Passion Over Time (7 page)

…
if I have fallen out of favor…

…
out of favor…

The words burnt themselves into her mind.

She knelt to retrieve the note. A droplet splashed it, blurring the neat feminine script. Another followed it. Then another. She wiped her face on her hem, puzzled at her reaction, at the burning pressure in her heart.

The letter was hopelessly smeared. She traced what remained of the script.

Who was
M
?

Did she miss Grey?

Did she lie awake at night, aching for his weight on her body, his warmth beside her as she slept?

Guilty at her trespass on another’s private pain, Beth folded the letter. What to do with it? She’d be doing the other woman’s pride no favors by allowing Grey to see it tearstained. On impulse, she ripped it to shreds and ran to the window. There she tossed the bits out the open window and watched them fall like snowflakes to the ground.

Her throat burned hotter and more tears forced their way to the surface. She pressed her fist to her mouth and swallowed. Mercy, what was wrong with her?

She never cried.

Never.

Not since the last time she cried over Joshua, the night after his wedding.

That day in the bookseller’s, she hadn’t even considered that Grey might have a lover. A mistress. Someone special, perhaps. How could any man look so utterly alone and desolate if someone cared for him?

She took a ragged breath.

Oh God, he was no different than other men. No different. Using women, tossing them aside.

If you don’t keep your head, in a year, six months or even less, that could be you writing him, begging to know what you have done wrong.

Six months? Would she ever be so foolish as to give any man a significant period of time in her life? Certainly not! Yet, the unchecked though sent a bolt of pure fear straight into her heart.

Look at the imprudent dreams that already lurk beneath all your bluster!

She shook her head, so violently that the chamber still spun when she stopped.

No, she’d never love Grey. She wasn’t the same starry-eyed girl she’d been with Joshua. She knew better than to fall in love. Joshua, Mr. McConnell, even her unknown father—they had all rejected her. Men were all the same.

A sane woman never trusted a man. Especially not a
gentle
man.

Had she really let herself hope Grey Sexton would be a breed apart? She glanced inward at her sore heart.

Yes, she supposed she had. Just a little hope. Just the barest spark.

Goodness, how could her heart betray her, sneaking that bit of fantasy past her better sense?

She returned to the sideboard for her wineglass and took a deep gulp. She closed her eyes, sighing. Dear God, it burned so divinely. She’d forgotten how wonderful expensive Madeira could be.

A second glass tasted even better. She carried her glass and the bottle into the bedchamber.

The large bed brought her current situation to mind again.

She should leave right now. While it still didn’t matter. A vision of herself, alone night after night in her bed, flashed into her mind. She’d been sleepless and aching with desire, while Joshua lay sated, all snoring and snuggled up to his fresh-faced wife’s bare eighteen-year-old arse.

What was she doing here, risking that sort of rejection, that sort of hurt, all over again?

But no, this was not about love.

She would never love a man ever, ever again.

This was about victory.

Oh, after today, after the way she was going to pleasure Grey Sexton, 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.

And it would be her sweetest victory. Ever.

She stripped her clothes off before climbing into the bed. Spice and musk and man wafted up from the sheets. The scent evoked such a 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 more of the wine, while ignoring the fear hammering in her chest. After a time, the room swam and her stomach lurched.

Oh, so much wine might not have been wise. Yes, she’d forgotten how rich fine Madeira could be. Her eyes grew so heavy…

* * * *

Marie watched Grey Sexton as he stood in her parlor, with his hands in his pantaloon pockets. His face looked pale, strained. “I have been preoccupied of late, I know.”

She nodded. She had just sent the boy with her note to Sexton’s rooms not but a quarter hour before Sexton himself had shown at her door. He couldn’t possibly have received it. She felt some relief over that.

“I have neglected you,” he said.

“You are a busy man.”

“You mentioned that you wanted to visit your family in New Orleans.”

“
Oui
.” She smiled.

“Soon war with Britain will come. Safe travel may quickly become impossible.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a velvet purse. A very heavy velvet purse. “You may be as generous with your family as you wish and shop as much as your heart desires.”

Of course he would approach this with money. It was his way. She took no offense. She’d known him since he was a young man of twenty-three, and more importantly, she understood him. She cared for him, yes. But she did not love him. She’d never be such a fool as that.

And she wasn’t such a fool as to reject his weighty purse.

“There’s a Sexton ship leaving for New Orleans in seven days. You will have the captain’s cabin for your sole use.”

She raised her brows. She hadn’t known of any Sexton ships leaving for New Orleans any time soon. He’d likely done some complicated rescheduling.

He wanted her out of Philadelphia. As soon as he could arrange it.

Perhaps it should have hurt. But this was long overdue.

“This is fair?” he asked.

She nodded. “Oh, more than fair.” She sighed. “I am getting no younger.”

He grinned, that pure sunshine grin of his. It could still make her catch her breath.

“You’re a lovely woman.”

“How kind you are. But we have known each other a very long time. Every time I go home, my cousin, Andre, asks me to marry him.”

“The shopkeeper?”

“Yes, he has been successful. He is like you, younger than I and very handsome.” She gave a slight shrug. “Perhaps this time I will accept.”

His eyes widened. Ah, so he hadn’t been expecting a permanent separation. Just a little pause. She felt a measure of her own power return to her, knowing now that she would leave him with a little of her pride intact. She laughed softly. “I do not envy her. You will not be an easy man in love.”

He froze then drew his dark brows together sharply. “What the devil are you talking about?”

She laughed again. “You are in love.”

* * * *

Grey stared down at Beth’s sleeping form. He’d had a busy morning. First receiving the news from the insurance man that
The Philadelphia Pride
was damaged beyond repair. Then Marie…

You are in love.

Delivered in her calm tone, the accusation had burned his ears. He hadn’t dignified it with a response. She, of all people, knew he wasn’t capable of that depth of feeling.

He traced the line of Beth’s oval face. He did want her, too much in fact. Could he gentle her so she could fit into his life? The clock chimed a quarter past two and her lashes fluttered. His patience for her to awaken vaporized. He pulled back the covers.

“Beth.”

Warm and naked, she curled into his body as he drew her close.

“I am sorry I was late, I had unavoidable business.”

Her lids fluttered and she murmured something. He kissed her and she opened to him. He slid his tongue slid inside her mouth, tasting her rich, fruity breath.

He pulled away, chuckling. “You’ve been into the wine.”

“A glass or two…” She hiccoughed softly. “Possibly three.”

At her slurred voice, his good humor vanished. “You sound foxed.”

“I shouldn’t have been drinking your wine. I am sorry.”

“I don’t mind if you drink my wine. I shall furnish you with your own if you wish, but I’d prefer if you stayed sober when you are expecting me.” He stroked her hair, the keen edge of frustration beginning to cut into him. “This is the sort of thing we need to talk about. My requirements of you, your expectations of me.”

“Your requirements…my expectations, it sounds very serious.”

“Well, in a way it is. It can keep us from burning each other.”

“Nothing can keep us from burning each other.” She laughed and touched his erection through his pantaloons.

Fire raced through him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“Why aren’t you undressed?” she asked, her tone all Madam Practicality when she was everything but. “Come on.” With her free hand, she snapped her fingers. Or rather, she tried to. “Time to get out of those clothes.”

Her fingers tugged and pulled at his buttons. An adorable little line formed between her eyes.

He didn’t know if he should kiss her or wring her neck. “You’re impossible, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean—” She licked her lips. “Impossible?”

“I mean you are impossible to deal with.”

Her fingers kept slipping on his buttons but she’d gotten a few of them loose. The way his cock kept surging with high hopes at each brush of her hand added to the comedy of the moment. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel like laughing. “Tell me, do you strive for this effect or is it pure chaos on your part?”

Ashen-faced, she closed her eyes and her throat worked rapidly.

A disquieting thought occurred to him. “Beth, you don’t become ill when you drink, do you?”

“Not u-usually.”

“Thank heavens for that.” He took her hand, put it aside. “You better go back to sleep a while. When you’re feeling a little better, I’ll call for some coffee.”

He sat back on the pillows and with a wary eye watched her lying curled next to him. She was still pale and breathing shallowly. God. He did not look forward to playing nursemaid.

Only
three
glasses of wine?

Well, she was a very petite, slender young woman. Delicate.

He tended to forget this when faced with her strong personality. But now she seemed so vulnerable. Girlish.

Beguilingly girlish.

By God, he knew he was still annoyed, right under the surface. And lusty. Yet a wave of protectiveness swept over him and he lay there, taken aback by the piquant novelty of his feeling such tenderness.

But after a few moments, she raised herself up, her color somewhat returned.

“Aren’t you gonna fuck me, Grey?” Her tone, light and musical with amusement, took the glow off his softer feelings.

“I don’t think so.” He could hardly get the words past the tightening of his jaw.

“But you don’t
know
yet?”

His breathing quickened and his blood boiled several degrees hotter. And not with lust. He couldn’t remember becoming so angry, so fast in…well, maybe in never. His jaw clenched with the effort to contain his ire. “All right—I
know
I am not going to fuck you, not today.”

Her eyes popped open. “But why?”

“Because it’s not quite the thing when a lady is intoxicated.”

“But I am not a lady. I am a…what is the phrase you gentlemen use for it?” She lifted one shoulder. “Oh yes, a soiled dove. A gentleman may take whatever liberties he chooses with an intoxicated dove.”

“Don’t talk like that.” His jaw clenched tighter, making it hard to speak.

Her other hand had snaked its way back to his fall. His cock twitched. A strange paralysis claimed him as he watched her free several more buttons. He wanted nothing more than to push her hands aside, undo those buttons himself, roll over her and sink into her soft, wet folds.

Damn, had he ever wanted a woman as much as he wanted her?

He doubted it.

Taking a wrist in each hand, he held her at bay. “Don’t push things, Beth. I am prepared to overlook today because you don’t know me well yet. But I don’t like drunkenness.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Such high standards for your harlots, eh? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Harlot? The word flashed like kindling on the fire of his anger. Since when had he even so much as suggested he viewed her as a lowly harlot? Did she truly think him so churlish? He was infuriated with her putting words into his mouth. “Beth, stop it.”