Ready to lose himself in the pleasures of her body, Grif nibbled her neck as he withdrew. He slowly pushed into her, praying she didn’t tense. At her “Oh!” Grif stopped to look down at her. The look on her face wasn’t pained, however. She seemed pleasantly surprised.
“Better?” he asked, stifling his smile.
“Better,” she agreed eagerly. “Do that again.”
Grif gave a quiet laugh, but did as he was told. This time as he thrust, she hitched her hips. It was his turn to gasp “Oh!” He hadn’t expected that from a virgin. His wife was a quick study.
“Better?” she asked, not bothering to hide her smile.
“Better,” he grunted. “Do that again.”
He withdrew and plunged into her, seating himself deep as she met him. Kyra shrieked and dug her nails into his back. She wrapped her leg around his hips and arched wildly, as though she wanted him deeper, and he lost the last vestiges of control.
Gripping her hips in a rough embrace, Grif pounded into her again and again, taking her mouth with the same unrestrained force with which he took her body. He knew he must be marking her, but he was powerless to pull back, to be gentle. Especially as Kyra met his every stroke, pushing him to go harder, faster, deeper, demanding he give her everything and more. She writhed beneath him, her gasps and cries muffled by his mouth. Kyra kissed him savagely, silently begging him for completion. He gently squeezed her breast on his next thrust; it was too much. Kyra broke. He savored every sound she made, every last contraction.
Somehow he held on until Kyra softened around him. Then he thrust one more time, every muscle tensing. On a harsh sound of triumph, he lost himself entirely as he spilled his seed deep inside her. He slumped forward into the sweet curve of her neck, utterly exhausted and wholly satiated. He’d never felt so complete.
It took him long moments to catch his breath. At last he felt Kyra chuckle beneath him. He raised himself to drowsily look at her. “That was...pleasant,” she murmured dreamily.
“Pleasant?” he repeated, nipping her neck.
Kyra giggled, kissing his neck. “Incredible. Glorious. Is it always like that?”
Grif closed his eyes. “It’s never been like that.”
“So, we can do that again?” she murmured against his throat.
“Oh, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be doing that often.” She traced his shoulder with her mouth and he grinned at her unvoiced question. “But not yet. I need some rest first.”
Her lips skated along his jaw. “Well, you were working rather hard.” She suddenly stopped kissing him. Grif opened his eyes to find her gazing intently at him. Kyra licked her lips. “Grif, can that really be done against a wall?”
He dropped his head down to the lee of her neck so she wouldn’t see his lips quirking. “Why do I have the unsettling feeling that I’ve just created a monster?”
“Why do I have the feeling you’ll be just fine with that?” she whispered in his ear. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
Grif grunted and rolled himself to his side, pulling Kay with him. He sleepily smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Griffin House has dozens of rooms, each with at least four walls. If it’s the last thing I do, Kay, I promise to have you against each and every one of them. As well as on various other pieces of furniture.”
“Hmm,” his wife said dreamily. “Sounds interesting.”
As he let his eyes drift shut, his conscience reached out from the dark recess of his mind. You need to tell her. Grif pushed away a small pang. It wasn’t right to take advantage of her. Unfortunately, he was far too satisfied to feel any real guilt. He would simply tell her in the morning. In fact, he vowed, he wouldn’t make love to her again until she knew everything.
Chapter Seventeen
Grif looked down at the sleeping form of his wife, lazing against him in the hour just before dawn, and sighed. He’d never been so happy in his life. Of course, he’d also never been so miserable. And it was becoming deuced hard to know what to do about it.
The happy was due entirely to Kyra. When he’d proposed to her, he’d thought they’d make a reasonably good life together. But in his wildest dreams he’d never imagined that she’d make him feel so content. So complete.
In the few short weeks that they’d been married, he’d found a new appreciation for his lifelong nemesis. He’d only ever allowed himself to ferret out the worst of her character, and in doing so he’d actually lost sight of her many positive attributes. When he’d stopped deliberately antagonizing her, and she him, he began to discover the same traits that plagued him were actually the same qualities that drew him to her.
It was funny how one’s qualities might be considered good or bad, depending on the beholder. Her obstinacy—when not pitted against him—he now saw as persistence. Her boldness and bluntness he considered fortitude and honesty. And while he’d never be able to rein in her independent nature, he no longer believed her to be reckless or impudent.
In fact, as he watched her smoothly take over the management of his household, he quickly realized the opposite was quite true. Kyra was a planner—she thought things through to the end, fully aware of the consequences of each choice. She never made a decision without considering its ramifications, no matter how unconventional or rash that decision might seem. She also was willing to accept responsibility for her choices, which was admirable in Grif’s estimation.
Watching her settle so smoothly into his home, Grif slowly began to understand that she was not just part of his life. She was part of him. Every thought, every decision, every idea he had now included her. Unwittingly, he’d adopted her as his conscience. What would Kyra say about that? How would Kyra handle this? Would Kyra approve?
A frightening realization had hit him yesterday as they’d talked about improving the school that educated the children of the Griffin tenants. She was taking notes, furiously jotting down ideas, accepting his input and opinions with genuine interest, when she happened to look up at him—her eyes gleaming with an enthusiasm he found irresistible—when he decided there was no use fighting his feelings any longer.
He was, quite shockingly, in love.
With his wife.
In hindsight, he realized he’d been in love with her for as long as he could remember. It was the reason he’d been so happy to marry her when the opportunity presented itself. It was also the reason he was so miserable now. He loved Kyra, yet he had no idea if she returned the feeling.
Oh, she cared for him, he knew that. And she certainly wanted him, as evidenced by the athletic goings-on of the past month, which was quite fine with him. But whether or not she loved him was an entirely different matter. And he had no idea how to find out.
He could tell her he loved her, of course, but giving his heart to a woman like Kyra, well, it just didn’t seem wise to willingly hand her such power. It left him too...too vulnerable. He needed to know she reciprocated before he dared mention it. In his mind, it was the only way to level a very uneven field.
He thought of asking her, but how does one ask one’s wife such a question? Certainly not over the main course. “Try the veal, darling, it’s delicious. Oh, and by the by, are you in love with me?” No. Too awkward.
But not telling her, especially in light of the fact that she was giving so much of herself to his estate, to him, felt a little like a lie. Being with her day after day, night after night, taking everything she so generously offered, without saying the words seemed somehow dishonest. At the very least it was a gross omission, if not an outright lie.
Which led him to the other reason behind his misery—he was lying outright to his wife. It had been weeks and he still hadn’t confessed anything to her. Oh, he’d come close a number of times, but somehow the timing never seemed right. It weighed on his soul. Yet each time he tried to find the words, he choked. He’d avoided
the subject for so long that telling her now seemed...wrong. It would only upset her. And he would do anything to make Kyra happy.
Besides, putting it off this long meant it would be much harder to convince her that he hadn’t married her for the money.
More than that, he cared what Kay thought of him. He’d never really cared for anyone’s good opinion before. It’s what allowed him to succeed all these dark years—it was easy to take risks when one didn’t give a damn. Suddenly there was much more on the line than money or reputation. The idea that his past could destroy his future made the whole mess so much harder to face.
* * *
Of course, if he managed to woo his wife into believing he loved her—which he did—she might overlook his obvious shortcomings. Lots of husbands kept their wives in the dark about financial matters.
Thanks to Kay’s dowry his estate was flush once more, so for the first time in nearly a decade the creditors weren’t pounding on his door. And Grif intended to pay back every penny of Kay’s estate to ensure their children never need worry about money. They couldn’t be extravagant by any means, not any time soon, but he could certainly keep his wife in the manner she was accustomed...albeit with a bit less. Less servants. Less baubles. Less gowns.
Grif grimaced. He had used some of his hard-earned coin to make several business investments...many of them heavily dependent on foreign exports. It was possible one or more of these would bear fruit. And if one perchance did pay off, he’d hate to ruin his chances with Kyra over nothing...Grif sighed. It was a circular argument. He had to tell her something. Soon. This was becoming too big to ignore.
Kyra stirred next to him, stretching against him like a cat. The touch of her lithe, naked body brought the swift, brutal response it always did. Grif groaned. A month and he still hadn’t gotten enough of her. In fact, each day found him wanting her more and more. It was like an addiction—the more she gave the more he wanted.
Grif looked at his wife again, resisting the urge to wake her as he did every morning. He needed to practice a little more restraint, he thought idly. Perhaps this insatiable need to have her would cease if he stopped pouncing on her at every available opportunity. Though, he mused, it would help greatly if his wife was a little less available. She was rather enthusiastic in accepting his overtures. If Kay simply said no to his advances once in a while, he might be able to gain control over his brain long enough to think clearly.
Last night was a perfect example. He merely hinted that she might be less likely to wrinkle her gown if she were seated on his lap—in the coach, on the way to the Duncans’ dinner party—and look what had happened. And that whole escapade in the Duncans’ music room...all he’d said was that the piano looked particularly sturdy. Really, a lady shouldn’t be so accommodating.
Grif bit back a smile. He was going insane if he wanted his wife’s ardor to cool. Kyra sighed and snuggled closer, her hand resting low on his abdomen. Grif bit his lip. It was greedy to want more, he chided himself. He should be content to accept the pleasure she so eagerly offered him. It was selfish to expect any more.
The hand on his abdomen moved, tracing small circles that made his entire body tremble. He glanced down to find his wife studying him. Her lips twitched up at the corners and her dark eyes gleamed with a look that he knew he would crave for the rest of his days.
“You didn’t wake me,” she chided softly.
Grif tried to keep his voice level. “I thought you could use the sleep.”
“Mmm,” was her reply.
Her hand moved lower, and Grif felt his breath catch. “I was thinking,” he said as nonchalantly as possible, given the circumstances, “we may have to curtail certain...activities. My mother will be returning this evening and she’ll wonder at our frequent disappearances. Not to mention it would be rather awkward to have her walk in on something...indiscreet.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, kissing his neck.
She had reached his shoulder. Grif swallowed hard, trying to keep his mind rational. “I thought maybe we could invite her to come to London with us for the Season. There’s plenty of room at the town house, and it might be nice for you to have an ally to help deal with the gossips and such. You’ll be out of blacks by then and the gossips will wonder if you do not attend the frivolities.”
Kyra seemed too busy kissing her way across his chest to acknowledge. She flicked her tongue across his nipple, causing him to lose his train of thought for a moment or two. When he regained his senses, he realized his wife had made her way to his navel.
“I assume the worst of the gossip is over,” he said. He licked his lips when she nipped his hip and traveled lower. “But I do think we need to brace ourselves to be the object of speculation for the first week or so.”
Kyra mumbled her assent and kissed her way down to his thigh. And then... Grif dug his nails into his palms in a last attempt to corral his scattering wits. “Kay,” he said, his voice gravelly, “I don’t think you should do that.”
Her brown eyes danced wickedly as she met his gaze; her lips curved in a wry smile. “You think too much,” she told him before returning to her previous task.
And for the next quarter hour or so, the earl of Griffin didn’t think at all.
* * *
Kyra glared at the tray of correspondence in front of her. She was cozily ensconced in the parlor, a simple but friendly room of pale apple green and large comfortable furniture. For some reason she preferred to conduct her business here—probably because the room was so welcoming that it didn’t feel as though she were actually working.
Not today, however. She grabbed her cup of tea and cast a condescending look at the unopened pile of paper. Perhaps if she closed her eyes the odious pile would somehow disappear. Upon opening her eyes she humphed to discover the papers were still there. This time she allowed a frown to accompany the glare. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and counted to ten...
Drat. Still there. Kyra sighed and placed her cup back on the tray. She really should answer them all. Again. The problem was, well, she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to know that Mrs. Tunbridge was enceinte even though Mr. Tunbridge had been abroad these last two years. Or that Mitzy Fitzroy was throwing what would undoubtedly be yet another disastrous dinner party. Or that the Society for This and That and The Other Thing needed funding and would like her to meet with them at her earliest convenience. Or that the yapping little mongrel Lady Hawthorne had added to her odd menagerie had a special proclivity to relieve itself on Lord Hawthorne’s personal effects.
The memory of Grif’s proposal suddenly flared up, seemingly from thin air, as it had so many times these last weeks. As always, the thought made her stomach clench. A comfortable spouse—ha! He sounded like he was trying to sell her a piece of furniture.
It might explain why he worked so hard to court her. Perhaps he thought she could be easily blinded to a spot of perfidy by a few sweet gestures on his part. And since he was absolutely right, that made her more resentful of them. Of him. She wanted him to court her, of course, but only if he truly cared for her—not to trick her into forgetting his shabby proposal.
Kyra closed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. She needed to stop dwelling on it. They had been married nearly eight weeks and in that time Grif had been nothing less than the ideal husband.
And yet, something didn’t seem right. Perhaps she simply was not used to such an idle existence, she mused. After her mother’s passing, the marquess of Sheffield had been so incapacitated by grief that he had offered no argument as his son and daughter took over the estate’s responsibilities. Riley turned out to be something of a financial wizard and therefore took over the responsibilities of investments and such, but since most estate business bored him to tears, Kyra had taken on the rest. As she seemed to have a bit of a managing personality, it was a good fit.
So at the tende
r age of fourteen, she’d found herself in a very unique position for a young lady of her breeding. Then Riley went off to war, and she’d taken over his position as well, with a little guidance from her father. She spent hours dealing with solicitors and tenants and merchants and staff. She paid bills and organized events and, well, ran things. Rather nicely, if she were to be honest. And while she didn’t realize it at the time, she liked it.
Somehow, she rather thought she might continue running things once she married. Grif, however, was very capable of handling his own estate. He also had a very capable secretary to run his business dealings, and he had his very capable mother to handle his household.
Kyra chastised herself for the last one. It was her own doing. She loved and respected her mother-in-law dearly, so she had no reservations when Grif asked for her to wait to take over the household accounts until Lady Eleanor’s arrival. Kyra agreed as she wanted to make the transition smooth for everyone. But from the moment Lady Eleanor returned it was clear that she itched to manage the household even more than Kyra did. Kyra had never seen the other woman so tense. There was little else to do, and although neither woman said so out loud, it was understood that Kyra had willingly relinquished the reins and Lady Eleanor had gratefully picked them up. For now.
Unfortunately that left Kyra with little to do. Oh, she had Grif to occupy her nights, but that left her with nothing to occupy her days. Kyra smirked inwardly, remembering how she had just spent a lovely hour or so with her husband in his office and amended that thought. With the exception of Grif, she had nothing to occupy her days. After all, how many silly letters was one expected to answer before one went insane?
The fact that Grif was so...so...doting made her more and more suspicious. Of late, her husband had utterly thrown himself into the task of wooing her. He seemed almost desperate to do so. While she thoroughly enjoyed his attentions, she knew him well enough to know when he was distracting her. Kyra couldn’t shake the sense that Grif was holding something back.
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