Grey's Lady (4 page)

She laughed up at him, her blue eyes wide and her rosebud mouth soft. So innocent-looking, yet so bold. She trailed her fingers over the pale-grey silk waistcoat, moving lower until she flirted down over his pantaloons. She grasped his erection, opening and closing her hand with well-timed skill.

It took all of his control to remain calm as he traced a fingertip over her collarbone. “Who kept you, Beth?”

“No one has ever kept me.”

“What about your lover, the one who gave you champagne?”

She released his cock and turned away. “I didn’t come here to be interrogated about my past.”

“Why must it be some deep, dark secret if you’ve had—”

She whirled on him, her blue eyes blazing. “He was my lover, not my protector. Never my protector.”

The telling catch in her voice on the word ‘he’ increased the burn twisting through Grey’s belly. “You loved him.”

Damn, that sounded like an accusation.

“He is unimportant now.” She spoke quickly, avoiding his eyes.

So she had loved this unknown man. Or fancied she loved him, which amounted to the same thing. This man might still be in her life. Fucking her at his leisure. The thought rested on Grey like a suit of needles.

It shouldn’t matter. Her life away from him was none of his business.

Her expression brightened. “I must leave soon. Let’s not waste the time left.”

She took hold of his cravat, untied it. How many men had she spoken those words to? How many cravats had she so deftly untied? No, it shouldn’t matter, but right now, it did matter. Very much.

All reason fled to be replaced by a mad impulse to fuck her hard, the way she seemed to prefer, over and over until he wiped her mind free of every other man she’d ever known. He reached down, swept her off her feet, took her to the bed and tossed her down. Bouncing several times, she braced her arms on either side of her body, her face flushed and her eyes aglow. “Goodness, Grey, where did that come from?”

He covered her body with his own. Still laughing, she grasped the open neck of his shirt and pulled hard. At the sound of tearing cloth, his laughter came out in a choked groan.

“That was London tailoring, minx.” He nipped her earlobe.

She rubbed her taut nipples against his bare chest. His fingers flew to his pantaloon buttons, wrenching them open. The lack of finesse, the haste, appalled a part of him. He still had his damned boots on. No one else had ever driven him into such a frenzy of desire. His cock, poised at her slick heat for one quick, deep thrust, throbbed in time with his thundering heartbeat. His ears detected something. Not her moans. Something else. His own heartbeat? No, syncopated…

Thunder?

It came again.

Knocking.

He tightened his hands on her hips as if to deny his own thoughts. But the world must have been coming to an end if Will dared disturb him. He lifted his head, but her throaty protest sent pure need knifing through him and he found her lips with his again. Will, whatever he wanted, could go hang. He plunged into her hot, wet depths and her inner muscles clenched. He groaned, clasping her buttocks fiercely.

The knocking came again, louder and more sustained.

He tore his lips away.

“They’ll go away,” she whispered.

“No, they won’t.”

Calling on years of self-discipline, born and trained into him, he withdrew and rolled away quickly, going to dress, giving himself no chance to reconsider. While he was fastening his pantaloons with difficulty over his erection, her arms wrapped around his waist, her nipples like cinders against his shirt-clad back.

Christ, didn’t she realise what it would do to him? Lightning-sharp desire surged through him and he set his teeth while he disentangled her hands. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode to the door, opened it and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Will’s face was so white his freckles appeared like black specks.

“What is it?” Grey asked.

“
The Philadelphia Pride
, Mr Sexton.” Will’s voice dragged. This wasn’t going to be good. Damn.

Damn, damn, damn.

“Yes, what about her?” he demanded impatiently.

“She’s on fire.”

* * * *

“My valet shall see you home.”

Grey’s terse, impersonal tone fell like cold rain over Beth’s passionate haze and she pulled the soft blanket over her breasts.

Picking his coat up, he didn’t glance her way. “Don’t worry, he’s discreet.”

“You’re
leaving
?”

“Something pressing has come up.” At the washstand mirror, he picked up a silver-backed brush. In the reflection, the expression on his hard, angular face betrayed not one trace of the razor sharp passion of a moment ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That last wasn’t a question. It was a command.

Her mouth fell open and she drew her spine straight. “I will not be spoken to in that way.”

Smoothing his coal-black hair, he paused. Silver eyes met hers in the mirror. “What way?”

“As if I were one of your lackeys, at your beck and call.”

“I merely expressed my wish to see you again, tomorrow.”

“I can’t come back until Saturday.”

He laid his brush down. “Why the devil not?”

“Because my brother thinks I am at Mrs Bickle’s but I pled off work because my sister is ill. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. I can only come on those days. Otherwise, I cannot come here at all.”

His black brows drew together sharply and a deep vertical line showed between them. With jerking motions, he tied his cravat into a simple knot. “Then I suppose it must suffice.”

“Well, aren’t you too kind?”

He turned to face her. “Why the shrewish tone?”

“I don’t care for your terseness.”

“Madam, I’ve no time for this now. We’ll discuss it on Saturday.”

* * * *

As far as Beth was concerned, it was over between them. No one spoke to her as if she were some underling. Certainly not a temporary lover. That night, when the chores were done and the last of the nieces and nephews put to bed, she chased her ire away with a generous mug of rum and slept like the dead. However, dusk settled uneasily on Friday, the air humid and heavy with an impending storm. Sultry and sweaty, she spent the night tossing and twisting, reliving the moment when Grey had held himself within her, until the future of her sanity seemed to hinge on recapturing that moment in the flesh.

Morning found her tired and cross. By evening, it took all her concentration to project an outward expression of calm as her fingers twinkled over the piano keys. Early supper guests trickled into Mrs Bickle’s Inn. The dining hall would be open until ten, and her shoulders began to ache in anticipation of a long evening.

A peculiar, prickling restlessness centred around her navel. Instinctively, she looked up at the door. Silver eyes fixed on her, like a hawk spotting prey. Lamplight threw his angular cheekbones and patrician nose into stark relief.

God, it was
him
.

Here.

How dare he invade her working life? How stupid of her to have told him where she was employed. Resisting the urge to pound the piano keys, she forced her expression to be pleasant, a little distant, as if he were just another customer. As if all her senses weren’t singing an aria.

His mouth tightened and his eyes flared, briefly. He walked towards her, his broad-shouldered, powerful body moving with undeniable grace. Her heart hammered in her breast as he stopped in front of the piano. His stare pierced her for the space of several of those fierce, erratic heartbeats. Between them, the air crackled with raw sexuality. Her whole body tensed, as if waiting for the sparks to ignite.

Then he turned and left.

She ought to have been relieved. But her stomach sank with cold disappointment. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He had just been another amusement, a feather in her bonnet. A handsome, sensual, skilled feather. But she could walk away from him the moment she chose to. And she had.

She glanced down and something caught her eye. In her tip jar, amid the ones and fives, three crisp, hundred-dollar bills.

Jarring notes clashed as her fingers faltered on the keys.

How dare he!

She jolted to her feet and jammed her hand into the jar, crushing the bills in her hand, then dashed after his departing back.

Once in the lobby, she caught up with him and grabbed his arm.

He whirled on her, his expression fierce as he stared down at her. From his superbly tailored jacket of Federal blue wool and intricately tied cravat to his imperiously jutting jaw, he reeked of power and self-assurance.

And yes, he was absolutely gorgeous. Her pulse began to race as her nipples tightened. Desire twisted down through her belly, increasing her ire a hundred fold. It wasn’t fair for him to have such an effect on her, whilst he stood there so cool and unaffected.

Too incensed to heed the two merchant class gentlemen who waited in the lobby, she hurled the crushed bills against his chest. They fluttered to the floor about his fine, polished, brown Hessian boots. He was nothing special. Just another wealthy man who thought he could buy her time and her loyalty, while giving her nothing real of himself. Her blood went frigid. She wasn’t for sale. What she gave, she gave for her own enjoyment. She decided when, where and for how long.

“You insult me,” she said.

His eyes flickered coolly over her. “Three hundred dollars isn’t an insult. Twenty-five would have been an insult.”

Her brows snapped together. “What does twenty-five dollars have to do with anything?”

“It’s the going rate for a high-flier.”

Heat suffused her face and rage choked her. She fisted her hands at her sides. “I. Am. Not. A. Whore.”

“It’s a gift,” he said calmly.

“A gift for what?”

“I never end a liaison without a gift.”

Oh, but ending their liaison wasn’t his decision to make. She always ended all her
affaires
. Always. And she had yet to show just how skilled she was. How rare she was. Maybe one more afternoon would leave him burning all the hotter for her when he left Philadelphia. Forcing a throaty laugh, she touched his left lapel, sensually stroking the expensive superfine cloth. “Who says our liaison is over?”

His eyes flickered over her, hard like flint. “It’s simple logic. You didn’t come today and I am soon returning home.”

His words were like ballast in her stomach. He was leaving. And he seemed so calm about it. But he couldn’t be indifferent. A burning lump formed in her throat. He
couldn’t
.

Hiding her sudden emotional turmoil, she offered him a slow, seductive smile. “I had planned to visit you on Sunday, but if this is what you—”

His jaw tightened, the skin pulling taut over his cheekbones. He grasped her wrist and thrust her hand off his lapel. “Don’t toy with me, Beth.”

“I am not toying with you. I’ll find some excuse to give my family. I’ll try to come.”

He regarded her in stony silence.

She allowed her mouth to drop open, in affected dismay. “Do you not believe me?”

“Oh, I’d like to believe you, but your past pattern works against you.”

So he was still angry about her not meeting with him for those two weeks. It had mattered to him. She mattered to him? Her heart took a hopeful, little leap. It made her angry with herself.
So pathetic
. “I couldn’t help that. I told you.”

A cynical smile quirked his lips. “I think you’re very cunning and clever. I think you do pretty much whatever you choose to do.”

“Well, it is not like that. But I do want to see you.” She was going to give him the afternoon of a lifetime and he would spend the rest of his days remembering her talented mouth. Remembering
her
. She reached for his other hand and forced a treasure trove of sexual promise into her smile.

His eyes darkened to smoke and, holding her gaze, he slowly lifted her hand and pressed it to his hard, warm lips. Currents of need travelled up her arm and electrified her with desire.

“Then I’ll see you at eleven,” he said.

She suppressed a small shiver of anticipation and nodded. They stood staring at each other for several moments. She knew the naked hunger in his eyes mirrored her own.

Finally, his face eased into a grin, his eyes warming with some emotion she couldn’t quite place. “You damn well better show,” he said.

Then he released her hand and turned and left. As he departed, she watched his broad-shouldered back with a suddenly aching throat. How would she ever bear the wait until tomorrow? She swallowed tightly.

He has the power to break your heart apart. You’d better keep your head, Beth.

* * * *

A note greeted her on the sideboard. Grey’s bold scrawl saying he would be back at around two. Apparently, he’d found something more interesting to attend to. Her spirits crashed to the floor.

How pathetic. Had she really expected him to be waiting eagerly? Yes, apparently so. Her own body was trembling with anticipation. It wasn’t fair that she should burn for him when he seemed able to turn his desire for her on and off at will.

Heavens, she was behaving like a besotted ninny. She tossed the note aside, then poured herself a generous glass of wine and quaffed it. Its fruity warmth had such a steadying effect she took a second glass.

 Oh, but after today, after the way she was going to pleasure him, he would rue his casual treatment of her. Beg her to reconsider. But she would never, ever meet with him again.

It would be her conquest. Not his.

She was going to win.

She stripped her clothes off before climbing into the bed. The scents of spice and musk and man wafted up from the sheets. The smell evoked such sharp craving it forced her to press her thighs together. She’d never wanted a man so much. If she wasn’t careful, if she wasn’t careful… She pushed the unnerving litany out of her mind and tossed back her third glass in three swallows, ignoring the fear hammering in her chest. The room swam and her stomach lurched.