Natalya (30 page)

"You may be too fat to fit through the doorway," Natalya agreed mildly, nodding. "Would it be possible for you to spare me a few minutes of your precious time?"

Watching them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, Laviolet waved a slim hand at Grey. "I have a great deal to occupy me for the moment, m'sieur. Perhaps you would allow me to prepare a proper tea for you and your guest?"

He nodded, brightening. "Splendid! Might I have some oysters as well?"

"It's not the usual custom to combine oysters with tea, but for you I shall make an exception," she answered. "Where may I serve you?"

Grey pondered this. It seemed likely that Natalya would find cause to raise her voice at some time during their conversation, and he preferred that they not be overheard. "We'll be in the upstairs sitting room. Have Speed carry the tray; he's accustomed to physical exertion," he told her, eyes twinkling.

Then, taking hold of Natalya's elbow, he guided her out of the kitchen. They had proceeded only a little way down the corridor when she whispered loudly, "Why are you taking me
upstairs?
I hardly think—"

"This is precisely the reason," Grey cut in. "You seem to have so little control over your temper that I thought I would spare you the further embarrassment of servants' gossip. Perhaps if we conduct this interview on another floor, we can avoid sharing its contents with the entire household."

Cheeks burning, Natalya realized that he was dominating the situation once again. As they started up the flying staircase, she said, "You have settled very quickly into your role of master here; so quickly that one might imagine this house belonged to
you!
Lest you forget, sir, you are here through the benevolence of the Beauvisage family, and—"

"If I don't behave myself you'll have me tossed out on my ear?"

"Kindly refrain from mocking me!"

"I'll be happy to, if you will likewise refrain from adopting the manner of a toplofty dowager speaking to an insolent gamekeeper." Grey tightened his grip on her elbow when she tried to pull away from him. "For God's sake, relax. I won't gobble you up the moment we're alone."

Remembering what had occurred between them on her bed the night before, Natalya shot him a murderous look. "Past experience has taught me that you are capable of nearly any transgression."

He shrugged lightly and chuckled. "Well, perhaps where
you
are concerned..."

They had reached the top of the stairs, and Natalya paused for a moment to look down. "How I adored this staircase when I was a child. First I would stand at the bottom and look up, wondering how it could not collapse when someone ascended. I used to worry that it would do so while I was on it. Then Papa told me that it was called a flying staircase, and that because of some magic means it needed no support. He took me up and down, up and down, until I had conquered my fears."

"How old were you?" Grey asked softly.

"Oh... four, I suppose. It's one of my earliest memories."

"This is a wonderful house, but then the Beauvisage family seems to have an affinity for them. I really am grateful to be staying here, you know, and I would be desolate if you tossed me out."

Disarmed by his honesty, Natalya turned away from the carved banister and started toward the sitting room. "Well, it's all academic, isn't it? I couldn't have you put out even if I wanted to. It was Papa who gave you leave to occupy the house, so this is between the two of you. From the sound of it, you've charmed him mightily."

"Do I detect a note of disapproval in your voice?" Grey followed her into the cozy sitting room, which was filled with bookcases, luminous watercolors of gardens painted by Lisette Beauvisage, a pair of blue-and-gold-striped sofas that faced each other on a Kuba rug, and two brocade wing chairs. The glass double doors at the back of the room opened onto a white-pillared porch from which steps descended to the walled garden below. Natalya walked over to look outside for a moment before taking a seat on one of the sofas. To her dismay, Grey chose to sit next to her. "Tell me the truth now," he pressed. "Why are you
really
so annoyed by my presence? Is it because we've made love?"

Her long-lashed aqua eyes were wide as she turned to face him. "I must ask you not to speak of that night again, sir!"

"To anyone else, or to you? I certainly haven't told anyone if that's what's worrying you, nor shall I." Grey began to fold back his cuffs as he continued, "Rather warm up here, isn't it? Perhaps it's just the sunshine. Ah, I can see by your expression that you're in no mood to discuss the weather." He grinned slightly in spite of himself. "My darling minx—"

"Don't call me that!"

"What's become of the charming free spirit who wore her hair loose in the breeze, sitting on the quarterdeck of the
Rover?
Or, more to the point, where is the passionate
minx
who came to my bed just a few short nights ago and insisted that I make love to her? Are you not the woman who reveled in the beauty of her own naked body and—"

"Enough!"
An errant curl brushed Natalya's burning cheek as she leaned forward and clapped her hand over his mouth. "That was in the past, and I don't wish to discuss it ever again!"

Grey removed her hand firmly. "The past is part of you, my sweet. The pleasure and awakening you felt that night were real. You were honest about it then. What has changed?"

"Everything," she hissed. "The only reason I was able to do something so
reckless
as that—"

"Excuse me, sir," Jasper Speed interjected from the doorway. "Your tea?"

Natalya blushed furiously as the stocky, redheaded manservant placed the tray on the table before them. "Good day, Miss Beauvisage," he said, with a smile. "I hope you are well?"

"Yes, Speed," she replied through gritted teeth. "How do you find Philadelphia?"

"Highly interesting, miss. Do you take milk?"

"We'll pour our own," Grey said, already squeezing lemon juice over the closest oyster on the plate. "Did you have any luck with your errand, Speed?"

"Possibly, sir."

Grey looked up, silver eyes agleam. "I'll speak to you later, then."

"Yes, sir. I'll be downstairs."

He was gone then, and Natalya poured tea for them both while Grey savored an oyster. There was also a little plate of cakes, and one of sliced apples. After a moment Grey looked over at her expectantly and said, "Do go on. You were saying that you only behaved so recklessly—"

"I remember!" Natalya's color was high and her hands shook slightly as she stirred milk into her tea. "You know, I really haven't the slightest desire to continue this conversation."

"But I do." There was an undercurrent of steel in his calm voice. "You behave as if I have done you some terrible wrong, as if the mere sight of me is cause for the most unrelenting aggravation, and I believe that I deserve an explanation."

"Fine; then you shall have one." Taking a deep breath, Natalya continued, "I hope that I do not have to repeat all the reasons I originally cited for coming to your cabin. I wanted to have... that experience, and since I don't plan to marry, you seemed a logical person to... have it with." She could feel the blood rising to her cheeks again and rushed ahead. "I thought we were about to part! If I'd known that you would stay in Philadelphia—"

"Ah, I thought so," he interjected curtly. "That very night, when I suggested that you wanted me because you believed you'd never see me again, you protested that your motive was passion, not practicality. How would you feel if a man did the same thing to you—seduced you, shared your bed, and then hoped to be rid of you forever?"

She stared at him in shock. How had he managed to twist everything so that she was being painted as a cold-hearted harlot? "That's not fair! You know I'm not like that!"

"I know you're confused," Grey remarked laconically, leaning forward to spear another oyster.

"If I'm confused, it's
your
doing!" Despite her fury, Natalya was struck by the endearing way his mouth puckered slightly as he savored the oyster's tangy blend of salt water and lemon. She fought an urge to smile. "You misled me, Grey. What I—we—did was crazy. I allowed myself to—to—"

"You needn't search for proper-sounding words," he said imperturbably. "I remember exactly what you did."

She tried to ignore him. "I did it because I wanted to, but also because I thought it would be safe, that it wouldn't haunt me. I wasn't being callous. You implied that you were going to deliver me to Philadelphia and return to England."

"I said that I would be out of your life before spring waned," Grey corrected her. "We're only at the brink of May, my dear."

Jumping up, Natalya began to pace in front of the ornate glass doors. "Is this a game you are playing? Do you enjoy watching me squirm?"

He shrugged. "I may enjoy watching you come to grips with the fact that you cannot control other people, least of all me. You had everything worked out, planned down to the details of our lovemaking and the farewell speech that you would deliver to me on the dock." Draining his teacup, he returned it to its saucer and added, "I fear I don't do very well with other people's plans."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Natalya cried. "Was it so horrid for me to plan and dream what my life would be like once I returned to Philadelphia? I almost wonder if you are doing your best to disrupt my homecoming because your own, in London, was fraught with disappointment!"

Grey rose with casual grace and crossed to stand before her. "You don't know the first thing about it." The silvery flame in his eyes betrayed him as he grasped her hands in his and said, "Furthermore, I hate to puncture your bubble of self-importance, but I have legitimate business in Philadelphia." His grip tightened slightly. "If you believed that you could come here today and browbeat me into leaving, you were mistaken. I am
not
a character in one of your bloody books. You cannot write me out of this or any other scene until I am damned well ready to go."

Natalya's heart seemed to stop as she absorbed the raw passion in his voice; she was paralyzed. In the next instant, the sound of her own heartbeat seemed to fill her body. Her palms were moist, and when she looked into Grey's eyes it was as if she'd stepped off a precipice. What was happening?

"In any case..." Slowly he drew her near until their bodies touched, all the while holding her gaze. "You don't want me to leave. You thrive on my presence, whether you can admit it or not."

A tide of conflicting emotions surged up to torment her. She ached and knew not why. Her senses were dizzy with Grey; coherent thought was impossible. When his hands moved to gather her into his embrace, she made a low sound of protest and tried to struggle. Grey tipped her chin up, and she saw the heat and will and something elusive in his eyes.

"Yield to me, Natalya," he said in a voice so rich with texture that it was like a caress.

She gasped with pleasure when he began to kiss her, his mouth leisurely yet insistent as it worked its magic. Her spencer had come open to reveal the fine muslin beneath, and her breasts strained against Grey's chest. With a will of their own, her arms rounded his neck and her lips parted so that her tongue could find his. Natalya could feel the muscles in his thighs through the gauzy fabric of her gown. His body was like a drug, infusing her with a heady, sweet helplessness. Tears pricked her eyes when Grey bent her backward, his lips traveling down her neck, burning as they tasted the curves of her throat and breasts. A muffled voice in the back of her mind scolded her, but she was powerless to heed it. Bewildered but deliriously happy, she sank her fingers into his gleaming raven hair and pressed him closer.

Through the muslin bodice, Grey felt her nipples harden in response to the touch of his hands and lips. Christ, he thought, she is almost more than mortal man can realize. Everything about her was utterly, glowingly exquisite; a lush feast for his senses. And, most tantalizing of all, was the formidable spirit and mind inside Natalya's glorious body. He kissed her bare shoulder, then the soft baby curls along her hairline. Soon her tawny gold hair would be loose, and he would bury his face in it, inhaling its fragrance.

Without a word, he swung her off the floor and up into his arms. As he carried her into the bedroom, Natalya thought giddily that it must be wonderful to be a man, a strong, reckless man like Grey who could take whatever he wanted. She knew she shouldn't let him take
her,
but she was unwilling to deny herself this joy.

Natalya had been in this bedchamber many times in the past, but it seemed different now that Grey was in residence. His trunk sat on the Persian carpet, his neckcloth was draped over the back of a chair, his brandy winked from the mantel, and his books were stacked on the Chippendale lowboy next to the bed. The spacious forest green and beige room was dominated by a Hepplewhite tall post bed with a deep feather tick covered by soft sheets and quilts. Grey deposited Natalya on the edge of the bed and smiled at her.

"You look like Satan himself," she remarked, without displeasure.

"At sea you compared me to a pirate. I must be gaining depravity in your estimation!" He grinned at her, teeth flashing white, as his eyes roamed from her loosened curls to the radiant glow on her face to the creamy expanse of her neck and shoulders. "You, my darling, look like a goddess."

Natalya watched, her heart racing, as he pulled off his boots. It struck her again how much he had changed since they'd left England. He'd always been strikingly attractive... compelling, certainly. But now, with his bronzed skin and rugged, healthy vitality, he was irresistible. If he had looked like this when he'd come to Chateau du Soleil, she thought, Uncle Nicky would never have put me in his care!

"Turn around," Grey murmured as he leaned against the bed, flicking open the buttons of his shirt. When Natalya gave him a quick glance and then obeyed, he massaged the tension from her neck with lean, strong fingers. Then, as he felt her relax, he bent to press feather-soft kisses at her nape before drawing the pins from her hair. Long, luxuriant curls spilled down her back, and Grey ran his fingers through the shining, rippling mass, lightly touching her brow and temples as he did so. Her skin was like satin, her hair like spun silk.