Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Oh, you are such a sweetheart,” Sophie cooed the following afternoon in the gray salon as she bounced Artemis on her knee. She turned to the large, serious man sitting beside her on the sofa, and gave him an expectant smile. “Isn’t she a sweetheart, husband?”
“Absolutely adorable,” James agreed with a smile for his wife that could only be described as smitten.
Olivia watched their interplay from her seat on an armchair opposite the sofa, hiding her own smile behind the rim of her sherry glass, as twin jolts of envy and joy shot through her. The love Sophie shared with her husband was there for all to see, and she was thrilled for her cousin—of course she was—but she couldn’t help being a little envious too.
“I can’t believe how much Artemis has grown since I saw her last,” Olivia said, shoving aside the pesky pang of longing. “Only a month ago, she could fit in the palm of my hand.”
Sophie scratched her fingernails down Artemis’s spine and the kitten arched into her touch, purring loudly. It was just the four of them gathered around the sofa table. Aunt Augusta sat in the farthest corner of the room, playing chess with Lady Keswick, and Emmy and Griffin were nowhere to be seen.
“Emmy told me Griffin found her on the street,” Sophie said. “Is that true?”
Olivia gave her a small, uncomfortable smile. “That is…what he told us.”
“How kind of him to give the poor little thing a home.”
“Yes. Immensely kind.” But she was thinking of Mrs. Morris, Griffin’s former mistress, the beautiful widow who didn’t like cats. Had he renewed his arrangement with the lady, or did he have a new lover now, one even more beautiful than the last?
Jealousy shot through her, and she wondered yet again if he ever thought of her, of that night they spent together, in his study, in each other’s arms.
She drained the last of her sherry, frustrated with the path her thoughts had taken. He’d been a distraction all day, his behavior conflicting, confusing, as he avoided her like an illness and yet, every time she looked at him, he seemed to be watching her.
Dratted man. He wasn’t even in the room and, still, he was on her mind.
“Olivia?”
Lady Keswick’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked across the room at the marchioness. “Yes, my lady?”
“Be a dear and fetch Emmy for me, would you? I believe she is in the family library.”
Olivia smiled, pleased by the unexpected errand. She could do with a distraction.
“Of course, Lady Keswick,” she said, setting her glass on the sofa table before rising to her feet and quitting the room.
Walking up the corridor with measured steps, she took in the familiar pattern of the Turkish rug beneath her feet, the watercolors and pencil sketches lining the walls, and she smiled to herself. She adored this house. It was like a second home to her, had been ever since she was a little girl, and it had seen her through many seasons of her life.
She hoped it always would.
After she’d made her way up the single flight of stairs and down one more corridor, she reached the family library. The door was slightly ajar, so she knocked softly before nudging it open with her knuckles and walking through.
Her steps faltered just inside the door as her gaze fell on Griffin standing across the room before the hearth, his hands clasped at his front, as if he’d been expecting her.
“Griffin. I wasn’t…” She cast her gaze over the room, looking for Emmy. “Is your sister in here with you? I was asked to—”
She turned at the sound of the door clicking shut behind her, and her brows dipped in confusion. “Is something amiss?” She turned to face Griffin again. “Your mother sent me here to look for Emmy.”
His smile was rueful. “A ruse, I’m afraid.”
“A ruse? For what—” Her eyes caught on something dangling from the hearth above his head, something green and leafy, held together with a strip of bright red ribbon. “What is that?”
“A mistletoe ball, of course.”
She looked at him, her heart beginning to thump in her chest. “It’s September,” she said faintly. “And that isn’t mistletoe.”
“I know it isn’t. But it was the best I could do.”
The best he could do? The best he could do for what?
Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. “What is this, Griffin?”
He drew in a breath, and then he crossed the room toward her, his eyes locked on hers.
“This is me trying to right a wrong,” he said gruffly, halting inches away from her. “Doing what I should have done—what I wanted to do—last December in Lord Stevenson’s library.”
Olivia swallowed, slowly sweeping her gaze over his face, searching for the answer to her question before she voiced it. “And what did you want to do?” she whispered.
“Kiss you senseless. Throw myself at your feet.” His voice was a caress. “Love you.”
Her breath hitched.
“I love you, Olivia,” he said softly, drawing her trembling hands in his and stroking his thumbs across her knuckles.
“Do you?” she whispered, afraid to believe him. Valiantly trying to guard her heart.
“I do. Very much.” He smiled. “I have for quite some time, if you must know.”
“Even when you thought me a silly, shallow flirt?” she asked, her own smile wry, self-protective.
His gray eyes dimmed, regret lining his face as he slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry I said those words to you. I shouldn’t have. But when I saw you standing there with that teasing smile and Christmas punch on your lips, I saw only danger. I saw how easy it would be for you to take me apart, piece by piece.” His lips quirked. “Even more terrifying was the fact that I wanted you to do it. Because I wanted you.”
She dropped her gaze to their joined hands, the sight of his bare skin on hers sending a thrill straight through her, even as her mind reeled.
“You didn’t want to, though, did you?” Her eyes lifted to his. “You didn’t want to want me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation, driven by the need to hear the truth, as if the truth would keep her safe.
“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”
The answer did not surprise her, but it stung all the same. Gently she withdrew her hands from his and folded her arms across her belly, desperate to put some distance between them.
“But now you do?” Her brows knit. “Why? What has changed? I know it wasn’t me. I am the same as I’ve always been.”
And, for once, she felt no inclination to apologize for it.
“Yes, you are,” he said, his eyes soft with fondness, as if he liked her, just as she was. “I, however, am not.”
She shook her head. “What does that mean?”
Griffin turned away, raked a hand through his hair before letting it fall to his side. “I…thought I knew you,” he said slowly. “I thought you were a spoiled, title-chasing flirt without scruples yet, still, you tempted me. Still, you were in my thoughts. Under my skin.”
He faced her again, and her heart dipped at the naked feeling in his eyes, the self-deprecating smile curving his lips.
“I tried to stay away from you,” he said. “God knows I tried. But then my mother injured her ankle, and I could no longer avoid you. And as I began to know you better, I realized how wrong I was. There is nothing shallow or silly about you, Olivia. You are clever and funny and sweet.” His gaze pierced hers. “You are the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known.”
Pleasure flowed through her, swift and stunning, even as her mind cautioned her to hold fast.
She swallowed, her lips twisting. “I tried to get close to you,” she whispered. “So many times, I tried. But you always pushed me away.”
“I know. I know you did.” He shook his head, his mouth grim. “I was afraid, Olivia. I was afraid to let you in.”
The admission stunned her. Griffin was always so confident, so self-assured. The vulnerability she saw in his eyes rocked her to her core.
“Afraid?” she asked. “Afraid of what?”
He drew in a breath, as if shoring his courage. “Of disappointing you. Of hurting you, the way my father hurt my mother. To be honest, I still am.”
Olivia stared, trying to make sense of his words. “I don’t understand. Your father—”
“He left her.” Griffin’s gaze fell to the floor, his throat working. “He loved her, and still he left, long before he should have. And I’m afraid I’ll do the same to you.” His eyes met hers. “I don’t want to hurt you, Olivia. I never want to hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, stepping toward him, her heart in her throat. “You won’t.”
His brow creased. “I might.”
“But not intentionally. You would never hurt me on purpose, Griffin.” She reached up and cupped his face in her palm. “Foolish man. Don’t you see? I would rather have you for only a little while than never at all.”
Griffin’s heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, rejoicing when she kissed him back.
“I love you,” he said against her lips, then he pulled back and repeated the words. “I love you.”
Her beautiful eyes searched his, roving over his face, lingering on his mouth. “Is that why you went to my father?” she asked softly. “Because you loved me?”
He nodded. “Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was I couldn’t bear the thought of you unhappy. I couldn’t let you marry Paxton, not if it wasn’t your choice. Not unless it was what you really wanted.”
Olivia smiled. “It was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t kind. It was selfish. I wanted you for myself, only I didn’t realize it then. I told myself I was helping you.”
“You did help me,” she said simply, and the way she was looking at him, the acceptance, the love shining in her beautiful blue eyes nearly undid him.
“All I want is for you to be happy,” he said. “And I want to spend the rest of my days ensuring it. I want you to marry me, petal.” He smiled. “But first, I want to court you. You deserve a good courting.”
“Do I?” Olivia asked, smiling back at him.
“Oh, yes.” His nose bumped hers. “I intend to treat you like a queen. Kneel before you and kiss your feet in deference.” His lips brushed hers. “Until I convince you to make me your king.”
He kissed her again, lingering over the task this time, and her arms looped around his neck as she returned his kiss eagerly. God, she was delicious. Deliciously his.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the desk, setting her gently on the edge. Then he pressed his palms on the desk at either side of her and leaned into her warmth, his lips meeting hers in slow, worshipful kisses.
She pulled him closer, and he went, stepping between her thighs and closing his arms around her until he could feel her everywhere.
With a stilted moan, she pulled back and gazed up at him with hazy, honeyed eyes. “Yes,” she said huskily, her lips gorgeously plump. “Yes, I will marry you.”
Cupping his face in her hands, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Griffin. I’ve always loved you. I—”
He swooped in with a low growl and stole another kiss, cutting into her words, relief and joy sweeping over him in waves. She had said yes. She would be his.
She was his. And he was hers.
“Of course, I will only marry you after you’ve properly courted me,” she said a moment later through wet lips and ragged breaths. “I shall expect regular trips to Gunter’s and at least three picnics in the park. And don’t think for a moment I will allow you to renege on that promise you made to kneel before me and kiss my feet.” She arched an adorably imperious brow. “I think that ought to be a daily occurrence, don’t you?”
Griffin grinned. “I’ll kneel before you as often as you like, petal,” he said, nudging a slipper off her foot with his thumb. It tumbled to the floor with a satisfying thud. “I’ll begin here, at your toes then work my way up your ankles to your calves, pausing to rest for a time at your delectable thighs, of course, and then...”
His hands skated up her legs in time with his words, squeezing and shaping through the fine silk of her skirts.
“And then?” she prodded, her eyes dark as midnight.
He drew slow, sweeping circles at the tops of her thighs with his thumbs, teasing her without mercy. “And then,” he murmured, “if you ask very nicely, I might consider doing it all over again. Under your skirts.”
His lips found her earlobe, drawing a gasp from her lips.
“Define nicely,” she said, her voice a near moan.
“Begging. Pleading. Panting with need.”
“I might plead on occasion, but”—she gasped as he shoved her skirts to her knees—“I will never pant.”
A wicked smile turned his lips. “Never?”
“Never.”
“Hm.” He clucked his tongue. “That is a sobering thought. Still, no one has ever accused me of being a quitter...” He slid his palms up her thighs until he reached her stays, and then he gave her delectably creamy flesh a squeeze, his thumbs brushing the tender skin at her inner thighs.
“Touch me, Griffin,” Olivia pleaded, her eyes begging. “Please.”
And then she panted it.