Wicked in Your Arms
Page 27

She couldn’t quite identify the emotion that hummed through her father’s voice. He was shocked to be sure, but there was an excited tremor there as well. She closed her eyes in a tight blink, well imagining his thoughts—if his daughter was caught in a compromising position, it might as well be with a prince.
Marguerite stood beside Jack as well, looking perfectly apologetic as she looked between Sev and Grier. “I-I’m sorry, Grier. I feared you were ill.”
“Your Highness, there can be no excuse for this display!”
“I’ve none to give.” Sev nodded.
“Jack,” Grier pleaded, “would you keep your voice down. There’s no need to alert the house—”
“What’s this?” a new voice inquired.
Grier sighed as the viscount stepped into view.
“Miss Hadley,” he murmured, his tone reflecting his surprise as he looked from her to Sev.
“Maksimi,” Jack growled, doing a poor imitation of an outraged papa. His eyes gleamed with glee. “I demand you do the honorable thing by my daughter.”
“Don’t be absurd. Nothing untoward occurred,” Grier lied, glad they had not come upon them five minutes sooner.
Everyone swept their gazes over her disheveled self. She fought not to fidget beneath their dubious appraisal of her.
Jack snorted.
The viscount arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “Indeed.”
Sev took a menacing step. “Have a care.”
Jack shook a fist. “I demand the honorable thing be done—”
“And it shall,” Sev snapped.
Grier swung her gaze to him. “No. You cannot—”
“It’s done,” Sev declared flatly. “I’ve compromised you and we will marry.”
Grier gaped, thinking back to the first night they met and his proclamation that he would never marry her—even if caught together in a compromising situation.
“You can’t mean that,” she whispered.
“Of course I do.”
She shook her head, stunned, feeling as though she’d been struck a blow.
Sev coolly addressed her father. “Mr. Hadley, I’ll call on you tomorrow with my formal offer and we can discuss the arrangements.”
Jack looked almost as stunned as Grier felt. For all his demands, she doubted he really thought he’d get his way on the matter. At least not so easily.
Sev faced her, his face all hard lines, again the stoic resolve of a marble statue. Fleetingly she marveled that this must have been what he looked like on the dawn of a battle. Was that how he viewed agreeing to marry her? An unpleasant yet necessary task?
His eyes revealed nothing, staring through her as if he didn’t see her at all. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “Sev . . . no. You don’t have to—”
“I do,” he bit out. “We both do.” With a curt nod, he turned and left her alone.
The viscount looked her over, his eyes bitterly cold before he, too, turned and left. In minutes everyone would know she’d been caught in a compromising situation with the Crown Prince of Maldania.
Marguerite hurried to her side. “Come, we’ll find a room to repair your hair.”
“I just want to go home,” Grier murmured, stunned, shaken, and unwilling to face anyone else. She wanted to crawl into her bed and pull the coverlet over her head.
Her sister laced her fingers with Grier’s. “Certainly, come.”
At the threshold, Jack clapped her on the back so hard it jarred her teeth. “You did good, girl. You did good.”
Mortifying heat washed her face. She had to stop herself from striking him. Did he think she planned this?
He looked at her face and frowned. His brow knit in concern. “What’s wrong? You’re not ill, are you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then why aren’t you pleased? You should be. Grier, you’ll one day be a queen. Just think of it.”
He didn’t understand. Only she did.
She knew Sev already regretted it, and his regret would grow, fester into bitterness until he hated the sight of her.
S ev walked a hard line into the library of his rented townhouse, his booted heels clicking over the marble as he made his way for the tray of brandy. After tonight, he could use a drink. Something to steady his nerves.
Not that he regretted his decision. Not that he ever would. He merely needed time to consider how he was going to present his new bride to his grandfather without sending the old man into a seizure that robbed him of his last breath.
Sev’s top lip curled into a grimace. The old man was stronger than that. He’d outlived two sons, a wife and multiple grandchildren. Dropping into a plush wingback chair, he stared at the smoldering logs in the fireplace, feeling moody and pensive.
For several moments he didn’t move, simply stared at the sparking embers, waiting for guilt to attack him. Or regret for failing to do the one thing expected of him.
Only it didn’t come.
So his wife-to-be didn’t possess the most stellar of pedigrees. He knew he should care, but at that moment he was having trouble mustering much anger at himself for the situation.
Grier was smart and beautiful and strong—everything he wanted in the wife who would stand beside him and lead Maldania into the future.
In the distance, a door slammed.
Moments later the door to the study banged open. “What have you done?” Malcolm demanded in tones so shrill they resembled a woman’s.
Sev winced. He didn’t need to ask Malcolm to explain himself. He understood perfectly.
“I had to find out from some old hag that my own cousin just offered marriage to Miss Grier Hadley after being caught in a state of dishabille with her.”
“Nothing as dramatic as that, I assure you. We were both dressed.”
An expression of vast relief crossed Malcolm’s features. “So you didn’t propose?”
“Oh, I proposed.”
Malcolm marched to stand before Sev, his hands propped belligerently upon his h*ps as he glared down at him. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I’m honor-bound to offer marriage.”
“Rubbish. She’s gotten into your blood. That is all. You’ve wanted her from the first minute you clapped eyes on her.” Malcolm shook his head vehemently. “You’re not thinking. You’ll soon tire of her. The last thing you shall want is to then find yourself shackled to her.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Listen to yourself! You sound like you’re in love with the chit!”
Sev opened his mouth to deny the charge, but instead closed it with a snap.
He . . . shrugged. For some reason he had no wish to deny the allegation. He angled his head, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. Perhaps there was a kernel of truth to it.
He’d known when he followed Grier into that room he played with fire. He knew what would happen when he followed her . . . that he would have to touch her. Taste her.
He’d missed her abominably. She’d haunted his every waking moment—hell, even his dreams. He’d found courting other women, abiding their inane chatter, intolerable.
Even more intolerable was the notion that she was being courted. By the viscount or some other man. That some other man could be putting a hand on her . . . that a man other than he could kiss her, take her to his bed. He couldn’t stomach the notion.
“What will your grandfather say?”
A muscle near his eye ticked and he rubbed at the bothersome area, hoping to be rid of the sensation. “He’ll be happy I’ve married,” he replied vaguely.
“To someone as common as the Hadley girl? A chit as long in the tooth as she is?” Malcolm snorted. “I think not.”
His jaw clenched. “He’ll get over it. Once Grier’s delivered him his first grandchild, he’ll be satisfied.”
Malcolm’s faced flushed red and he stamped a foot. “He won’t! He won’t be happy. He won’t!”
Sev frowned at his cousin’s strange words and stranger behavior. He won’t be happy . Sev was unsure if he was stating this as fact . . . or as a wish. Either way, Sev was in no mood for such theatrics.
Sev rose to his feet. “This isn’t up for discussion, cousin.”
“You’re making a mistake.” Malcolm’s eyes glittered brightly.
“I think not. Even so, it’s my mistake to make. My life.” He held his cousin’s gaze for a long moment. “I’ll hear no more on the subject, Malcolm. I’m going to bed.”
Turning, he felt his cousin’s stare drilling into his back as he left the room. Taking the stairs to his room, he wondered at Malcolm’s strange behavior . . . wondered if he really knew him at all. Or if he even wanted to.
Chapter Twenty-three
Sev called upon Grier promptly the following morning. Cleo rushed into her bedchamber to alert her of the fact. She danced lightly on her slippered feet, her deep brown ringlets bouncing over her shoulders. “He’s in the library with Jack. Do you want me to listen at the door?”
Grier smiled—the first time since last night—imagining Cleo eavesdropping. “No. I imagine they’re discussing the settlement and other matters.”
She walked toward the window and gazed down at the gardens below, unable to hold her sister’s stare in that moment, reluctant to let her see all her misgivings so plainly writ upon her face.
She was marrying Sevastian. She would have him . . . the man for whom her heart beat these last weeks. It was exciting and terrifying. She hadn’t been able to catch her breath since last night.
“I’m happy for you, Grier. You’re going to be so happy.”
Grier turned slowly to face the sister she’d only recently come to know . . . and realized there was so much of her she still didn’t know. For starters, why she wished to entertain the courtship of a much older man.
“You think so?” she asked, eyeing Cleo’s fresh young face and loathing the notion of her shackled to the ancient marquis.
Cleo nodded, her brown waves bouncing over her shoulder. “Yes. You’ve won a prince! You’re going to be a queen, Grier. Think of it!”
Her stomach heaved. She pressed a hand to her lurching belly. “I’d rather not.”
“You’ll be a marvelous queen. Think of the insights you will have. All the good you can do.”
She angled her head, considering that for the first time, and suddenly not feeling so . . . scared anymore.
“I hadn’t thought of that before.”
Cleo nodded encouragingly. “You can be a voice for the people. Someone real, not some royal so elevated and removed from the common man’s existence. You’ll be one of them, and they’re going to adore you!”
Grier dropped her hand from her stomach, suddenly a little more optimistic. She could do something . . . make a difference. Yes . “I shall miss you. You must visit. And Marguerite. Even Jack.”
“As if you can keep me away. And you know Jack will be there.” Cleo gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ve found your fairy tale, Grier. You’re going to be so very happy.”
Would she? So much of that seemed wrapped up in whether Sev would be happy with her as his queen. It still seemed an impossibility. Her momentary optimism fled.
Would Sev wake one day hating her, regretting his impulsive decision to wed her? A knock sounded at the door before a maid entered. “Your presence is desired in the study, Miss Grier.”
Her stomach plummeted to her feet. She nodded jerkily.
“Have a good time!” Cleo called cheerfully as she departed the room.
Grier sent her a bewildered look over her shoulder. Did she think she was going for a jaunt in the park?
Shaking her head, she descended the stairs, carefully masking her face, for when she first met Sev’s gaze. Would she already see the chill of regret there? Would it begin now?