“Just not the right one,” he murmured, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. “Ah well, at least I tried.”
A large hand appeared on Thomas’s shoulder, jerking him back hard and landing him on his backside. Grif glared at both of them, first at Thomas in the dirt and then at Kyra.
“What the hell is going on?” he thundered.
Thomas picked himself up and nonchalantly brushed himself off. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Grif.” He gave his friend a pointed look.
“Fine,” Grif said sullenly. “Mount up. We’ve an hour’s ride to Guildford. We’re stopping there for the night.”
Kyra regarded him with surprise. “Stopping?”
Grif looked at her for the first time in a day and a half. “Yes, stopping. Is that acceptable, my lady, or would you rather proceed to the estate in your present condition?”
“Stopping would be fine,” Kyra said coolly.
“Good,” Grif returned icily. “I’ll have Edmund send the coach and your maid in the morning.” His gaze swept over her and he sniffed. “As well as some appropriate attire. We wouldn’t want to hand you over to your bridegroom looking thus. I’m sure he expects something a bit more ladylike than breeches and filth.”
Kyra glared at him. “Yes, I do believe it’s customary to dress up the sacrificial lamb before sending it off to slaughter.”
Grif growled at her—actually growled—before stalking away to Lucifer. Kyra shook her head. “What was that all about?” she whispered to Thomas as he helped her onto Apollo’s back.
“Oh, don’t mind Grif.” Thomas sighed. “I’m sure it must be difficult to realize what an ass he is.” He yelled the last over his shoulder. If Grif heard, he didn’t let it show. Thomas looked up at her. “This is hard for him too.”
Kyra blinked. “What do you mean?”
He regarded her for a long time. “You really don’t see, do you?”
“See what?” she asked in exasperation. She was getting deuced tired of everyone pointing out how dim she was.
“You’re so busy jumping out of windows and hitting people over the head and riding all over creation that you’ve failed to see the most obvious way out of this.”
“Which is?” Kyra demanded.
Thomas looked at her, brow arched, as he pulled himself onto his horse. “Why, Grif, of course.”
* * *
Kyra considered Thomas’s words as they rode to Guilford. She considered them as Grif tracked down the best inn in town and she ate a delicious meal in her well-appointed suite. She considered them as she soaked in a steaming lavender-scented tub and donned the fresh night rail and robe Grif had managed to obtain for her.
At first, she was taken aback that Thomas would suggest such a thing. Then again, the more she thought about, the more she realized he might be right. Grif might not exactly like her, but he did care about her, at least a little. If he didn’t care, they’d be to Edmund’s estate by now.
And his body did seem to react to her when they kissed.
Kyra had to admit, being with Grif would be a whole lot more palatable than being with Brumley. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she had to admit. Being with Grif would be more than palatable. Being with Grif would be wonderful. She wanted to be with Grif, even if it meant throwing away her pride.
But did she dare?
By the time Grif came to collect her clothes, Kyra had made up her mind. After all, she had already thrown away her pride, at least in Grif’s eyes. So when he knocked, she took a deep breath and opened the door. Mustering all of her courage, she took a step back and gestured him in.
The look he gave her was one of suspicion, but he entered. Kyra shut the door. She faced him, feeling suddenly shy, and gave him a nervous smile. Grif looked even more suspicious, and Kyra nearly swore. Seducing men couldn’t be this hard, could it?
“Do you...ah, want something to drink?” she asked politely. Oh, that’s seductive, she inwardly groaned. Of course, if she plied him with wine, he might be more amenable to her proposition.
“Fine.” Grif shrugged.
Kyra poured two glasses of claret, handing one to him and gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. He surprised her by doing just that, and Kyra swallowed and sat in the one across from him. Having him here, knowing she was about to suggest what she was about to suggest, had her heart racing. She couldn’t do this.
She had to do this, she reminded herself. She wanted to do this. She just needed to be strong. Kyra looked at the ruby-colored liquid. Maybe if she were foxed she’d be able to make the proposition. Without a second thought, she drained her entire glass.
Grif looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”
Kyra closed her eyes, allowing the wine to warm her insides, then poured another drink. “Fine,” she answered. “Just thirsty.”
He made a face. “I don’t suppose they sent up anything stronger.”
Kyra shook her head.
“Ah well,” he said. “With you around I feel safer if I keep my wits.” He set the untouched drink on the side table nearest his chair. “Kay, I wanted to tell you...”
He stopped and reconsidered his words. “That is to say, these last few days aside...”
He stopped again and pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache. “Damn, this is difficult,” he muttered.
Kyra forgot all about her own discomfort. It was disconcerting to see this powerful, confident man so out of sorts. Setting down her wine, she took one of his large hands in her own. Sea-green eyes blazed up at her at the contact. “Grif, what is it?”
“I care about...” He cleared his throat. “I care about your happiness. More than anything, I want you to be happy. I need you to understand that.”
Her heart lightened at his admission, and she gave him a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you believed I swallowed any of your bluster.”
Grif returned the grin, looking relieved. “I thought I was rather convincing.”
“In spite of our rather spotty history,” she said, “I believe that you truly want what’s best for me.”
It is now or never, she told herself. Steeling herself, Kyra rose from her seat and forced herself to hold his gaze. Another shot of liquid courage was necessary, she decided, and quickly downed the remains of the claret. Mustering her nerve, she turned her attention to Grif. His smile vanished completely as he waited, and his eyes darkened as he tensed, clearly anticipating her next move.
In an act of sublime bravery, she untied her robe, and after only a moment’s hesitation, she let it fall to the ground.
If he was surprised, he didn’t let it show. In fact, she couldn’t read his expression at all.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice a husky growl.
“Seducing you?” It probably shouldn’t be a question, she realized, but as this was her first seduction she wasn’t terribly certain she was going about it the proper way.
Grif scoffed, though he didn’t take his eyes off of her. “Why?”
“I thought, perhaps...” Oh, dear. Saying it aloud proved much harder than she’d imagined.
“You want to force me into offering for you,” he said coolly. At her continued silence, he demanded, “Say it.”
“Yes,” she squeaked. Swallowing the last shreds of her dignity, Kyra took the plunge. “I...I would rather argue with you every day than marry a man I despise.”
An odd look—Surprise? Hurt?—flitted across his face. Before she could decipher it, Grif had recouped. He was now glaring at her.
“So you expect me to save you?” Grif asked acidly. “You’d throw away your pride and your virtue, on me, simply to avoid a husband you didn’t choose?”
“At least it would be my choice,” she w
hispered, her voice barely more than a squeak. She wasn’t sure which terrified her more—that he might say no or that he might actually say yes.
Grif sat silently, that unreadable expression frozen in place.
Kyra wanted to punch him for making this so difficult, but that hardly seemed romantic. Instead, she strove to reason with him. “I’ll be first to admit that I’ve been a bit of a thorn in your side,” she spoke quickly, wanting to get the words out before she changed her mind. “But we do rub along quite well when we choose to do so. You already know my foibles, of course, and have a similar sense of humor. And though I may not often admit it, I do consider you honorable...even admirable. I would go so far as to say that I am, well, fond of you.
“And while I’m by no means experienced in such matters,” she hurried on now, ignoring the flush creeping up her cheeks, “our kissing seems rather pleasant. At least it is for me.”
“Pleasant,” he echoed hollowly.
She must not be very good at seduction because Grif certainly didn’t appear enticed. In fact, he looked furious.
Kyra tried again...fully aware that she was blathering but unable to stop herself. “I promise to be everything temperate and sweet. I’d make no demands of you or your time, and I will never question you. I would endeavor to be an undemanding spouse.”
When he still didn’t answer, she waved weakly. “Come, Grif, I’m offering you all the benefits of the marital contract but with little responsibility. All you need to do is agree.”
Chapter Twelve
Grif took a swig of his claret while he wrestled with his conscience. The nerve of the little baggage, offering to settle for him as a husband. He might be as poor as a church mouse, but he still had his pride. He refused to be anyone’s consolation prize.
It was partly his fault, he understood that. He’d been kissing her like an elk in rut for the past couple of days. Too, when he’d arranged for them to stop tonight, it had been for the sole purpose of stealing a little more time with her. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d misread his intentions—procuring the best suite at the nicest inn, buying her a new night slip. Hell, he’d been wooing her and he hadn’t even realized it.
Still, she’d blindsided him. Kyra had handed him everything he ever wanted, and for one heart-stopping moment he’d nearly dropped to his knee to offer for her. Then she’d shattered his pride, and his heart, with every single word that followed.
Telling him that she was “fond” of him! That kissing him was “pleasant”! She wanted him simply to escape her betrothal. She was using him. He was hurt and beyond insulted. He was livid.
Grif couldn’t tell if she looked relieved or terrified after making her proposal. Shame, well, that was something he could definitely read in her expression. Good, she should feel ashamed. Although she couldn’t possibly feel as mortified as he felt at this moment.
Well, he would have to change that.
“So,” he said coolly. “Seduce me.”
“Excuse me?” Kyra asked in a small voice.
Giving her his most pleasant smile, he said, “If I’m going to spend the rest of my days arguing with you, I need to know the effort will be worth it, Kay.”
She blinked then colored when she took the full meaning of his words. “Right now?”
“Seduce me,” he repeated smoothly, patting his lap. Kyra swallowed and bit her lip. Grif stifled his smirk. No doubt as soon as she realized what was expected in bedroom matters, she’d tuck tail and run. Once she did, he would demand an apology.
Surprisingly, she crossed over to him. She looked down, and in her hesitation Grif could see the fear in her eyes. He sighed. He should just get up and walk out and to hell with the apology. No doubt she’d make him feel guilty for not taking her virtue.
Before he could rise, however, Kyra slipped onto his lap. The sensation of her light, feminine weight on his legs made Grif’s mouth go instantly dry. The soft scent of lavender reached him and his breeches became uncomfortably tight. God, he wanted to touch her, to bury his hands in her hair, to taste her satiny skin with his lips, his tongue. Want was quickly becoming blind need.
He was weak; he recognized that. His reasons for doing this suddenly seemed a bit foggy. To hell with shaming her, he realized, he was doing this just to touch her. Having her so close, so beautifully willing, robbed him of every good intention he possessed. He would give anything to be with her, to kiss her, to touch her, just once. His honor, his pride—they were nothing in the shadow of this devastating need to touch her. Try as he might, he couldn’t fight it.
She looked at him with such fierce determination that he ached. “I, um...I’m not sure what to do.”
He should go. He should tell her this was insanity. Instead, he heard himself rasp, “Take down your hair.”
Kyra undid the thick braid, shaking it out until the mass of thick, auburn curls flowed wildly down her shoulders, over his arm. Grif combed his fingers through the lush, glossy tresses, twisting a lock around his hand. The finest silk couldn’t compare, he realized.
“If you were mine,” he said hoarsely, pulling gently on her hair to tip her head back, “I would touch you.”
“Yes,” Kyra murmured.
He ran his fingers across her cheeks and jaw, down the creamy column of her slender neck. His fingers traced a path through the valley between her breasts, down her stomach, to the belt of her robe. He undid the fastening with a flick of his wrist and pulled the material apart. “I would touch you everywhere, Kay.”
His hand wandered over the flat expanse of her stomach, up to the laces that held her night rail closed. Tugging quickly, he pulled the laces apart. Kyra gasped, and he half expected her to flee. When she didn’t, he found himself unaccountably grateful. Moving to her shoulder, he slowly slid one of the lacy straps down her arm. She sat very still as he pulled the other one from her shoulder, revealing her creamy, rosy-tipped breasts.
Grif’s head was swimming. His hand skated across the graceful swell of her breast, and Kyra stopped breathing. He looked up at her face. Instead of looking away in disgrace, she was watching his hand wander. He ran his thumb across her nipple and Kyra squeaked in surprise. She jerked her head up to meet his gaze. Her wide eyes were nearly black. Grif stroked her nipple again, and again, savoring the expression on her face with each caress. Her lips parted, as though she might speak, and Grif took advantage.
“I wouldn’t stop at touching. I would kiss you.” He met her lips, lightly at first, coaxing, imploring. He traced the softness of her lower lip, teasing it with his teeth until she groaned and invited him in. His tongue swept in, mating with hers as his fingers continued tormenting her breast.
“Oh, God, Kyra,” he murmured into her mouth, “I would kiss you everywhere. Please. Let me kiss you.”
She kissed him back frantically, and Grif lost control. He savaged her mouth, barely aware that his hand left her breast to skim down her belly and thighs. He caught the hem of her night rail and languidly pulled it up.
Kyra whimpered. He tore his mouth away from hers; his lips traced a path down her throat, stopping to lick where her pulse fluttered. He dropped his head lower, running his teeth along the soft mound of her breast. She tasted so sweet. He licked her nipple then ruthlessly drew it into his mouth. Kyra moaned and arched instinctively into him.
Grif had never been so aroused. He needed to touch her, more than he needed to draw breath. His fingers danced under the fabric of her night dress and found her. He stroked her lightly, deliberately, with a languor he certainly did not feel. Kyra jumped at his touch, a strangled cry tearing from her lips. His hand kept stroking her, but his mouth returned to her lips, kissing away her fears, her protests.
At last she softened for him, her reservations burned to cinders. Grif played with her, stoking her desire, until he knew she was nearing desperation. He
nibbled his way back to her breast, drawing the peak into his mouth. At her soft sigh, he slowly, carefully, slid a finger into her hot, wet femininity. Kyra sobbed but strained to meet him. He gently withdrew, ran his thumb over the little kernel that was the wellspring of her pleasure then entered her again. Then he did it again. And again.
“Please, Grif! Please!” Kyra panted. She was so beautifully responsive, so passionate. He withdrew his finger then entered again, feeling her body tense. The next time he slid into her, she shattered. He felt her climax against his hand, and her whole body shuddered in his arms.
He was about to rip open his breeches and plunge into her, when she looked up at him, amazement scrawled across her lovely face. In her eyes, her lovely dark eyes, he saw more than just naked want. He saw an unadulterated, heart-wrenching trust. She trusted him implicitly, he realized, even as he was about to rob her of her virginity.
She was not his. She never could be. Grif swore. He was no doubt going to have an erection for a week after this. “Kyra,” he said, pulling her arms from his neck. “I can’t marry you. I won’t marry you.”
Kyra’s lip quivered. “Oh. I see,” she said.
She wrenched her hem down, and fumbled to retie the laces of her night slip with shaking fingers. Grif tried to help, but she swatted his hands away. After she’d repaired herself, for the most part, she rose from his lap with all the grace and dignity of a queen.
Grif nearly groaned at the loss of her warmth, and he barely stopped himself from dragging her back onto his lap. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought about crop yields. He hated thinking about crop yields. When that didn’t ebb his desire, he thought about parliament. While he didn’t exactly hate attending parliament, he’d certainly never found it stimulating.
He took a moment to consider his state. No, still aroused. He tried thinking about cold baths, musicales, and Society crushes. When none of those worked, he gave up and thought about thrusting into Kyra again. One glance at Kyra’s face, however, told him that particular cure was no longer available to him.
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