He was silent. His dark brows furrowed and his posture limp as if she had delivered him a devastating blow. Then he shook his head, disbelieving and stood. ‘You are angry... I do not blame you, for I deserve every bit of it. My uncharacteristic outburst was unseemly and grossly unfair, but I beg of you...’ He came towards her, palms outstretched. ‘Let the dust settle. We had an argument, Charity. Just an argument. We’ve had hundreds over the years. In a day or so you will be calmer, and we can discuss things properly...’ As his hands sought hers and her traitorous nerve endings fizzed and bounced wildly at the contact, she snatched them away.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake! Stop treating everything I do or say as a silly, selfish whim! Irrespective of what you want, my mind is made up and I am leaving tomorrow, Griff!’ She had to. The sooner the better. Although God only knew where she would go.
He shook his head again, attempting a conciliatory smile this time as if she were being melodramatic. ‘Don’t say that... I shall move things around so that we can all visit Denby’s place if it means that much to you.’ His fingers dared to brush her arm this time.
Before she could stop herself, she used her flattened palms in the middle of his chest to push him away as she growled, ‘You are not invited to Denby’s place!’
Even though he would learn the truth about that other defeat soon enough, she couldn’t admit it now. That non-existent house party was her only viable excuse to escape and it would be a cold day in hell before she gave him the ammunition to gloat at her failure. ‘When is that going to permeate your thick skull?’ She pushed him again. ‘I am going alone!’
‘Be reasonable, Charity...’
‘Reasonable!’ She wanted to scream. Slap him. Curl up into a ball. Beg him to like her. Respect her. Love her. To look at her as if the sun rose and set with her smile. ‘I think it is perfectly reasonable to want to be somewhere that I am wanted rather than stay here with someone who has made it plain he thinks I am a narcissist whom he only tolerates on sufferance!’
‘I don’t think that! If anything, I’ve always...’ He blinked, went to say something then paused. When he did speak his tone was different. Measured. Too controlled. All those unseemly emotions which he disapproved of so very much buried under layers of rock where he thought they belonged. ‘Let us not fight about more nonsense now too.’
‘Hurt isn’t nonsense, Griff! Pain isn’t nonsense. Nor is disappointment or disgust or anger when it is rightly deserved. They are honest emotions and I will own them! I am all done with you, Griff! All done with us.’
Something hot shimmered briefly in his eyes before he slowly blinked to extinguish it. ‘You know I cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to go unchaperoned to the house of a bachelor. I promised your father...’
‘I am not a child who needs reasoning with!’
‘Then you must realise that I cannot sanction...’
‘Sanction? You forget I am over the age of majority! What my father wants and what you want have no bearing on my decision.’ She went to push him again and he caught her wrists, so she snarled into his face instead as she tugged them away. ‘I am a grown woman, Griff—I have been for some time—and I will go to whomever I want, kiss whomever I want whenever I want. And right now, I want to go to someone who wants me back!’
‘But why him?’ Two suddenly furious dark eyes locked ruthlessly with hers as all his buried feelings suddenly leaked to the surface. ‘Answer me that! Why do you constantly throw yourself lock, stock and barrel at Denby when I have never seen any overwhelming evidence of his partiality towards you?’ A cruel truth much too close to home for her liking. ‘Don’t you want a man who loves you like Dottie or Faith or Hope have? Because he certainly doesn’t. No matter how many trysts you entice him into and how many passionate kisses you bestow upon him, he cares more for his cravat knots and ostentatious stick pins than he ever has for you!’
That was too raw, too humiliating and too insightful. Damn him to hell for seeing what she hadn’t and bearing witness to her shame. Oh, how he would congratulate himself when he next read those stupid gossip columns he put so much stock in! And then he would pity her or shake his head at her impetuousness, her reputation and her stupidity or, worse, tell her that he had told her so and remind her that she needed to behave with more decorum or no decent man would ever want her.
‘I don’t need to throw myself at anyone, Griff! Don’t you read the gossip columns? I am a seductress! A siren! My dance card is always full. Men queue at my door. They all want me! Every one of them desires me and I could have any one of them with a click of my fingers.’ She snapped them in his face, aware that she was being irrational and yet powerless to stop it. ‘I could have any man I want, Griff! Any man! Do you hear me?’ She pulled her hands from his grasp and pushed him again. ‘Any stupid man I set my mind to!’ Except the only one her foolish heart apparently wanted.
He blinked back, either stunned or disbelieving and something snapped. ‘Even you, Griff!’ Charity grabbed him by the lapels, and to prove her point emphatically, kissed him.
* * *
At just the taste of her lips he combusted. All his remaining reason evaporated as he hauled her into his arms and greedily kissed her back. It didn’t matter that emotions were high and the distant mumble of common sense told him that this wasn’t sensible—it was what his heart and body needed and he was powerless to stop it.
She looped her arms around his neck and matched him in his fervour, her lush body sprawled against his so close he could feel her heartbeat through his ribs. Griff didn’t care that his instant desire was rampant and evident. Wasn’t capable of tearing his mouth away and being the prudent one as usual, no matter what the whispered niggling voice in his head said. How could he stop when this was what he wanted, what he’d craved for ever, and Charity’s fingers were in his hair, anchoring him in place and her tongue was tangling with his?
As the kiss burned hot and consumed them, his greedy palms smoothed over her waist and hips, exploring the curves which had tormented him for years. She sighed into his mouth, rewarding him for his boldness by running her own over his shoulders and his chest. He had a vague recollection of tumbling backwards on to the mattress, but not of who had instigated it. It might have been him. It might have been her. It might well have been the both of them. But as soon as they were horizontal it was she who took control, winding her leg between his as her fingers undid every button of his waistcoat.
What came next could only be described as a frenzy. Lips, teeth, tongues. Fevered, earthy moans and erratic breathing as passion overtook tempers and the world shrank to the confines of the bed. A disjointed, surreal and sublime fantasy then unravelled which far surpassed everything he could have possibly imagined and left him powerless to do anything beyond the realms of the carnal, except react like a man gratefully lost in the woman he adored.
Later he would only recall snippets of what happened next. Disjointed sensory fragments because the whole was so overwhelming to comprehend in one go. The hunger in her eyes as she wrestled him out of his coat while he simultaneously hunted and removed every hairpin from her head with scant finesse. The intoxicating scent of her skin beneath her perfume as his hungry lips nuzzled her neck. The flutter of her pulse beneath his tongue. The divine feel of her bare skin above the tops of her stockings. Her hands beneath his shirt. Her pebbled nipples beneath his thumbs.
Clothes flying in impatience then the awed wonder at her nakedness. Excitement at her wantonness. The sultry sound of her sigh when his fingertips stroked her. The exquisite sensations of pleasure as she returned the favour and explored his hardness. The way she trembled in his arms and murmured his name while she opened her body to him, the overpowering need to possess and the way the emotion choked him as she welcomed him inside.
So wet.
So soft.
So utterly perfect.
Until he encountered the
barrier he wasn’t expecting—and hesitated.
Long enough to register the enormous ramifications of what they were about to do but nowhere near long enough to consider them as he should have. Because she wrapped her legs around his hips and tilted her body as she dragged his down, until she was all his in every way possible at last, and nothing else existed beyond her.
Chapter Twelve
The first rays of the sunrise streaming through the windows disturbed her eyelids, but it was the heavy, alien weight of a male arm wrapped possessively around her middle which instantly woke her fully.
His warm, rhythmic breath on her neck. His big body spooning hers, and even deep in sleep she could feel the latent evidence of his desire against her naked bottom. Staggeringly male and shockingly sexual, but not the least bit unwelcome.
Her own body felt odd too. Riper. More sensual as she certainly couldn’t recall ever waking and being immediately conscious of all the nerve endings which hid between her legs. Nerve endings which she hadn’t fully realised even existed at all until he had awakened each and every one of them last night with just his kiss, before he inducted her into all the sinful, intoxicating things, which those hedonistic nerves craved until he had turned her into a mindless, passionate and needy creature she didn’t recognise at all. One who had arched and writhed in shameless ecstasy on the tangled sheets, oblivious of anything else beyond the quest for her own pleasure and the man who could give it to her.
He murmured and snuggled closer, but while it was tempting to snuggle back Charity held herself still in case he woke too, nowhere near ready to face the consequences of their actions, or indeed what to make of them.
They had been intimate, for pity’s sake!
As intimate as it was possible for a man and woman to be and considerably more than she had ever intended to be with any man before her wedding night. Not only had there been no wedding night, there hadn’t been any tender words of love and affection either. In fact, it had all happened so quickly, she couldn’t recall any words at all. One minute they were kissing and the next...
Griff went from being her supposed brother to her lover in one fell swoop.
She swallowed hard, trying not to move another muscle, while she fought for calm. What they had done was so much more than she had ever dared grant another man. So much more than the brief kisses she had indulged in previously and considerably more than she should have allowed, irrespective of her impassioned state last night. What had started as an irrational way to put him in his place and make herself feel better about his and Denby’s rejection had rapidly got out of hand. But as much as she wished she could blame Griff for it, she couldn’t. She had started it, and at the crucial moment when she should have put a stop to it, when he had hesitated, his dark eyes stunned and questioning as he began to withdraw, she had passed the point of no return, wanted it all and would accept nothing less.
And now, what was done couldn’t be undone. Yet she had no clue what she should do next or how she felt about it. Would this change things for the better between them? Would everything fall into place the moment she gazed into his eyes? Would she finally see love there? That elusive spiritual connection her sisters had with their husbands, where a mere locking of eyes said more than a thousand flowery, poetic words ever could?
Would she see that? Or was she doomed to be disappointed for ever because her high opinion of him wasn’t reciprocated? As much as she hoped for the former, she suspected the latter might be their reality. The gulf between them had never been properly bridged and there had always been something in the way, something invisible but tangible which kept them apart. Even in his arms she felt its looming presence still and feared it in equal measure. She had never been able to read Griff. His inner thoughts had been a mystery for seventeen long years. But in temper...
As his cruel words of yesterday seeped back to haunt her, pathetically, she considered gently easing herself from his embrace, grabbing some clothes, dashing from the room and then ruthlessly pretending nothing had happened at all. Float above it all until it all went away. For ever, if needs be. Because discussing it all would be mortifying as well as painful if that elusive temporal connection was still missing despite their physical joining—and when she was still rightly furious at him for everything he had said.
If nothing else, she reasoned as his body began to gently harden again against hers, sneaking out prevented her from having to have the inevitable awkward conversation stark naked. It made no difference that that horse had already bolted and that she had not only shown him every inch, she had moaned as he had kissed it and caressed it too. And now that it was morning, and because the fresh evidence of his desire was giving her body more inappropriate ideas which she knew already would take little encouragement to act on, staying in his arms was no longer an option.
She would feel less exposed beneath several layers of clothes and, in the absence of anything else, that would have to do. Being dressed also meant she could intercept Lily before her maid inadvertently discovered their crime or Mrs Jackson the housekeeper ventured in with some tea or, heaven forbid, Dorothy came to check up on her after her abrupt departure last night.
No indeed—the fewer people who knew of their indiscretion and her heartbreak, the better and the least said, the soonest mended.
Decision made, she carefully lifted his arm from her body and shuffled away, then stiffened again as he muttered something unintelligible and rearranged his position. Only when his breathing was deep and steady again did she risk sliding her feet out of the covers and gradually inching herself off the bed. As she did so, her eyes frantically scanned the carnage on the floor, trying to locate enough of her discarded clothes to constitute an acceptable outfit which saved her the unnecessary and noisy effort of rifling through her trunks. She had barely stood when his voice made her jump.
‘Charity? Are you...all right?’
She hastily sat back down on the edge of the mattress and groped behind her for the covers before she dared turn around, gripping them against her like a shield as she looked at him over her shoulder. Griff had rolled on to his side, his concerned, rumpled dark head propped on one elbow, the crumpled sheet only barely covering his hips and the distracting but obvious bulge beneath them and looking as annoyingly handsome as she had ever seen him. ‘You are not...in any pain or discomfort?’
‘What about this situation isn’t uncomfortable?’ Because she was naked and he had been inside her and she had no earthly clue what that meant.
She searched his face but could see no discernible change. Still couldn’t read the truth in his eyes. How typical that was and how galling. That even after they had been intimate, that she had given herself to him, he could still keep his feelings a secret from her.
He acknowledged her comment with an awkward nod. ‘All of it, I suppose.’ Then he reached out and traced his index finger tenderly down her arm, sending more unsettling ripples of awareness through her body. ‘Did I hurt you?’
In more ways than he could possibly imagine but not at all in the way he meant. ‘No.’
‘I’m glad.’ He smiled, relieved, then immediately frowned as he noticed the two tiny spots of blood in the centre of the mattress between them marring the pure white sheets like the mark of Cain. ‘Are you sure? We were rather...um...passionate.’
She nodded curtly, not wanting to discuss something so intensely personal when she was practically rigid with embarrassment at just how passionate she had been. Griff had seen and heard her in the full, uninhibited throes of it, thrashing about and moaning her encouragement. So shameless in her naked wantonness, so unseemly in her emotions, she had left nothing of herself to his imagination. She had even allowed him to kiss her between her legs and those needy nerves thrummed at the memory. ‘I feel perfectly well.’
‘So do I. In fact... I am more than well.’ His eyes darkened as they raked her bare back and then retraced
that heated look with the flat of his palm, sending tingles down her spine. Too many tingles which would only lead to her shaming herself further if she allowed him to carry on, so she shuffled her bottom so that more of the blanket than her skin faced him, even though that meant showing him more of her face and her emotions than she wanted. More of the truth which was likely best left hidden.
Deprived of touching her flesh, his hand rested on the mattress as he smiled. ‘It’s funny...last night...’ His eyes wandered to the blood again and he shook his head bemused as if baffled by the existence of that damning evidence. ‘It never ever occurred to me that I would be your first...until it was too late, of course...and miraculously I was.’
The comment wounded, because of course it hadn’t. He was too busy always thinking the worst of her to consider the inconceivable prospect that he might be wrong in his judgement.
‘Somebody had to be.’ It took every ounce of her bravado to shrug as if it was of no matter. ‘Try not to let it go to your head.’
He wound one finger through a loose tendril of hair, his expression wholly male and triumphant. ‘Too late. It already has.’ Then his features softened and she saw his guilt as plain as day. Guilt—not love. ‘But I never would have let things go so far if you had told me you were a virgin. I feel awful about that.’ Which told her in no uncertain terms he considered it perfectly acceptable to bed a woman who had been repeatedly bedded before and he was staggered that she hadn’t been. Especially after she had kissed significantly more men than a proper young lady ever should. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t have been in such a hurry if I had known it was your first time.’
‘We both lost our heads.’ To put it mildly. All her wits had deserted her the second she had foolishly pressed her mouth to his. ‘But what is done is done.’ She flapped it away, ruthlessly burying her hurt, gathering the blanket around her properly, wishing she wasn’t so disappointed that he had failed to admit to any affection for her yet again now that the perfect moment to do so had well and truly passed.
How Not to Chaperon a Lady--A sexy, funny Regency romance Page 12
