Wicked in Your Arms
Page 26

Malcolm growled close to his ear, “Have you gone mad? People are watching!”
“Let them watch.” He took a step, intent on reaching her, when she turned with a sudden jerk and went back inside, dismissing him.
And then he recalled with bitter clarity that she wanted nothing more to do with him. He stopped and glanced around at the crowd of avid spectators and took a bracing breath. For now. He’d let her go for now. He’d let her think they were finished. He wouldn’t risk her reputation by chasing after her—as every fiber of his being urged him to do.
They weren’t even close to being finished. She’d know that soon enough.
G rier fled inside to the small parlor where she’d attended Trevis earlier. She stood at the window and stared out at the snow, seeing and unseeing at the same time.
Trevis was even now being assisted to a bed somewhere inside the inn. Because of Sevastian. Because of her.
When she woke this morning she could not have imagined such an incredible scenario.
Holy hellfire . She closed her eyes in a tight blink and tried to summon a speck of guilt for that fact, but she could only marvel upon why Sevastian would do such a thing.
She could guess at the ugly things Trevis had said about her if Sev confronted him, and she knew enough about Sev to know that honor drove him to protect those harmed, be it with words or a raised fist.
Even though she’d ended their affair, Sev would feel honor-bound to defend her. Affair . It seemed silly to even call it that. Did one night constitute an affair? And yet at the same time it seemed wholly inadequate, too.
“Grier?” Cleo hesitantly called her name from the threshold.
Grier turned to face her.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
Even she didn’t know how to answer that. She inhaled a steadying breath, her fingers lightly thrumming against her lips. “Nothing. We’re going home, Cleo. Back to London.”
Cleo nodded, looking at Grier as if she feared she might have lost her mind. “I know that.”
“We’re going back to Town.” She ceased playing with her mouth and dropped her hand. “And I’m going to find a husband. No more hanging about ferns.”
Cleo arched a jet black brow. “Indeed?”
“Yes.” She was done dragging her feet. The quicker she wed someone else, the sooner she could forget about Sevastian.
Chapter Twenty-one
“I want to hear everything. How was the dowager’s house party?” Grier’s half sister Marguerite leaned close and whispered over the lilting notes of the soprano who sang at the front of the room, “Do you have any prospects? Any handsome men sweep you off your feet?”
Grier ignored the sudden pinch in her chest and slid her gaze from the Italian opera singer the dowager had acquired for the evening to her half sister. “The viscount has made himself amenable.”
Marguerite looked over at the gentleman sitting one row behind them in the dowager’s ballroom. Several rows of chairs lined the ballroom, occupied by gentlemen and ladies all listening raptly to the soprano performing on a small dais at the head of the room. The singer’s generous bosom swelled from her gown. Grier feared that she might spill free with her next note.
Smiling, Marguerite whispered, “I’m sure the viscount has been more than amenable. His imposing grandmamma would see to that, I imagine.”
Grier nodded, her stomach cramping a bit because her single marriage prospect was due to one intimidating old lady. Far from romantic.
At that thought, her gaze swept the room, searching for the familiar dark hair of her prince. A weakness to be certain, that she should still search for him after she ended their affair, but in the last week since her return to Town she found herself searching for him everywhere she went.
She took a bracing breath. Sooner or later they would bump into each other, and she must be strong when that moment arrived. As stalwart as she’d been at the inn, severing their relationship with nary a tear. At least in his presence.
“Are you looking for someone?” Marguerite asked.
“No.” Grier forced a bright smile. “Thank you for accompanying me tonight. We’ve had so little opportunity to visit.”
“I’m thrilled you invited me. With Ash out of town on business, I’m happy for the distraction. I’m only sorry Cleo isn’t feeling well.”
“She’s been spending a good deal of time with Lord Quibbly.”
“Lord Quibbly? That ancient old man who practically accosted us when we arrived, demanding to know where Cleo was?”
“The same.” Grier readjusted herself on the hard-backed chair and sighed, not understanding why Cleo encouraged the old man’s suit. “I think she wanted a reprieve from his attentions.”
“That I can understand.”
Marguerite shuddered, and Grier couldn’t help teasing, “Not everyone can be married to an Adonis.”
Marguerite smiled pertly and whispered back, “True. There is no one his match.”
Grier snorted. “Braggart.”
“Although that gentleman who just entered the room with his gaze fixated on you would be a close second.”
Grier’s gaze jerked to land on Sevastian, standing tall and handsome in his black jacket. Only he wasn’t alone.
Other than his ever-present cousin, a pair of ladies accompanied them. One was older—the mother, Grier guessed from her resemblance to the young, fair-haired woman that Sev gallantly led into a seat.
Grier’s eyes burned. He wasted no time moving on.
“Grier, are you all right?”
Grier nodded, staring her aching eyes hard at the back of Sev’s head two rows before her. So much for remaining stalwart. Her hands shook in her lap.
The room broke into applause as the soprano’s final note faded to an end.
Shaking, she rose to her feet. “Excuse me, Marguerite. I need some air.”
“Would you like me to come with—”
“No. I’ll be but a moment.” If she should succumb to tears, she didn’t want her sister to witness her display of weakness. They were only just beginning to know each other. Grier would rather Marguerite not know that she had fallen in love with a man so above her station that she was guaranteed nothing but heartache.
She glimpsed her father as she fled, standing near the back with other gentlemen less inclined to appreciate the evening’s musical performance. She ignored his scowl as she fled. Ignored meeting anyone’s eyes directly, most specifically a dark-haired, gold-eyed prince she’d shut out from her life. She blinked burning eyes, her steps eating up the parquet floor as she hurried from the ballroom. She wondered if she could beg off for the night and go home—tell everyone she was ill with whatever allegedly ailed Cleo.
“Grier!”
A small squeak escaped her at the sight of Sev striding toward her.
Whirling back around, she increased her pace, hoping he would get the hint that she didn’t want to see him . . . especially with her eyes burning and tears that threatened to fall at any moment.
He said her name louder, a barked command. A quick glance revealed he was running now, his face set in hard, determined lines.
Lifting her skirts, she gave in to a full run, not caring how absurd she was being, running from him like he was a crazed murderer.
Rounding a corner, she seized the latch on a door, fumbling with it, hoping to dive inside and hide.
Just as she got the door opened, he was there. Every hard imposing inch of him pressed at her back. Instantly she was enveloped in him. He was no longer a memory, but a live, real, flesh and blood man pressed hotly against her.
Her heart spiked against her throat. Panic warred with the inexplicable fury in her heart.
She whipped around, brought her palm crashing against his face with a loud crack.
He grabbed her wrist before she could strike him again and pushed her back into the room. Darkness engulfed them, thick and pervasive as a cocoon.
They wrestled, he trying to grab one of her flailing hands desperate to hit him, punish him again—to hurt him for all the pain in her heart.
Sobs choked her throat. He hauled her against him, her arms trapped between their bodies.
He grasped her face with his one free hand, forcing her still, immobilizing her. His mouth claimed hers in a fierce stamp of his desire. Heat seared her at the contact and she was helpless to resist. She kissed him back with equal fervor, their lips brutal and thorough, teeth clanging in their feverish need for each other.
The throbbing darkness enhanced everything. Her skin sizzled where he touched. He eased up, freeing her hands. It was as though they read each other’s minds. Her fingers flew to his trousers, freed him as he dove beneath her skirts.
Fabric ripped. Her drawers, she supposed—didn’t care.
The barest hint of air caressed that exposed part of her before he was there, plunging himself deep.
She arched, crying out beneath him as he worked himself over her. Their bodies made savage sounds as they came together again and again in a fierce coupling.
His hands gripped her bottom, lifting her up for his penetration. She went willingly, moved with his every motion, reveling, exulting, exploding into a million particles.
The air itself seemed to shudder around her as she convulsed, trembling in his arms. And still, it was not over. He flipped her so that she rode him. After a moment’s awkwardness, she found her rhythm, encouraged by his deep, guttural sounds of satisfaction.
He cupped her br**sts through her dress, abraded the ni**les through the sheer muslin until she moaned and rode him harder, finding that spot and hitting it as hard as she could manage.
“Mine,” he whispered so softly she wondered if she had heard him correctly through all their sounds and noises.
Ripples of sensation burst through her again, spreading from the core of her to each and every nerve ending. With an exultant shout, she collapsed. Draped over him, it was some moments before she could even move.
His light touch at the back of her head spiked her to awareness.
She lurched upright and scrambled off him, rearranging her skirts over her. “What have we done? In the midst of the dowager’s musicale, no less? You’ve gone mad and you’ve dragged me with you!”
“It was bound to happen.” His disembodied voice stroked the air, infuriatingly even. “It will happen again if we try to ignore each other.”
She rose unsteadily to her feet. “What do you recommend? We schedule regular trysts?” She thought of the fair-haired lady waiting for him in the dowager’s ballroom and her anger returned. “That might impede your courtship.”
She thought she caught the gleam of his lion’s eyes in the dark. “You’re jealous.”
“Why would I be jealous?” she snapped. “I broke it off with you. It’s you who needs to stop hounding me.”
Her hands quickly assessed her hair. There was hardly a strand properly in place. Holy hellfire . One look at her and anyone would surmise she had been engaging in relations of an illicit nature.
“How could I have been so stupid?” She furiously attacked her hair, readjusting the pins without a hope.
“Grier.” Suddenly his warm hand was on her arm. “We can’t go on ignoring each other. I’m going to keep hounding you, as you put it.”
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice quivered as she tried to pull free.
The last time he touched her they ended up rutting on the floor like a pair of wild animals. Her face burned and she arched away.
Instead of releasing her, he took her by both arms and held her close as though trying to comfort her. Or calm her. Perhaps both.
And that was how they were discovered, locked in each other’s arms, her hair tumbling wildly around her, the smell of their desire ripe on the air.
Light bathed them as the door to the room opened wide.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Grier!”