“Ye gots to get yer membership vereefied first.”
“I’m not a member, and I don’t require membership to enter.”
He blinked several times, and she thought perhaps he was striving to translate her words into something that made sense to him—or perhaps he simply wasn’t accustomed to anyone challenging him. She noted a couple of gents nearly hugging the wall to avoid getting too close to the fellow as they made their way into what she was fairly certain were the more interesting sections of the building.
“Everyone requires membership,” he finally said, although his tone lacked any real conviction. “’Ems the rules.”
“I don’t. Move out of my way.”
“Can’t do it. Lose me job.”
“I assure you that you won’t. Now step aside.”
“Look ’ere, miss—”
“It’s all right, Billy. Let her through.”
She hated the way that voice could leave her breathless. Still, the brawny giant did as ordered, and then her vision was filled with Griff, standing there in formal evening attire that fit him to perfection. It had to have recently been tailored for him because his shoulders were broader, his arms thicker than they’d been the last time she’d seen him. Shoulders and arms that she knew the firmness of because she’d trailed her fingers over them when he’d kissed her in Kingsland’s garden. That she wanted to do so again was inconvenient. She hadn’t come here to do any trailing, kissing, or touching. She’d come to give him a piece of her mind.
As though he were king of the realm, he tipped his head slightly to the side as though granting her permission to come forward—when she didn’t need his permission to do anything. Still, she took four steps toward him until she caught his fragrance of bay rum mingled with the aroma of freshly dug earth and inhaled his scent deeply as though she’d just emerged from years of living beneath the ocean and was finally free of it to take air into her lungs, filling them to near bursting.
His hair was lighter in shade, longer, curling against those massive shoulders. His jaw was shadowed by bristles as though it had been several hours since he’d shaved. Although, maybe he kept it that length on purpose. It made him appear tougher, more dangerous, someone to be reckoned with. However, his eyes served the same purpose. They no longer reflected a lighthearted, teasing mien. As a matter of fact, she was left with the impression that he might not ever laugh at all any longer. She’d never realized before how well she knew each detail of him. How it gratified and angered her at the same time.
“This establishment isn’t open to those who are claimed,” he said in a flat, curt tone.
“Then, I suppose it is fortunate that I am not claimed.”
She noted a fissure of anger in those blue-gray eyes before he narrowed them. “You turned him down?”
“He has yet to ask.”
“Then, you had better bloody well get yourself out of here. He won’t take kindly to your being in a place that encourages scandalous behavior.”
“Why should you care?” She took a step nearer. “You reaped the rewards of his selecting me for courtship. I heard you made a bloody fortune with your damned wager.”
His jaw tautened. Good. Let him be angry. She was furious. Days, weeks, months of frustrated fury building to near exploding. Fury because of the wager. Fury because she often found herself worrying about him. Fury because he’d probably never given her another thought, had never deemed her important enough to send word to in order to let her know he was well. Sparking the fury further was the bitter disappointment that he might, in fact, have the skills necessary to slip undetected into another’s bedchamber, but couldn’t be bothered to steal into hers and reassure her that he was still alive.
“I believe I have a right to see how your ill-gotten gains have benefited you. I think I have a right to see if it is worth what it has cost me.”
He looked as though she’d punched him. “What has it cost you, Lady Kathryn?”
“Do you want to discuss this here, Mr. Stanwick?”
An even harder punch, perhaps two or three. Her address indicated that she recognized he was no longer a lord, but also acknowledged it was the first time she’d seen him since he wasn’t.
“Come with me to someplace more private. We’ll discuss your membership there.”
She supposed he added the last for the benefit of those who appeared to be straining to hear what they were saying between clenched teeth or perhaps to give some legitimacy to her following him up the stairs. And she did follow, more fool she. She wanted to notice all the changes he’d made to the building since he’d shown it to her, but she seemed unable to concentrate on anything other than the breadth of his shoulders, the manner in which his back narrowed down to his waist. He was lean and sinewy, and yet there was strength mirrored in his graceful movements.
She wasn’t quite certain what his expression revealed, but those coming down the stairs paused to flatten themselves against the wall. She suspected it was the stomping of his feet that caused those ascending ahead of them to pick up their pace and hasten to their destination.
At the landing, he waited until she reached him before continuing down the hallway. She nodded at the few people she recognized and was relatively certain Kingsland would hear of her visit, in spite of the fact that nothing that happened within these walls was supposed to be whispered about beyond them. Some gossip was simply too tantalizing not to be shared. To be honest, she wouldn’t mind seeing the duke exhibit a spark of jealousy.
At the end of the hallway, he opened a door and stepped back to allow her to precede him into the small room. It contained an intimate sitting area designed for seduction with two sofas. Even if a lady and gent started out sitting opposite each other, eventually they would no doubt share a sofa. Or the fainting couch that rested a short distance away. It appeared far more comfortable. In the corner was a table housing various decanters. She could use a splash of something from one of those at that very minute.
She turned to find him with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall near the open door. “I thought this was an establishment that prided itself on closing doors for privacy.”
“Not when a lady needs to maintain her reputation. Why did you come here?”
She began wandering through the room, even though there was very little else to see. A few provocative paintings of women lounging about hung on the walls. They did nothing to ease her temper. “Why no men lounging about?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She faced him. “The paintings. Why the scantily clad women? Do you think ladies wouldn’t like to see an exposed male buttock here and there?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his lips together tightly, and she thought perhaps he was striving not to laugh at her ludicrous observation, but it was warranted.
Clearing his throat, he opened his eyes, his irritation obvious. “What do you want?”
“I thought I deserved to see the fruits of your betrayal.”
“How is it a betrayal when I ensured you gained what you wanted?”
“You gained as well. I thought—” She shook her head, not willing to give voice to her naivete. She thought he’d done it because he cared for her, fancied her, wanted to see her happy. But his actions had very little, if anything, to do with her. “You wrote that letter to ensure you won.”
“I did.”
“I only know bits of it. What exactly did you say?”
He lifted a shoulder, dropped it. “I can’t see that it matters. It served its purpose.”
“Made you a fortune.”
“Not until recently. Those who owed me refused to pay. They didn’t think it necessary to honor a debt made to the son of a traitor. I imagine you agree.”
She didn’t. As upset as she was about the wager, it should have been honored. “You terrified Lord Lawrence into paying you.”
Another shrug, as though he could hardly be bothered to care about another’s worries. “He had nothing to fear as lo
ng as he paid what was owed. He did. They all did.”
“Why collect now and not before?” If he’d let it go, if he’d felt guilty for taking advantage, it might have eased her hurt and anger somewhat. Although better still, if he’d never made the wager at all.
“I thought my father’s shame was mine as well. It wasn’t. And I didn’t have the . . . temerity to threaten harm.”
She considered the journey they’d taken to this room, how no one spoke to him, barely acknowledged him, seemed intent on avoiding him. Plastering themselves against walls, moving quickly out of his way. “And now you do?”
“Do you know what it’s like, Lady Kathryn, to be without? Without anything? Without friends, family, or refuge? When we left Mayfair, we had a few quid between us. We went hungry. Althea and I shared a hovel. Winter came, and there was no warmth to be found. If these blighters had paid what they owed when they owed, our situation might have been very different, more tolerable. When I was cold, bleeding, aching, and hungry, I grew to hate them. So, yes, I was willing to threaten harm to gain what I was owed.”
Balling up her hands, she took three steps toward him. “Should I not be equally angry? You took advantage of what you knew about me for gain. It’s the reason you were helping me.”
“And you were mucking it up. Whist, for God’s sake. What gentleman in his right mind would care about whist? I don’t understand your upset. You got what you wanted. Why shouldn’t I?”
“I felt ill-used. I told you things I’d never shared with another. You left me feeling . . . vulnerable, revealed for all the world to see.” How did she explain how she had come to trust him—only to be tossed aside like so much rubbish? “You needed money, and you gained it through me. You should have at least sent me an invitation to this place. You wouldn’t have it without me.”
“As I mentioned earlier, you do not qualify for membership. Even if he hasn’t asked for your hand, it is known you are his.”
“You could have given me a private viewing. Just as you did before.” When he’d taken her hand and shared his dream, his vision, his plans. When he’d made her feel privileged because he’d confided in her. When she’d seen a different side to him.
“I saw no point in it.”
She wanted to smack him for standing there unmoving, tolerating her presence, obviously desperate for her to take her leave—
But then she noticed his knuckles, so very white, as though his grip was straining to shackle him there, against the wall, away from her. As she studied him more thoroughly, she realized it wasn’t a casual stance. No, absolutely nothing about him was relaxed. As a matter of fact, he appeared quite brittle, nearly as stone-faced as a statue, as though every aspect of him required absolute concentration in order to remain as stoically unmoving as he was. But one good swipe with a hammer, and he would crumble.
She took a step toward him and detected a nearly imperceptible flinch. Was he threatened by her nearness? Was he not nearly as unaffected by her presence as he appeared?
She was still upset about the damned wager, about the steps he’d taken to ensure he won—that he’d taken the liberty of matching her with the duke when she hadn’t been certain Kingsland was who she wanted. She’d not achieved the end on her own, and she didn’t like the notion that she needed others to assist her in reaching her goals.
She was of a mind to torment him, and based on what she’d just discovered about his posture, she was fairly certain she knew how to do it with unerring accuracy.
Another step. This time his head moved back slightly as though he wanted to press it right through the wall.
“Did you never worry that you might have thrown me to a wolf in order to make a few quid?”
“I trusted that you’re strong enough to walk away if you found him not to your liking. As it’s been nearly a year since the courtship began and he recently took you to the theater—”
“How did you know that?”
“I know a good many things.”
He’d never struck her as caring one whit about gossip or giving much credence to it. “His brother told you. Perhaps you were waiting outside the theater for Lord Lawrence to deliver the money to you.”
Another shrug. A slight tightening of those fingers.
“Did you see us go in? I was wearing a new gown, a dark auburn sort of thing.”
“It matched your hair.” His jaw clenched, and she suspected he wished he’d bitten back the words.
She moved closer until she was standing in front of him. “You were there.”
“Only because Lawrence asked me to meet him so he could make good on his debt. I wasn’t there to spy on you.”
But to have seen her, he would have needed to have arrived much earlier than the duke’s brother. Had he wanted to catch a glimpse of her? “Did you like the way I looked that night? How I went to such pains to dress becomingly for him?”
“I really think it’s time you took your leave.”
“I’m not yet done with you.”
Reaching out, she took hold of the door and pushed it shut.
He hated that she’d gone to pains to look lovely for Kingsland. Hated that the man had the right to touch her, to escort her with her hand resting on his arm. Hated that she was here now tormenting Griff with her presence.
During the past few months, he’d been forced to deal with footpads and cutthroats and had become quite skilled at defending himself, but facing a woman scorned—no, she wasn’t scorned, merely severely put out with him—was a much more terrifying prospect. Or it might have been for a fellow who hadn’t faced the dangers he had. So he wasn’t particularly frightened, but he was wary. She had changed since he’d last seen her. If she wrote a letter to the duke now, he suspected it would be worded very differently from the one she’d written last summer, that it wouldn’t make any mention of whist. She possessed a determination to gain retribution and believed she was owed. He could read in her eyes that she fully intended to ensure that he paid dearly for what she considered a betrayal.
If only she knew how much he was already suffering. To prevent himself from reaching for her, he was gripping his arms so forcefully he was fairly certain he’d see bruises there in the morning. His hands hadn’t ached this badly since he’d torn them up working the docks for a few pence a day. And his jaw—with the pain periodically shooting through it because of how tightly it was clenched, he was surprised he could speak when words were called for.
“I wouldn’t be as upset about the wager if you’d been honest, if I’d known what you were up to.”
He hadn’t wanted to increase her hopes of being selected. But that was only a small part of the truth. He hadn’t wanted her to know that he’d taken advantage of the situation for gain. But still, she’d found out about it. He didn’t blame her for the upset. He had felt guilty about it, and that guilt had resulted in his delay in collecting what was owed. And that delay had resulted in those who owed him banding together to form a united front in not paying him. But he’d been soft then, easily deterred. He wasn’t now. After months of hardship, he’d learned to take what was owed. “I didn’t think you’d mind since I sent Kingsland the letter without asking for something from you in exchange for my efforts.”
Her gaze was steady. And green. The shade of clover that he wanted to lie in without care, but he suspected his life would never again be without care.
He’d been so lost in the depths of her eyes that it took him a moment to realize she’d closed the short distance between them. Her bodice was brushing up against his crossed arms, and his fingers dug more deeply into his muscle.
“It seems I should properly thank you for all the effort you went to on my behalf to see me married to a peer.”
“It was no bother.” Nothing he’d ever done for her was truly a bother.
“It inconvenienced you, surely.”
“Yes, of course—” Before he stupidly confessed that he’d never minded inconveniencing himself for her, her fingers skimm
ed along his nape, eased up slightly to his skull, and tipped his head down so her lips could fasten themselves onto his. Give me a list of ways to inconvenience myself for you.
It was wrong to take the kiss further when she was going to marry another, but she wasn’t yet wed, she wasn’t yet a duchess. Where was the harm in simply taking what she was offering and no more?
Giving in to the temptation of her, he released his hold on himself and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her up against him until all her softness was flattened against all his hardness. Her bold and wicked mouth invited him into doing all the things he ought not, and he guided his hands over her back, gripping her hips and pressing her against him until she knew exactly how much he desired her.
She was delicious, a confection to be savored. One that he had delivered into another’s keeping. Regret slammed into him. Regret that he’d written the damned letter. Regret that he’d made the damned wager. Regret that he cared too damned much for her to see her ruined here and now—regardless of how badly his entire body ached to possess her. The ache in his hands was nothing compared to the ache of his cock.
She trailed her mouth along his jaw, along the edge of his neckcloth, her tongue dipping beneath the linen so provocatively that he couldn’t hold back the deep growl. Her teeth nipped at the tender flesh, then took hold of his earlobe. She bit him, not hard, but not soft.
“You owe me,” she whispered harshly in his ear. Drawing back, she held his gaze. “See that I get a membership.”
With that, she opened the door and strode out, leaving him aching with the need to possess.
Chapter 12
Kathryn had always enjoyed the company of Lady Wilhelmina March. She’d helped fill the void after Althea had disappeared and Jocelyn’s visits had become strained after her betrothal and subsequent marriage to Chadbourne. Kathryn found it difficult to forgive Chadbourne for turning his back on her dearest friend and had often wondered how much more favorably Society might have treated Althea if he had chosen instead to stand beside her. His so quickly asking Jocelyn to marry him had been wrong on several levels. And Jocelyn immediately accepting had seemed incredibly disloyal. Even if she had been concerned with ending up on the shelf, it was difficult to view her actions in a positive light.
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 11