Husband. The word had such a lovely sound. She stole another glance at Grif and thought to herself, my husband.
He led her to her chamber door, a strange look on his face. “I’ll be, ah, next door. There’s an adjoining door in your suite. You can knock, if you need anything.” He cleared his throat. “May I call on you before I turn in?”
Kyra bit her lip—her heart seemed to be in her throat—but she nodded. Grif seemed about to say something, but instead he bowed and turned on his heel to retire to his chamber. Blindly, Kyra entered her room, unable to think beyond her husband’s green eyes.
Maggie cooed soft reassurances while she undid Kyra’s gown and brushed her unruly auburn mane. “He’s a good man, Kay,” the maid promised. “He might have the devil’s own temper, but he has had a good heart. He’ll treat you well.”
Kyra only nodded. She scrubbed her face and her teeth, and then impulsively insisted on a bath with her favorite lavender water. A half an hour later, wrapped in her towel, Kyra felt like a coward. She was stalling.
Maggie unpinned her hair, again, brushed through it, again, and Kyra realized she could no longer put off the inevitable. Grabbing the silk nightgown, Kyra dismissed her maid and ducked behind the dressing screen.
She should have tried it on earlier, she realized. Altered to her measurements, it was even worse than she’d feared. She felt more exposed than if she were truly naked. The gossamer material, which felt transparent, clung to the meager curves of her body. Even worse, the sides had a wide slit of creamy lace that was transparent, exposing her flesh from her outer ankle bone all the way up to the spot just under her arm.
Kyra panicked. She couldn’t possibly wear this in front of Grif. It made her feel much too vulnerable. Exposed. Husband or not, he didn’t need to see her so bare. She began to take the wretched thing off, when she heard a hesitant rap on her door. Of all times for him to knock! It was either this or her towel. She had no other recourse but to yank the thing back down.
At her soft “in,” the door swung open and Grif stepped into her bedchamber carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Kyra peeked at him from behind the screen.
“‘Allo, Kay,” he said calmly. Raising the bottle, he grinned apologetically. “I never got to toast the bride. Care to join me?”
Grif had removed his coat and cravat and had loosed the cuffs and collar of his shirt. His sable hair was wet from his bath and slightly ruffled, as though he’d been raking his hands through it. He looked so casual, so handsome, it quite took her breath away. And she was wearing this absurd...thing, which no doubt made her look absolutely ridiculous. As if she had any reason to flaunt such meager goods.
“Do you see, ah, maybe a wrap or some such thing out there? On the bed perhaps?” Grif looked around and shook his head, busying himself with the champagne. Kyra sighed. “I thought not,” she grumbled.
“If you’re uncomfortable—”
“No,” she said, determined not to quail. He shrugged and set about popping the cork. Kyra took a deep breath. It was just Grif, after all. He’d seen her at her lowest moments; how could this one be any worse? Mustering her courage, she forced herself to step from behind the screen.
Grif’s green eyes went wide. They seemed to grow darker as she walked toward him. Of course, she thought to herself. Now he decides to look at me. Kyra swallowed hard. He seemed inexplicably aggravated, and he looked so tense she thought he might snap in half.
Kyra threw up her hands in disgust. “You don’t like it, do you?”
“It’s...lovely,” he ground out, looking away from her to pour a glass of champagne. “I’m just a bit surprised.”
Sighing, she grabbed the glass from his outstretched hand and flopped into a comfortable, overstuffed chair. “I have a number of these...things,” she explained, sipping the sparkling drink. Looking down at the ridiculous garment, she shook her head. “Some of them are actually transparent.”
“Hmm,” Grif grunted, downing his champagne and refilling his glass.
“I feel a bit ridiculous,” Kyra confessed, hoping they could share a good laugh over it. “Though not as ridiculous as I suspect I look.” She smoothed the silk over her legs, unable to stop herself from admiring the lush feel of the fabric on her skin. “I must admit, though, it does feel sinfully good to touch.”
“No doubt,” Grif said, his voice sounding strained. He drained his glass again.
“So,” Kyra said, trying to smooth over the awkwardness of her bedclothes. “This is a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean us—of all people. Married. Riley’s probably having a good laugh over this one.”
“I’m sure.”
Kyra frowned. Something was definitely not right. According to Madame Leon, Grif should be worshiping her by now, whatever that meant, not drinking champagne and scowling at her. And Kyra was getting tired of his odd manner. It unnerved her.
Smiling sweetly at him, she asked in a light voice, “So, Grif, you’ve sufficiently toasted the bride. Was there something more to this visit?”
Grif eyed her for a silent moment, a predatory look glimmering in those green depths, and Kyra felt quite warm. She had the uneasy feeling that she was indeed a strawberry tart. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. Pulse racing, she tried to think of something—anything—to say to that look. Nothing came to mind except, “Ah, Grif?”
He shook his head slightly. “Actually, Kay, I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to just...pounce on you at the first opportunity. We have plenty of time to, ah, consummate our union. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing.”
Kyra felt a bit disappointed, but she nodded. “That’s very kind of you.” It was probably too shameless, she supposed, wanting her husband to actually pounce on her.
“Well,” he said slowly, his eyes fixated on the half-empty champagne bottle. “I just don’t want you to feel rushed into...this—especially in light of the fact that you were not given much say in the manner of our marriage. After a week or two, when you’re more comfortable with the whole affair, we can discuss, um, bedroom matters.”
Before she could fathom what he was saying, he nodded brusquely, grabbed the bottle of champagne and walked to the door between their suites. “Good night, Kay,” he said. “Sweet dreams.”
Kyra didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until the door shut behind him. Her own husband didn’t want to be with her. It felt as though he’d stuck a knife in her ribs. Dashing away an errant tear, she tried to sort out what had just happened. One minute Grif had been looking at her as though she might be his salvation, and the next he’d bolted without a by-your-leave.
She smoothed the nightgown over her knees and glanced down at the ridiculous scrap of material that had started the whole debacle. She nearly laughed out loud. A goddess? Hardly. More like a fool.
The memory of his proposal hit her like a blow. A comfortable spouse—ha! He sounded like he was trying to sell her a piece of furniture. Unable to move, Kyra stared at the door separating them as though he might reappear and tell her...tell her what? Grif never told her anything.
An ugly thought popped into her head, and Kyra didn’t even try to tamp it down. Grif had married her for her money. The thought sickened her.
Worse, he’d told her as much. She knew all along—even if she hadn’t quite realized it—and she had still accepted his proposal. He’d even told her how their marriage would look—amiable. It wasn’t Grif’s fault that she had romanticized it, secretly hoping that he felt something more than friendly toward her. He had said they would go their own ways. She just hadn’t expected it would be on their wedding night.
Yet, he had seemed...interested in their earlier intimacies. Perhaps it was something more than simply not desiring her. Kyra considered her husband. Grif was extremely proud. If he had married her to save himself from financi
al ruination, perhaps he decided he couldn’t be with her. Maybe he resented her. Maybe the thought of being with her intimately had become repulsive to him.
Kyra felt like retching. A year from now, a month from now, would Grif politely bid her good-night at their bedroom door—as he’d done tonight—and leave their home to satisfy his needs with another woman? Someone who hadn’t purchased him?
Would she ever become numb enough to not care?
She couldn’t bear the thought of this hanging unspoken between them. She needed to do something about it. Now.
Kyra rose in a flurry of naked limbs, her anger and embarrassment making her forget her previous embarrassment at her revealing garb. Stalking to the door, she mentally rehearsed each castigation. If Ethan Ashford thought he could simply set her aside without at least the courtesy of an explanation, he was sorely mistaken.
She would have the truth. It might not be exactly what she wanted from him, but she would have it.
And if that’s all she ever had from him, well, it was better than this wretched feeling.
Chapter Sixteen
Grif exhaled deeply, took another huge swig from the bottle and prowled restlessly around his room, trying to master his raging lust. It was unnatural. His thoughts were consumed by Kyra. He’d never wanted a woman so much; the irony that it was his own wife—who also happened to be the one woman he’d always kept at arm’s length—was not lost on him.
It was only through some miracle that he’d managed to get through the day without mauling her. When she’d walked down the aisle today, smiling, Grif found himself wanting to drag her out of the chapel and into the nearest room to have his wicked way with her. He’d barely been able to look at her, afraid that she would read the raw hunger in his eyes. Touching her in any capacity had been torture. It had taken monumental effort, but he’d survived the ceremony and the blasted reception.
He’d even calmed himself enough to feel comfortable entering her room. It had been a good plan—a little champagne and some light conversation to put them both at ease, and then he could woo her. Slowly. Calmly. The last thing he wanted to do was to overwhelm Kyra on their wedding night with this insatiable desire.
And then she’d emerged in that cursed scrap of a nightgown. It had very nearly undone his every good intention. The sheer fabric shimmered with a golden glow in the firelight, making it appear as though moonlight bathed every curve and dip of her lithe body. With her dark mass of hair flowing wildly down her shoulders, she looked innocent and wanton and ethereal all at once. Like a goddess.
Grif sneered at himself. There was no way he could be with her—at least not until she knew the truth. If he wanted this marriage to work, and he desperately did, Kyra needed to understand the depth of his poverty. She needed to know exactly what kind of person he’d become...including the things he had done to keep his family from the wolves. As much as it pained him to reveal his true self to her, he must tell her everything.
He vowed to do so before they shared a bed.
If she still wanted him after that, then they could be together.
Telling Kay of his sordid dealings was no easy prospect. How did he even begin to recount his various crimes? Should he start with the smallest and work his way through, gauging her reaction, or was it best to relate the worst and hope everything else seemed tame? He could start with the reason for his actions...that from the moment he’d learned his father had bankrupted them, he’d made choices that went counter to everything he’d been raised to believe. He had given up the title of gentleman before he’d even had the chance to become one.
He was wound so tightly that he very nearly jumped out his skin when the door crashed open. His wife—by God, his wife—stormed into his bedchamber looking like his every carnal dream. She pinned him with a black look and drew a deep breath. The action made him painfully aware of the filmy material separating him from her naked flesh. Grif’s breath caught.
“Kay? What are you doing here?” His voice was thick in his throat. If he didn’t get rid of her soon, his new wife was going to wind up on her back beneath him. The thought made his pulse skip.
“What am I doing here?” she stormed. “What am I doing here? I’ll tell you exactly what I am doing here, Ethan Ainsley Ashford! I am here to square a few things with my husband!”
Lord, she looked good when she was simmering, he thought, forgetting his earlier trepidation. She had fire in her beautiful eyes, and she was biting that full bottom lip that drove him nearly insane. Some perverse part of him reveled in her fury—this Kyra he could handle. This Kyra could handle his passion.
Unable to stop himself, he provoked her ire. “Indeed? I didn’t realize we had anything to settle.”
“Well, we do,” she snapped. “I have a few rules I expect my husband to abide by.”
“Rules, eh? I don’t remember agreeing to any rules when I proposed,” he drawled, enjoying the flush rising on her cheeks.
“You will agree to these.” She glowered. “Or I swear to you I’ll spend the rest of my life making yours as miserable as possible.”
As usual, her temper managed to spark his own. “I don’t like threats, Kyra,” he said softly, taking a step toward her.
“I don’t care what you like or dislike!” she hissed. “You will hear me out.”
Her chest rose and fell quickly, straining the silk of her nightgown as though she were breathless. Grif was fascinated by the sight. “You have my undivided attention, my dear,” he murmured.
Kyra humphed and began pacing in front of him. “First, I expect you to treat me with respect.”
Grif nodded. “As long as you accord me the same.”
“That means you will be discreet in your associations,” she plowed on. “If I hear one word, one whisper, of your improprieties—”
“Improprieties, Kay?” he interrupted, fascinated by the outline of her curves as she brushed past him. “Worried I might embarrass you? You of all people should know that I make a point of keeping my indiscretions discreet. Rest assured, darling, I never conduct my affairs in public purview.”
“Fine,” she said sourly. “Then you’ll not publicly humiliate me with your affaires, either, Grif. At no time do I wish to know which society matron is benefiting from your ‘undivided attention.’”
Kay had misunderstood his meaning, he realized. A moment later a horrible thought dawned on him. She expected him to be unfaithful. The thought cut deep. Grif scowled. “Your faith in my fidelity is most heartening, my dear,” he said, hurt beyond words.
Kyra stopped pacing and looked at him hard. “You said it yourself, Grif. You’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.” She arched a brow at him. “I expect your way to be circumspect.”
“Fine,” he said through his teeth. “How many other ‘rules’ am I to abide by?”
“Just one,” she said hotly. “I expect you to be honest with me at all times. Starting right now!”
Grif felt his breath catch. She couldn’t possibly know... Terror and relief flooded through him simultaneously. Best to get it over and done, he told himself.
He opened his mouth to tell her everything, then caught the subtle scent of lavender as she shifted. Somehow the truth caught in his throat. She would never want to be with him if she knew. The thought of losing her, before he’d even had a chance to win her, made him reconsider his vow.
She was standing too close for him to think clearly. It would be nothing to reach out and just grab her.... The thought made his skin tingle, and he was suddenly very aware of how very close she stood. Grif closed his eyes, marshaling his control.
“Now,” she continued, unaware of the shift in her husband’s attentions. “I will not have you stand there and hand me some nonsense about how you so generously want me to feel more comfortable about our marriage. If you don’t want me, I expect yo
u to tell me. It might hurt, but I can live with it. What I can’t live with is you lying to me! We can make the necessary arrangements to ensure an heir, but—”
Grif opened his eyes and blinked as she prattled on, trying to absorb her words and their implications. “You think,” he said slowly, his brain trying not to believe what his heart was telling him. “You think I don’t want you?”
“You’ve made that rather obvious,” she replied dryly, stopping to look up at him. “Every time I kiss you, you pull away like I’ve got the pox. And what about today? You wouldn’t even look at me, much less kiss me! Honestly, this entire week you have practically tripped over your own feet in your haste to get away from me.”
Grif couldn’t quite stop the smile that threatened. She thought he didn’t want her? And she was upset by it?
Certain truths could wait. His wife needed reassurance of his affections, he reasoned, and spoiling their wedding night wouldn’t really help the situation.
Grif gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Did you ever consider that I might want you too much?”
“Rubbish!” she fumed, though her eyes darkened. She yanked her face away from him. “You can’t expect me to believe that nonsense, Grif. As if such a thing were even possible.”
Unable to stop touching her now that he’d started, Grif traced a finger across her cheek. Her skin was so smooth, so soft. He would spend hours caressing her, he silently vowed, memorizing every delicious inch of her. Of course, he needed to clear up a few of his bride’s misconceptions before he allowed himself any such luxury.
“Kyra,” he said silkily, letting his fingers wander over her jaw and down her throat. Her breathing seemed to hitch. “I assure you, it is very possible. I’ve been afraid to even look at you these last several days, much less be in the same room as you.”
Kyra swallowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve wanted you so long,” he told her, his voice cooler than he felt. His fingers trailed across her collarbone to the strap of her nightgown. Her slight shiver as he toyed with the thin strip of silk nearly cost him his restraint. If being with her, touching her, meant throwing himself prostrate at her feet it suddenly seemed a small price to pay.
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