The Light in the Darkness (29 page)

“That was … very kind of you,” she managed at last.

“And naturally,” Grey went on in his most sardonic tone, “just when I was trying to do something nice for a change, you and Catherine decided I was up to something evil and underhanded, and you had to come after me to find out what it was.”

At his disgruntled tone Jennifer could not restrain her laughter anymore. “Well, Grey,” she protested, giggling, “you could not possibly have expected me to imagine you came to Williamsburg for such a noble purpose!”

Grey grinned back at her, the honest grin of amusement that made him look ten years younger. “I suppose not,” he conceded graciously, delighted by her laughter. He had never seen her laugh so freely before. His grin widened, and he winced, having forgotten the bruise that marred his cheekbone.

“Oh, I forgot!” Jennifer said in sudden alarm at his pained expression. “Sit down. We should have applied cold water to your bruises at once.”

Grey meekly sat on the edge of the bed and permitted her to press the cloth against his face. “A bruise or two won’t kill me, Jen,” he told her, amused by her feminine horror. Trust a woman to get upset over a black eye, he thought wryly.

Jennifer blinked, slightly startled at the casual way he had shortened her name. Catherine called her Jen sometimes, but from Grey it sounded almost like … an endearment. She looked into his one good eye.

“By the way,” Grey added, and his voice sounded huskier somehow. “I want to thank you for coming to my defense.”

“I owed that to you,” Jennifer said softly, thinking of the long-ago night he had struck her uncle and saved her from a merciless beating. “But tell me—why was that man so angry to see you? I gather he was Diana’s father, but—”

Grey’s lips tightened. He did not particularly want to discuss the matter, but he supposed Jennifer was entitled to an explanation. “His name is Trevelyan Lancaster,” he said shortly. “He was Diana’s father. He is a wealthy merchant, originally from Norfolk, who lives in a very beautiful brick house on the village green, near the governor’s mansion. And by the way, he is Kayne O’Neill’s brother-in-law. He and Kayne married sisters.”

“Then he’s Carey’s uncle,” Jennifer said softly, without thinking.

“That’s right,” Grey agreed, wondering how the hell she knew Carey O’Neill. He was too absorbed in explaining his relationship to Trev, however, to let the matter concern him overmuch. “Trev gave me permission to wed his daughter, and he approved of me then. But—” He paused and took a deep breath. “He thinks I killed Diana.”

Jennifer said nothing, only stared at him with stunned green eyes.

“At the time,” Grey went on with obvious difficulty, “I was a suspect. Everyone was, really. But we … we never found out who the killer was. I had had an argument with
Diana that day, and at the time I was such a hotheaded young fool, a lot of people assumed I had killed her. Trev thinks so. And he’s never stopped believing it.”

Carey, Jennifer remembered, believed it too. No doubt Trevelyan Lancaster had convinced him of it. But Kayne O’Neill clearly did not believe it, or he would not continue to count Grey among his friends.

“Someone apparently told him I was in Williamsburg,” Grey went on uncomfortably, “and he came to the Apollo Room to punish me for—for killing his daughter. He’s come after me before. He hates me. But I don’t hate him, and I can’t bring myself to strike him, or even to argue with him.”

“He’s a fool,” Jennifer said softly, hating the tormented expression in his silver eyes. “Only a fool could believe that you could murder anyone.”

Grey took her hand blindly and clutched it tightly, as though clinging to her for support. “Thank you for that,” he whispered raggedly. “Thank you for believing in me when no one else does.”

Jennifer threaded her fingers through his, trying to convey wordlessly that she did believe in him. She sat down beside him on the bed, her arm sliding around his shoulders in a comforting gesture. They sat that way for a few quiet moments. Then Grey opened his eyes and looked down at their entwined hands.

He could not remember the last time he had held a woman’s hand. Even Diana had been too remote to permit such a casual yet intimate gesture of affection. And he had certainly never felt enough affection for Melissa, or any other woman whose body he had used, to hold her hand, either during sex or afterward. Slowly he lifted Jennifer’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

His kiss sent an odd shiver of sensation through her. Nervous, because the expression in his eyes had changed from wounded vulnerability to something inexpressibly, dangerously sensual, she tried to pull her hand away. “It’s
late,” she said in an artificially bright voice. “I had best be going, or Catherine will worry that something has happened to me.”

Grey did not let go of her hand. His free arm slid around her waist. “I don’t think you should go just yet,” he said in a husky voice.

She could tell by the expression in his glittering eyes that he was going to kiss her. She remembered her words to Catherine:
I would like to encourage more behavior of that nature in the future.
With a sudden burst of self-understanding, she realized that she had followed Grey here in order to try to seduce him.

She knew nothing about seduction. But somehow her nearness seemed to work on him like an aphrodisiac. She had no way of knowing that he found her irresistibly attractive, even clad in cast-off men’s clothing. Perhaps even especially clad in men’s clothing. There was something outrageously alluring about the way the gray knee breeches clung to her thighs and the silk stockings outlined the curves of her calves. Men’s clothing, he thought, suited her. She was as stunningly beautiful in breeches as she had been in her green and gold ball gown. He bent slowly and touched his lips to hers.

This time he kissed her gently, restraining his violently physical response to her beauty as best he could. He did not want to frighten her. He dropped her hand and let his hand slide down her soft thigh. Jennifer shivered and slipped her hand around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

He let her deepen the kiss. She tentatively explored his lips and tongue with her mouth, then gently disengaged her mouth from his and let her lips trail across his jaw and down his throat. Grey tilted his head back and moaned softly as some of his self-possession shattered.

Jennifer stopped at his low moan. “Grey?” she whispered tentatively. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he grated hoarsely. “God, no.” He captured her lips with his and kissed her harder, almost violently, and his hands sought the gold braid frogs of her coat.

He had never wanted a woman this desperately, he thought as he pushed off her coat and waistcoat, impatiently shoving them to the floor to get them out of the way. He had not intended to make love to her at all, but she was so damned gorgeous. He knew he was taking advantage of the fact that she was in love with him, but he could not seem to stop himself. Just this once, he promised himself. Once he slept with her one more time, once he slaked his desire in her beautiful body, this incredible, overwhelming attraction would fade. It was impossible that he could continue to want her so violently.

He was in the process of pushing off her breeches when he felt her sudden resistance. “Grey,” she said faintly.

With a valiant effort at self-control, he propped himself up on his hands and looked down at her. He had pressed her backward on the bed and had been lying on top of her, kissing her as though he would devour her. She was clad in nothing more than the long shirt she had worn beneath her coat and waistcoat—and her shoes and stockings, which he had forgotten to take off—and he realized that he was still fully dressed. He managed a smile. “I’m sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean to rush you so badly.”

She seemed to find his smile reassuring, for she placed a hand against his cheek and her tense expression vanished. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s just that—well, aren’t you going to take your clothes off too?”

Grey smothered a laugh. He could imagine that she felt rather vulnerable and exposed, lying there with very little on while he was fully clothed. Exerting every bit of self-control he possessed to pull away from her, he stood up and methodically began to strip off his clothing. Jennifer sat up and peeled off her stockings and shoes, which seemed to her practical mind rather superfluous at this point. When she looked up from her task, her eyes widened and she gave a startled gasp.

Grey had taken her at her word and divested himself of every stitch of clothing. His elegant clothes lay in a heap on the floor, and he stood before her naked without any show
of modesty, his long, muscled body gleaming like bronze in the light of the single candle. Her eyes wandered admiringly over his broad chest and down his flat stomach, but then she averted them shyly at the sight of his straining arousal.

“It’s all right, Jennifer.” Grey spoke softly, aware that she might panic at any moment. He sat beside her on the bed, putting both arms around her and pulling her reassuringly to his chest. “Don’t be afraid of me. Please don’t.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered tremulously.

“Then why are you shaking?” he teased gently.

Jennifer pressed her face against his bare chest and spoke in a muffled voice. “It’s just that—last time it hurt. A great deal.”

Grey cursed himself, not for the first time, for behaving like a rutting beast and taking her virginity with such brutally casual indifference. “I know,” he breathed into her hair. “But I promise it won’t hurt this time. I promise.”

He kissed her again, passionately yet tenderly, as though she were delicate, fragile, and infinitely precious to him. When at last he had pulled off her shirt, and the strip of linen that had bound her breasts, and lay atop her, caressing her silken body gently, he sensed that she was no longer afraid. She trusted him when he told her there would be no pain.
She trusted him.

She opened to him like a flower unfolding in the sunshine. It took every bit of his self-control to enter her slowly, to show her that it did not hurt, to show her how good it felt. After long moments of indescribably gentle intimacy she cried out and her body clenched around him. He shuddered and pushed more deeply into her and lost himself within her.

Afterward she pressed contentedly up against his chest and went to sleep almost immediately. Grey, however, did not fall asleep right away. He held her against him and breathed the fragrance of her hair, thinking.

It had meant a great deal to him that she had trusted him enough to let him make love to her, after he had done
so much to alienate her. For most of eight years, people had looked at him with suspicion. He had been very young when his first wife had died, and he had learned to conceal his youthful vulnerability behind a mask of bitterness and anger. Somehow Jennifer could see behind his mask. She knew him for what he was, a vulnerable and lonely man. And consequently she was not afraid of him.

If anyone was afraid, it was Grey. Jennifer could strip him of his defenses so easily it was frightening. He knew that she loved him, and that should give him the advantage in their relationship.

But somehow … it didn’t.

He fell asleep with his arms still wrapped protectively around her.

When Jennifer awakened the next morning, sunshine was streaming in through the Venetian blinds of the room. She blinked sleepily and looked around. The plain, sturdy oaken furnishings reminded her that she was in a tavern, not at Greyhaven. And that reminded her that she and Grey had shared startling intimacies in this bed. She sat up quickly and then clutched the linen sheet to her breasts modestly as she saw Grey sitting in the chair next to the bed, watching her.

She smiled tentatively, but her smile faded quickly as his expression did not change. “Good morning,” she said politely, uncertain how to begin a conversation. She remembered exactly what he had done to her last night, and how she had responded, and her cheeks flamed.

Grey said nothing, only looked at her impassively. Jennifer realized with burgeoning misery that he was staring at her as he had when she was a tavern wench—as though she were entirely beneath his notice. But surely he couldn’t feel that way after last night. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, trying desperately to provoke some sort of reaction.

At last he spoke. “No.”

Jennifer stared at him, startled by his cold tone.

“I want to apologize for what happened last night,” he went on. His voice sounded incredibly remote, as though the intimacies they had shared had meant less than nothing to him. “I know you are in love with me, and I took advantage of it and used you.” Bewildered and confused, Jennifer blinked back tears at his impassive tone. “I don’t know what you expected to happen this morning, but I want to make it clear to you that I do not wish to continue sharing your bed. Not now and not ever.”

Jennifer somehow managed to restrain the tears that burned in her eyes.

Grey smiled slightly—a jaded and cynical smile. “I am accustomed,” he drawled, “to sophistication in bed. I’ve lost count of how many women I’ve bedded since Diana died, but every last one of them has been experienced and willing and bold. After sleeping with so many experienced women, I’m afraid that anything less than that is simply—too dull.”

He stood up. “I’ll leave you alone while you dress,” he said coldly, managing to make it sound as though he did not want to have to look at her naked body again. “Once you’ve returned to the tavern you and Catherine are staying at, I suggest you put a decent gown on and go back to Greyhaven. I will return in a few days.”

As his hand touched the brass doorknob, he paused and looked back over his shoulder at his wife. “I just want you to realize,” he emphasized, “that nothing has changed.
Nothing.
Do you understand?” When she nodded shakily, he turned the doorknob and strode from the room.

As Grey walked blindly down the stairs, he struggled unsuccessfully to blot out the memory of their lovemaking last night. It had been the most fulfilling sexual experience of his life. And despite what he had told himself last night, he wanted her more than ever this morning. Making love to her had not erased the attraction he felt for her, but had only made it stronger and more powerfully compelling.