Dangerous to Kiss (22 page)

Gray knew something was wrong the moment he answered the knock on his bedchamber door. “What is it, Treana?” he asked.

The maid gaped in astonishment, as though she had never seen a man with his shirt unbuttoned before. Gray did not wait for the maid to recover. His coat was thrown over the bed. Reaching for it, he said impatiently, “Is it Miss Weyman? For God’s sake, girl, tell me what’s happened.”

Lowering her eyes as though to shield herself from the potent effect of that muscular chest, she stammered out the message she had been told to deliver. “If it please your lordship, Miss Weyman says you are to come at once. The boy is not well.”

Gray did not attempt to elicit further information from the flustered maid. The door to Quentin’s room was only a few steps away. Shrugging into his coat, he quickly traversed the corridor, gave a perfunctory knock on the door and entered the room. Deborah was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing back the hair from Quentin’s forehead. The boy’s face was flushed. At sight of Gray, his breathing became labored and he groaned.

Deborah rose and came to meet him. She was already attired in her nightclothes. Above the dark green collar of her robe, Gray absently noted the white lace of her night shift. Her wide, luminous eyes betrayed her fear. His hands reached for her and she grasped at them convulsively.

“Easy,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here now. Just tell me what happened.”

“I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t know if it’s
something he has eaten, or if it’s more serious. I think we should send for the physician.”

Gray crossed to the bed and leaned down over the prostrate boy. Quentin stared back at him with eyes that were just a shade too innocent. Gray breathed deeply and caught the whiff of something he instantly recognized. Shaking his head, he straightened and turned to Deborah. “Where is the sherry I sent to your room earlier this evening?”

“Sherry? I don’t remember any sherry.”

In answer to Deborah’s questioning look, the maid shook her head.

“I think,” said Gray, “that Quentin can answer that question.”

Quentin licked his lips. “I drank it,” he said hoarsely.

“How much did you drink?”

Quentin’s eyes strayed to the walnut wardrobe. “I don’t know.”

Inside the wardrobe, Gray found the bottle of sherry and a used glass. “About two glasses, I should say,” he said, holding the bottle up to the light.

Deborah gasped. “Is … is that bad?”

Gray forced his lips to remain straight. “Bad enough, but they are small glasses. You had better leave us alone, Deborah. This is men’s business, so don’t interfere. Treana, I want a carafe of cold water. At once, girl,” and so saying, Gray shut the door in their faces.

Deborah’s eyes never wavered from that door. A time or two, when she heard prolonged retching followed by animallike moans, she started from her chair, then sank back as the moans faded away. In due course, the carafe of water arrived. Taking it from the maid, she tapped lightly on the door and entered at Gray’s bidding.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, washing Quentin’s face and hands with a washcloth. Quentin smiled weakly as she approached the bed.

“I’m sorry, Deb,” he said. “It was a stupid thing to do.” He glanced at Gray’s face then went on manfully, “I should be horsewhipped for giving you such a fright.”

Gray laughed. “Did I say that? Well, I did not mean it literally, so don’t go adding any more to your Deb’s worries than you already have. There will be no whipping. What you are suffering now and what you will suffer tomorrow is punishment enough.” He held out his hand and took the carafe from Deborah. “He’ll feel better when he gets this down him, and even if he doesn’t, it’s the price he must pay for trying to ape the modes of his uncle.” He nodded an affirmative to her raised brows. “Oh yes. Young Lord Barrington, here, has been studying my habits and thinks that by emulating my example, it will make him a man. He knows better now.”

Deborah stood a little off to one side, observing Gray as he forced Quentin to drink back the whole carafe of water. He had taken command of the situation and she could have wept in gratitude.

When Quentin was comfortably settled, she walked Gray to the door and into the corridor, leaving the maid to watch over Quentin. She looked at him with wide, tear-bright eyes. “I suppose you think this is my fault for not watching him more carefully?”

“I think nothing of the sort. Quentin only did what any boy would do given the opportunity. Deborah, haven’t you heard the old saw ‘Boys will be boys’?”

She swallowed hard. “Then you think I fuss over trifles?”

He slowed his steps and stared at her intently. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I would never reproach you for your care of Quentin.”

“It’s very good of you to let me off so lightly.”

“Deb,” he murmured, “don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

At these soothing words, the tears that had been held in check welled up and spilled over. When he reached for her, she went into his arms without protest.

“I … I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she choked out. “It’s just that I’ve been so alone. And now …” She swallowed back her words, not even sure what she had meant to say.

“Shhh. You’ve been through a lot in the last little while, more than most grown men could handle. You
are human, Deb. You just need someone to take care of you for a change.”

When he kissed her chastely on the brow, she sighed and nestled her head against the crook of his shoulder. The arm around her waist tightened, bringing her closer to the warmth of his body. She pulled back slightly and looked up at him.

“I’m glad you are Quentin’s guardian,” she whispered. “He’ll do very well with you. I’m sorry I was rude to you. From now on, I promise, I won’t fight you.”

He smiled. “Don’t go all submissive on me, Deb, or I won’t know you.”

At this, her dimples flashed, and he brought one hand up to trace them with his fingers. When they winked out, he frowned, and lifted his eyes to search her face. He could feel her soft breasts quivering against the hard wall of his chest. She felt so soft and womanly, so right in his arms.

“Don’t start that,” she warned him, and tried to wriggle out of his clasp, one hand braced defensively against his broad chest. When she gasped, he looked down. Her hand had slipped inside the edges of his opened shirt.

Horrified, she cried out, “You are practically unclothed.”

He grinned down at her red face. “Deb, you’ve seen me in a lot less. Don’t you like the feel of your hand on my bare flesh? You did once, don’t you remember? I know I like it.”

She gave a little squeal of indignation, stomped on his toes, and twisted out of his arms. “You told me to forget all about the time I was your prisoner.” Her eyes darted over his shoulder to the door to Quentin’s room. She couldn’t reach it without going past him. “I’m trying to forget, I’m really trying, but I won’t succeed if you keep throwing it in my face.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Now, if you would be so good as to step aside, Lord Kendal, I should like to retire to my room.”

“Don’t you think ‘Lord Kendal’ is a bit formal considering all that we have been to each other? You don’t
call Hart ‘Lord Hartley,’ do you, or ‘my lord’ in that annoying way of yours? Call me Gray. It sounds more friendly.”

She glared into his laughing face. When she retreated a step, he advanced. He wasn’t seriously pursuing her, he told himself. This was, after all, a public hallway. At any moment, someone might appear. He hoped that someone would. He just couldn’t seem to resist baiting her. No sooner had that thought occurred to him, than he discarded it. He wasn’t baiting her, he was playing with her, and damn if she wasn’t the one who always provoked it.

When he pounced, she let out a shriek. Arms like vises dragged her against him. “Gray,” he said, laughing down at her. “I want to hear you say it.”

Her eyes flashed. “Then you will wait till doomsday, my lord.”

He wasn’t going to let that challenge pass. He kissed her quick and hard. “Gray! Say it, Deborah!”

She pressed her lips together. He kissed her again, then again. When her lips softened, he increased the pressure until her mouth was open and pliable beneath his. He shifted her till her body was flush against him. The game was forgotten as he felt her yielding to his demands. His hands dipped to the rounded swell of her bottom, kneading, lifting her into him, pressing her against his hard groin.

Deborah tried to fight his power. He was a rake. This was all a game to him. Her body didn’t seem to care. Hot and cold chills shivered through her, making her cling to him for support. The ache in her breasts spread out and sank into the lower half of her body, settling between her thighs. Without volition, she spread her legs. He groaned and flattened her against the wall.

“Gray!” she cried out. “Gray!”

When he pulled back, his eyes were wildly dilated, as were hers. Neither said a word. Both remained frozen, staring at each other as their labored breathing punctuated the silence. Gray came to himself first. His hands fell away and he took a step back. Feeling herself slip
ping without his support, Deborah made a determined effort to straighten her knees. Her cheeks were flaming.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded shaken.
“Gray
, Deborah. From now on you will call me Gray.”

She picked up her skirts and quickly slipped by him. At the door to Quentin’s room, she made a half-turn. Even in the candlelight, he could see that the glint of challenge had returned to her eyes. “Good night, Uncle Gray,” she said with false sweetness, and she whisked herself into the room.

He was laughing softly when he turned toward his own chamber, but the laughter died when he caught sight of Nick in the shadows, arms folded across his chest, one shoulder propped against the wall.

“How much did you see?” asked Gray, coming abreast of him.

“Enough.”

“There’s no need to look like that. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, didn’t it?” Nick followed Gray into his room and shut the door. “I presume you
will
offer the girl marriage?”

“Good grief! Why should I do that? Deb is not the first pretty girl I have kissed. Did I marry the others?”

Without waiting to be invited, Nick uncorked a bottle of sherry and poured out two glasses. “You call that a kiss?” he asked, taunting him. “You were practically devouring the poor girl.”

Gray accepted the glass Nick held out to him. “Deb and I are worlds apart,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“You know.” Gray shrugged indifferently. “I’m too old for her.”

“Too old? I’d hardly say you were in your dotage. There can’t be more than—what?—eight or nine years’ difference in your ages?”

“In experience is what I meant.”

Nick folded himself into an upholstered armchair. His eyes were dancing. “I see,” he said. “She deserves something better. Is that it?”

Gray’s lashes drooped, concealing his expression. “Well, doesn’t she?”

Nick threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Gray,” he said, “I should have known you would fight this every inch of the way.”

Kendal House in Berkeley Square was a three-storied, brick-terraced house with stone pediments decorating the upstairs windows. It was inevitable that Deborah’s mind would stray to her father’s houses, Belvidere, his country estate near Windsor, and Strand House, just around the corner from Charing Cross. Those were palaces, and could quite easily have swallowed up Kendal House ten times over.

None of this occurred to her consciously as Gray ushered her into a white marble hallway hung with a delicate blue paper. She was clinging very tightly to Quentin’s hand, trying to bolster his confidence by her own cheerful example. Quentin wasn’t to know that her knees were knocking together. At least Gray was not springing them on his mother without warning. He had sent Nick ahead to inform her ladyship of what she might expect.

A door banged on the floor above, and several voices cried out at once. Quentin edged a little closer to Deborah, and she, in turn, edged a little closer to Gray.

“Uncle Gray, where is Papa?”

A boy with tousled dark hair appeared at the top of the stairs and began a perilous descent. In his wake came three ladies, and in the rear, trailing them, came Nick.

Hart, entering the vestibule at that moment, exclaimed, “Jason! What are you doing here? And where is Mama?”

“We came to visit Grandmama.” The boy’s eyes alighted with interest on Quentin, but it was evident that he was bursting with some important communication. “Papa, we are going to have a baby. I heard Mama tell Grandmama.”

“I know,” said Hart, “but that is not for general knowledge.” He stared pointedly at the two grinning footmen who were carrying valises and portmanteaux into the hall.

“You know?” Jason could not hide his disappointment. “But how can you know?”

Hart grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then everyone was laughing and talking at once. Gray and Nick pounded Hart on the back, exclaiming at his good fortune. When one of the ladies detached herself from the others, Gray sprang on her and enfolded her in a bear hug.