Night of Pleasure (9 page)

Her father rolled the lit cheroot against the tips of gloved fingers. “I’m simply awaiting his signature on all of the contracts. Once they are delivered to my solicitor, the money is his.”

She was so relieved. It was the least she could do for Banfield. “Thank you, Papa.” She dragged in a puff, letting the warm smoke fill her mouth and paused, realizing there was a male figure standing in one of the windows of the house, staring out toward her. Her fingers stilled, holding the cheroot in midair by her lips right before the carriage window for all to see.

The man, whoever he was, could see her smoking.

She sensed it was Banfield.

She tossed the cheroot to the floor, crushing it with her heel. Her heart pounded.

The figure turned and disappeared.

The carriage clattered past the window and beneath a stone portico, silencing the rain as it came to a halt. She glanced back toward the window that was no longer in view. “Be sure to tell me when he signs the contracts and gets the money,” she insisted.

“You really needn’t worry.” He smirked. “I’m good for it.” He yanked his cheroot from his lips. “You should have been there during contract negotiations yesterday. That boy did nothing but talk and talk about you as if you were the Queen of England coming into his home to stay. He is incredibly excited about the wedding. Everyone is.”

She lowered her gaze, regret pinching her. “I know.”

He grinned and pointed. “Who says money can’t buy you love?”

The poor man really seemed to think money
could
buy him love. She tried to rescue him from his stupid way of thinking, but realized he didn’t want to be rescued. So it was time to rescue herself. For that was the one thing she could control. “I’ll miss you, Papa,” she murmured, a part of her already saying good-bye.

He smiled. “I’ll miss you, too.” His smile faded. He sighed. “I’ll be leaving London shortly after you get married. I wish I could stay, but they need me back in New York.”

A woman had to grow up and stand on her own sometime. This was her time.

The door to the carriage swung open. Footmen in red livery unfolded the stairs and stepped aside in unison, revealing a massive oak door with an iron lion head knocker.

Clementine tucked her silver casing of cheroots into her reticule. Dread scraped every inch of her soul. She really wasn’t ready to face Banfield knowing what she was about to do. Because it wasn’t like she wanted to hurt him. She liked him. Very much. Too much.

“Tine, the footmen are waiting.”

She rose, pulling her cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders. Gathering the fullness of her chartreuse morning gown from around her slippered feet, she extended her hand to one of the footmen waiting and was guided down. She stared at the imposing door that had yet to open, nervously fingering the reticule hanging from her wrist.

Her father flicked his cheroot off to the side and stood beside her beneath the portico.

The entrance door opened, revealing buffed black and white marble tiles and not just one but two sweeping staircases that rounded toward the same landing on the second floor of the house beyond. A dozen footmen in red livery and a balding butler dressed in black serving attire lined the inside entrance of the grand hall, their shoulders set and ready to serve.

Her father touched the small of her back, ushering her forward.

She walked inside, her steps echoing. Her lips parted in reverence. “I remember this.” Her gaze lifted up and up toward the cathedral height ceiling leading into the home and a massive crystal and gold chandelier that illuminated the vast, ornate space of pale silk walls. She remembered how the façade of the home did not reflect the glory inside.

It always seemed so incredibly impressive for an entrance hall. Even the richest of New Yorkers, like themselves, usually kept their entrance halls simple. True American knickerbockers of old money, which is what they were, believed wealth was to be displayed in one’s mannerisms, not one’s living quarters.

The sound of approaching booted steps made her veer her gaze toward the end of the corridor where a very tall, broad-shouldered gentleman with a self-assured stride announced that he was the master of the house coming to personally greet his guests.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. It was Banfield.

Despite the sizable distance, she could make out a dark-grey morning coat, an embroidered blue and gold waistcoat, a knotted white cravat and black wool trousers that tapered snugly into a pair of polished leather boots.

As his well-muscled frame drew nearer and his rugged face came into full focus, her heart flipped. He’d grown into quite the man. Broader. Muscular. The portrait he’d sent didn’t do him justice. He was ridiculously handsome. Those sharp, refined features reminded her of a dashing politician about to take the podium and address his people.

That smooth, long-legged stride and set, shaven jaw hinted that he was a man in control of not only himself but the world. Astoundingly, that golden-brown hair, which appeared to be fashioned at shoulder length, had been pulled back into a ribbon similar to what her grandfather might have worn back in the 1700’s. She couldn’t believe he wore a queue. No one wore a queue anymore.

It was as if he was trying to stand out amongst his peers. And he certainly did.

He came to a regal halt several strides away from her and her father.

The scent of freshly starched linen pierced the air between them.

A breath escaped her. He was so beautiful he belonged in a museum behind glass with the large brass inscription that read ‘
Adonis
.’

Intense brown eyes skimmed her appearance. He searched her face for a moment and inclined his head, the black ribbon tying his hair cascading against his high collar. “Good afternoon, Miss Grey.” His voice was deep and refined, laced with an opulent British accent that showcased several generations of tradition. “At long last we touch the same soil.”

She respectfully inclined her head. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

He lingered for a moment before averting his gaze to her father. His features playfully brightened. “Mr. Grey! Good to see you again. You’ll be pleased to hear that all of the contracts were hand-delivered to your solicitor with all of my signatures not even an hour ago.”

She almost sagged in relief. The sooner he got the money, the sooner she didn’t have to worry about him. He’d be fine without her. More than fine. Yes, it would pinch his pride, but with three million, he could buy himself the sort of life he really deserved. The sort she knew she wouldn’t be able to give him.

He set a hand against his lower back, taking on a formal, gentlemanly stance and cleared his throat. “My mother and I were disappointed that neither of you would be staying here at the house. There is no need to stay at a hotel.” He captured her gaze. “I have rooms.”

It was as if he were communicating that she needed to take the room next to his.

“We appreciate the offer, Banfield,” her father countered with a quick smile, “but I already bought out an entire floor of rooms. It’s paid for.” Mr. Grey swept a hand toward her. “And here she is, as promised, Banfield. “Hasn’t she grown into something magnificent since you last saw her?”

Leave it to her father to tell the man what he was supposed to think. She awkwardly caught Banfield’s gaze.

His eyes had never left hers. Not once. “Indeed, she has.” Something intense flared in that rugged face.

Her pulse quickened. That barely contained intensity reminded her of when they had first met. “I trust that you are well, my lord.”

He still held her gaze. “Incredibly well, Miss Grey. It may be raining outside, but here inside, the sun is shining because you are, at long last, here.”

It was getting awkward. He was beginning to sound like a medieval poetry book and was staring too much. “That is incredibly lovely of you to say, Banfield. Thank you.” She swept out her gloved hand toward him in greeting and waited.

His shaven jaw tightened as those riveting brown eyes softened just enough to convey that he was touched by the gesture. Stepping closer, he grasped her gloved hand with large, bare fingers and brought it toward himself. “My warmth knows no bounds.” Tightening his hold, he sensuously grazed his slightly parted mouth against the knuckles of her glove, still holding her gaze.

It was indecent. Not that he had ever been anything but.

His masculine lips pressed straight through the leather and lingered in a bold manner that whispered of unending rapture. She swallowed tightly, knowing the only respectable thing protecting her from his lips was a mere glove and her father standing two feet away.

Letting his fingers drag against hers, Banfield released her hand. “Your father mentioned we would be spending the afternoon together. I’m afraid the weather will make it difficult for us to enjoy the garden. Might I interest you in a tour of the home instead followed by a quiet meal?”

His muscled shoulders looked as if they might rip the wool of his coat if he moved the wrong way. “That would be lovely. Yes. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” He casually turned toward her father. “Will you be joining us, Mr. Grey?”

She prayed her father wouldn’t stay. There was so much that needed to be said. So much Banfield needed to understand. Things her father would never understand.

Mr. Grey gestured toward the entrance door behind them. “No, thank you. I have a few errands to oversee on the other side of town.”

A half-breath escaped her.

“I’ll return at five o’clock.”

Her momentary relief turned into dread. Because she didn’t need five hours to deliver what could be said in a single breath. “Five? I can assure you, an hour is all we really need.”

“
An hour
?” he echoed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You need time to get re-acquainted. Even five hours in my estimation is overly short after all the years you two have been apart.” Her father gently patted her cheek. “Seeing all of the marriage contracts have already been signed and delivered, chaperones are no longer necessary. Why? Because I trust both the gentleman and the lady to respect each other. Enjoy the freedom.”

Clementine cringed. Her father
knew
that aside from a few rebellious moments she had snatched with Nasser, she didn’t trust men or their passions. Not anymore than society did. And she most certainly knew what sort of passions Derek was capable of. He’d proven that within the first five minutes of them knowing each other.

Mr. Grey made his way toward the door which a footman opened. Glancing back at her with a wink, he strode out toward their carriage waiting beneath the portico. The footman closed the door and positioned himself on the far wall, leaving the foyer in complete silence.

Her throat tightened. She highly doubted the next five hours were going to be pleasant.

Letting out a refined breath, Clementine turned toward Banfield, hoping she was capable of surviving whatever happened next. Doing her best not to fidget, she politely offered, “I can only apologize for my father. Apparently, he doesn’t realize a tour of any sized house won’t take five hours.”

Banfield’s mouth quirked, his dark eyes brightening. “I don’t mind.” He studied her face, unhurriedly and intently. “My butler will take your bonnet and gloves,” he added in a low tone.

Her body felt heavy and warm. Whilst there was nothing indecent about removing one’s bonnet and gloves before a man, for she did it all the time whenever making calls, his gruff tone might as well have asked her to remove her gown and corset. “Thank you.”

She turned toward the waiting butler and fumbled to unravel the satin ribbon at her chin, painfully aware Banfield was watching her. A warm tingle uprooted the pit of her stomach, and although she tried to slow the rapid beat of her heart, it was of no use. She was as nervous now around him as she had been when she was fourteen. It was stupid. She had always hated the way he made her feel: breathless, out of control, and on the verge of bursting into flames.

Removing her gloves, she handed both to the elderly male servant. Sensing that Banfield was still watching her, she glanced toward him.

He swept his gaze over her pinned hair and smiled. “There is no need to linger here in the entrance hall. The main rooms are upstairs.” He held out a hand toward the direction he wanted them to go and strode past. “Please follow me.”