’s female population your glorious company.”
Thomas half laughed. “I’m sure the ladies would be disappointed to find me leg-shackled, but they’d get over it. Eventually.” He looked at her, his expression suddenly serious. “I assure you, Kay, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice. I would consider it an honor.”
Kyra gave him a watery smile. “You’re a good man, Thomas Harting.”
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