Chapter Nine #3
Despite the warmth of the day, he looked perfectly composed, without even a drop of sweat across his brow to mark his exertions. Kate felt like knocking him down the hill, dirtying his superbly cut clothes, and somehow making him feel as miserable and confused as she did.
But that would never happen, for not even a bullet and a fever affected the man’s perfect composure. Turning her back to him, she continued picking berries, yanking on the stems hard enough to test her gloves.
“Kate.” His voice weaved its way under her skin, all warm and compelling, but she refused to acknowledge it.
“I’ve come about Lucy,” he said, a trace of amusement in his tone that set Kate’s teeth on edge.
Had he no intention of begging her pardon for his behavior yesterday, or had it meant so little to him that he had forgotten it already?
The thought made her squish a ripe berry between her fingers, and she looked down, surprised at the mangled fruit.
“Careful now. You don’t want to get pricked,” Grayson warned, and Kate glanced over at him, annoyed to see the slight curve of his lips. Was he toying with her again? Refusing to rise to his bait, she gave him a cold look and returned to her task.
“I’ve begun my search for the imposter,” he said. “Meg and Tom gathered some gossip in the village today, and we have a few promising leads. But I do not want Lucy to know what we are about.”
Kate turned toward him, surprised at how quickly he had progressed and at the wealth of information in his simple statement. But she could not argue with his decision. “You’re afraid she might interfere.”
He nodded, his dark hair touched by the breeze.
“Very well. I won’t tell her,” Kate said, trying to maintain some semblance of the control that had marked her life for the past few years.
“Good. I think it will be best at least until I can discover what sort of man he is,” Grayson said, and then he stepped closer. “Here, let me help you.”
Kate shot a swift glance at him, dismayed to see him reach for the edges of his claret superfine. “No, that isn’t necessary,” she protested, unable to tear her gaze away. Please don’t take off your coat.
Although the words screamed in Kate’s head, Grayson did not hear them. He shrugged out of the elegant material to stand before her in his shirt and waistcoat, and while she watched, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing a dark dusting of hair.
Kate had seen him in far less, but the sight of his bare forearms in the sunlight made her feel warm and weak and wanting. As if oblivious to her stare, Grayson picked up the other bucket and moved toward the bushes.
He wore no gloves, but reached for the fruit with his well-formed, well-groomed hands. When his long, masculine fingers caught a berry and rolled it gently from its perch, her breath caught.
Kate looked away, her cheeks flaming, her blood pounding. “You will stain your skin,” she said when she could speak.
“No matter.”
She should have known. For all his elegance, Grayson seemed at ease anywhere, anytime. She could easily imagine him as a great Norman knight or a Viking warrior, strong and bold and…
Clearing her suddenly tight throat, Kate tried to ignore him, concentrating instead on filling her bucket as quickly as possible, so as to escape his heady presence.
For a moment, all was quiet, except for the sounds of rustling branches and calling birds, and she thought to regain her composure at last. Then he spoke.
“I regret any discomfiture I may have caused you yesterday,” he said, and Kate jerked, dropping a berry.
Discomfiture?
“You’ll have to take my word for it, but I am usually not so impulsive,” he added.
Impulsive?
“You appear to have a peculiar effect on me, poppet.”
Peculiar?
Kate needed no reminder of her extraordinary circumstances.
“Just so long as you understand that the clothes you insist on having made are to be given to us freely, with no expectation of payment of any kind.” She turned to give him a cold glare, but it was wasted on him, for he only lifted that dark brow of his.
“You insult me, Kate. You don’t actually believe I would try to buy you with a few gowns?”
She colored and turned away to reach for fruit with shaking fingers.
“I delight in your blushes, Kate, but I thought you believed in plain speaking,” he said, his tone revealing his amusement.
“I do, but even I have my limits.”
He leaned close, his breath brushing against her hair as he spoke. “Do you, Kate? I wonder,” he whispered, as if reflecting on something else entirely.
His nearness, his heat, and his low, liquid voice made her want to melt, and in furious rebellion, Kate turned to push him away, her outstretched palm landing squarely in the middle of his expensive gold-embroidered waistcoat. It squished beneath her fingers.
Snatching her hand away, Kate caught her breath at the sight of the dark stain spreading across the pristine silk. Dismayed, she glanced up at his face, steeling herself against his anger, for what arrogant lord would not decry the loss of such a fine garment?
Not Grayson. His brow cocked in surprise, and then his lips curled in a subtle threat more menacing than any rage. “Katie, love, I don’t believe you thought this one out in your usual sensible fashion.”
Reaching down, he plucked a dripping berry from his chest and flicked it at her. It plopped against her throat and sank down to her collar.
Kate swallowed her gasp of outrage when his gaze, rife with promise, lifted to hers. “I’ll get that for you,” he said, his lashes drifting downward.
“What are you doing?” she cried. A gentleman would have left in a huff, but, as he had proved before, Grayson was unpredictable…
and no gentleman. Kate watched in astonishment as he dipped a thumb in the fruity mess and lifted it to her mouth.
She would have backed away, but there was nowhere to go.
And then he touched her.
He rubbed gently, tracing the outline of her lips with his thumb, while she stared, stunned into silence by the heat that flowed from that simple contact. He cupped her chin, his fingers sliding along her neck, and Kate nervously darted out her tongue to wipe away the trail of juice.
“You missed some.” His voice was deep and rich, and Kate felt her limbs grow weak as he leaned over her. He moved at an unhurried pace, as if to tease her until she ached for his touch. And she did.
When he licked her lips, it was so deliberate and so delicious that she wanted to cry out. Her fists rose to seek purchase on his upper arms, for she was melting away under each slow glide of his tongue.
His leisurely exploration drove her to madness, and she opened her mouth, forcing the issue and sighing softly at the familiar greeting of his tongue, sliding so skillfully against hers.
His hands lifted to her face, and his fingers traced her brow, her cheeks, and the tender ridges of her ears before dropping to the throbbing pulse beneath.
And still he kissed her, each new slant of his mouth an exquisite sensation to be experienced.
Heat dazed her, and Kate felt the glide to the ground as a respite, the grass cool beneath her back.
She was grateful for the berth, for how could she have remained upright when his palm slipped beneath her shirt to glide over her skin?
Even prone, she felt unsteady, unmoored, and she clutched at Grayson as though he were the only purchase in a careening world.
Or was it to pull him even closer? Kate didn’t know.
And she could only watch wide-eyed as he dipped a hand into the bucket beside her and put a finger, stained with juice, to her mouth.
“Taste me, Kate,” he whispered. He was leaning over her, his handsome face dark with intent, and she could no more deny him than she could herself.
Hesitantly she touched her lips to one dripping digit, and she watched his eyes flare in response.
Then he nudged her lips until she took the tip of his finger inside, sucking away the sweetness.
Grayson groaned, the sound so at odds with his usual cool demeanor that Kate shivered.
And then he was over her, his mouth rough on hers, his heavy body pressing into her, right between her thighs.
His weight was a joyous thing, his tall form a wonder of muscle and heat and the answer to all her restless yearning.
In a flash of unclouded insight, Kate knew just what she wanted. But at what price? Her delight faded with the realization that she was as wicked as her sister, perhaps more so. Could she give herself so easily to a man who would be gone tomorrow, who toyed with her for his own amusement?
“No,” Kate answered aloud. She pushed at his chest, and he lifted his face above hers.
For one moment, she saw a naked intensity that took her breath away, a glimpse of a voracious appetite so at odds with the calm, controlled marquess as to be frightening.
And then it was gone. His expression was carefully shuttered once more.
“I seem to have developed a penchant for the most inappropriate locations,” he said, moving smoothly to her side. Kate was certain, then, that she had imagined his tortured response, for he spoke with barely a hitch in his breathing to mark what had passed between them.