Somebody To Love (24 page)
Authors: Kate Rothwell
She sat forward and quickly tossed the picture of the pretty young woman onto the desk. “Yes, I know it is not considered normal to enjoy, er, that.” She pressed her lips tight and decided she’d said more than enough on the topic as it was.
“But you do, Araminta.” Such an insinuating, soft voice.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If I were a proper lady I would deny even knowing what you’re talking about. But you know I do. Enjoy it, I mean.”
“If you were a proper young lady I would have no interest in listening to you talk about the subject.”
A dull sorrow settled on her heart, but she managed to keep her voice playful. “Pray, don’t mock me, Griffin. I’ve done my best to lead a worthy life.”
“And you do so well. You have something better than moral rectitude. Passion. So much more satisfying.” As he spoke, he rose and strolled around the desk. So much for her plan to keep that broad surface between them. “Life is too short to abandon passion.”
“Carpe diem. An argument as old as time itself, Griffin.” She wiggled farther back into the shelter of the chair’s shadow, wishing she wore real clothing instead of a thin nightgown and wrapper.
“Ah, but that doesn’t mean it’s a faulty argument.”
He stood in front of her now and startled her by dropping a velvet package on her lap, saying, “Do not grow indignant, Araminta. I bought them with no expectation of any kind of repayment.”
He stood in front of her now and startled her by dropping a velvet package on her lap, saying, “Do not grow indignant, Araminta. I bought them with no expectation of any kind of repayment.”
She untied the sack and pulled a string of pearls from it. The rich ivory beads glowed in the faint light, almost luminescent. “I can’t take these from you,” she breathed. “No. I can’t wear them.”
“I knew you’d be tiresome,” he said in his most bored manner. “They are to go with the earrings I saw you wearing at Kane’s. If you must insist that I have motives for my gift, consider it payment for delivering Elizabeth Burritt to safety, eh? You said it yourself, it’s advantageous for me.”
“No,” she murmured. She wanted to be indignant, to throw them in his face and tell him she was not for sale. But she was caught on the image of Griffin thinking of her mother’s earrings as he’d walked into a shop. Thinking of her. She did not protest when he took the pearls from her and leaned down so close she could feel his breath and his heat, so he could hook them around her neck. She shivered as his fingers brushed the nape of her neck.
He straightened. “Now let me see if they’re as lovely on you as I’d imagined.” Gently grasping her hands, he pulled her up and out of her comfortable chair.
Disconcertingly aware that her nightgown and dressing gown were too thin, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “How long ago did you buy them?”
He ignored the question and gently grabbed her wrists to pull her arms down and move closer to her. “They are lovelier.” The words tickled her ear as he breathed them. And then a soft nibble on her earlobe made her gasp.
A shiver passed through her like a breath; his skin and mouth on her made her weak with need. She whispered, “If I had a jot of sense, I’d flee this room and you and your gifts.”
But her senses and heart were suffused with the man. She pulled away from his grip, only to be confronted by the sight of a tender smile that lit his eyes.
She pressed her forehead hard to his shoulder in order to escape the magnificent smile, but that was no better. Now she rested close to the splendid column of his throat, and she could easily kiss that warm skin. The reasons to say no didn’t seem to matter when his heartbeat pulsed against her mouth. Griffin and her body conspired against her good sense.
She could only pray that Senator Burritt would hurry so she could pick up her life again. Surely away from Griffin she’d grow strong again—strong enough to resist him.
CHAPTER 21
Senator Burritt had rushed north to be with his da
ughter, just as a father ought, but Araminta did not like the man. His falsely jolly manner seemed to have little to do with the anticipation of a reunion with his daughter. He directed all of it at Griffin, beaming at him as if Griffin, and not Elizabeth, was the reason he sat in the gold and cream sitting room.
ughter, just as a father ought, but Araminta did not like the man. His falsely jolly manner seemed to have little to do with the anticipation of a reunion with his daughter. He directed all of it at Griffin, beaming at him as if Griffin, and not Elizabeth, was the reason he sat in the gold and cream sitting room.
Araminta wondered if Griffin’s injury hurt him or if he disliked the senator as much as she did. He sounded more brisk than usual. “I assure you, Senator, I have only provided a safe haven for your daughter. I had nothing to do with removing her from Mr. Kane’s house.”
“Pish, Mr. Calverson. You do not do yourself justice.” The senator had white hair and a pink face and the combination reminded Araminta of a raspberry cloud pudding she occasionally made. The rich voice andthe wide, white smile were eerily reminiscent of Kane.
The senator shifted in his chair. “So where is Elizabeth?”
“In her bedroom,” Araminta said.
“Oh? Go on and fetch her then.”
Griffin’s face could have been made of stone. “Senator, Miss Woodhall is my guest and I will—”
She bounded to her feet. “I’d be glad to, Senator.” Her back to the senator, she directed a scowl at Griffin.
Elizabeth sat on her bed, her hands folded on her lap.
Araminta smiled at her and touched her cheek. “You know your father is here, love. Are you ready?”
“Of course. I’m so glad you came to get me because then I can tell you thank you, Araminta. For everything.”
She stood, and Araminta pulled her into a hard squeeze of a hug.
The men were standing as Elizabeth and Araminta walked into the sitting room.
“Papa,” Elizabeth whispered.
The senator did not open his arms to his daughter, and Araminta resisted the urge to shout at him.
Sedate and ladylike, Elizabeth crossed the room. She held out her hand, and he raised one of his to clasp hers. Araminta was somewhat mollified when she noted that his hand trembled. He must have felt some strong emotion after all.
“I am glad you are safe,” he said as she kissed his cheek. “And your mother and I will endeavor to keep you safe from now on.”
Araminta, standing near Griffin, whispered, “The old fool.”
“What’s wrong?” Griffin murmured.
Wasn’t it obvious? Probably not to a man like him. “Her father should tell her he loves her, of course.”
“You are an entirely mawkish female.”
“You have only just now discovered that?”
She doubted he heard her response, for the senator was addressing Griffin again, and he might have been giving a speech from the floor. “I want you to know again that I appreciate all that you’ve done for us, Mr. Calverson.”
“Not at all,” was Griffin’s repressive answer.
The senator beamed. “I am grateful for the story that you and my daughter created to explain her absence from society. I fear that the plans her mother and I have made for her future must be changed. Yet I am certain that even though she has forfeited her chances of the marriage we’d hoped for, I feel that she is still a gem. And will make the right man happy.” He paused significantly. “Very happy.”
Araminta wished she could see Griffin’s face.
As they drank tea, the senator pontificated on his favorite political causes and his thrilled ecstasy that Mr. Calverson had deigned to do business in the best city in the best country in the world. “As Mr. Wilde said, ‘The God of this century is wealth. To succeed one must have wealth. At all costs one must have wealth.’ ”
Araminta wondered how Griffin would point out that Wilde’s words were not meant to be taken at face value, but Griffin merely listened, his eyebrows raised a quarter of an inch.
Araminta, who’d grown expert at reading his face, decided this was an expression of astonished revulsion.
She and Elizabeth took their teacups and went across the wide room to sit on a sofa, side by side.
“I will see you soon,” Elizabeth promised.
Araminta knew that soon Elizabeth would not want to think of her nightmare time with Kane. And since Araminta was part of that world, her friend would forget her. She patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Don’t fret yourself. I know you’ll be busy.”
“I wish you could come with me. Just for now.” Elizabeth hesitantly returned Araminta’s pat with a feeble squeeze of her fingers. “I—I admit I am feeling a little dazed.”
Across the room the senator’s voice boomed, “Will you come to my house for what we common folk think of as our midday dinner, sir? My dear wife would be delighted to meet our daughter’s savior.”
Griffin did his level best to freeze the man. Araminta had a chance to again admire how well Griffin could turn as frigid as the haughtiest aristocrat. Even his aunt could not have done better. But Burritt must have had a hide as thick as an elephant’s, for he was able to ignore insults and even a direct refusal.
Elizabeth watched her father’s efforts to cajole Griffin, her eyes growing round with dismay. “I hoped Araminta might accompany us, but I heard Mr. Calverson say he will be busy.”
“A man has to eat, Elizabeth. We won’t take much of your time, sir. And you’ll be glad you stopped by to share our fine repast.”
Griffin met Araminta’s eyes and raised his brows slightly. She gave a tiny nod and an apologetic shrug. She wanted to make sure at least Elizabeth’s mother would take care of the girl. And she doubted she’d receive an invitation from the senator without Griffin’s influence.
“Very well, Miss Woodhall and I would be glad to escort you and your daughter home. I will not have time to dine with you but—”
The senator was on his feet, shaking Griffin’s hand. “Very good, very good, sir.”
As they passed the library, Griffin stopped to talk to two Calverson company men who were bent over examining some sort of map spread across the floor.
“Gentlemen, I shall be back as soon as possible.”
Williams smiled weakly. “Take your time, sir.”
In a moment of inspiration, Araminta said, “Oh, Mr. Williams, perhaps you should accompany us? I know that Mr. Calverson mentioned that he had some questions about . . .” Her voice petered out as she realized she had no notion what sort of questions Griffin might have.
“About the Minnesota sale,” Griffin finished for her. “What a very, very good idea, Miss Woodhall.”
The senator’s shaggy white eyebrows knit.
“Mr. Williams heads our New York office,” Griffin remarked casually.
The senator’s brow cleared. “Certainly, sir. Plenty of room in the landau.”
Williams scurried back into the library and emerged with a much more convincing smile and carrying a leather portfolio under his arm.
As they walked across the lobby, Araminta instinctively dropped back from the group. Griffin twisted on his heel and gave her an impatient scowl.
“Come on.” He strode to her, took her hand and tucked it firmly into his arm. “This was your idea,” he whispered as the three others surged through the hotel doors. “You will at least offer me some moral support.”
She stifled a chuckle.
The senator’s hard-topped carriag waited out front of the hotel, with a beautifully matched pair of bay horses and a liveried driver and footman.
The footman jumped down and threw open the carriage door.
“Look,” Araminta whispered to Griffin. “Their uniforms are the same color as the coach.”
The senator, who apparently had superhuman hearing, beamed at her for the first time. “I have a lovely canary-yellow carriage as well, and, of course, matching uniforms for my men.”
“Good heavens,” Araminta said in a quaking voice.
“My aunt,” Griffin informed her with great solemnity, his mouth set in a severe line, “has four carriages with matching livery.”
Araminta nodded. “Yes, I can imagine.”
The three gentlemen jammed onto the seat with their backs to the horses. As they jolted up the avenue toward Central Park, the senator began to pontificate about another subject obviously dear to his heart.
“You see how young I appear to be, Mr. Calverson?” Griffin muttered something even the senator couldn’t have heard.
It was apparently enough to encourage the senator. “I don’t take my health for granted, sir.”
He listed the activities he did to maintain his health, and Araminta soon understood the senator’s other favorite subject was quackery.
Mr. Williams listened gravely, and nodded at each of the senator’s ridiculous pronouncements.
Araminta gazed out the window at the stylish houses and even more stylish pedestrians, knowing that to meet Griffin’s eye would be fatal. As it was, her teeth hurt from holding back her laughter.
The senator went on, “Have you visited the Hygienic Turkish Bath Institute? It is an old institution, the first in Manhattan, but Dr. Holbrook runs a fine, clean establishment. And in addition to the solely oatmeal diet and the baths, I have been delighted to use the services of Madame LaSeur, an expert electrician. Her cures with electricity are remarkable. I had a fit of catarrh, sir, that lasted for months. Two sessions with Madame and I haven’t so much as sniffed since. And my other diet, of whole raw fruits, sir. Most efficacious in improving the brain power. I must send you the regime. I trust you will be astounded.”
“Indeed,” Griffin muttered. “I already am.”
Araminta risked gazing at him. A mistake.
He tilted his head back and stared down his nose at her. The austere aristocrat. For less than a second, he cringed and his eyes widened, showing mock panic. She had to hurriedly pull out her handkerchief and pretend the laughter was coughing. Of course Griffin was a superb actor. He’d been acting the part of a heartless brute much of his adult life. That thought sobered her, at least temporarily.
The large carriage and matching bays trundled through the heavy traffic, driving in fits and starts. Near the fashionable shops, they passed a crowd of ladies in the first stare of fashion. Araminta admired a particularly elegant woman in lilac wearing a hat containing a jungle of matching plumes.
The senator must have seen the woman too. “Don’t see beauties like that everywhere. Even in England, do you?” He shoved an elbow at Griffin. “What’s the name of that place where everyone buys their fancy duds? Barn Street?”
Griffin inched away from the senator. “I believe you mean Bond Street,” he said more politely than Araminta would have guessed possible. Out of respect for Elizabeth, perhaps? His mouth twitched, and she realized he was also having trouble with self-control. Griffin? Holding back anger or laughter? Now that was absurd.
Good thing she did not lace her stays tightly, or she would explode with the mirth she repressed. Funny how often she found herself on the edge of laughter. She recalled thinking that she could never be comfortable with Griffin, for he did not laugh. Perhaps he didn’t, often. She, however, could not recall a time she had felt such merriment. When she wasn’t on the verge of tears.
The footman handed her down with great ceremony. The red and black brick building, lumpy with turrets and strange little balconies, wasn’t the largest on the street, but it was the newest.
In the front hall, she had to stand still and wait for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The sensation of entering a busy cave was not helped by the silver and gold stenciling done over maroon walls and the immense, dark, carved wood furniture. Even after she’d thought her eyes were ready for the gloom, she almost toppled over a large maroon velvet sofa in the middle of the room.
“If you’ll follow me.” A butler had appeared from nowhere. “Mrs. Burritt is awaiting you in the red room.”
“I find it hard to imagine how anything could be any more red than this room,” Griffin muttered into her ear.
The red salon managed. Floor-to-ceiling red velvet drapes covered unseen windows. The wallpaper depicted red and pink roses. The sofa and matching stuffed chairs were covered in brilliant crimson satin.
Dressed in gray half-mourning, with jet beads, Mrs. Burritt stood waiting to greet them.
“A cheerful pigeon.” Griffin’s soft whisper in her ear made Araminta wish she could stomp down hard on his shining boot. If only he had not been so entirely accurate, Araminta might have recovered from her dangerous sensation of teetering at the edge of laughter. Now she was afraid to open her mouth.
Mrs. Burritt’s bosom was shoved up and out by tight corseting. And her bustle in the back with its long train could have been a tail. One almost expected her to coo.
Instead she shrieked. “Elizabeth, my love!”
Rushing past Araminta in a flurry of pale blue skirts, Elizabeth flew into her mother’s arms.
Griffin muttered, “Meets with your approval, I see. You’re beaming like a lighthouse.”
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