Somebody To Love (12 page)
Authors: Kate Rothwell
“Fine weather we’re having, eh, Miss Araminta?”
“Certainly,” she said and attempted to get past him with her basket of steamed lobsters.
He laid a hand on her arm, and she froze.
“I wanted to thank you for taking care of Miss Smith yesterday,” he said, with a hearty earnestness that made her skin crawl. “She fell down the stairs. She did tell you that, yes?”
The pressure on her arm increased. She pressed her lips tight, knowing that if she disagreed, he would take it out on Olivia. After a long silence, she nodded.
“Very good,” he said, though she could see the unmistakable glint of anger in his dishwater-gray eyes.
One of Kane’s assistants came to the door.
“Carriage is ready, sir.”
“And you loaded my valise?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kane gave Araminta’s upper arm one last squeeze. She tightened her muscles under his hand, and his eyebrows rose. “My, you got strength as well as height? Won’t keep me from getting what I want, though, girl.” His smile was so broad she could see his back teeth. “Dear Miss Smith will eventually agree, I’m sure.”
“Agree to what, Mr. Kane?”
He waved a playful finger. “Ah, ah, that would be telling. I’ll leave you to it, Miss Araminta. I expect a good report from Dudley when I get back.”
“You are leaving, Mr. Kane?”
But he’d already sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving her with two dozen lobsters and a sinking feeling.
She put down the basket and went looking for Olivia.
Olivia’s eyes were puffy and red. “He’s going to Albany,” Olivia said. For some reason, this seemed to worry the girl.
“Whatever for? Why have you been crying? Has he hurt you?”
“No. And he is sorry about my arm.”
Araminta wanted to shake her but instead only lightly touched her shoulder. “It was the drugs that held you here, wasn’t it?”
Olivia shivered and didn’t answer.
“And now that you are free of them, we will find an answer that will serve.”
She could see Olivia considering her words before replying, “No, I can’t. It’s more than the drugs.”
But Araminta had seen the girl’s desire to flee, and knew that she’d soon be able to pull them both out of Kane’s power.
CHAPTER 11
The desk sent up a message: “Miss Woodhall to see Mr. Calverson.” Anticipation quickened Griffin’s stride as he went to meet her in the vast marble lobby.
More curls than usual had slipped from the knot at the back of her head. She wore a simple blue cotton dress, but with her graceful posture and her elegant chin held high, she could pass off rags as haute couture.
Her lips curved into a nervous smile for him and she blushed. He knew at once that, unless he put a foot seriously wrong, this was the moment he would at last win his chance. But he must move slowly, so first he escorted her to the huge, nearly private chamber near the lobby, designed for guests and their visitors.
He would repress his customary manner with her. No teasing. Businesslike. Put off her guard, she would be more likely to fall to him, a piece of ripe fruit.
Her gaze traveled over the chairs and tables scattered across the room—everywhere but into his face. She pulled off one of her gloves and began to twist it. He resisted the urge to reach over and take it away from her. “How may I be of service to you, Araminta?”
“I came to speak to you on a matter of some urgency. Kane is gone. I took the afternoon off because I want to get Miss Smith away from him as soon as may be, within days. He has some plan in mind.”
“He’s hoping to move to state level in his sphere, or so my friends in Albany tell me.” And thanks to Araminta’s description of her friend as the daughter of someone wealthy, Griffin suspected he knew part of Kane’s strategy. He was not entirely certain, but he was close to tracking down Miss Smith’s identity.
At the moment, however, he had no interest in Kane, his goals or anything other than the woman who sat upright and nervous in front of him.
She was apparently fascinated by the button on her glove and still avoided looking at him. A very good sign. “I meant he has a plan for her. I don’t know what it is, and she won’t tell me. While he’s gone, I think I will convince Olivia to come here. For a visit. Perhaps that is all that it will take. We could return her to where she belongs. So she needn’t remain here for more than an afternoon.”
He was tired of this game and risked being too straightforward. “I would agree to that. Would you care to come up to my rooms now so we can discuss plans in private? I’d serve you tea again.”
Her rigid posture and shuttered eyes told him she was going to refuse. Before she could, he leaned forward and laid a hand on the edge of her chair to draw her attention, and she twisted toward him. For a long moment the large, pure brown eyes stared into his. He forgot everything—even his ambition to have her—as he gazed back, caught in the glorious fire of those eyes.
She gave him another tentative smile, and he remembered his goal. “I will offer my aid even if you say no,” he said quietly. “But I would like to spend some time with you, Araminta. Alone. Will you make the time?”
She nodded, and he hoped that the way her mouth tightened meant she understood what he wanted.
Neither spoke as they made their way up in the elevator. Araminta’s head spun with the hope and dread that he’d touch her, but he did not so much as lay a finger on her arm.
He led her to the sofa. She pressed her back straight and trusted her demeanor was calm, though inside she felt as if she were a small girl waiting for a grown-up to come take charge of her. Ridiculous, of course. The tension boiling through her had nothing to do with being a child.
He sat next to her, almost allowing his leg to touch hers, so close that she could feel the heat of him. He reached for her hand but did not pick it up. His fingertips swept across her knuckles. The simple contact of skin against skin undid her. She started, and began to rise from the sofa.
“No. Stay with me, please. Don’t go.” He whisps plea, and Griffin begging was too much for her to resist.
She sank back down beside him and examined those extraordinary eyes. Filled with the passion of a hunter but something more: restraint, perhaps even tenderness. She thought he likely remained motionless so as not to frighten her, and she was grateful.
Enthralled by the well-dressed, broad figure waiting, watching her, the invitation in his eyes and in his unsteady breath, Araminta lifted a shaky forefinger to brush Griffin’s well-cut dull-gold hair from his forehead. She traced a line from his forehead to his neck. His eyes closed, and she could see him swallow. With his head back, exposing his throat, he surrendered to her touch.
Now that was a gift. She leaned toward him and ran her lips along the line of his jaw, and stroked his face, marveling at the soft skin, the rough stubble, the fine, thick mustache.
She knew he would go only as far as she allowed, and she lost her fear. Yet as her mouth tasted his skin, his vulnerable pose vanished. He seized her and pulled her into a deep kiss. His arms and hands were stronger than she had imagined, but she didn’t resist his embrace. She closed her eyes and burrowed closer, wishing he could enfold her. The rasping breath in her ear, the hands that gripped her, told her he wanted her and that he would lose himself in that desire. She smiled at the power she held over him.
As his hands skimmed her waist and hips, the now familiar heat poured through her. Lying in his arms, kissing him, was as natural as breathing, and as essential.
The kisses grew wilder; his strong hands became bolder, exploring her breasts. He pulled her against him intimately, then drew in a shuddering sigh, as if recalling his control over himself.
“Araminta,” he whispered. His rough hold loosened and they half lay on the sofa, still pressed against each other from thigh to shoulder.
“Araminta,” he said again. “I give in now. For now.”
He surrendered? This was his idea. She opened her mouth to say so, but he at once lowered his mouth to hers for another of the sweetest kisses she’d ever tasted. It started light but rapidly grew, and by the end she came near to howling with need.
Just for now, he’d said. Yes. She had been waiting for this moment for so long. The doubt did not magically dissolve and it nagged at her, reminding her that she should know better. More than anyone, she knew what they might create: another bastard.
God, she should resist this. She’d been strong so many years—since she was very young and had seen her mother’s underlying frailty.
But she’d never met a force that could match her strength, and she wanted to taste the wild freedom of letting go. His mouth demanded more, and his hands too, and she arched up to respond. Giving in. Just this once. For now.
He seemed momentarily troubled by the rage of their passion; she welcomed it. She would embrace it all.
He rubbed his face against her breast and she drew a hissing breath, dizzy with the force of her own appetite.
Yes, all of it, even a baby with green eyes, almost especially such a baby.
His fingers pushed into her hair, loosening hairpins. One clinked to the floor. His hand cupped her head, holding her steady so he could deepen their kiss, and urge it stronger and harder. Even as their mouths explored kisses, his other hand lightly circled her breast and then moved over her hips. She twisted her legs around his, trying to get as near him as possible. Her brain shut down to anything bt the sensations that poured through her with every sliding friction of touch. Her skin, her mouth, even her eyelids tingled in anticipation of his touch. And between her legs. She could not refrain from pressing forward and moaning when his hand slipped under her skirt and petticoat and up her thigh.
He tore his mouth from hers. “Wild woman.”
“Hush.” She touched the nape of his neck to draw him back for another kiss, hoping his hand would continue its exploration. But he pulled back and stared down at her.
“The bedroom,” he said firmly.
She thought the fever might pass as they untangled limbs and stood. She half hoped she’d regain her sanity and at last ignore the hunger long enough to leave, but he kept those heavy-lidded hypnotic eyes focused on hers, and she walked with him into the huge bedroom with the four-poster bed.
He came to her, wrapped his hands around her waist, and whispered, “Now, Araminta, we will take off your clothes.”
“You take off yours,” she retorted breathlessly as she backed away.
They stood a few feet apart. She watched with greed and fascination as he unbuttoned, unfastened, slipped out of the clothing. He was faster and she was too distracted by his body. She still wore her stockings, garters, chemise and absurd bustle when, naked and magnificent, he moved to her and began to impatiently help.
“No heavy corset,” he murmured as he ran the tip of a finger across the top of her light stays, leaving a trail of heat on her skin. “I intensely dislike these things.”
She pulled off her corset. “Don’t wear them, then,” she said, idiotically. Her shaky laugh cut off as he bent, peeled away her thin chemise and covered her nipple with his mouth. He sucked greedily.
She whimpered. He straightened, pulled her to him, heat pressed to heat. His hand stroked down her leg, then he gave a little pull on her knee to make her lose her balance. Before she could fall, he reached down and gathered her up, and hauled her into his arms.
She gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, and reveled in the strength of his arms. “You are absurd. Put me down.”
“Not yet.” His face pressed into her neck as he carried her to the bed. “You smell of spice. I knew you would. I’ve caught hints of it. But you aren’t as heavy as I had imagined.”
In his arms, she had trouble thinking or feeling anything other than her craving. “You are a carnival act then? To guess my weight?”
“I have guessed many things about you, Araminta. Long past time to see if I was correct.”
He threw the covers off the bed and placed her on the bare sheet and lay down next to her. Before she had even turned to him, his strong, clever hands were on her breasts and his mouth fit over hers for a kiss.
He touched her in places she’d barely imagined she had. His fingers swept over her skin and twisted into her and she gasped, sensitive and eager for more. But he did not indulge in leisurely play for long. After barely any exploration, after a few minutes of caresses and kisses, he rolled a layer of protection onto himself. She stopped him for a second to marvel at the sight of the sheath. And to admire his sleek, well-muscled body.
He sank between her thighs, kissed along her legs and her belly and, when his mouth found hers, pressed himself into her. She had a moment’s panic, for he seemed much larger than her one previous lover, but the sensation of too much turned enjoyable almost at once.
Without patience, but not without skill, he moved in her, slowly at first, but soon he grew more urgent and harsh. She ran her hands over his wide shoulders, down his spine. Each time he pushed into her, her whole body grew tighter as if coiling around her center.
His rhythm changed. She arched up to meet him as he thrust harder, and her body wrapped itself even more firmly around that ache, growing thick until he stopped and, shivering, nuzzled the side of her neck. “At last. Oh God.”
She writhed and clutched him, and only let go of him when he pushed up from her to balance himself on his hands. He kissed her gently and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She frowned. But why did he apologize? A moment of panic seized her. Did he regret inviting her up here? She closed her eyes against the rising mortification.
“Are you?” she said quietly. “Then I should be too, I imagine.”
He pulled up and away from her. “Oh, no. Not you, Araminta. You are wonderful.”
Relieved that he did not appear to be in distress, she opened her eyes again to watch him. He discarded the condom and propped himself on one elbow to look at her. The green eyes were lazier now, though the gleam of the hunter still flickered through them as his gaze roamed her. Nervous, she licked her lips, for desire still coursed through her at the sight of his long-limbed and glorious body so close to hers.
He stroked her hair. “Did you think I am sorry you are here?”
Araminta felt disconcerted that he could read her thoughts so easily, and she didn’t answer. He ran his fingers feather light over her breast, and pressed his thumb into her nipple, which rose to meet his exploring finger.
“I apologized,” he murmured, “because I did not mean for it to be over so quickly. I’ve wanted you too long, I think.”
That was a reason to express regret? Araminta didn’t know what to answer. She had thought of herself as an experienced woman, but her only sessions of lovemaking had been four pleasant though far faster episodes with her chef lover in France soon after he had declared he would marry her, and a single experience of groping with an Italian she’d met in England. That brief event had ended with her shoving him into the street before he’d gotten much further than a few sloppy kisses.
She had never been entirely overcome before, and the intensity of sensation still dazzled her. As she lay quiet, sprawled on the huge bed, almost too befuddled to notice the continuous throb in her belly and breasts, he caressed her nipples. Then his fingers stroked the throbbing into a sweeter and stronger ache than she’d ever recalled. She twisted, pushed against his exploring hand.
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