Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (18 page)

“I cannot express how violently I disagree with that statement,” she said.

He turned to look at her, a brief smile on his features. The glow from the fire turned his skin a golden rose. But it did nothing to ease the tightness between his brows or prevent his smile from fading to sadness.

“You have that look too. When you were negotiating with me in the inn. I saw the gleam in your eyes. You adore a bargain. The finding of it, the manipulation to get it, even when dancing with me, you were thinking of how to turn the situation to your advantage.”

She felt her face heat. “I assure you, I was thinking of something decidedly more carnal.”

“Maybe,” he answered. “But you had it just now too. You call it a reason to get up in the morning. You say it is your life.”

She nodded. It was. Having now found usefulness, she would never go back to living empty.

“I went to school because that is what future earls do. I was decent at it, but not scholarly. Enjoyed it and my friends. Then the money ran out, and I went to London to try and moderate my father’s excesses. That, I was not so decent at, but it was my responsibility, and so I did what I could.”

“Moderating a parent is
never
a child’s job.”

He shrugged. “But it was my task, so I did it. Got distracted into my amusements, but that is inevitable for a young buck about town. I was never as good a gambler as my father. I just didn’t have the knack for numbers that he did.”

She tilted her head, trying to understand what he was trying to say. She could not. All she could do was listen.

“Then there was Diane’s wedding and the celebration to be paid for. It was father who saw the mill, Robert who made me work. I was the one who burned down the barn.”

“But that was an accident.”

He tilted his head as if listening to something she couldn’t hear. “It was a stupidity, and I got exactly what I deserved.”

“But you went to work at the mill. You made it into a success. It is one of the best in the country now.”

He stiffened, his brow arching. “
One
of the best? I beg to differ.”

She smiled. “Very well then. The best wool in all of England. And the very best angora.”

His expression softened, moving quickly from humor to reflection to an abiding sadness. “I have never worked so hard in my life, Irene. These last five years have been like gaol, and I was never so happy as when I was finally free of it. I will never go back there willingly. I cannot see how I managed it even now.”

“But you did manage it. You did earn the money—”

“Not enough.”

She waved that aside. “It doesn’t matter. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

He looked back at the fire. “I am. What I did taught me a great deal.”

“So why do you hide it? Why do you despise it so very much?”

“Because it was work, Irene. Hard, backbreaking, mind-numbing work. It wasn’t a reason to get up in the morning. It wasn’t a talent or a way of making things fit. It was simple, daily work of the kind that makes a man go mad.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “And I thank God every day that it is over.”

She had no words for that. She still didn’t see his message. Then he turned, shifting on the settee until they were face to face.

“Don’t you see, Irene? I’m not ashamed of the work you do. I’m envious. Of you, of my brother, even of my benighted father. You love every moment of the day, while I…” He shrugged in a sad gesture of hopelessness. “I hate it.”

She swallowed, understanding at last the aching sadness she felt in him. The yawning hole that had once been her life was his still. “But that doesn’t explain why you keep it all a secret.”

“Doesn’t it? If I had told my brother the truth of where I’d been, of what I’ve been doing, what would his reaction be?”

She frowned. “I hope he would be pleased. He seems the kind of man to value hard work.”

“Oh he is, most definitely.”

“Then—”

“He would expect me to continue, Irene. He would praise me to the skies, then be disappointed when I never went back to that place.”

She frowned. “No—”

“Irene, I worked because I had to, not because I wanted to. Frankly, I cannot imagine the desire to work every day and give the money away. I can think of nothing more wonderful than to sit and have my every need catered to.” He flashed a wistful grimace. “You and Will and even my father are cut from a different cloth. You enjoy what you do. I, on the other hand…”

“Enjoy nothing?” she asked quietly.

His smile turned lascivious. “There are things I enjoy, Irene. Things I enjoy a great deal.”

“But it feels empty in the end, doesn’t it?” She touched his face, feeling a pain deep inside. “Even our night together.” The night that still had the power to move her. “That was nothing but… a distraction. A way to fill the void.”

He looked away, and she could see the truth in every line of his tense body. “I am envious of you, Irene. And that is the shame I will not confess to my brother. He already knows too much of my madness. To tell him that the world is an empty place of toil without joy…” He shook his head. “Don’t you think my family has burdens enough?”

“That is why you kept saying you would give up the title. It is yet one more burden—one more expectation—that brings you no joy. Just more obligation. To marry, to bear children, and to maintain a crumbling castle. Give that all to him, and you would be free.”

He nodded. “He can support the title much better than I. He is about to marry well, and they will be excellent parents for the next generation. Under his management, the wealth will grow, and the honor of the Crowles will be restored.”

“And what will you do when you are free of all this obligation? What will fill your time then?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up from the fire. And in the silence, she heard the answer as clear as day. He would do nothing. Just like her in her bed, counting the ticks of a clock to no purpose.

“I nearly died, Grant,” she whispered. “If Helaine hadn’t found me and given me something to do—something
she
desperately needed—I would have stayed in my bed, eating nothing and doing less. I would have died from doing nothing.”

He nodded. A slight motion of his head, and it was in that moment she realized that was his plan all along. He had responsibilities and obligations. But when they were done, he would do as she had. He would simply fade away.

“You cannot do that,” she said, horror in her voice. “You are needed in this world.”

“The world needs souls who care, Irene. Who work as you do, who love as my brother does. They even need men like my father to see the mathematics in everything. What it absolutely does not need is another useless peer.”

And with that, he pushed to his feet and held out his hand. “Do not look so terrified, my dear. I still have a great deal to do, you know. There is your mysterious pursuer. There is my brother’s wedding. And I have yet to make peace with my mother.”

“And after that?”

He flashed her a smile full of charm and mischief. If she hadn’t just listened to him confess his emptiness, she would have been taken in. She would believe him carefree and happy.

“I don’t spare much time on thoughts of the future anymore. The last time I did, I worked myself to the bone for five years only to have my brother marry the land that I couldn’t buy.”

“But—”

“Hush,” he said as he pressed his finger to her lips. Then a hard light came into his eyes. Not cruel, just firm. “I am done talking. So we either put your lips to better use, or perhaps it is time to escort you home.”

She had no answer for that. For either his emptiness or his mask of carefree insouciance. So she did the only thing she could. She gently pushed his hand away then she stretched to his mouth. Her kiss started out slow, almost tender, but as her mouth met his, anger bubbled up inside—a fury that he could not see possibility in his future. It burned through her blood and set her teeth on edge. What started as gentle became fiery. Tender became dominant, and she all but crushed him to her.

He pulled back, his eyes widening in surprise. But she gave him no more respite than that. Slamming her hands on his shoulders, she shoved him toward the settee. All she did was rock him back on his heels.

She wanted to say something then, but the anger was too hot to rationally form words. So she didn’t. She shoved him again, and this time he allowed himself to tumble backward. He landed hard on the settee as a slow smile stretched across his features.

“Irene, you surprise me.”

“Really?” she drawled. “Because I’ve only just begun.”

She was angry. Grant felt his eyes widen as Irene shoved him down on the settee then stood above him like an avenging fury. She was
very
angry, and he couldn’t really blame her. After all, he was rather annoyed with himself. He’d never thought of himself as a depressive, but it was clear that recent events had brought out a side he hadn’t visited in years.

Aw, shut your gob! You’ve got a willing woman and a throb in your pants. Pay attention to her!

He listened to his madness. Especially as Irene stood over him with her hands on her hips and her delectable skin flushed rosy.

“Take off your coat,” she ordered, her tone husky.

He nodded meekly, pulling off his coat as humor skated through his thoughts. If she thought he would be intimidated by a beautiful woman ordering him to disrobe, she had a surprise coming.

“Cravat and shirt too. And that waistcoat is lovely, by the way, but I have no interest in looking at it either.”

He nodded and continued to strip out of his attire. That necessitated shifting forward on the settee, and she backed up an appropriate distance as he did so. A moment later, he was leaning back, his torso bared for her inspection. Apparently, she enjoyed what she saw because she joined him on the couch, settling onto her knees as she stretched out a hand to his chest. Her lips were parted slightly as she touched him, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the simple pleasure.

“It’s so soft.”

His eyes opened on a frown. “Did you just call me soft?” he asked, his voice too thick to sound truly insulted.

She smiled. “Your chest hair, silly.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. “Is that… nice?”

“Very nice,” she answered. Then her voice abruptly hardened. “And if you think you are going to just sit there, then you are very much mistaken. I am rather cross with you.”

He grimaced. “Yes, I had noticed.”

“I like you a great deal, and I shall be furious if you just… go away.”

He sobered. “I’m not going anywhere. I believe I told you that.”

She frowned, obviously frustrated. He knew what she was thinking. He knew what she feared: that he would do the unthinkable.

“I’m not suicidal,” he said gently. “I’m just…” His gaze slid away. “I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I shall find our mysterious attacker. I will keep you safe. But beyond that…” He shrugged, having no words.

“Beyond that,” she said as she pulled his face to hers. “You will kiss me. Now. Like you mean it.”

His expression shifted into a slow grin. “I always mean my kisses.”

Then he leaned forward and gently cupped the back of her neck. He felt her breath exhale and could not tell if it came from relief or anticipation. Her breath was sweet—a leftover from the wine—and he felt his entire body surge toward her. But he held himself back, savoring the moment. He loved the hitch in her breath and the pounding of his heart. He loved her heat as it seemed to steam off her body and the silky brush of her hair.

He might have held back longer, but she would have none of it. She closed the distance between them, and to his shock, thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Blood roared in his ears as he opened to her, played with her, and tried not to split her legs wide right there and then. Never had a woman done this to him—with him—and he was stunned by how exciting a demanding woman could be.

She was clumsy in her efforts, pushing at the roof of his mouth, darting and retreating in a frenzied nervousness. Her hands gripped his shoulders, pulling her on top. His free hand was on her waist, steadying her motions, supporting her weight. Her near leg was bent on the settee, and as she stabilized in her position, he dropped his hand to slide it up beneath her skirt and trail across her stocking to the top of her thigh.

She murmured her assent as he stroked the few inches of bare flesh. He did not need more encouragement as he slipped his fingers around to the junction of her thighs. A half breath later, he was pushing into the moist heat of her, spreading her folds as he explored in a lazy casualness that he knew would drive her mad.

She pulled back, her breath coming in stuttered pants. She was in the dominant position, her head bowed such that their temples nearly touched. She straddled one of his knees while bracing herself on his shoulders. And yet, for all the power of her position, he was the one who set the pace. Her eyes fluttered closed as he stroked her, pushing into her core before pulling out in a long, hard caress over her hard nub.

Then he abruptly stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said with false humility. “You were telling me what to do, I believe. Commanding me, in fact, and I have stepped out of bounds.”

She opened her eyes, and it took her a moment to focus on his face. His male pride surged at that. He liked that he could make her dazed. But then, her gaze seemed to spark, her expression tightening into a startling intensity.

“You will finish what you are doing,” she ordered. “And it shall not be considered well done until I cry out.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise and a great deal of pleasure. “Until you cry out? As in scream? That is a tall order indeed.”

“Not scream,” she said. “Cry out. Your name.” Then she licked her lips, not in a seductive manner, but unconsciously. And the sight of her pink tongue had his belly contracting.

“My name?” he said, the words and his focus sadly out. Good God, she was winning in this battle of seduction, and that thought nearly sent his organ into spasms of delight.

Then she leaned down to whisper into his ear. Between the heat of her breath and her words, a shudder of hunger wracked his frame. “Grant. But on a cry.”

He wanted to say something clever. Repartee was part of the dance. But his words had left him. All he knew was her body pressed against him and the sweetness of her flesh next to his fingers.

As she instructed, he began to stroke her. Thrusting push, long pull. He used his thumb to circle her nub, his fingers to open her wider, and then the push inside. Circle, push. Circle, push.

“Your hair,” he gasped. “Let it down.”

She took a moment to understand his words. Then she straightened, balancing carefully as she raised her hands to her pins. What a sight she was. She wasn’t even naked, but her uplifted breasts seemed to soar before him. Then she pulled out the pins to her hair, and he watched the black silk tumble to curl across her shoulders.

“You should be naked,” he whispered. “My God, you are such a beauty.”

She flashed him a coy smile, but shook her head. The movement was as much denial as simply shaking out her locks. Either way, he drank in the sight, especially the hard, tight points of her nipples directly in front of his mouth. He wanted to suck on those tips. He wanted to tease them with his tongue and nip them with his teeth. Oh, he wanted so many things, but there wasn’t time, as what he did between her thighs overwhelmed her.

Another circle and push. Hard and deep. But it was enough.

She cried out, not his name, but a surprised gasp. Her hands came down quickly to his shoulders, and he steadied her with one hand on her hip. But there was nothing to stop her body’s undulations as her pleasure crested and withdrew, peaked then fell. He watched in awe. Then when she finally regained her breath and her equilibrium, he gave her a wolfish smile.

“Irene?” he said.

She blinked, awareness coming slowly into her eyes. “Yes?”

In one motion, he flipped her onto the settee. One second she had been poised above him, the next she was lying flat on her back, as her skirts slid to her waist.

“My turn,” he said, his hands leaving her glory to quickly undo his pants.

She smiled, but she held up her hand as if to stop him. “Are you sure?” she challenged. “I don’t believe I cried out your name.”

He frowned, remembering. “Quite right,” he agreed. Then he spread her legs and stepped naked into the breach. “I shall remedy that immediately.”

Then to her obvious shock, he dropped to his knees in front of her.

***

Irene felt her eyes go wide as Grant dropped almost out of sight. Then he kissed his way up her thighs while she squirmed. She was incredibly sensitive, and the slow press of his lips coupled with tiny nips had her gasping as she arched off the settee. But he was relentless, and what he did with his tongue gave her no time to speak. Her belly tightened, and she cried out, but he stopped immediately—holding off as she gasped.

“I can’t have you too breathless to say my name, now can I?”

She wanted to say something tart in response, but she hadn’t the breath. She simply lay quivering as he lifted one of her legs to settle on his shoulder.

“Say my name, sweeting,” he said with a wolfish grin.

She shook her head.

“Hmmm,” he returned. She thought it was a comment or one of those thoughtful sounds men sometimes made. She was wrong. He repeated the sound—a low hum—as he pressed his lips to her most sensitive place.

“Sweet heaven!” she cried. Her body arched, the convulsions nearly pulling her off his broad shoulders. He held her safe as the peak rolled through her body. Then whenever the pulses started to subside, he stroked her again. With his tongue or his thumbs, it didn’t matter. He kept her peaking until she was fainting from the pleasure.

Then he straightened from his position, standing to his full height over her. He looked glorious like that, his skin a rosy gold, his torso sculpted, lean and strong. But she was looking at his eyes, seeing how he looked at her hungrily, though she was sprawled before him in a boneless heap.

“You’re beautiful, and I want to make love to you now. Will you let me?”

She nodded and tried to reach for him. He started to join her, but then frowned. “I’ve brought something. A French letter.” He stepped for his trousers, rooting through them before he pulled out a folded envelope. “I know I forgot the other night. I’m sorry, but I remembered this time.”

She tilted her head, looking at the item he pulled out. “What is it?” she asked.

His brows shot up, and he grinned. “I love that I can teach you things.” Then he turned, putting himself in profile. His organ was thick and proud as it thrust up before him. Then he slowly sheathed himself. “It is to prevent pregnancy. Also, many diseases.”

She glanced at his face, alarmed, but he quickly eased her fears.

“I’m very healthy. You needn’t fear. But I doubt you want a baby just now.”

She felt her face flush as she looked away, the old ache returning. She
did
want a baby, but she understood how it would make her life awkward—his, as well. But the idea of bearing his son made her weepy with want.

Not understanding, he leaned forward to kiss her trembling lips. “Don’t worry. It usually takes more than one night to make a child, though, of course, it’s possible. But I know many who have waited for years. Besides, we’re safe now,” he said as he stroked her cheeks.

His fingers came away wet, and he looked down at her in surprise. She blinked, startled by her own grief.

“Irene?” he said.

She shook her head slowly. “You twist me around,” she said. “I never know what I will do next with you.”

“And does that please you? Or frighten you?”

“A little of both, I suppose.” Then she touched his face. “But mostly, I am pleased. Very, very pleased.”

“You still have not said my name,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

“Grant.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t count.”

“Then I suppose you will have to do more. Though goodness, I’m not sure I will survive it.”

He stroked her cheek. “Do you want me to stop? Are you exhausted?”

“I am empty, Grant. Will you not fill me?”

“With everything I have,” he said as he slipped between her thighs.

She was in a rather awkward position, stretched along the couch. But it was a soft piece of furniture, and as he set himself in place, he slipped his hands beneath her bottom to steady her. Then, as he slowly pressed into her slick core, he lifted her, and she let her head drop back. She felt as if she were floating, raised in the air as he entered her.

He was thick, but she was so wet that he slid easily inside. She stretched around him, she gripped him with her thighs, and finally, she felt gloriously filled.

“Oh yes,” she said, her eyes drifting shut. “Yes.”

“Irene,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

He was leaning forward over her, now fully seated. She opened her eyes and saw his look. His expression was tight, but his eyes still worshipped her. She saw gratitude, awe, and a hunger that she more than matched.

“I won’t last long,” he said, his voice throaty. “Say my name.”

She was too happy to fight him on their game. Her earlier anger had dissipated beneath a tide of pleasure. But she still could not give him what he wanted. Not yet. So she mutely shook her head.

Then he withdrew. Fully.

“Grant!” Too late, she arched off the couch, trying to catch him before he left.

“There it is,” he said as he thrust into her again. Thick and hard, slamming against her body, such that she seemed to shimmer with the impact—a shower of sparks throughout her body. “You tricked me,” she accused.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“Really?” she asked, as she tightened her internal muscles, squeezing him as much as she could manage.

He groaned in response, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Irene,” he murmured. “Oh God…”

Then he moved in earnest, his body pulling back and slamming in with steadily increasing fervor. There was a possessive power in his movements, a clench to his teeth, and a madness in his eyes. She watched it grow, felt its demand in every thrust. And she gloried in it.

The power in him filled her. It was raw, and it claimed her as surely as a brand, burning deeper and harder with every thrust. She arched, gasping as he built her pleasure again.

Faster. Harder.

Suddenly his body seemed to contract. The pull was intense. The thrust an explosion.

“Irene!”