This Marquess of Mine: (Romancing the Rogue Book 2)

Chapter Twenty-One

Ten minutes later, Olivia stood outside Griffin’s study, her heart racing as she stared at the closed door in front of her. Oh, God. She wasn’t sure she could go through with it.

She licked her lips and tried to swallow past the knot in her very dry throat, her thoughts a tangle of worries and fears and flagging courage. Was she really going to do this? Was she really about to walk through that door and ask the man inside if he would like to marry her?

She must have lost her mind. Only a simpleton would do what she was about to do.

Emmy was right, though. She would regret it if she didn’t ask, if she didn’t know, once and for all. She had to do this. Even if the likelihood of a good outcome was abysmally low.

Raising her knuckles to the door, she rapped them lightly on the hard wood and waited, her heart knocking against her ribcage like a thing possessed.

The soft snick of the latch punctuated the cloying silence, and time seemed to slow as the door swung open on silent hinges.

She looked up, and there was Griffin, staring at her from the open doorway.

“Olivia?” Surprise sparked in his eyes. “What are you—shouldn’t you be with the other guests?”

Somehow she managed a smile even as her legs itched to carry her far, far away.

Only minutes ago, this had all made sense, but now, standing before him in the darkened corridor, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

That he was so tall and broad, so imposing, did not help matters in the slightest.

“Yes, I should, but—” She swallowed, and smoothed trembling hands down the front of her dress. “May I…speak with you for a moment?”

His brows rose at the unusual request, but he stepped back without protest, clearing the way for her. “Of course. Come in.”

Heart pounding and fingers fidgeting, Olivia stepped into his study, and turned to watch him as he closed the door, shutting them inside.

No turning back now.

She swallowed.

“Please, have a seat,” Griffin said, gesturing to his desk.

He’d removed his coat and cravat and wore only a green silk waistcoat over a white linen shirt and black trousers. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and as she sat, she tried not to stare at his bare forearms.

Clearing her throat, she glanced around the room, stalling for time as she took in the blazing fire, the mahogany furnishings and leather-bound books, as if this was the first time she’d been here, though, of course, she’d seen the room dozens of times. At least it gave her something to do while she tried to think of what on earth she meant to say to the man sitting across from her.

“Olivia?”

Griffin’s voice drew her gaze to his.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked with a teasing half-smile. “Perhaps I should be sitting in your seat instead.”

She smiled weakly and shook her head. “You’re not in trouble.” But I certainly am.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, his smile fading. He leaned forward on his forearms, his eyes flicking over her face, both curious and concerned.

“No, no. I am perfectly well, I assure you.” She cleared her throat again. “I am here because I…because…” She ran her tongue over the crooked line of her teeth as her gaze dropped to her lap.

How in heaven’s name did people do this? How did anyone muster up the courage to lay their heart bare before another human being?

She’d never thought about it before now, how harrowing it was to confess one’s feelings to another, uncertain of their reaction, completely at their mercy. She’d never felt more vulnerable.

“What is it, Olivia?”

She could hear the alarm in his voice and when she looked at him, the patience in his steady gaze made her heart squeeze. He thought she was in trouble. He was prepared to help her in any way he could because he was an honorable man, and she was his sister’s dearest friend.

He was not prepared for a marriage proposal. Her feelings for him—and his for her, whatever they may be—were the furthest thing from his mind right now.

This is madness.

Her resolve crumbled to dust.

“Forgive me,” she said, pushing to her feet. “This was a mistake. I—pardon me for disturbing you.”

“Olivia—”

But she was already on her way to the door, her desperation to leave quickening her steps. Stupid, stupid girl. Had she really come here to ask him to marry her? To ask him if he loved her? God, how pathetic. How foolish.

“Olivia, wait.” Griffin’s hand closed around her wrist as she reached for the door, and he tugged gently until she turned to face him.

“Why did you come?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “Why did you want to see me?”

She shook her head and forced a smile. “It was nothing, Griffin. Please, forget about it.”

His lips formed a stubborn line, the way they always did when he wasn’t willing to give up just yet. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you unwell? Whatever is wrong, you can tell me.”

“I told you, I am fine,” she said, widening her smile. “Indeed, I’ve never been happier. After all, I will be a duchess soon. What more could a girl possibly hope for?”

His gaze sharpened on hers, his hand still grasping her wrist, warm and solid through the cuff of her sleeve. “You don’t look terribly happy to me,” he said quietly.

Her heart clenched. God, this man’s eyes. They saw far too much.

“Well, you’re wrong,” she said. “I am happy. Ecstatically happy. I am so happy I—” Her voice cracked and, to her horror, tears began to well in her eyes.

Frantically, she whirled toward the door, pulling her wrist free of his grasp, but his hands stayed her again, gripping her shoulders and gently urging her into the warm cradle of his arms.

Her eyes fell closed, and she swallowed as tears trickled down her cheeks. She sighed, pressing her face into his chest, inhaling his scent as his arms wrapped tightly around her.

It was strange, seeking comfort in the arms of the very man responsible for her heartache, but she didn’t care. It felt too good, and she was too weak to pull away. She would scold herself for the failing tomorrow. For now, she would savor this moment.

“Don’t marry Paxton, Olivia.” Griffin’s mouth brushed against her hair as he spoke. “He cannot make you happy. And you deserve a man who will make you happy.”

Her heart dipped and she drew back so she could see his face. “Do I?”

He smiled and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Without a doubt.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the tender look in his eyes, the sweet caress of his hand, and she wondered, wildly, if he meant to suggest that he could make her happy.

Say it, she urged. Say you love me. Ask me to choose you instead.

“Be patient,” he said. “The right man will come along soon enough. You have only to wait.”

The hope in her heart flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle’s flame, and the warmth in her chest cooled to ice. He had no intention of offering for her tonight. He would never offer for her. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not ever.

She eased out of his arms and stepped back, brushing at her skirts. “I do not need to wait,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Paxton is the right man for me.”

“In your father’s eyes, perhaps. But not yours.”

Frustration tensed her jaw, but she did not reply. She did not trust herself to speak.

“You know I’m right, Olivia. Admit it.”

“So what if you are?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “So what if the duke isn’t everything I’d ever dreamed of? Not all dreams come true.”

“But some do.”

Olivia shook her head, her smile wistful as she turned for the door. “Not this one.”

“You don’t know that. If you would only wait—”

“Wait for what?” She whirled on him, arms outstretched, her brows forming a frustrated line. “For someone better to come along? For the man of my dreams to swoop in and carry me off to a perfect, blissful future?” She scoffed. “Life doesn’t work like that, Griffin. Things don’t always turn out as we hope they will. The duke might not be my ideal match, but he is a good man, and he will treat me well. It will be enough.” Because it had to be.

“No, it won’t,” he said, the words a low growl. “It will never be enough, not for a woman like you. A woman of passion and wit and fire.” His eyes held hers, smoky gray and crackling with feeling. “He will suffocate your flame, Olivia. You deserve a man who will feed it.”

Her breath caught as he reached a hand out, his fingers cupping her cheek, stroking her lips, setting her blood afire.

“You deserve a man who sees you,” he whispered. “A man who sees how incredible you are, who wants to be with you, and will make damned sure you know how much he wants you.” His hands found her hips and his fingers bit into her flesh, wringing a gasp from her throat. “And not just your body, petal, but your mind, too. You deserve a man who needs you by his side, in his life. In his bed.”

Olivia’s skin burned beneath the heat in his gaze and in his words, and her heart thundered in her chest, even as her mind cautioned her to resist. She wanted this man, wanted him so much she ached with it, but she knew she could not have him.

“I—I should go,” she whispered, stepping back, away from his mind-muddling touch. “Good night, Griffin.”

“Olivia—”

“Meow.”

Olivia stilled, surprised, as her gaze flicked to the large armchair by the fire where Artemis sat stretching her limbs. The kitten tromped in a little circle before plopping back onto the mound of blankets and going back to sleep.

“I didn’t even know she was there,” Olivia said, a reluctant smile turning her lips.

“It’s her favorite chair,” Griffin said. “She likes to sleep by the fire.”

She looked at him, brows raised. “Is she often here with you while you work?”

“She likes it here,” Griffin said. “And I like to keep an eye on her. Make certain she stays out of trouble.”

He crossed his arms over his chest as if embarrassed and Olivia’s heart melted. Oh, how she adored this man.

She would marry Paxton, start a family, and be content in her life as a duchess and mother. Eventually she would forget Griffin and these foolish desires, these impossible hopes, and life without him would be enough. Because it would have to be.

She could not have him, but perhaps she could claim a small bit of him. Perhaps she could leave here with a memento of sorts, a moment to treasure; to remember him by.

But only if she was brave enough to ask for it.

“Griffin?”

His gaze met hers. “Yes?”

“Will you…” She swallowed, battling for courage, her pulse kicking up a frantic beat. “Will you make love to me?”

His lips parted and she could see the surprise in his eyes.

“Please.” She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Please, Griffin. I want you to make love to me.”

“Christ, Olivia, I—” His throat worked as he raked a hand through his hair. “I—you should wait for your wedding night.”

Disappointed pricked, and her gaze fell to her fidgeting hands. It wasn’t exactly the response she’d hoped for, but it wasn’t a refusal, either.

Don’t give up yet.

She forced her chin up, found him watching her, his face in shadow, his gaze indecipherable but not indifferent. She pressed on.

“I was fifteen the first time a boy kissed me,” she said softly, her lips curving at the memory of that clumsy meeting of mouths. “He was a farmer’s son, very handsome, and I fancied myself in love with him. For a while, at least.”

Griffin did not speak, though his gaze never strayed from hers. A good sign? It was impossible to tell.

Nervously, she moistened her lips with her tongue, and Griffin’s gaze flicked to her mouth, tracking the motion with keen interest. Hope surged in her breast.

“I’ve been kissed many times since, by many different men,” she said softly. “But not one of them ever made me burn inside. Not one of them ever left me craving more. Until you.”

Tipping her head back, she met his gaze unwaveringly, willing him to listen, to hear her. “You’re the only one who makes my body ache,” she said. “You’re the only one who makes me feel good.”

She rose up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his throat, wringing a rumbling groan from his chest. “Make me feel good again,” she whispered, gripping his arms. “Make love to me, Griffin.”

His body was tense beneath her hands as he stared at her, still and quiet for a tortuously long moment, and the only sound Olivia could hear was the hectic beating of her own heart.

Finally, he moved, reaching around her as if going for the door, and for one awful moment, she thought he was going to turn her away, push her from the room, reject her.

But then the soft snick of the door lock clicking into place punctuated the silence, and Griffin’s gaze locked on hers. “You’re certain?” he asked, his voice husky.

She nodded, her heart thrashing against her ribcage. “Yes. I’m certain.”

His gray eyes raked over her face, soft and warm like summer rain, and then he took her by the hand and drew her away from the door.

She followed, her body thrumming, her gaze locked on the chaise longue, which seemed to be their destination. Excitement pulsed through her, swirling in her belly and warming her cheeks.

Griffin turned to face her, still holding her hand, the steady warmth of his grasp doing much to soothe her nerves.

He lifted his free hand to cup her cheek as a smile teased the corners of his lips. “I shouldn’t do this,” he said, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. “I should refuse you and send you away, but I don’t want to.” His eyes blazed. “I want this. I want you, Olivia.”

His words scorched her straight through, annihilating her fears, her doubts, until all that was left was a burning desire to touch him, to feel his body against hers.

“Then kiss me,” she demanded with a none-too-gentle tug on his hand.

He went to her, his eyes dancing as his mouth swooped down and claimed its kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips touched hers and she groaned when he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his hands sweeping her body against his.

Yes. Yes. This was what she wanted. Just for one night, just this once, he would be hers.

Desire pounded through her veins as she returned his kiss, running eager hands up his forearms, his biceps, his shoulders. Reveling in the feel of him beneath her palms, the solid strength of his big, warm body, so different from her own.

She wanted his skin bared. Every inch of it. Now.

Pulling her head back, she met his gaze and slipped her fingers to the buttons of his waistcoat.

“I want to see you.”