“Please, my goddess,” he panted behind her. “Your beauty overwhelmed me.”
“Stubble it, Julius,” Kyra told him over her shoulder.
Grif couldn’t completely stop the smile that threatened to break free upon seeing his wife. She was rather delicious as a vengeful goddess, he thought. Her breasts were quivering with indignation and her hair, now free of its powder, was a wild, dark mass around her shoulders. Her lips were puckered in an angry scowl that would send most mortal men running for their lives.
She was so angry with her young swain that she didn’t see him right away. It wasn’t until she was an arm’s length away that she looked up. Her eyes widened behind her mask and her mouth formed a little o. She stopped so abruptly in her tracks that Caesar almost bumped into her.
“I thought you were my goddess, Hera,” Grif drawled.
Kyra had recovered her wits nicely and was staring at him coolly. She inclined her head a mere fraction. “Welcome home, milord. When did you return?” she asked evenly.
“This very evening,” Grif answered, matching her tone. “Imagine my delight upon finding you here.”
“Who are you?” Young Caesar, a Mr. Pitt if Grif had the lad’s measure, eyed him with disdain. Clearly the boy was trying to establish his territory. Grif grimaced at the boy, causing the young emperor to actually take a step back before realizing that he even did so.
Grif looked squarely into the young man’s eyes and said, “Hera’s husband. You may call me Zeus.”
Mr. Pitt gulped and bowed to Kyra. “Thank you for the constitutional, my lady. I fear I have forgotten another engagement and must return to the masquerade immediately.”
Kyra ignored her husband’s snort of laughter and curtsied to the young man’s retreating back. “Thank you for a delightful evening, sir.” She turned on Grif as soon as Caesar was out of earshot. “You are simply beastly, scaring that young man like that.”
“You’re the one who kicked him,” Grif retorted. He was so glad to see her, especially if she was kicking overly enthusiastic young admirers.
Plus she looked damned beautiful.
Her breasts were practically spilling from her gown; she must have her corset cinched so tightly that breathing was near painful. Her hair was in disarray thanks to one overeager emperor, and Grif fought the urge to find the whelp and beat him senseless for touching her. He wanted to tangle his fingers through the silky locks and kiss her completely witless. His blood heated at the mere thought of it. He’d do anything to know she felt as unsettled as he was at the moment.
The look on her face, however, was less than warm. In fact, it was positively glacial. Kay just looked at him as he stared at her, clearly waiting for something. He offered his arm and she surprised him by taking it. They began strolling through the gardens, neither of them breaking the silence for a long time.
Finally she declared in a frosty tone, “It was foolish of you to show up here. They’ll haul you off to prison if you get caught.”
“I don’t believe you’ve ever accused me of being terribly bright,” he replied.
His humor had no effect on her. “What do you want?”
“Want? I wanted to see you, Kay. We have unfinished business.”
“That we do,” she said tartly. “Did you get my letter, Grif?”
“Letter?” he echoed, racking his brain and coming up blank. “What letter?”
Kyra’s face tightened and she looked at him from the corner of her eye. “The one Scotty delivered to you. The night you left?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, finally remembering. “That letter.” By the black look behind his wife’s mask, he judged it wisest to not mention the fact that he had tossed it aside in a drawer of his desk, unopened. He would read it at the first opportunity. At the moment, he had other things on his mind. “Let’s discuss that later.”
“Of course,” she said icily. “What would you like to discuss, Grif?”
He drew her to a small alcove at the far end of the garden. Surprisingly, no one seemed to have made it that far from the house. Of course, most revelers were able to keep their indiscretions in the house, as the masks provided more than enough protection from prying eyes.
Grif helped his wife down onto the cushioned bench and took her hand in his. She allowed him to remove her mask and toss it to the side, then watched as he did the same to his own.
“Fool,” she admonished him. “Keep it on or you’ll be found out for sure.”
“I missed you,” he said, ignoring her censure. “I realize I have rather botched things between us.”
“Yes,” Kyra hissed, snatching up his mask from the bench.
“I’m not quite sure how to fix that,” he admitted.
“How troublesome for you,” she replied.
She was about to cover his face with the mask when he stopped her hand. He met her gaze, which was defiant of course, and shook his head.
“Kay,” he said. “I never should have lied to you. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me,” she said conversationally, giving up the fight to keep him in disguise. “For which lie are you sorry, Grif? Specifically?”
Grif exhaled heavily. “Not telling you I was a pauper, for starters. I should’ve told you that.”
“Yes,” Kyra said tonelessly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t understand? That I would choose marriage to Brumley over you?”
“In truth, I had several business ventures that were close to paying off,” Grif explained. “I’ve invested in several factories here and abroad, with the hope that they would get me back in the black. When they did, if they did, I wouldn’t have to feel like...like a...”
“I believe the word you used was ‘prostitute,’” Kyra said stiffly. “That and ‘stud service,’ which I must admit was money well spent.”
Grif ignored her barb. “I’m sorry for that whole ugly scene.”
“Hmm.” Kyra sniffed. “And what of the smuggling, Grif?”
Grif’s heart dropped. “You know about that?”
Kyra scoffed. “I do. Mr. Conroy told me, and Thomas confirmed it. Do you know how much effort and haranguing it takes to crack a man like Thomas? It took me days just to get him to confirm what I already suspected.”
“Thomas actually tattled?” Grif asked, amused in spite of himself.
Kyra raised a brow. “I locked him in the study and began removing articles of clothing from my person. Rather awkward. By the time I’d unhooked my petticoats, he was singing like a magpie.”
Grif chuckled. Poor Thomas. The woman was completely incorrigible...and rather brilliant. She knew as well as he that Thomas would never lay a hand, nor an eye, on a friend’s wife. Quickly calculating the amount of trouble caused by his little wife, Grif realized he’d never be able to repay his friend.
Kyra was waiting, eyebrow still arched. “So, I believe you were about to regale me with stories of smuggling, Grif?”
“Edmund,” Grif said slowly. “It started out as a job for Edmund. I was a courier at first for a small band of smugglers he’d pulled together. When I realized how disorganized the lot of them were, I began to take over. I figured that if I was going to be part of a smuggling ring, I didn’t want to get caught by the Waterguard for simple lack of leadership. I cut the nasty element from the rank and file, set up a better practice of communication and a better method of delivery.”
He shrugged sheepishly. “They’re not bad men, Kay. Many of them were ex-soldiers or sailors with no real source of income. Most have families. I saw an opportunity to make it better for them and for me. We’ve been rather successful.”
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Kyra said tightly.
“Something like that,” he said. “It allowed me to keep my family from poverty, and I won’t apologize for that. I am sorry I didn’t te
ll you, but I didn’t want to endanger you. In truth,” he admitted, though it pained him to do so, “I suppose I was afraid I’d disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me, Grif?” Kyra laughed coolly. “You have taken everything from me, and you’re worried about disappointing me?”
At his bemused expression, she said sardonically, “Your mother told me everything, Grif. I know we were to be betrothed the night you left for the Continent, but you chose to enlist instead. You dragged my brother off to war so you wouldn’t have to suffer an inconvenient wife.”
Grif raised his hands. “You weren’t an inconvenience. It wasn’t about you. Kay, I was young and angry and stupid. I found the idea of being sold into marriage dishonorable and repugnant. I was too proud and too stubborn to leg-shackle us both for money.”
“Pity you changed your mind after my brother’s death,” Kyra snapped.
“It hurts me too!” Grif snapped back. “Don’t you think I curse myself every day for losing Dev? He was like a brother to me. I have done much in my life to regret, but that is one of the few things I will never forgive myself for.”
“Nor will I,” she said bitingly.
They sat in silence, staring at each other. Grif was beginning to understand the depth of her hurt, but he had no idea how to countenance it.
“Did you know, Grif,” Kyra finally broke the silence, “I learned all of this the same night I learned you were accused of killing Brumley? I spent a rather uncomfortable night consoling your mother.”
“I swear, Kay, I did not kill Brumley.”
“You may not be in prison, but you’ve been tried and convicted by Society,” she said, a slight edge to her otherwise icy tone. “As has your family. The truth matters not one whit...not when polite society looks at me as though I’ve developed the plague. Your mother and sisters are barely tolerated even by those they call friends. You, of course, had the luxury of running off to play pirate, so you haven’t suffered the consequences of that verdict.”
She raised her hands, cutting off his apology. “You have taken my brother and my life as I knew it, so don’t tell me you are sorry. Sorry doesn’t fix this, Grif. In fact, I don’t give a damn if you’re sorry or not!”
She stopped herself and took a deep breath. The she looked him in the eye, something akin to contempt on her face. “Why are you here, Ethan?”
“I’m here for my wife,” he said in measured tones. “I had hoped to make amends so that we could clear the slate, so to speak. I’d like for us to start anew.”
Kyra sat up stiffly and peered down her nose at him. “Really? Forgive and forget and all that?”
“I’m not thick, Kay,” he grated. “I don’t expect it to be that simple.”
“What precisely do you expect?” she said hotly.
As always, her temper kindled his own. “I might expect my wife not to flaunt her dalliances in front of me.”
“Oh, please.” Kyra waved him away dismissively. “I danced with a young man who got a bit out of line. Nothing happened, I assure you.”
“Not tonight, perhaps,” Grif taunted, baiting her. “I haven’t been in town long enough to hear how many other men have gotten out of line and into your bed.”
“How dare you?” Kyra muttered, her tone more than a little condescending. “After everything you have done, you dare judge me on the basis of one gaffe. Your hypocrisy knows no bounds!”
“Well, I can tell you your bounds, Kay. You will not conduct an affaire with a snot-nosed brat barely out of his short pants,” Grif decreed. “In fact, you will not conduct an affaire at all!”
“I will do precisely as I please,” Kyra said, her voice low but simmering. She rose to her feet and looked down at him, eyes flashing. “Now, milord, if you are quite satisfied, I would like to get back to my evening.”
“I’m not satisfied,” Grif snapped, jumping to his feet. “I have spent six long weeks without you, Kyra. I am nowhere near satisfied.”
He took her hand and felt her shudder. “Let me go,” she hissed, pulling her hand to try and break free. The scowl on her face was a heartbreaking mixture of anger and hurt. While it tugged at his heartstrings, it also gave him hope.
“I missed you, Kay,” he said, stroking her cheek. “You are all I thought about. You’re all I ever think about.”
She swallowed hard and her eyelids fluttered shut, briefly. When she opened them again, there was a steely light in them. “No, Grif. There have been too many lies, too much hurt. As you once told me so bluntly, one cannot un-ring a bell.”
Grif shook his head slightly. “Kay, I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but I care for you. I care for you more than I care for my own life. I’d walk to hell and back for you. Anything you ask of me, Kyra, it’s yours.” He ran a finger along her naked, satiny shoulder, savoring the shiver that ran through her body, and dared to kiss her neck.
“Grif, don’t—” she commanded, her voice cracking slightly.
“Kyra,” he said softly, “if you want me to go, I’ll go. I swear. Just say the word.”
“I want you to go, Ethan,” she said, pushing away from him.
His brow dipped in a scowl at his stubborn wife. “No,” he retorted, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist.
Kyra met his eyes and scowled back. “You promised.”
Grif shrugged and skated a kiss along her obstinate little jaw. “I lied. It seems to be a pattern for us.”
He kissed his way to her mouth and teased her lips with his tongue. He covered her mouth and slowly began kissing her, determined to wipe away every single argument she spun in her head.
“We shouldn’t do this, Grif,” Kyra murmured long moments later, her head falling to the side so he could better nibble her ear, her neck. “It changes nothing.”
He kissed his wife silent, ignoring her thinly veiled protests. Pulling her tight against him, he let his hands flow freely over her slight hips, her flat stomach. Surprised by the softness of the skin underneath the thin toga, he felt an undeniable longing pool in his lower half, which he felt compelled to share with his wife. Nudging his arousal against her softness, he reveled in her little intake of breath.
“You’re not wearing a corset,” he whispered in her ear, his voice rather gravelly. “Zeus is pleased.”
Kyra half laughed, half groaned as his hands wandered over the underside of her breasts. She swayed into him as he rubbed his thumb teasingly over her nipple. Grif busied himself with the delicious task of kissing the creamy column of her neck, the silken expanse of her shoulder, enjoying each and every sigh that fell from her lips.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he whispered, nipping her ear in challenge. Grif loved how she shook involuntarily at his ministrations. He had never felt more powerful, more triumphant, than when his beloved wife shivered at his touch. “Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll let you walk away from me.” He licked her earlobe, enjoying her harsh gasp.
“I don’t,” she said, shaking her head.
“You don’t what?” he asked, taunting. He pulled at the low bodice of her costume, freeing its delicious bounty. He shaped her breast in his hand and squeezed gently. “You have to say the whole thing, Kay, or we can’t count it.”
“Hmm,” was all she managed, so he decided to take that as acquiescence on her part. Fumbling one-handed with the ties on his domino, he continued caressing the soft mound of her breast with his other hand. He managed to toss his cloak onto the bench then dragged his wife to the seat, as well. He sank down onto his cloak, pulling Kay into his lap as he did.
He kissed her hard, unwilling to let her escape, hoping she was beyond rational thought. When he finally dragged his lips away from hers, he stared into her glazed eyes. They were so dark they were almost black. She just looked at him, completely poleaxed. Grif smiled, and she leaned in for an
other kiss.
He kissed her lightly, ignoring her protest. “I believe you were about to tell me something,” he teased against her mouth.
Kyra frowned, her expression completely blank. “What?” she asked, befuddled.
“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled and kissed her again.
Grif wanted to take his time pleasuring his wife. But when she kissed him with such utter abandon it was all he could do to not to plunge into her with more haste than grace, like some green schoolboy with his first barmaid. He wanted so badly to make sure she understood how deeply he needed her, how much he cared for her. Instead, he found himself rearranging her on top of his lap and ruching up her skirts. She fumbled with his breeches, and his mind went blank. Poised at her entrance, holding her just out of reach, he renewed the kiss with an urgency bordering on desperation. She kissed him back wildly, completely uninhibited, which only made the very tenuous hold on his control slip further from his fingers.
“You want me,” he moaned into her mouth. Kyra nodded, but it wasn’t enough. “Tell me you want me.”
“I do want you, Grif,” she whispered. “I do.”
He let her go slowly, filling her with a soft groan. When he was buried to the hilt, he held her hips in a forceful grip, not allowing her to move. He scattered kisses along her neck and collarbone, soon finding his way to the top of her breasts. She moved, just a fraction, against him, and he nearly lost himself completely.
He kissed her into submission, trying to ignore the fact that he was buried deep inside his heaven on earth. He needed to hear the words, just once. “You love me, Kyra,” he said laving her ear. “You do.”
“Yes,” she groaned, her back arching slightly.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“I love you, Ethan,” she sighed.
An Inconvenient Wife Page 29