Chapter Thirteen
Griff rolled onto his back on the mattress and slung an arm over his eyes, his frustrated sigh rumbling through the quiet of his bedchamber.
Sleep eluded him.
The events of the evening tossed and turned in his head, his sister’s news, his dance with Olivia, the look on her face, so small and pale, as she learned of that coward Paxton’s betrothal.
His betrayal.
Anger stabbed at him. He’d held very little respect for the Duke of Paxton before tonight, but now, after seeing the hurt he’d wrought, he wanted nothing more than to watch the man pay for his cowardice.
And that surprised him.
The intensity of his reaction surprised him. He shouldn’t care this much. She was his sister’s friend, yes, and someone he’d known for years, so it stood to reason he would feel at least some concern for her well-being.
But to want to exact revenge on her behalf? Or do bodily harm to the man responsible for hurting her? He could not explain that. It wasn’t like him at all.
He blew out another sigh and scrubbed his hand down his face.
“Meow.”
Artemis climbed onto his chest and sat, peering down at him with sleepy yellow eyes.
“I’m sorry, little one,” he said, giving the kitten’s chin a scratch. “Is my tossing and turning disturbing your slumber?”
Her answer was a swift chomp on the tip of his index finger.
He laughed through his wince and tugged free of her nettles for teeth. “I suppose that can only mean one thing,” he said, inspecting his chewed finger. “You must be hungry.”
“Meow.”
He nodded. “So am I. How about I see if I can scrounge up something for us to eat, hm?”
Transferring Artemis to the dark blue counterpane, he climbed out of bed and lit a candle on his chest of drawers. He crossed to the armchair where he’d discarded his evening clothes and tugged on the black shirt and trousers before donning his house slippers.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said to Artemis on his way to the door.
She plopped her rump on the bed and began washing her face, as if preparing for the meal ahead.
Chuckling softly to himself, Griff stepped into the hall with his lone candlestick and shut the door behind him before heading up the dark corridor toward the stairs.
He wasn’t sure what he would find in the kitchens at this hour, but he would be happy with a crust of bread and a small wedge of cheese. Artemis liked cheese.
As he neared the stairs, his gaze caught on a faint sliver of light peeking through the cracked door of the drawing room. He frowned. Had Sally left a fire burning in the hearth?
He nudged the door open with his knuckles and peered inside.
The hearth was cold, but a candelabra sat perched on the mantel with all five candles lit. He flicked his gaze over the room, searching the chairs, the shadowed spaces, until finally he spotted her, a lone figure tucked away in the corner.
Olivia.
Of course it was Olivia.
She sat cross-legged on the sofa, her face in profile, and she looked pensive, her gaze fixed on the window beside her. She wore a white nightrail and a knitted shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders. Her hair was down, glinting like gold beneath the soft candlelight.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked from the doorway.
She turned and her mouth hitched up at one side, as if she was pleased to see him but didn’t want to be.
“No,” she said softly. “I thought reading might help, but I couldn’t quiet my mind enough to concentrate on the words. So, I decided to give whisky a try instead.” She raised a glass he hadn’t noticed and gave it an unpracticed swirl.
“Whisky?” Griffin leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. “That’s pretty potent stuff.”
Especially for young ladies who had never had anything stronger than sherry.
“It seems to be what you men turn to when you’ve suffered a disappointment, so I thought it might work for me.” She peered into her glass. “I don’t know what you lot see in it. It’s dreadful.”
Griffin smiled. “One develops a taste for it.”
She wrinkled her nose, clearly dubious, but made no reply. Her eyes, he noted, seemed weary, almost slumberous, as if she’d been crying. Now did not seem the time to mention it, though. She’d been hurt, and he had no desire to make her feel worse.
“May I join you?” he asked, against his better judgment.
“By all means, do.” She raised her glass at him. “It’s your drawing room, after all.”
Quietly he closed the door behind him then crossed to the sideboard where he served himself a generous pour of whisky. He sat beside her on the sofa, careful not to get too close, and settled into the well-worn cushions, crossing one leg over the other.
He sipped his whisky and watched the candles burn. The silence was mostly comfortable, though he was keenly aware that she wore nothing but a thin cotton nightrail under her shawl.
He cleared his throat. “Paxton isn’t worth all this fuss, you know.” He looked at her. “There are plenty of other single men for you to marry.”
She nodded, her gaze on her glass. “I know. But there was only one duke.”
Griffin worked his jaw, annoyance prickling at his nape. Why was it that every time he felt himself softening toward her, she had to say something to ruin it?
“Is it really so important to you?” he asked. “Being a duchess?” He could not keep the censure from his voice, though, truth be told, he didn’t try very hard.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “But not for the reasons you think.”
Curiosity and something else drew his gaze to her face; something in her voice, a faint thread of sadness. Or, perhaps, self-recrimination. “What do you mean?”
She sipped her whisky, cradling the crystal glass in both hands as she drank, and then she tipped her head back to rest against the sofa. He watched her throat work as she swallowed, her skin like silk beneath the candle’s flame, and then it was his turn to swallow. He looked away.
“My father hates me,” she finally said, the words a hollow whisper. “He always has. Ever since the day I was born.”
Griffin’s gaze flicked to her face, surprise knotting his brow. “He…what?”
“He hates me.” Her tone was sure, almost nonchalant, as if fathers hating their daughters was commonplace. Her gaze met his. “I killed my mother, you see. My first day on this earth was her last, and I’m afraid my father has never forgiven me for it.”
Shock froze him. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. He had none.
“I suppose it wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d been born a boy,” she went on. “But, alas, here I am. A daughter.” She huffed out a derisive laugh. “My father lost his beloved wife, and then found himself saddled with the worthless child who’d killed her. Is it any wonder he hates me?”
Griffin’s shock began to fade as anger took its place. What kind of father would hate his child for something she could not control? What kind of man could be so heartless? His hands clenched around his glass, the crystal biting into his flesh.
“Has your father…told you he hates you?” he asked gruffly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“He’s never said the words, no, but his disinterest speaks for itself.” She drew in a deep breath, and wrapped her arms around her knees, her slippered toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightrail. “I remember trying so hard to please him when I was a little girl. I was so certain that if I could master languages and embroidery and music and riding, he would finally be proud of me. And then maybe he wouldn’t despise me anymore. Maybe he could even come to love—”
She broke off, her voice wavering. “It didn’t work, of course. He never once praised me for my accomplishments. He’s never even reprimanded me for my transgressions, and there have been many, I assure you.”
“I can believe it,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.
Olivia rested her cheek on her knees, her brow furrowing. “Nothing I ever did seemed to please him,” she said, her voice softer now and limned in hurt. “None of it was ever enough. I am never enough. I know this, and yet, I continue to try.” A rueful smile touched her lips. “I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
“Is that why you wanted to marry Paxton?” Griffin guessed. “To make your father proud of you?”
He could understand the compulsion. He often wondered if his own father would be proud of him.
She lifted her head and breathed out a weary sigh. “In part, yes,” she admitted. “But I messed it all up. I lost my duke. And now I don’t know what to do.”
Griffin studied her profile, thinking of all he’d learned, of his erroneous impression of the woman sitting beside him. Everywhere she went, men admired and adored her, and yet the only man she wanted to impress was her father. A man who refused to give her what she yearned for.
How wrong he’d been about her.
“You asked me earlier tonight why I turned the duke down last Season,” Olivia said, the words quiet, almost tentative.
Her gaze met his, her blue eyes nearly black in the candlelight. Griffin’s heart gave a disquieting thump.
“It was because of you,” she said. “I wanted to marry you.”
Devil’s brew.
Olivia gazed down at the near-empty glass of whisky in her hands and frowned. Whisky. The name was far too tame for a spirit that could so easily loosen a lady’s tongue.
The room was quiet, with only the ticking clock on the mantel to stand in the way of total silence. Griffin had gone mute, his mouth grim, brow puckered, apparently displeased by her confession, which she never would have made without the whisky’s help.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. There was something freeing in telling the truth, even if this particular truth was more than a little embarrassing.
“You needn’t look so worried,” she said, stretching her legs out until her feet touched the rug. “I exorcized my infatuation for you months ago. Right after Christmas, to be exact. And I have no intention of renewing my regard.”
She set her glass on the small table beside her and drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps I should concede defeat now and let my father choose a husband for me. I doubt he could do worse than I’ve done so far. I seem to have a weakness for men who don’t want me.”
Sinking a little lower into the sofa, she let her eyes fall closed, regret and melancholy washing over her in waves. She was feeling sorry for herself, and she hated the weakness. She tried so hard to be cheerful and positive, but she had to admit, it was exhausting sometimes.
A tear slid down her cheek, surprising her, and she brushed it away with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It seems the whisky has made me maudlin.”
Griffin’s hand found hers, and Olivia stilled at the unexpected press of his palm, his long fingers lacing with hers, solid and warm. Bewildered, she looked at him, and found him watching her with serious eyes.
“You’re enough, Olivia,” he said, his voice husky. “You’re more than enough.”
The sincerity in his gaze, the gentle stroke of his thumb across her knuckles, held her mesmerized and she swallowed, her heart beating a frantic tattoo.
His throat was bare, his shirt collar loose, teasing at naked collarbones and a dusting of dark hair. Lord, but he was a handsome man, even with his hair mussed and his shirt rumpled.
More so, probably.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth, only inches from hers, and she wondered if he would kiss her again. Anticipation pricked her skin.
Stop it,she ordered herself. Stop it now. There is nothing to anticipate.
She pulled her gaze away and looked down at her lap, smoothing her fingers over the fringe edging her shawl. “I thought I was nearly done with all this,” she said, her tone casual, as if she often held Griffin’s hand in the dark. “The balls and parties and musicales…” She shook her head. “I’d hoped I was finished with them.”
“But I thought you liked the whirl of the Season,” Griffin said, a question in his voice.
“I do,” she said. “I did. At least, I thought I did. I suppose I’m simply bored with it all now.”
He nodded. “I know how you feel.”
“I would love to travel,” she said, wistfulness in the words. “Explore far off places, see parts of the world I’ve never seen before. Even parts of England I’ve never seen before would suffice. I just want to experience something outside of my everyday life.”
Griffin sipped his whisky. “I’ve always wanted to visit Greece,” he said. “Macedonia, Crete. Athens and its Acropolis.”
Olivia rolled her head to the side to look at him. “So why haven’t you?” she asked. “You’re a single gentleman of means. You may come and go as you please.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I’ve never felt I could come and go as I please.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “The responsibilities of the marquessate keep me busy.”
“Surely there are people you can hire to take care of things for a month or two.”
“And then there’s Emmy and my mother, of course.”
Olivia gave him a wry look. “Both of whom would miss you terribly but would undoubtedly survive without you.”
“Perhaps. But ever since my father died…” His brow creased. “It never felt right, leaving them. I can’t explain it.”
Olivia fell silent as she considered his words, his responsibilities as not only the marquess, but also as a brother and son, the head of the family. He was so young when his father died. He’d taken on so much. It was strange how she’d never considered that before, the responsibility, the burden he carried with him.
“Were you close with your father?” she asked.
Griffin’s thumb stilled on her knuckles, and she held her breath, waiting to see if he would pull his hand from hers.
“Yes,” he said finally. “We were very close. I wish I’d had more time with him.”
Olivia nodded, the motion stilted against the sofa cushion. Emmy was barely three years old when she and Griffin lost their father, and she had no memories of the man, but Griffin must have many.
“What was he like?” she asked, already picturing the attentive, loving father she’d always heard him to be.
“He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Kind.” He paused, as if lost in a memory. “I remember he always seemed to be laughing. We all did.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, the affection, and it made her smile in turn, even as envy snaked around her heart.
“He sounds wonderful,” she said softly, turning her head to look at him. “I’m sorry you lost him so young. It isn’t fair.”
“No. It isn’t.” His gaze met hers. “But neither is having a father who doesn’t love you as he should.”
Longing, keen and poignant, pulled at her heart and she shook her head at her own foolishness. “I wish I didn’t care what he thinks of me. I wish I could let go of this need to please him, but…” Her words trailed off on a sigh.
“But he’s your father,” he said, squeezing her hand, and the understanding in his voice eased the ache in her chest.
“But he’s my father.”
And for better or worse, she would never stop wanting him to be proud of her.
She tipped her head back and gazed up at the ceiling, watching the candlelight flicker and play. “My stepmother is going to have a baby,” she said, the words tumbling from her lips, still strange in their newness. Her brows drew together. “I used to dream of having a sibling when I was a little girl, a little brother or sister to play with and talk to. But now that it is finally happening, I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m happy for Caroline, of course. She has yearned for a baby for many years, and I know she will be a wonderful mother, but—” She broke off and pressed her lips together, trapping the loathsome words inside.
Griffin turned to look at her. “But?”
“But I’m jealous, too,” she whispered.
“Of Caroline?”
She shook her head. “Of the baby.”
Her eyes fell closed, guilt and shame sitting on her chest like scorching hot bricks, and she swallowed. The admission had left a sour taste on her tongue. “I’m jealous of a child—my own sibling—who hasn’t even been born yet,” she muttered. “What is the matter with me?”
“Nothing.”
“But—”
“There is nothing the matter with you, Olivia,” he said firmly, brooking no argument. “Your feelings for your father are complicated. It stands to reason that your feelings for this child would be complicated, too.”
Her eyes met his and she saw in them the sincere belief in his words. She gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
She’d never shared these feelings with anyone before, and it probably should have felt strange, sharing them now, here in the dark with Griffin. Instead, it felt…right.
Despite all their bickering, everything they’d been through, she trusted him with her secrets. He made her feel safe. And that unnerved her.
She could not afford to give him any more of herself than she already had. She could not allow her heart to reach for him the way it used to. The way it wanted to, even now.
“I should go,” she said, slipping her hand from his. She felt the loss acutely, the absence of his touch, the comfort she’d found there, but she knew it was unwise to linger.
She rose to her feet, clutching the ends of her shawl with one hand.
Ever the gentleman, he stood, too.
She tipped her chin up to look at him, an awkward smile curving her lips. “Thank you, Griffin,” she said. “For everything you’ve done for me tonight. I…I’ll never forget it.”
He smiled, his gray eyes glowing silver in the candlelight. “It’s ‘Griffin’ tonight, is it?”
She shrugged. “We’re friends. For tonight, at least.”
His smile widened, amusement playing across his features, but she took no offense. He did not seem to be laughing at her. Indeed, she had the distinct impression she’d pleased him.
Oh, he was a puzzle. Fascinating, perplexing. Hopelessly unsolvable.
She brushed past him and made for the door, tucking her shawl around her as cold air breezed through her nightrail. She shivered and reached for the doorknob, her fingers grazing the cool brass just as a warm hand settled on her shoulder.
She turned, a question on her tongue, but the look in Griffin’s eyes obliterated her every thought. He dipped his head and his mouth met hers, his kiss so soft, so tender, it buckled her knees.
He caught her to him, severing the kiss, his breath uneven and warm on her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was—”
“A mistake?” she chirped. “Another consolation prize, perhaps? Poor, pitiful Olivia, here’s another kiss to make her feel better.” Hurt speared her chest and sharpened her tongue. She could not take another rejection. Not tonight.
“I don’t pity you, damn it,” he growled. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’re remarkable. And so damned beautiful you make me forget my own—”
She rose up on tiptoe and kissed him hard, snatching the words from his silver tongue. She did not want to hear them, afraid of what they might lead to, afraid they would make her fall again, so hard and so deep she would never find her way out again.
She curled her fingers into his shirt and tugged him close, seizing control as she molded her lips to his. She swept her tongue into his mouth, heady with desire, with her own brazenness, and the low groan rumbling from Griffin’s throat.
His hands found her hips, his fingers dipping, his tongue tangling as he eased her against the door. The hard press of cold oak at her back made her shiver, even through her shawl and nightrail, the contrast stark against the heat of Griffin’s chest and thighs.
She kissed him without reserve, letting her hands wander, her eager fingers slipping beneath the open collar of his shirt to explore whatever she could reach. His skin was hot and smooth to the touch, his chest firm and strong and sprinkled with crisp hair.
She wanted his shirt gone, out of the way so she could feast her eyes and hands on him, but she wasn’t brave enough to ask for it. Not tonight. This moment was tenuous, the kiss fleeting, and she knew better than to press her luck.
Griffin eased his lips from hers, dipping his head to nuzzle her throat. “God, you smell good,” he said, his voice ragged. “You always smell so bloody good.”
His breath was warm against her skin, his tongue wet, tasting her, and her nipples pebbled, her belly clenching with need. She whimpered, shifting on her feet, trying desperately to ease the ache between her thighs, but movement only seemed to heighten it.
As if sensing her torment, Griffin eased his thigh between her legs, pressing into her core, and a moan escaped her lips, needy and frustrated. The contact was exquisite, his thigh hard as stone, the brush of her nightrail cool and deliciously rough against her wet, aching flesh.
She braced her hands on his shoulders then gave a slow, experimental roll of her hips, and it felt so good her toes curled into her slippers.
“Yes,” Griffin rasped, his hot eyes locked on her face. “Chase it, petal. Take your pleasure.”
His hands stroked up her calves, gathering her nightrail until her legs were bare, and she gasped at the first brush of his hands on her skin. His fingers flexed around her hips, his grip biting, coaxing, and a heated shiver skated along her skin.
She’d dreamed of these hands, of the warm, rough slide of his palms on her naked flesh, reverent and possessive and oh-so-desirous. Her dreams paled to the reality of his touch, and she was greedy for it now.
“You’re so bloody beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze on her face, watching her as she rode his thigh.
The words caressed, spiking her pleasure. She chased it, grinding against him, her hands gripping the hard ridge of his shoulders. She was sinfully wet, soaking her nightrail, her bud plump and throbbing, and her toes curled with every exquisite thrust.
“Give into it, petal,” he urged. “Let me make you feel good.” His voice was like sin, his hands pleasure itself as they slid like silk to the tops of her thighs.
Her head fell back at the first rasp of his thumb, thudding softly against the door, her lips parting on a silent moan. He stroked again, circling his thumb over the aching peak of her sex, his touch like fire, setting her ablaze.
“Come for me,” he whispered as his fingers stroked and teased. Unrelenting. Driving her mad. “Give me your honey, petal.”
She panted, arching into his hand, and with one final stroke of his wicked thumb, she shattered. Her limbs stiffened, stars bursting behind her eyes as a wave of pleasure arced through her, unlike any she’d ever known.
Boneless, she sagged against the door, her limbs quivering, her skin flushed hot.
Never had such intense desire awakened within her; never was it so pleasurable to sate it. Would it ever be so good again? Or was it only Griffin’s touch that made her come alive?
Dense silence permeated the room, the only sound the beating of her still racing heart.
Tentatively, she opened her eyes.
Griffin had leaned his forearm on the door above her, and his head was bowed, his gaze lowered. He stood motionless, and yet, seemed to vibrate with energy.
“Goodness,” she chirped. Or, tried to. Her throat was dry as dust, and the word came out more croak than chirp.
Amused gray eyes met hers. “Are you all right?”
Her face warmed and she straightened off the door, fussing with the folds of her shawl. “I’m marvelous, thank you. And you?”
The moment the question left her lips, she longed to take it back. Of course he wasn’t all right. He had not…taken his pleasure.
At least, she assumed that was the reason for his…tenseness. Should she offer to—no, her mind shied from the notion. She would not know how to ask or what to do, and she had reached her limits on feeling foolish for one day.
“I’m marvelous, too,” he said. His tone was mild, though she could see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Tonight was—” He broke off with a huffed laugh, his breath rustling her hair. “Tonight was...”
Tonight was what? Glorious? Surprising? A mistake?
Her chest grew tight, the moment vulnerable, assailable, and she knew she could not remain even a second longer.
“Tonight was interesting,” she said, donning her breeziest smile, “but it should not have happened. And, of course, it absolutely cannot happen again.”
There. She’d said it before he could.
Grappling for the door handle, she eased the door open, shuffling Griffin out of the way with sheer force of will and slipped from the room without another word.
What was there to say?
If she had stayed, she might have revealed more than she should, and Griffin did not need to know just how much tonight had meant to her. Not when there was every chance it had meant nothing to him.
She couldn’t bear to stay and listen to him say it was all a mistake. Not tonight. Not after the way he’d made her feel, the way his arms had held her, the way his mouth had worshipped hers, as if she meant something to him. As if she mattered.
She wanted to hold onto that feeling just a little while longer.
But only for tonight.