“I’ve been rather a beast and it’s unforgivable. It’s just... I’ve been rather preoccupied. I received a rather disturbing note and I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”
His face remained politely interested but he was definitely getting agitated. “A note from whom?”
“An old friend,” she said airily.
“Oh,” Grif said, running a lazy finger up and down her neck. “About what?”
“It seems her husband has been less than forthright with her. She suspects they may be experiencing some financial difficulties, yet he has said nothing to her about it.”
“How awkward,” he said, allowing his fingers to drift across her collarbone.
“It’s just...” Kyra’s heart felt ready to pound out of her chest. She wished he would stop distracting her. “My friend seems so devastated. Not about the money, of course. But she thought they were a good match. I think she feels betrayed.”
“Not a useful emotion when it comes to one’s spouse, I expect,” Grif replied. “But I fail to see its relevance to your ring or your mood.”
Suddenly she felt brave enough to ask the question. “Would you tell me, Grif? If something like that were between us, would you tell me?”
Her husband didn’t answer immediately, which was rather telling. Instead, he studied her face for a long time. Finally he asked, “Would you want to know?”
The question surprised her. Kyra thought about it then answered as honestly as she could. “I don’t know.”
Grif pressed a kiss to her temple. “If I thought it could help the situation, Kay, I would tell you. If it would only complicate things, then...” He shrugged and started feathering kisses along her forehead and cheek. “As for your ring, you have my word that you will have a ring before the Season starts. We’ll worry about gowns and furnishings later.”
Kyra nodded, knowing with absolute certainty that her husband had spoken his version of the truth. He would consider it his duty to protect her from such ugliness. Whether or not his answer made her feel better was an entirely different matter.
Did his motives for marrying her truly matter? It was hard to imagine Grif marrying for such a cold-blooded reason as money. But then he had been the one to spout all that nonsense about marriage being a contract. Of course, even if he had married her for her money, his concern and thoughtfulness for her every moment since their wedding day must count for something.
Unless he was just feeling guilty.
Kyra’s head was swimming. She needed time to sort out her thoughts. It was difficult to think about such matters, especially when Grif seemed bent on distracting her.
“Now, if you’re quite done being angry with me,” he murmured into her ear, “you may kiss me. You know you want to,” he teased, nipping at her jaw.
“I most certainly do not!” she lied. She tried to sound offended, not an easy task when one was stifling a chuckle.
“Liar,” he whispered. “You want me.” He brushed a kiss across her lips, teasing, tantalizing. “You want to strip off my clothes and have your wicked way with me right here in this gazebo.”
She was feeling breathless. “You make me sound rather like a strumpet, Grif.”
“Well—” he teased.
Kyra would have scalded his ears, except that his lips had found a certain spot on her neck that always made her knees go a bit wobbly. It wasn’t helping her nascent argument to have Grif’s hand slowly dipping low into the bodice of her day gown, tugging the material down. When he set himself to kissing her breast, Kyra forgot why she thought to scold him in the first place.
She sighed, savoring the feel of his fingertips, his lips. How he always managed to get her to fall in line eluded her. Here she was, entirely peeved at him, yet she offered absolutely no resistance when he touched her. He wasn’t even kissing her, for heaven’s sake, and already she was as malleable as a lump of sculpting clay in his hands. The very idea that all he need do was reach for her and she complied was most disconcerting. But then again, when he did that, it was hard to think at all.
Kyra came back to her senses a little while later, when she felt a cool breeze on her thigh. Somehow Grif had managed to drag her skirts up. While she was perfectly amenable to kissing al fresco, she was not ready to bare herself for all and sundry. Not even for Grif.
“Grif, we need to stop,” she mumbled. He must not have heard, as his hand made little circles high on her thigh. Kyra nearly lost her resolve entirely, until she felt the air...there.
Kyra shot up, yanking her dress up and down at the same time. “Ethan Ashford, I insist you stop that this instant!”
Grif looked up at her, looking rather dazed. “What?”
“We are outside.” Kyra sniffed haughtily, doing her best to tug her gown into place. Her husband seemed to be more experienced with her clothing, however, and managed to keep it from sitting properly on her. “We cannot do...whatever it is you’re thinking of doing...outside.”
Grif feathered kisses along her jaw. “Why not?”
“Someone might see,” she said sharply, trying to ignore the feel of him hard against her legs as he repositioned her in his lap.
“Let them watch,” he murmured, nibbling her ear.
“The children—” she argued.
“Are all at the house,” he brushed against her lips, teasing her lightly with his tongue. His breath was warm and sweet against her throat.
“Your mother—” she murmured, feeling her resolve weakening.
“Desperately wants more grandchildren,” he finished lazily. She could feel him smile against her mouth. “Which is exactly why I told Gus to report to her about the kissing. My guess is she’s stationed a footman at every entrance to the garden to ensure no one bothers us.”
He kissed that spot on her neck again and Kyra’s mind went momentarily blank. Fighting for control, she pushed herself upright and frowned at her husband. “Ladies don’t do that outside. It isn’t proper.”
Her husband had the audacity to grin at her. “Lucky for me you’re a strumpet.”
Grif redoubled his efforts, kissing her senseless, and Kyra unconsciously relented. In a trice he had her gown down to her waist, and he was doing such lovely things with his hands that Kyra quite forgot all about her objections.
After a time, she found herself fumbling frantically with the opening of his breeches. Grif groaned and shifted to give her better access. Kyra shivered in anticipation as she freed him from the fabric. Their kiss became urgent and without a thought to her earlier objections, Kyra shifted her weight, lifted her skirts and sank down onto her husband’s erection. Judging from his harsh groan it was obvious that, whatever he had planned for this little encounter, she had just outmaneuvered him.
“Sneak attack,” she murmured against his mouth.
“You’re not playing fair, Kay,” he said roughly.
“Strumpets don’t play by the rules,” she retorted.
She needed him to submit to her, at least once. So when Grif started to say something, Kyra ignored him, lifted herself a little, then resettled on him. She did that several times, effectively shutting him up for a time.
He finally acquiesced and asked if he could lie down on the bench to better allow her to do exactly as she wished. It seemed a good idea until he actually did so, at which time Kyra discovered just how deep the position allowed him to go. The sensation was so filling, so intense, that it was almost unbearable.
She started to lean over his chest, to collapse onto him, but her husband’s hands on her hips stopped her. He opened his eyes to look at her. “Does it hurt?”
“It’s...intense,” Kyra said weakly.
Grif smirked and ran a hand along her thigh. “We can trade places,” he said slyly.
Kyra looked down at her husband and couldn’t refrain from
smiling. He was so incorrigible sometimes, if not a bit predictable. Well, why not give him exactly what he wanted? She raised her hips slightly and sank back down, squeaking a little as she did; Grif’s eyes rolled back. Interesting. He seemed as susceptible as she was. So she did it again. And again.
Grif seemed to be clenching his jaw, so she stopped and leaned over him. Stormy green eyes opened to glare at her. “Why are you stopping?” he demanded.
Kyra chuckled. “I thought you might be hurt.”
“I’m fine, thank you, madam,” he admonished. “Now, if you please, kindly resume ravishing me.”
As Kyra sat up, he hitched his hips just a fraction—just enough to wipe the smile from her face. Grif grunted, obviously satisfied. He closed his eyes and let her do the work. She traced her hands over the sinewy strength of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, thrilling at the little shudders her feathery touches seemed to elicit. She lifted her weight slightly then sank back down upon his length, tightening as she did. Grif hissed and gripped her hips almost painfully.
After a few strokes, Kyra looked down at her husband. Grif was very still, eyes closed tight, jaw clenched. Another stroke and she wondered if he was enjoying this at all. Lord knew she was, but other than his chest heaving, it didn’t seem like Grif was even paying attention. It was unlike Grif to be unresponsive. Usually he caressed her, kissed her, teased her. He seemed much too placid, too controlled, that she feared she was doing something wrong. So she stopped again.
Grif’s eyes flew open. “What now?” her husband growled.
Kyra humphed. “You seem bored.”
“Lord, but I could throttle you sometimes,” he said with a pained chuckle. “I assure you, I’m enjoying this.”
Kyra pouted. “Why aren’t you touching me?” she demanded.
“Bloody hell, Kay,” he groaned. “It’s all I can do to hang on right now. If I touch you...things are going to be over before they have even started.”
She felt a shudder through her body. To think she might have such command over her husband was a rather heady sensation. “Really?’ she asked. “You’re that fervent?”
Grif narrowed his eyes. “Why do you seem so happy about that?”
Kyra shrugged, trying to hide her smile. “It just makes me wonder what it might take to make you lose control.”
“I don’t think I like where this is going,” he said. He opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it was died in his throat as Kyra tightened around him. He gasped and his eyes fluttered shut again.
“Hmm,” Kyra said, enjoying her newfound power. She traced small circles low on his rippled stomach. “I wonder what a strumpet would do in this situation.”
Grif opened his eyes, likely to complain about her stopping, but his breath seemed to catch. “I guess since you won’t touch me...” She let her voice trail off on the unfinished thought. At least he no longer appeared bored as he watched in fascination as his wife slowly drew her hand between her breasts and down her abdomen. In fact he looked rather poleaxed.
Kyra smiled at him, feeling his entire body tense as he read her thoughts. His eyes were almost black, and she could read the naked desire within their depths. She wanted him to lose control, to force him past all rational thought. His excitement suddenly felt palpable; their shared desire seemed a physical presence.
Her own tension mounted as she cupped the undersides of her breasts, the same way he had so often done. He made a choking noise, and his grip tightened on her hips, desperately biting into her skin as though he were hanging on for his life.
The thought of what they were doing, the intimacy of their bodies—hidden by her skirts—pushed her to wantonness. She allowed a thumb to skate along the curve of one breast, making a small hiss of pleasure as she did, and Grif’s hips hitched as his hands pulled her harder onto him. He did so again, and again, nearly violent in his urgency.
In seeing his pleasure, her pleasure intensified. His lack of restraint only heightened her desire. Kyra gasped at the deep invasion and repeated the action with her other breast. She tried lifting herself higher on him, but Grif held her fast. She tightened on him again in response, just to punish him, and the moan that she heard had escaped her own lips. Kyra licked her lips, feeling rather desperate herself. She closed her eyes and let another groan fall from her lips. Knowing her husband was still watching her, devouring her with his eyes, made her feel even more sensual. More daring. More excited.
Her own tension was swiftly becoming unbearable, and when she ran her thumbs across her nipples Grif rocked into her so hard that she exploded with such sweet violence she almost wept. She was so beset by her own crisis that she was only vaguely aware that her husband shouted her name as he reached his own fierce climax.
She slumped over Grif’s chest, allowing herself to return slowly to reality. She was feeling rather triumphant. For once she had wrested control from him. It felt good, even if it were an admittedly minor victory. She chanced a look at Grif, and was gratified to see he was still spent.
After a while, Kyra raised herself up and fumbled with her bodice. A large hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down onto his chest. She picked blindly at his shirt. “We should be getting back,” she mumbled.
“Not yet,” Grif commanded hoarsely.
Kyra snuggled into his chest, feeling completely content, and allowed herself a few moments of bliss. When she was with him like this, nothing else mattered. As the birds chirped a happy song, Kyra remembered where they were. Perhaps she was a strumpet, she giggled to herself, having her wicked way with Grif outside, in the middle of the day, without a care.
An ugly thought followed on the heels of that happy one. Perhaps she was a strumpet. After all, she had bought her husband.
Chapter Nineteen
It was late in the afternoon when the earl of Griffin followed his lovely little wife out of the garden. Sure enough the first footman greeted them at the path’s entrance. Grif frowned. He really must start exhibiting a modicum of control around her. It was just so bloody difficult. He couldn’t be in her presence without touching her. And he couldn’t touch her without wanting to kiss her. And apparently kissing her was tantamount to losing his mind.
Upon emerging from the garden, Kyra begged a headache and quickly disappeared into the house. Grif watched her go, cursing silently. Somehow his sweet little wife had figured out that he was a pauper and seemed rather put out by it. The question now was what to do about it.
Grif rounded the house and joined his family on the lawn for refreshments. The children were already well into their game of croquet, leaving him to deal with several pairs of interested eyes. Annabelle called sweetly, “Nice walk, Grif?” Lady Eleanor quickly swatted her younger daughter with her parasol.
Patricia’s husband, Charles, the marquess of Montrose, greeted him with a glass of wine. “Thought you might want something more fortifying than lemonade,” Charles said, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Thank you,” Grif managed. He rather liked his brother-in-law, despite his hidebound manner. Amazing that a stick-in-the-mud like Charles had ever married into such a debauched clan.
“I’d like to say it gets easier over time,” Charles said quietly, his lips quirking slightly. “But it doesn’t. Not when there’s genuine feeling between you.”
“Good to know,” Grif replied, hating that he was so transparent.
Charles shook his head. “Just wait until the first babe comes,” he said, watching his own children playing. “You’ll never recover your wits.”
“Is there a point to this?” Grif drawled, allowing his annoyance to seep into his voice. “Or are you just having a spot of fun to punish me for my lecherous behavior?”
His brother-in-law chuckled. “You should tell her.”
Grif blinked at him. As far as he knew, nobody other
than his solicitor and his mother knew of his ruinous financial state. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Montrose.”
“The first time is the hardest.” Charles shrugged. “But the rewards are well worth it. The night I first told Tricia that I loved her we spent hours...”
At Grif’s raised brow, Charles coughed. “No matter. Suffice it to say, after that first night, I endeavor to tell her every chance I get. It makes everything easier once you’ve cleared the air.”
Grif humphed.
Charles shrugged again and took a drink. “Just a bit of marital advice from someone who’s been there, old chap.” He rose and walked over to his wife, smiling down at her. Patricia lifted her face, bestowing a smile so unfettered, so intimate, that it made Grif turn away uncomfortably, as though he had stumbled on a private moment.
Grif drank deeply. He wanted Kay to look at him like that. Hell, he’d done everything he could possibly think of these last months to court just such a smile from her. Instead, she seemed more and more put off by his presence. True, she was still exquisitely responsive whenever he touched her. So naturally he’d taken every opportunity to do just that—even if it meant making a cake out of himself in front of his family and footmen.
He hadn’t really intended for that little interlude in the garden. Grif cursed. He should never have kissed her in the gazebo. But she was so beautiful, so delectable whenever she so obstinately tried to thwart him, that he just couldn’t help himself. And, lucky for him, he wasn’t the one who had insisted on dominating the entire tryst. The memory of their joining in the gazebo, barely an hour ago, made his pulse quicken and his loins tighten. That Kay could be so giving, so willing, so open—to him—seemed damn near impossible. After sharing such a glorious experience, he could almost believe that she shared his sentiment.
Grif sighed, marshaling his thoughts. Surely his brain was addled if he thought his wife had fallen in love with him, especially considering she was getting frostier after each exchange. Hell, she had just walked away from him after the most intense, most sensual encounter he’d ever experienced in his entire life. That should be proof enough for him.
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