“What happened with your man? The one you rushed off to rescue?”
Griffith turned to take a seat on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I got him out. Apparently being a duke’s heir is good for something. People tend to blanch when you start waving your title around.”
Frederick chuckled, taking a small sip of his sherry. It must have gone down wrong, because he started to cough, tilting the glass so it was in danger of spilling. Griffith leapt up and took the glass, put it on one of the side tables, then stood next to Frederick’s chair feeling helpless as his cousin continued to cough.
“Anything I can do?” Griffith asked. He glanced around for the bell, then spotted it and shook it vigorously.
The door burst open moments later and the butler ran in, his eyes wide.
“Your Grace?” he said, kneeling on the carpet next to Frederick. Frederick waved a hand, then straightened again.
“I am fine. Merely a bad swallow.”
Griffith and the butler shared a glance, and then the butler rose, smoothing his trousers. “I will just fetch you some tea, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.”
Frederick leaned against the back of his chair, closing his eyes.
Griffith glanced over at the butler, who was regarding his master with an expression of concern.
The man’s look made it seem as though this was not a usual occurrence, and Griffith felt his blood run cold at the thought of losing Frederick so soon after finding him again. Or, to be more accurate, Frederick finding him again.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Frederick spoke in a quiet voice.
Griffith didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “I don’t want you to die.”
Frederick snorted. “Nor do I, and yet here I am.”
“Not just because I have no desire to take over. Although that is part of it,” Griffith said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. And then he spoke in an earnest tone of voice. “I didn’t realize until I was back here how important you are to me. All this time, I assumed you and the rest of the family would be here, as though you were preserved entirely as you were when I left. Not that I care about any of the other members of the family, but I do care about you.”
“Thank you,” Frederick said gruffly.
“Which is why I want to learn everything I can from you.”
“I look that bad, hmm?” Frederick asked.
Griffith froze in horror. “No, it’s not that.” He grimaced, then looked at Frederick who was laughing.
“You bastard,” Griffith said. “I just want to do what is best.”
Frederick pointed at Griffith. “And that is why you were such a good captain. And why you’ll be a good duke.”
Griffith wished it didn’t sting that his being a captain was in the past tense.
“And I saw that other doctor,” Frederick continued. “He seems to think it’s not as bad as the previous doctors. I don’t know if it’s because he wishes to keep me as a patient, or what, but I am seeing him again.”
Griffith felt his breath catch at the thought—if there was a chance Frederick would be alive in six months, and six months after that—well, he’d get to have his cousin and his friend around for a lot longer than he’d expected. And, perhaps, Griffith could resume his captaincy after all.
Though he wouldn’t tell Frederick that, or his cousin might just get more ill, just to keep him on dry land.
“Good afternoon. Is Lady Della at home?” For once the lady herself had not answered the door.
The girl nodded. “She is, I’ll get her. If you would come inside?” She spoke in a cultured voice, although her clothing was plain. Her belly was round enough to make him wonder if she was in an interesting condition.
Not your business, he could hear Della snapping in his head.
“Thank you.” Griffith stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.
He hadn’t planned on seeing her this afternoon; he’d sent word that he would escort her to another party that evening, but then he’d spent the morning with Frederick going over accounts, and it had gotten to the point where Frederick had tossed him out of the house because he was so restless.
Naturally, he’d walked over here, barely realizing he had until he’d been striding up the steps.
“Good afternoon.” Lady Della walked up to him with a puzzled frown on her face. “Is there a change in plans? You could have written a note.”
Griffith glanced around the hallway, making sure nobody else was there, and then he placed his hand on her waist and drew her up against his body. “I couldn’t wait. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
He held his breath, waiting for her to react, wanting to be certain she was of the same mind as before.
But it seemed she was, since the corner of her mouth drew up into a sensual smile, and then she licked her lips as she met his gaze. “I thought of you all night,” she replied, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair and draw his head down to hers.
Their mouths met in a ferocious clash, and he nearly groaned aloud at how good she tasted. Her tongue slid into his mouth where it tangled with his, and her hands gripped his hair, tugging him closer still.
He had initiated the kiss, but now she was the aggressor, taking one hand out of his hair to slide it down his back, then under his jacket to rest at the small of his back, edging up against him so they were pressed against one another.
She took her other hand out of his hair and put it on his hand, the one resting at her waist, then moved his hand up so his fingers were just under her breast. He took the hint, cupping her breast, rubbing his palm against her nipple, feeling it press through the fabric as it stiffened.
His cock was stiff as well, pressing up against her lower belly. He knew she felt it because she made a low noise in her throat and shifted so his cock was fully pressed against her. And then she moved again, causing a delicious friction.
If he weren’t an experienced man of twenty-eight years he would have spent by now. As it was, the only thought in his head was that he absolutely should not lay her down on the floor in the hallway, shove her skirts up to her waist, and thrust inside.
Even though he was seriously considering it.
She kissed him deeper, harder, making low moans in her throat, pulling him closer to her, so close his fingers were crushed against her breast, not that either one of them was complaining about that.
And his cock throbbed in his trousers, so hard that each of her movements felt like a delicious torture.
He heard a noise above them, and they sprang apart, both of them panting, staring at one another.
The noise receded, and her mouth—moist from their kiss—curled up into a knowing smile. “Well. It seems we have something in common, even if we can scarcely agree on anything.”
He wanted to argue about not agreeing, but realized how that would just prove her point. Besides which, the most important thing was that they did agree on one thing. Namely, how soon they could tear one another’s clothes off.
“So what are we going to do about our common interest?” His voice was roughened by passion.
She licked her lips, and he groaned aloud, making her smile more wickedly. She drew her hand up her body, her fingers touching her stomach then trailing up to touch her breast. She splayed her fingers out around her breast and squeezed, emitting a soft sigh. “I touched myself last night, thinking of you,” she said.
“Fuck, woman,” he growled. He wanted to take her in his arms again but he knew that was dangerous, since clearly neither one of them was thinking straight.
“That is what I want,” she answered, her gaze sliding down his body to settle on where his cock thrust out from his trousers. “I want you to fuck me.” And he swallowed, his throat dry. He knew he would recall just how she’d said that for the rest of his life, likely an integral part of his fantasy when it was just him and his hand. “I just don’t know where to go so we’re not
interrupted.” She lifted her gaze back to meet his. “I want to have plenty of time for exploring,” she said, biting her lip.
“A room.” His voice was ragged. “We’ll get a room. Tonight. After the party.”
She smiled. “As long as I am home in time for breakfast, my lord.”
He gave a brief nod, then couldn’t keep himself from reaching down to give his aching cock a squeeze.
“That’s for me,” she said. “Don’t do anything there until tonight.” She raised her chin challengingly. “If you are able to.”
He’d do it, even though he’d be walking around with a cockstand for the rest of the day. Damn. He couldn’t wait to give her all the pleasure he could.
“Tonight,” he repeated, then turned on his heel to walk out the door, knowing if he stayed he wouldn’t be able to resist anything about her.
Della watched in appreciation as he walked away. She was startled at how forward she’d been, but he seemed to like it. And so did she. She hadn’t been with Mr. Baxter long enough to figure out what she did and did not like in bed, except that he did have some skill in that arena, even if he was not who she’d hoped he was.
But it felt, with Lord Handsome, as though she were in charge. It felt exhilarating. She wanted to explore what pleased her, what pleased him, and how they could please one another.
And since she had no expectations of him beyond that, she would not be disappointed, as she had been in Mr. Baxter.
She hadn’t been selfish in any way since before Nora was born. She’d focused on the child growing in her belly, their survival, and then keeping them alive. Then she’d had Sarah in her life, which was selfish in that she loved Sarah, and claimed her as her family, but there was also a measure of rescue there. Although Sarah had rescued her equally.
But this—she only had pleasure to gain from the sexual bargain they’d made. It was a simple, selfish act. It was only about her pleasure, although of course she hoped—and knew, to be honest—that he would derive pleasure from it as well.
It felt empowering to be so selfish, honestly. To claim what she wanted and make strides toward getting it. To know that the only objective was something she longed for. Not something that would benefit her materially, or raise her standing in the world, or help her and her family’s future. Just something for her.
Like buying a pretty hat even though you had dozens at home. But he would fit her far better than a hat would, and the satisfaction she’d gain as a result would be far greater than being told she looked lovely that day while wearing the hat.
Damn it, she could not wait until after the party. The party itself would be a tortuous delight, both of them anticipating what would be happening in a few short hours, and yet not able to hasten the moment.
She’d have to make certain to wear one of her most beautiful gowns that was also the easiest to remove. Although there was something to be said for his stripping her bare, undoing each button as she felt herself start to unravel. Feeling those big hands sliding on her skin as he undid her.
She’d told him not to touch himself until this evening. She supposed she’d have to promise herself the same thing. Even though the thought of her fingers touching herself as she thought of him and those big hands and that bigger body was an enticing one.
It was going to be exquisite torture until she could get him alone.
Chapter 12
“Are you certain you are all right?” Sarah asked in a skeptical voice as she held the gown out for Della.
Della nodded far too emphatically. “Yes, of course.” She would not share with her friend that she’d been in a torment of sexual anticipation for the past few hours. They were close, but Sarah didn’t need to hear of Della’s urges.
“Lord Stanbury is coming to pick me up in half an hour,” she continued, glancing at the clock. She frowned. “I’ll be ready by then, won’t I?”
She wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Or herself, for that matter.
“If you stop fidgeting you will,” Sarah replied in an exasperated tone. The one she usually used for one or the other of their daughters.
“Fine.” Della stood exaggeratedly still, biting her lip not to laugh at Sarah’s aggrieved expression. It was far too easy to needle her friend. Nearly as easy as it was to needle Griffith, but she didn’t want to annoy him at the moment, even though that was her general philosophy.
She wouldn’t want him to cry off from their later activities because she was being aggravating.
“Fine,” Sarah repeated. She helped Della tug the sleeves of the gown down her arms, then leaned over to smooth the skirts.
Della looked down at herself, pleased that she’d splurged on this gown. Thank goodness she had some funds set aside for pretty things—what was the point of existing if there wasn’t some joy in one’s life? Which, of course, brought her back to the topic uppermost in her mind.
She really needed to stop thinking about it.
The gown. She’d focus on the gown. Not how it would feel when he removed it from her body, not how she was anticipating what his expression would be when he saw her in it. None of that.
She should try this again. The gown. It was a dark purple color, nearly burgundy, and plain except for the black lace ornamenting the hem and the bodice. It was cut low, revealing plenty of her bosom, with tiny puffed sleeves that rested just on her shoulders.
She wore a black velvet choker around her neck with a dark purple stone set in the middle of it. It tied with gold wire, and she wore a pair of gold-and-purple earrings that dangled nearly down to her neck.
Mr. Baxter hadn’t seen fit to take those items, since he knew they were paste. But they were pretty nonetheless.
“You look lovely.” Sarah’s tone was sincere, and Della smiled at her friend.
“I wish you could come.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “And have to watch you and Captain Handsome flirt the entire evening?” She shook her head. “No, thank you, I will stay here.”
“And tomorrow we will go again to look for Mr. Wattings, I promise,” Della said, touching her friend on the arm and squeezing. “I feel that he is out there somewhere, we just have to leverage the power of the duke’s heir to get the information.”
Sarah snorted. “The power of the duke’s heir sounds like some kind of dark magic.”
Della waggled her eyebrows. “Captain Handsome is some sort of dark magic, and I intend to let him cast a spell on me.”
Sarah laughed as she poked Della in the shoulder. “Stop it, I don’t want to know.” A moment as she tilted her head in consideration. “But you will tell me everything, won’t you?”
“I will.”
Della looked at the clock, then picked up her skirts and began to walk out the door. “I don’t want to be late. You are certain I look all right?”
“You know you are gorgeous. Captain Handsome is lucky to have captured your interest.”
Della felt a warmth right around her heart at hearing her friend’s words; Sarah didn’t care about Della’s ruined reputation or that any gentleman might think she was fair game given said reputation. She only loved and supported her, and she would doubtless object if Della tried to settle on someone who wasn’t—in Sarah’s eyes, at least—worthy of her.
Della knew that situation would never happen, since she wouldn’t settle herself, but it was nice to know her friend was so solidly in her corner.
And she had to repay the love by finding out what happened to Sarah’s husband.
Dear God. Griff nearly said the words aloud, but they choked in his throat.
She had been waiting at the door for him—apparently she was relieved of door duties only the once—and he had stepped inside without registering her appearance.
But now that he had—Dear God.
She was a spectacularly beautiful woman, he knew that already, but in the gown she was wearing she was practically irresistible. The fabric was shiny, in a color that looked somewhat like a bruise on its third day.<
br />
Not that he would tell her that.
It was molded to her figure on the upper half, and cut low enough to please even him. She wore an enticing strip of black fabric around her neck, and her hair was swept up, showing the graceful lines of her neck and the earrings that bobbed as her head moved.
“Are you going to stand there gawking?” she said, but in a tone that indicated she knew what he was thinking, and she was glad he was thinking it.
“If you’ll let me,” he replied honestly.
“We have to go do more of your Society establishing,” she replied, shaking her shoulders to adjust her gown. Making Griff even more tongue-tied at the sight. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be wearing this gown.” She twirled in a circle. “Do you like it?” she asked in a mischievous tone.
He stepped forward so he was within a hand’s breadth of her. But he didn’t touch her, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I like it,” he said in a low tone, watching as she reacted to his voice. “I’ll like it better when I am underneath its skirts.” And then he watched as her eyes widened, and she took a few deep breaths as she realized what he was saying.
“Let’s go to this thing before I forget I am a fake betrothed,” she said in a strained voice.
She stepped to the door and he followed, his gaze riveted on the back of her neck, on where the tiny black buttons were like a treasure map to what he knew would be a treasure just for him.
This was going to be a long night.
“Lady Della Howlett.” The butler announced her name tentatively, as though he knew what the likely reception would be. “And Lord Stanbury,” he added, this time much more confidently.
Della lifted one eyebrow toward Griffith, who was glowering in a particularly possessive—and yes, intriguing—way.
“It’s fine,” she murmured as they walked into the ballroom. He tucked her arm into his, practically sweeping her into the middle of the floor.
Unfortunately, since it was a ball, he had just walked her into the middle of about two dozen couples.
Never a Bride Page 13