Chapter 22 #2
Cassie led him to her office and shut the door.
It was still just as cold as it had been last time, the brazier again unlit.
But after the heat of the birthing chamber, Grant dragged the chilled air into his lungs with pleasure.
She placed his bag, greatcoat, and jacket onto the lumpy sofa, then took up a hooked blanket from the arm.
She came back and, just as he had with her after she’d assisted him with Amir, draped the blanket over his shoulders.
“There,” she said, rubbing his arms as he had, to assuage the trembling that had afflicted her. He pulled her to him with a sudden burst of gratitude. Cassie embraced him, resting her head on his chest. “You were magnificent, Grant.”
He buried his nose and mouth into her crown of hair. The scent of warmed apricots curled through him, and after several moments, his pulse slowed. His breathing evened. But just as he began to regain his composure, he heard Cassie sniffle. Grant pulled back to peer down at her. “What is wrong?”
Any hope of the tears being happy ones dissolved when the corners of her mouth turned downward.
“Caroline—Mrs. Rawling,” she said softly. “She’s here because she is going to leave her baby with the nuns for placement. She can’t afford another child, and so…”
Grant nodded. That was why she had not wanted to hold him. It would be too painful to then give him up.
He held Cassie closer, his lips brushing her forehead.
“I know how devastated she is,” she whispered. Grant nudged her chin with his thumb, and when she looked up at him, he kissed her cheek, wet and salty from her tears. Her lashes were damp, the tip of her nose red. She appeared so vulnerable, and yet he knew she wasn’t. At least not all the time.
“The world can be cruel,” he said. “You’re doing the best you can for Mrs. Rawling. She’s grateful for that, I’m sure.”
Cassie rested her head against his chest again.
She didn’t attempt to disentangle from his embrace.
Instead, her palms rubbed his back. She turned her face into his chest, her nose scuffing side to side.
He felt the press of her lips through his shirt and waistcoat. His body replied, instantly going hard.
“I’m sorry about Michael.”
Grant had shaken off the duke’s reaction the morning after the snowstorm. In all honesty, he could not blame Fournier. “He thinks me unsuitable.”
She nodded. He rubbed circles against the small of her back.
“I am, you know.”
Cassie lifted her head. “Don’t say that.”
“Why shouldn’t I? It is true.”
She frowned and started to pull away, but he wrenched her back into place. Her body came flush against his, and her eyes widened as she felt his arousal.
“You see?” He gripped her waist and lifted her to sit on the edge of her desk. The blanket around his shoulders fell off. “I am entirely unsuitable.”
He kissed her, her lips salty from tears. Her thighs fell apart, and Grant stepped between them, stretching the fine wool of her skirt.
“The only thing I’ve been able to think about, dream about, for two days, is being inside you again,” he said against her mouth. “Is that not depraved?”
Cassie hooked her hands around his neck and pulled him lower, her tongue first to delve into his mouth. After one long, scalding kiss, she replied, “Then I must be depraved too, because I want that. I want you. Grant, please.”
The sound of her gasping his name awoke a sleeping dragon within him.
He had the insensible desire to collect a thousand such gasps from her and hoard them like jewels.
Christ, he needed her skirt up; the blood in his veins throbbed for it.
But he could not entirely dismiss where they were. Or what they were doing.
“Cassie,” he whispered as her thighs clenched around his, as if to draw him closer. “This is getting out of control.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care.”
In truth, neither did he. Grant covered her mouth with his and pushed her back onto her desk, rucking up the hem of her skirt.
He’d gathered it around her stockinged knees, exposing her garters, when a knock resounded on the office door.
The spell gripping them shattered, and Grant stood straight, tugging Cassie off the desk, to her feet.
Her skirts swayed into place as the door opened.
“Are you in here?” Miss Khan called as she popped in her head.
Cassie whirled away from the midwife and went behind her desk. Grant half-turned, entirely aware of the bulge in his trousers. “Oh good, Dr. Brown,” Miss Khan said, coming inside the office. “I wanted to thank you again for your assistance. Mrs. Rawling and her baby seem to be doing just fine.”
He kept his back to her as he swiftly reached for his things on the sofa.
“I was happy to help.” He barely looked toward Cassie, who was pretending to be busy at her desk.
Her flushed cheeks were telling, however.
“But I’m afraid I’m late for another appointment.
Send for me if there are any complications. Good evening to you both.”
He hastily departed the room, incensed they’d been interrupted, and yet also relieved.
This was madness. It had to stop. He could not touch her again, not even once.
As he took the stairs, the squalling of an infant sounded from another room.
He thought of Mrs. Rawling and the strength she’d possessed to not hold her baby.
One touch, and she might not have been able to give him up.
“Christ,” he muttered.
He was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.