Chapter Ten
Griffin pushed his plate across the dining room table and scowled at his uneaten kippers.
Something was wrong with him. Normally he had the appetite of an elephant, but these last two days, food held little appeal for him.
Coffee, thankfully, did not.
Rising from his chair, he crossed the dense Aubusson rug to the sideboard and poured himself another cup before making his way to the window overlooking the garden. He sipped the steaming brew as he gazed down with tired eyes at the empty, sun-glazed square of greenery.
He sighed. He was up too late again last night, his mind refusing to rest, consumed with thoughts of Olivia and that bloody kiss that seemed to have seared itself on his brain.
He rubbed his aching eyes. He shouldn’t have done it. He should never have kissed her. He knew that now.
Hell, he’d known it then, but he’d done it anyway.
And even though he knew it was foolish, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not completely. It was stupid, yes, but—damn it all—it was bloody good, too. Better than he’d imagined it would be, and he’d done a lot of imagining where Olivia Blakely was concerned.
Just last night he’d imagined her in his bed, her soft hands on his body, her lips around his cock, the hot slide of her tongue as she sucked him deep. And then he’d taken himself in hand and spilled his release on the counterpane.
Even now, the thought of that kiss stirred his blood. It was utter madness, and it had to end.
“Good morning, brother dear!”
Griffin gave a guilty start, sloshing his coffee, and turned as Emmy breezed into the room and made for the sideboard, her ivory gown swishing with each stride.
“Good morning, Em,” he said, shifting on his feet. Had his sister really caught him thinking erotic thoughts in the family dining room?
Erotic thoughts of her dearest friend, no less. God, he needed a good night’s sleep.
“You look tired,” Emmy said, as if reading his mind, something she did with annoying regularity. She spooned eggs onto her plate and flicked him a glance. “Were you up late last night entertaining a lady friend?”
Griff shot her a look on his way back to the dining table. “I beg your pardon?” he asked after he’d settled onto his seat.
She joined him a moment later, setting her plate down on the table across from his before sitting in her chair.
“I understand you and Cecilia Morris are enjoying an illicit affair right now,” she said casually. “I thought perhaps she might have kept you up late.” Gray eyes met his over the rim of her teacup.
Griffin sighed. “Bloody hell, Em. You shouldn’t say such things. You shouldn’t even know such things.”
But his sister seemed to know everything about everyone, even him. It was deuced irritating.
Emmy rolled her eyes and bit into a slice of toasted bread. “If you wish to hide such things from me, I suggest you try harder,” she said around the bite of bread. “Besides, isn’t this what gentlemen discuss with each other? Their mistresses? I only brought it up because I thought you might be missing James.”
“Well, you thought wrong.”
She took another bite of bread, watching him as she chewed. “So?” she pressed. “Were you up late last night with Mrs. Morris or not?”
Griff heaved a resigned sigh and gave in to the inevitable. He knew his sister, and she would not let up until she received an answer.
“No, I wasn’t,” he said. “Mrs. Morris and I have ended our arrangement, and now I’m…” He trailed off with a flick of his hand.
“Between mistresses?” Emmy supplied, her grin impudent.
It was Griff’s turn to roll his eyes. God, she was a pest. “When are you going to get married so I can finally be rid of you?”
She arched her brows. “I could ask the same of you, brother dear. Shouldn’t you be working on producing an heir? Or, better still, a spare?”
Griff sat back in his chair and gave his head a slow, mournful shake. “My God,” he muttered. “You are sounding more and more like our mother every day.”
“Take that back this instant,” Emmy said, setting her fork down with a sharp scrape of silver on porcelain.
He smiled. “No.”
Her lips pursed and she glared at him. “You are such a nuisance. It is no wonder you’re not married yet. No woman would have you.”
Chuckling softly, Griffin sipped his coffee. He enjoyed bickering with his sister, nearly as much as he enjoyed goading her into bickering with him. The two had always been close, at least as close as brothers and sisters could be, although, truth be told, they didn’t often discuss weighty topics. Their relationship was a good one, despite their bickering, and if asked, he would say he knew his sister well.
If pressed, however, he would have to admit there were things he didn’t know, questions he’d never asked. Questions like what she wanted for her future, what she desired out of life.
Was it odd that he didn’t know the answers?
“Em,” he said quietly, “why haven’t you married yet?”
Her eyes met his and he could see his question had surprised her. She shrugged. “I suppose it is because I haven’t found anyone I wish to marry.”
He nodded then tipped his head to one side. “Are you looking for someone to marry?”
Her gaze fell to her plate, and she pressed her lips together, considering her answer. “I am not averse to the idea of marriage,” she said slowly, “but I am in no rush to take a husband, either. I am happy as I am now. I like living in the city. There is always something to do here, and my friends are here…” She trailed off with another shrug.
“And you’re worried that marriage would change all of that?”
“A little,” she said, pushing her eggs around with her fork. “And I’ve never met a man I liked well enough to risk my future on. I’m not sure I ever will.”
Griff nodded again. He could understand her reluctance. Marriage was permanent, final, and husbands held virtually all the power. The idea that his sister might find herself trapped in an unhappy marriage did not sit well with him.
“What about you?” she asked, her gaze meeting his. “Why have you not married?”
He looked at his plate and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Emmy waited a beat and then huffed out a sigh. “You don’t know? Come now, Griff, tit for tat. I’ve just bared my soul to you. It is your turn now.”
But the truth would not paint him in a flattering light. It sounded so selfish, a man like him, a marquess, putting off marriage to keep his freedom. It would certainly sound selfish to a woman.
He knew how fortunate he was, how many privileges his wealth and status—his sex—afforded him. For a woman, marriage meant her life was inexorably altered. But it was different for men. If a man wished to carry on as he had before he wed, it was well within his rights to do so. And most men of his acquaintance did.
But that wasn’t the kind of marriage Griffin wanted. He wanted a real marriage, a true one, with a wife who loved him as he loved her. As soon as he was ready for it.
“I suppose it’s the same for me as it is for you,” he said, setting his empty cup on the saucer. “I haven’t met anyone I wish to welcome into my life. When I do, I’ll marry her.”
Emmy’s gaze turned thoughtful, quizzical, as if there was a question she wanted to ask but wasn’t sure she should. A beat later, her gaze fell to her plate, the moment gone.
Griff leaned his elbows on the table, curious to know what it was she’d wanted to ask him, but he held his tongue. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“You don’t seem to be searching very hard for a bride,” she said when she’d finished a bite of kippers. “I think Mother would appreciate at least the appearance of trying.”
He raised a brow. “And what of you? Younger sisters are meant to marry before their brothers, you know.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I haven’t the fate of a marquessate on my shoulders.”
She shot him an arch look then returned to her kippers with relish while Griffin picked at his with his fork, her words echoing through his mind.
She was right. He did have the marquessate to think of. He kept telling himself there was plenty of time to marry and bear an heir, but how could he be sure?
His father was thirty-four when he died, only four years older than Griffin was now. And if his death had taught him anything, it was how temporary life could be.
He might have reservations about getting married now, but was his personal comfort more important than the family line? Would his father be ashamed of him if he were here to see him dragging his feet?
“Well, now that I’ve eaten,” Emmy said, “I have some letters to write.” She set her napkin on the table and rose from her chair. “I will see you later, yes? Remember, we have the Henleys’ costume ball this evening.”
Griffin blew out a long-suffering breath. “How could I possibly forget?”
“Come now,” Emmy said, humor sparking her eyes. “You might actually enjoy yourself.”
Unamused, he fixed her with a dubious stare.
Her lips twitched. “Then again, you might not.”
Griff watched his sister leave and then trudged over to the sideboard for another cup of coffee, his mood considerably dampened. Bloody costume ball.
He wished like hell he could get out of it, but it would do no good to dwell on improbabilities. He knew there was no hope. His mother’s ankle would never heal by tonight, not without a miracle, and even he wasn’t selfish enough to use a prayer for that.