As his laughter circled her, she’d never treasured any sound more and feared she might never have another moment such as this, when she felt so loved and loved so much in return.
Chapter 16
She awoke to faint sunlight streaming in through the windows, disappointed to discover she was alone. But she could see the shallow dip in the pillow where his head had rested while he held her.
After escorting her to the bed, he’d crawled beneath the covers with her. While he’d not removed his trousers, at least she’d had his bare chest to snuggle against, to glide her fingers over. She’d counted his ribs and kissed the hollow in their center. She’d inhaled the earthy fragrance of him. Too sated to speak, she’d merely absorbed his presence and relished the way he held her close with one arm, while his other hand cupped her hip.
Once she’d awoken to discover her back against his chest, his hand cradling her breast, his soft snores near her ear. Contentment had swept over her as incessantly as waves over the shore, constant and never-ending.
But it would end, when they returned to London. Perhaps they’d stay here, one more day, one more night. Only this time, she would give to him as he’d given to her.
With that last remembrance, an ache formed in that secretive place between her thighs, a place he knew so well. While she chastised herself regarding what she had allowed, she couldn’t seem to regret it. Not when she cared for him so deeply.
Perhaps she always had. Perhaps the teasing had been a form of defense to protect her heart because she wasn’t destined for a rapscallion. She was destined for an heir. If she wanted to hear the wind whistling through the windows, the creaks of the ancient floorboards, the crash of the sea against the shore.
Thinking of him caused a pressure to build, centered in that tiny little bud that he had closed his lips around and suckled. What passed between a man and woman was nothing at all what she had expected it to be.
After Jocelyn had married Chadbourne, she had told Kathryn, “You simply lie there while he moves over you, and when he’s done, you clean yourself up because it’s a terribly messy affair, and go on about your business.” It also had seemed a terribly cold affair.
Last night had seemed anything but cold or messy. Granted, he hadn’t mounted her—she knew all about mounting having seen a stallion covering a mare at her family’s country estate—but still she couldn’t imagine anything with Griff being passionless. Just thinking about him stirred within her things that shouldn’t be stirred. And yet, he’d always had the ability to make her feel things she shouldn’t—and to always feel them so damned strongly. Whether it was irritation, anger, fear, happiness, joy, contentment . . . passion . . . desire.
He possessed the key that unlocked every emotion within her. Every sensation. Every spark.
She wished he was still here for her to explore, but he’d no doubt left in order to protect her reputation. Mrs. McHenry arrived with the dawn to begin preparing breakfast. The coachman and footman would arrive with her, to manage any tasks that needed doing, such as hauling up water for her bath. Even now, she could hear movements taking place on the floor below hers.
She thought the next time she saw Griff she should feel self-conscious and shy because he knew the intimate details of her, and yet it was inconceivable that she would feel anything but happy to see him. Perhaps she could convince him to dance on the beach with her before breakfast, because she was suddenly of a mood to frolic on the sand and at the edge of the waves.
After easing out of bed, she crossed to the window and snatched up her nightdress from where it had landed the night before. As she retraced her steps to the bed, she caught sight of her reflection in the cheval glass. Tentatively she approached it and held out her arms. Shouldn’t a woman well-sated look different in the morning? Only she didn’t. Nothing about her revealed the wickedness that had occurred. What an incredibly prudent trick of nature, to keep a woman’s wantonness hidden.
Only she and Griff would know. They could exchange secretive smiles with no one the wiser.
After slipping into one of the simple frocks she’d left here on her last visit, she wandered down the stairs. When she reached the hallway, she glanced down it toward the room where Griff had been sleeping and noted that the door was open. Tiptoeing to it, intending to surprise him with her presence, she was disappointed to find it empty.
Nor was he in the parlor or the dining area.
“Morning, milady.”
She glanced back at the door that led into the kitchen area. “Good morning, Mrs. McHenry. Have you seen Mr. Stanwick?”
“No, miss. Are you off to enjoy your morning stroll?”
“Yes.” Perhaps he was outside.
“I’ll have your food ready when you return.”
“Thank you.”
After stepping outside, she didn’t see him at the cliff. A sense of urgency struck her as she raced to its edge and looked down. But he wasn’t on the sand, wasn’t in the water.
Spinning around, she saw the footman and coachman in the distance, no doubt returning after checking the road. She hurried over to them. “Have either of you seen Mr. Stanwick this morning?”
“Aye,” the coachman said. “At the livery before we headed over here. He was seeing about purchasing a horse.”
“Why would he need a horse?” Even as she asked the question, she knew. God help her, she knew.
“Don’t know, milady. Didn’t think it was my place to inquire. But he did ask the fellow who sold him a gelding for directions to London.”
She felt as though she’d taken a physical blow. He’d left. After all that had transpired between them, he’d left without so much as a word.
“We was just checking the road out of here, milady. It’s heavily mired from the rain. We should probably wait another day before trying to use it.”
“But a single horse could traverse it.”
“Aye, if you take it careful or travel to the side of it where the grass absorbed the wet.”
“Then, he’s gone,” she murmured, not to anyone in particular. More to herself, confirming what she’d already deduced.
Having brought her exquisite pleasure, he was done with her. It shouldn’t hurt, should have been expected. Far easier to leave than to face her. At least her anger at him prevented her from experiencing any sort of sadness at his parting. It was no doubt for the best because she had a duke to marry.
Chapter 17
He’d hired a lad to watch the residence in Whitechapel where his sister had lived before she married, as well as one to watch the residence in Mayfair where she would no doubt reside now that she was the Earl of Tewksbury’s wife. So he knew within an hour of her return to London where he would find her.
He waited until the following afternoon to hire a hansom cab in order to call on her.
As the vehicle moved swiftly through the streets, he couldn’t help but turn his thoughts to Kathryn, as she was never far from his mind. He was fairly certain Kingsland would bring her pleasure, but it would all be only motions. Touch here, press there, rub, circle, squeeze, take—the actions he’d learned from bedding dozens of women.
Griff knew those actions. He’d wanted Kathryn to know what they felt like when accompanied by love. Not that she’d know the difference immediately. Perhaps she never would. He hoped she didn’t.
But he’d also wanted to know what it would be like for him when love was involved because never before had he loved a woman with whom he’d been intimate. Oh, he’d liked them immensely, adored them, cared about them—but what he felt for Kathryn was so much deeper than what he’d experienced with any other woman and couldn’t be measured. While he’d not found his own release, it didn’t matter. He’d taken as much satisfaction from hers as he might have from his own. No encounter with any other woman had been as satisfying. Now he knew the sounds of her moans and cries. Knew the feel of her thighs quivering before she finally soared. Knew her musky scent when stirred by desire. Knew the sweet taste
of her most intimate, secretive place.
Knew she had the tiniest, softest little snore when she slept. For a few hours afterward, he’d merely held her and basked in the wonder of watching her. She’d always despised what he’d considered an endearment. Freckles.
He’d known, of course, how she felt about it, and so he’d teased her with it—until teasing her had no longer been what he wanted to do. And so he’d locked the pet name away in a special corner of his heart where he’d store all the other memories of her.
A little over a week had passed since he’d left her sleeping—so beautiful, so at peace—just before dawn, gone into the village, and paid handsomely for a horse to get himself back to London. After all the rain, he’d been concerned their journey was going to be delayed for another day, perhaps two. Or if he had his way, forever.
Since his return to London, every night he stood at the top of the stairs at his club, waiting and watching for her to stride through the door in all her glorious and righteous anger because he’d left her. Simply slipped out of her bed and gone on his merry way.
Only he hadn’t simply slipped out and gone on. He’d stood there and catalogued each of her features, had taken a few of her curls between his finger and thumb to rub and absorb the texture. Had inhaled her orange and cinnamon fragrance. Had considered easing back into bed, beneath the covers, and taking possession of her body, heart, and soul—properly and completely—making her his.
The indulged second son he’d once been would have done it, would have put his own pleasures and wants and needs ahead of hers. But he no longer was that man. He’d had his sense of privilege slowly ground out of him through toil and labor and deprivation. He’d come to appreciate what he’d had only when he’d no longer had it. To take her would have meant seeing her deprived of what she yearned to possess—and where she was concerned, he refused to be that selfish.
But if she’d come to him, if she’d come to his club, if she’d chosen him—
Only she hadn’t. Although he’d considered going to her, he could offer her only a few nights, not eternity. But then why would she want a man who’d been broken, slowly pieced himself back together, but remained cracked? Not for the long haul, and it wasn’t fair to either of them to settle for the short haul.
So he’d left, trusting the footman and driver to see her safely to her residence. He knew they had, the day after he left, because the boy he’d hired to keep watch had reported to him when she returned.
After that, like a fool, he’d begun his vigil at the top of the stairs, ignoring everyone around him, focusing on the door through which she never walked. Her absence didn’t stop his heart from thundering each time someone came into the club until he realized it wasn’t Kathryn. He needed to accept that never again would it be her.
The club now seemed duller because she would never again grace it. The din and cacophony of voices flatter because her laughter would no longer lighten it. The fragrance staler because her orange and cinnamon scent would no longer tease it. Tonight, he would cease his fruitless watch and begin wandering through the rooms again, even as he dreaded the memories of her that each would visit upon him and the loneliness they would leave in their wake.
The cab pulled into the drive of the massive manor in Mayfair. After slipping payment through the opening to the driver, Griff disembarked and studied the well-maintained lawn as the vehicle was driven away. It was strange to be back in Mayfair after all this time, to be on the verge of entering a fancy residence, especially when he no longer felt he belonged here. Maybe he never had.
After ascending the steps, he tapped the knocker against the wood and waited. In short order the door opened, and a butler gave a deferential nod. No doubt a result of Griff’s fine attire. He knew that to be successful he had to look the part of already being successful, and he’d made certain to use his coins wisely when it came to his clothing. “Mr. Griffith Stanwick to see his sister, Lady Tewksbury.”
The butler opened the door wider. “Do come in, sir. I shall see if her ladyship is at home.”
Standing in the grand foyer, Griff would be surprised if she wasn’t. She was back in the sort of residence she deserved, with its massive walls and vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers. With its claymores and broadswords displayed, revealing a heritage that could be traced back generations.
“Griff!”
He turned as Althea rushed into the foyer, her husband following at what seemed to be a sedate pace, but it was only because his long legs ensured he didn’t need to move as quickly to keep up with her. Before he could even greet her, she had her arms snuggly around him and hugged him tightly.
“I’ve been so worried.” She leaned back. “You look well, prosperous in fact. The last time I saw you, you appeared quite . . . menacing, to be truthful.”
They’d last seen each other shortly before she married, before she’d gone to Scotland, when he’d still been more involved in Marcus’s efforts than his own. “I’m on a different path now.”
“I want to hear all about it.” She moved aside slightly, held out her arm. “We want to hear all about it.”
Trewlove came forward and placed his arm around her, drawing her in close, in a move that seemed as natural to him as breathing in air. He extended his hand. “Stanwick.”
Griff took the offering, gripping the man’s hand, shaking it solidly. “My lord.”
The new Earl of Tewksbury grimaced. “No need to be so formal. Beast will do.”
“I’ve rung for tea,” Althea said. “Come into the parlor, get comfortable, and tell me everything.”
“Scotch might be better, my love,” Beast said.
Griff wondered how much his brother-by-marriage already knew. He’d haunted the darker corners of London, had ruled in Whitechapel. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man knew a good deal more than he’d ever admit. “Scotch would be appreciated.”
They went to the library where he and Beast sipped scotch, while Althea nursed a sherry as she told him about their wedding—which he truly regretted not being able to attend—and their time in Scotland, how she’d fallen in love with its people and majestic lands. He was grateful to see how absolutely happy she was. It was obvious her husband adored her, much more than he suspected Chadbourne ever would have. In spite of the detour her life had taken, he couldn’t help but believe she was much better off than she would have been had she been able to remain true to the path chosen for her. She was stronger, more confident. Easily a woman who could conquer any of life’s challenges.
A woman like Kathryn, who had saved herself on the banks of the Thames, with a little aid from him. Who hadn’t been squeamish about his wound, who had taken charge and seen him cared for. Who would now carry on with her life as though he’d never been in it.
When his sister came to the end of sharing her adventures, he explained about his club.
“I want to see it,” she insisted.
“You’re married. Membership is only for those who are not.”
“I don’t want a membership. I want only to peek inside, stroll around perhaps.”
He shook his head. “It would have to be when it wasn’t open, and then it’s simply a building with rooms.” It was the membership, the manner in which they interacted that created the atmosphere that was leading to its success, and he needed to ensure they all remained comfortable, trusted that they and their . . . escapades . . . were safely kept within those walls.
“Your refusal to let me see it leads me to think wickedness goes on there.”
He merely sipped his scotch.
She smiled. “You rapscallion, you. It’s the sort of place that would have given Mother the vapors, isn’t it?”
“She might have disowned me if she’d ever learned of it.”
“I miss her.” She glanced out the window. “Sometimes I even miss Father, which I know is so wrong.” She looked back at him. “And Marcus, what can you tell me of him?”
He’d known she’d ask, didn’t
want her to worry, but she deserved to know some of it. “I believe he’s getting close to finding what he’s been searching for, but he’s had to leave London for a while.”
She nodded, no doubt expecting what he’d shared. “I wish he’d give up this damned quest of his.” She pointedly arched a brow. “Yes, I’ve taken to using profanity on occasion. Comes from not being a lady for a while.”
“Society will welcome you back now.”
“Rather reluctantly, but it helps to have married into a powerful family. Speaking of that family, we’re having them over for dinner tomorrow evening. I do wish you’d join us. You know the nobles, of course, but you’ve yet to meet Ben’s brothers and sisters. I would very much like for you to.”
“I’m not certain it would be wise.”
“My family doesn’t judge,” Beast—the moniker seemed more appropriate than the Ben that his sister used—said. “They’d welcome you.”
“Please,” Althea said softly. “It would be nice if our family could return to some semblance of normalcy. The dinner might help achieve that end. And you did miss the wedding.”
Guilt was a powerful motivator. While she and he had never been particularly chummy, what they’d gone through together had created a stronger bond between them, brought them closer, especially as she’d been the one to tend to his hands that working the docks had torn up every day. “I’d be honored.”
She smiled brightly. “Wonderful! You’re going to love them, and they’re going to love you.”
He very much doubted love would be involved, but he was glad to see his sister exhibiting such optimism. She’d endured a lot—a broken heart, poverty, working in a tavern, and dangerous circumstances—to come out on the other side strong and knowing exactly who she was.
“You’ve not returned to the Fair and Spare since that second night,” Wilhelmina said slyly, before taking a sip of tea in Kathryn’s garden.
She had invited her friend to visit for the exact reason that Wilhelmina had just stated, because Kathryn hadn’t been to the club and was hoping to catch a bit of gossip about it, about him. She wasn’t going to go chasing after him. He’d made his position clear enough when he’d left that morning without even bothering to thank her for her care, without so much as a farewell. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in gleaning some information regarding him and his club. “My curiosity was satisfied.”
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 18