You were so good to me.”
He took a drink. “Only because you were the daughter of a friend. Were you anyone else I would have plucked you that first season.” Just how much honesty did he owe her? Because surely this was a bit much.
She didn’t look nearly as disgusted as she should have. She merely looked…disappointed. That was worse. Necessary, but worse.
“But you’re not that man anymore,” she reminded him.
Grey smiled, but there was little humor in it. “Who’s to say? I really don’t want to find out. Do you?”
She looked away, a frown knitting her delicate brow. He wanted to reach out and smooth that pucker away with his thumb, kiss her flesh smooth again. Hold her and tell her that he could be whatever she wanted him to be.
“I understand why you despise society,” she said after a moment’s pause. “I wanted to tell you that.” She drained the rest of her drink and stood. She didn’t quite meet his gaze.
“You do?” Color him astonished. He truly hadn’t thought she’d ever see it.
She nodded, looking so remote and stiff-not his Rose at all. But she placed her hand on his shoulder as she walked by-a gesture of comfort? “I would avoid it as well if it reviled me as much as it reviles you. Good night, Grey.”
And when she left him sitting there, drunk and about to get drunker, what little self-respect he had left got up and went with her.
I hate when I take a woman to my bed who has already been in yours. I feel like they’re comparing us.”
Grey grinned. “And find you lacking?” As much as he regretted some of his past, he was still a man, with a man’s sexual pride.
If looks could kill, he’d be on the grass gasping his last. “I doubt it.
Archer arrived early the next morning. Grey was still asleep on the sofa in his study when he heard tapping on the window.
He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it as the sharp light of day pierced his brain. Squinting, he tried to focus on his brother, since he already knew who his visitor was. Only one person ever announced himself so annoyingly.
“Open the bloody window, Grey!”
Grumbling, Grey slowly rose into a full sitting position. His back and neck were stiff and his head felt as though someone had kicked it repeatedly from all sides. And his mouth! Christ, he didn’t want to even think about what might have died inside it.
He staggered to the window, unlatched it and swung it open. “What the hell do you want?”
Wide-eyed, Archer made a tsking noise. “Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”
“You’re not my favorite,” Grey scowled.
Unaffected, Archer easily adapted. “Is that any way to greet your second-favorite brother?”
Grey grinned, he couldn’t help it. Archer had always had a knack for making him smile, just as he had a knack for pissing him off as well. “I’m hung over and feel like shite. What do you want?”
“You look like shite. What’s this I hear about you making an appearance at Saint’s Row last night?”
“Rose tell you that?”
“She did. I’m surprised you took such a risk just to see her.”
Grey thought of her in that teal gown, the lights illuminating the luster of her skin. “It was worth it.”
“Worth it, eh? So worth it you immediately came home and got sloshed.”
“Something like that. And then Rose came home and I got even more sloshed.”
Archer’s expression turned to concern as he leaned against the window frame. “What happened?”
Grey shrugged. He’d already revealed more than he’d wanted. “Suffice it to say she now knows what kind of man I am.”
His brother snorted. “That girl has always known exactly what kind of man you are.”
The words were plain enough, but there was a cryptic edge to them that had Grey puzzled. “What the hell does that mean?”
Arch shook his head. “Come to the stables with me. I want to show you something.”
He looked down at himself. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn last night and he was wrinkled beyond hope. Not to mention that he smelled like a distillery-an unwashed one at that. And his mask was up in his room. What if someone happened by and saw him…
He wasn’t a coward. He just didn’t wish to be seen looking less than his best.
An oath punctuated the early morning air. Grey was grabbed by the front of the shirt and yanked-hard. His only course of action was to brace one booted foot on the bottom sill to keep from falling.
Of course, that action only succeeded in making it easier for Archer to haul him completely out onto the lawn. He landed hard on both feet, the impact going straight to his ready-to-implode skull.
“What the hell?” Fist cocked, Grey punched his brother in the shoulder. “Jesus, man! What are you about?”
Archer punched him back. It hurt, and oddly enough it seemed to wake him up-clear the fog and some of the pressure surrounding his brain. “I’m trying to help you, you bugger.”
“To do what?” Grey demanded. “Die?
And if she were an honest woman, which she was known to be on occasion, she could readily admit that hearing about his escapades had bothered her on so many levels. And, yes, it affected how she looked at him, how she thought of him.
But not, unfortunately, how she felt about him. Which either made her very generous, or very stupid.
She was also very hungry, despite the ache in her head. So, she climbed out of bed, rang for Heather, and set about getting ready for the day. She told her maid to tell Cook that she would like to take breakfast out on the terrace since it was such a lovely day and she doubted anyone would join her. Her mother had no doubt eaten long ago, and Grey was probably passed out somewhere if his condition of last night had worsened after her departure. She rather fancied him drinking himself blind after she made her grand exit.
Not that she wanted him to be miserable-she simply wanted to think that her words and opinion mattered.
Let’s sit in the back,” Eve suggested as they moved toward the rows of chairs set up before a makeshift stage. “No one will hear us if we laugh.”
Rose chuckled now. “You are so bad.
I’m sure I’ve never heard of this one. You?”
Eve shook her head. “I’m not much of a follower of the bard.”
Shrugging, Rose settled back in her seat and waited. This was either going to be very good or very bad.
It ended up being the latter. The play seemed disjointed, although the blame for that couldn’t be put totally on Lord Battenfield. His acting abilities were next to nonexistent, but he made up for it in sheer drama. Rose recognized some of his lordships “company” as various children of titled families. They seemed to be having a good time. But the play! In this case the play was not the thing. Neither it nor the people acting it out could seem to decide if it was a tragedy or a comedy and so the audience never knew whether or not they should laugh.
Rose was amongst them. Timon began the play as a posturing, wealthy character like many modern aristos, caring about nothing but money. Lord Battenfield played this with a naïve bravado that made it highly amusing. But then Timon lost his fortune and none of his former friends would help him. This should have been a serious moment in the production, but it wasn’t. Finally, when Timon realizes the servant Flavius is his only friend and then seems to commit suicide in the wilderness, what could have been a poignant commentary on society became a joke when Lord Battenfield’s death scene revealed that he was completely naked beneath the toga. It was just a glimpse, but Rose was certain she would be scarred for life.
She and Eve were trying to control their giggles when the curtains fell.
What happened?” he asked softly, after a moment’s silence.
Heathcliff lifted his head at the same time Rose did. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears. A piece of hay clung to her chin and stuck to her hair.
She looked beautiful Achingly so.
“You’re wet,” she said, her voice thick. She wasn’t impressed with his arrival, that much was clear.
“I commanded the rain to stop before I left the house but it didn’t listen.” She didn’t smile at his poor attempt at humor. “Why the tears, Rosie?
I do want it. Very much. I love him.”
Camilla sighed into another smile. “I know. I believe he loves you too.”
Rose shook her head. “He has yet to say it.”
“Men always feel it long before they say it, my dear. They’re a little slow that way.
Rose, we were seen together naked and in my bed by my brother, my butler and two men who are about to become intimately acquainted with this family. We must marry.”
She frowned, delicate brow pulling in a manner that made him want to kiss it smooth and promise everything would be all right. He’d do his best to make her happy.
Yes, he would willfully lie to ease her burden.
“But, you’ve sacrificed so much for me and Mama already.” Christ, she wasn’t going to cry, was she? “It doesn’t seem fair that you be forced to marry me because I made the mistake of coming to your room.”
“Is that what it was? A mistake?” His head swam and his heart felt strangely tight. Hadn’t she told him earlier that she wanted this? Perhaps she hadn’t come right out and said it, but he had thought it was obvious.
Her eyes widened, big brown circles that stared helplessly at him. “You aren’t the least bit angry with me, are you?”
“No,” he replied. “Strangely enough I’m not angry at myself either, although I could strangle Bronte’s future father-in-law for arriving when he did.”
Rose glanced away, but not before he saw the flash of desire in her eyes as she remembered what he was about to do to her before they were interrupted. “Yes, I could strangle the poor man as well.”
Sweet God, were it not for Bronte he’d throw her on the bed right now and screw her senseless.
“When I return I will procure a special license for us to marry.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Grey-“
He could not bear to have her refuse him now. “We will be wed. And then we will continue what we begun tonight-no interruptions.”
And just in case she didn’t believe him, he too her by the arms and hauled her roughly against his chest, lowering his head to bruise her lips with his own. She was his now. Or at least, she soon would be.
Till death do them part.
As he left her to rejoin the men downstairs, he found himself wishing to live to be a very old man.
I could look at you forever,” he admitted roughly as the gown joined her wrapper on the floor.
“Looking is very good,” she replied, kicking the garments aside with a flick of a slender foot. “But I would much rather you touch.”
There was no artifice in her tone, no knowingly seductive tones-only an honesty that shook him to his soul.
He picked her up and carried her the few steps to his bed. He placed her naked body on the sheets and stood back. He took his time studying the lush splendor of her as he opened his trousers and pushed them over his hips and thighs. When he straightened, the full length of his arousal jutted in front of him, revealed to her bright gaze as her nakedness was to his.
“Are all men as beautiful as you are naked?” she asked with a hint of a smile.
Grey grinned back. “No,” he replied. “I am an exceptional specimen of manly perfection-how the hell should i know what other men look like naked?”
Rose shrugged as she chuckled. “You stand a better chance of knowing than I would.”
He climbed on the bed, easing his body onto the sheets beside her. “I cannot tell you. All I know is that I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you.” He kissed the tip of her adorable nose as he placed his palm on the gentle curve of her stomach.
Soft pink suffused her cheeks. “You lie.”
He shook his head, solemn as the grave. “Not about this.” And then he kissed her again, because he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment with silly chatter.
Or risk saying something better left unsaid.
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