“And I would never work for a man like you. Even Kane knows to stay out of my personal business, and not to poke around in my possessions.”
Griffin’s face had gone as empty of expression as she’d ever seen it, but his eyes were dangerous. She stood and strode toward the door, shaken by her anger—and his. “If you will excuse me, it has been a long day. I am tired and—”
He was in front of her, pulling her into his arms. She did not dare push at him for fear of hurting his injury. Or that’s what she told herself as she slipped closer.
“I was so bloody worried,” he growled into her hair.
Before she could explore the interesting effect of those words, his mouth came down hard on hers and demanded deep kisses. Oh, Lord, his touch was instantly intoxicating. Passion flared in her, hot, sudden and intense as an electrical charge. She arched up to meet him. This was what she’d longed for, what her body demanded.
He pulled her closer and groaned. “Now, Araminta. Please.”
“I won’t. And your—your wound. You can’t do anything.”
“Don’t underestimate a desperate man. I most certainly can do anything.”
He pulled her against him, and she felt his iron-hard arousal pressed to her belly. She couldn’t help writhing a bit in appreciation.
“God. I can right here. Or against the wall. Anywhere,” he eathed.
“You make me feel like a trollop,” she said, trying to force her conscience back into place.
“Just a woman.” Surprisingly gentle, he spread kisses over her face. “A passionate woman. Oh, you’re superb. And I know you’re interested too, Araminta. I can taste it on your lips. And I see it in your eyes. Ah.” He kissed her eyelids. “You can’t hide from me.”
She groaned as his hands slid beneath her bustle along her bottom and he pulled her close.
“Griffin, stop torturing me. You can have other women. That maid. She looks as if she’d—”
“Other women?” He loosened his grip and stared into her face. “No. I want you, Araminta. I’m starved for you.”
She held her breath, for there was no mockery in his hot gaze. Only pure hunger that seemed to reach in and increase her own ache for him.
Too much, she thought, and closed her eyes. She’d always thought of herself as a strong woman, but this man could melt her resolve as if it were butter.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
“Griffin. I won’t give in. Please. Stop.”
With two fingers, he traced her cheek, followed the line of her jaw. “Why not? You want me, and I’m on the verge of going mad for wanting you.”
“I can’t think right now. Let me go.”
“I’m not holding you.”
She opened her eyes. “Oh.” She took a few steps back from his solid chest.
He swayed on his feet, but still glared at her. “Why not, Araminta? Tell me that, at least.”
“I was wrong and weak to give in before. I will not risk creating another bastard.”
“Damn. I told you, it’s an ugly word. It doesn’t describe you.”
“It is how the world sees me.”
“It’s of no concern, at any rate. I protect us from unwanted, ah, consequences.”
“Sometimes such protection fails.”
He walked to the divan and sat down heavily. “Araminta, you won’t allow yourself to live, will you?”
With trembling knees, she made her way to the other sofa. “I won’t allow myself to make a mistake as horrible as bringing an unwanted child into the world.”
Silence filled the room. He stared over at the well-brushed and empty grate, an extraordinarily grim set to his face.
She cleared her throat, trying to hold back the tears. He looked over at her, and she realized passion and anger had fully retreated, and he truly was his usual aloof self.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
The stab of disappointment was much sharper than the relief she knew she ought to feel.
Araminta could not snap back so easily. Her voice held a quaver. She twisted her hands together to still their slight tremble. “I should see Olivia. I promised to check with her when I got back.”
“Ah. About your friend . . .”
Some shift in Griffin’s tone froze Araminta’s breath. Good heavens, had he ravished the girl? Sent her away somewhere?
“Go on.”
“Her real name is Elizabeth Burritt. She is the daughter of a senator. I am arranging to have her reunited with her family.”
A horrible thought occurred to Araminta. “How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Griffin didn’t answer, and his gaze returned to the empty fireplace.
Araminta gasped. “Oh, no. You wouldn’t tell me because you wanted to use me to get her. She’s part of your plot to get Kane, isn’t she? A pawn. Both of us are your pawns.”
The sketch of a frown creased his brow. At least the cold-blooded face held some semblance of feeling again. “Hush, Araminta. Might I explain?”
“You needn’t. You must have learned about her days ago. And you’ve hidden the truth from me, hoping I’d fetch her here for you. And I’d act as if you were doing me a favor. Maybe I’d be grateful enough to give you a chance to relieve some of that hunger of yours.”
Araminta got up so quickly she stumbled and almost fell. Griffin rose from the divan, perhaps to catch her, but she recoiled from his outstretched hand.
She shoved back a curl from her cheek and glared at him. “Well, I’m glad to have been of help to you, Mr. Calverson. Even if I won’t service you, you’ve gotten what you really needed—the heiress.”
She paced the room once, feeling the anger rise in her breast. “Oh, and the future is very bright, isn’t it? Absolutely perfect. A senator’s daughter. The wealthy eligible bachelor who rescues her from the criminal. Oh, my, I can see why you turned on your charm this morning with her. A girl like her fits any ambitious businessman’s plans.”
He leaned against the mantel, his arms folded across his chest, watching her. “You’re absurd,” he growled. “How often must I repeat that I don’t plan to marry? And if I did, I wouldn’t want that girl. She’s a damned mouse.”
“Even if you don’t want to take her to bed, you wanted to bring down Kane, didn’t you? And she’s going to help you?”
“Yes, I’m delighted that Kane gave me a weapon to use against him. But what is it to you? I didn’t keep her identity a secret. She did. I didn’t want to drag her out of Kane’s house. You did.”
“And you helped. Once you knew who she was.”
He gave another quiet growl, but didn’t deny it.
“I forget that you have to have your company’s best interest in heart when you act,” she said stiffly. “I should be grateful that you agreed to help.”
He shoved a hand through his hair, disheveling his usually perfect locks. “You damn well ought to be.”
“Well, then. I shall go see my friend Miss Burritt.”
“She hasn’t admitted to the name, yet. And I have no idea what she was doing under Kane’s thumb or how she got there. Hobnail has been trying to figure that one out.”
She eyed him with revulsion. “And you want me to find out the details?”
“I don’t actually care.” He shrugged extravagantly, then winced. She’d forgotten his wounds.
“Oh, lie down,” she snapped. “All of your fine plans will be worthless if you develop an infection.”
As she stormed from the room and paced down the short corridor to Elizabeth’s bedroom, a weariness filled her heart, dousing the fire that had raged just minutes before.
CHAPTER 19
Olivia—no, Elizabeth—took a few secondseply, “Come in,” to Araminta’s knock at the door.
The girl lay sprawled on the yellow bed, her face red and swollen from crying.
Araminta remembered that, whatever her name, Elizabeth was not trying to manipulate her. Not like some people.
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you? Does your arm still ache?”
Olivia/Elizabeth shook her head. “Not any more. It hasn’t for a while. Did he come back? From Albany?”
For Araminta there was only one “he,” Griffin, so she was confused for a moment.
“Oh. No. Mr. Kane is still gone.”
She reached out and stroked Elizabeth’s hair, so thin and fine compared to her own rebellious curls. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
Elizabeth’s chin quivered, but she managed to hold back the tears. “I knew you’d tell me to leave him more . . . persistently if you knew that I was not just one of the regular girls.”
Araminta couldn’t help her guffaw. “I’ve known that since I met you, Oliv—Elizabeth. Even the most innocent girl at Kane’s had more worldly experience than you.”
The girl shook her head. “But you don’t know that.”
“Tell me then,” Araminta coaxed.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “It began when I—I fell in with some girls from a rather fast set. We snuck off to an opium den. Three of us. With a college boy who’d been there before.
“We took a Broadway car.” She laughed without humor. “I remember thinking it was so very risqué to ride on a streetcar. The house was on Forty-second Street. A plain house on the outside, for it’s all very secret, of course. But inside! Pillows, a huge chandelier, paintings of dragons, and elaborate smoking devices. Some of the people there . . . I was shocked by one woman whose dress had come entirely unfastened. But soon I cared only about getting more and more of the drug.”
Araminta felt naive once again, and wished she could get as far away as possible from the illnesses of the city.
Elizabeth went on, talking about her almost instant craving for hashish, and her pains to acquire the drug without raising anyone’s suspicions. “I bought some preparations from the drugstore, but the house was much better. I hid it from my parents—they thought I was sickening because I had developed a
tendre
for a boy. They offered to send me abroad to help me get over it.” She rolled her eyes. “Parents can be so blind sometimes.”
“I suppose so,” Araminta said, hoping she didn’t sound angry. “But your parents love you, don’t they?”
Elizabeth gave a tiny nod. “And I love them. And that is why I had to stay with—with him.”
Araminta’s jaw dropped. “Hey?”
“I was disgusting, a user of drugs. And then, I—I gave myself to men.” Elizabeth’s voice was almost inaudible now. “I was a disgrace to my upbringing. To the people who loved me.”
Araminta had to lean close to hear the rest of her words. “I was going to kill myself. He found me there... He helped me.”
“Oh, certainly. He helped you with his fists.”
“That was because he loved me. It was slow, but he weaned me from the drug. He wants to marry me, but I said no. And that is what made him lose his temper.”
“Ah.” Araminta straightened up as a horrible fear seized her. “Do you love him?”
She hesitated. “I am afraid of him. But he has been good to me.”
A deep male voice answered. “I don’t think that he has, actually. He found you there, eh? Who do you suppose owns that house you first went to? The opium den?”
Elizabeth sat up and stared at Griffin, who leaned against the doorjamb, his hands shoved into his pockets.
Araminta mouthed, “Go away,” at him, but he didn’t appear to notice her.
“No,” whispered Elizabeth. “It wasn’t him. He has gambling, not . . . the other.”
“You know he conducts all sorts of businesses. Ask yourself this: why else would he venture into the house where he discovered you? Why else would a man who doesn’t indulge in drugs be in that place?”
A glistening tear rolled down Elizabeth’s cheek. Araminta pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
“Go away. Please.” Elizabeth sounded muffled by the white linen. “Oh, God. I want to be by myself for a few minutes.”
Araminta patted her shoulder, then went to the door, where she at last caught Griffin’s eye. “I was doing quite well until you came along,” she murmured as they walked down the hall.
“She has to face the truth. She’ll be fine once she cries a few more buckets of tears,” Griffin said amiably.
Araminta considered his words. Perhaps she had been coddling Elizabeth too long. “You could be right. I have avoided pushing her, since she seems so delicate, but she must grow stronger.”
“I did not mean to deceive you about the identity of your friend.”
She was dismayed that she believed him. Life was far easier when she could stay angry with him. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t certain myself until very recently.”
They made their slow way down the corridor in silence. His manner was cool, and he did not look at her. The peculiar, powerful scene between them might never have occurred. Better that way, of course. If she were to live here in order to provide Elizabeth with a chaperone, it would be best if she didn’t need one for herself.
He stopped. He winced and pressed a hand to his side. Beneath his dressing gown lay the slightly raised outline of his bandage. “I find I am exhausted.”
“Oh, no.” Araminta gripped his elbow to steady him, and ignored the clamor of inner warnings that came with their contact. “Shall I ring for help?”
“Not necessary for a woman of your strength. Remember how you dragged me blocks last week?”
His skin was very warm through his clothing. Perhaps he was growing feverish. The light was not good, but she thought she discerned gray smudges of exhaustion under his eyes. “I should have ignored you and taken you back to your office. I wasn’t thinking clearly that day.”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I? But I don’t need anyone else’s help if you’d be willing to put your arm around me. Ah, yes, perfect. And now . . .”
Instead of walking straight ahead, though, he swiveled, bringing their bodies into instant contact. His mouth came down on hers.
Instant heat thrummed through her, but she tore away, gasping. “Griffin, no. Not again.”
The shadowed jade eyes she’d mistakenly thought were tired now glittered with hunger and dangerous amusement. “Just a quick kiss,” he murmured. “Gratitude for helping me to my bedroom.”
She pulled at his rock-solid arm. “Come on.”
They stopped by his door. He wove his fingers firmly through hers and drew her hand to his mouth to brush his lips over her fingertips.
“All the way into my room, Araminta.”
She shivered, but managed to speak. “I don’t think so.”
His finger traced the edge of her jaw. “Tell me, why not a few kisses?”
His momentary weakness caused by his injury seemed to have passed, for he turned and once again held her, his strong hands at the small of her back, pressing her forward against him. “Kiss me and then tell me what is wrong with something so delicious. Just a short embrace. We shan’t create any babies.” When his warm, rough whisper brushed her ear, she had to agree. A kiss or two wouldn’t hurt.
She allowed herself the treat of his hot, strong mouth on hers, the delicate caress of his tongue, which soon became a much fiercer stroke. And she was falling again into the heat of his touch and body.
He kicked the door closed behind them and drew her toward the bed.
Griffin smiled at her. She had almost grown used to his smiling, but whenever he did, she found her own mouth stretched into a broad, silly grin.
He pulled her down, and she was soon lying on her side facing him, trying to gather her muzzy thoughts but succumbing to liquid sensation. He slipped his hand into her bodice as he unbuttoned her blouse.
“Get rid of the bustle,” he muttered.
“No. You said. Just a few kisses.” She nuzzled her face into his throat, at the opening of the white shirt he wore under the dressing gown. He smelled of lemon, starched cloth and the faint clean scent of him that she’d grown used to haunting her small house. How she would miss it when she returned, but she wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the day she would be alone again.
Her body must have recognized his scent, for just a deep inhalation brought her to the edge of dizzying excitement. Oh, she would give almost anything to be able to spread her legs and lose herself to desire and feel him inside her again. She groaned as his fingers explored her skin. He ducked his head to kiss her exposed breast and left it cool and tingling from his touch.
She’d give almost anything, but not herself. Desire might rule her body, yet Araminta had to become wiser than she’d been when they’d lain together. She would not make the same mistake as her mother.
With a belly-deep sigh of resignation, she pulled her protesting, passion-swollen body away from his. She sat up and began to fasten her blouse.
Griffin moaned. “No. Come back here.”
Her skirt was rucked up, and he touched the inside of her leg. She tensed, waiting for him to grab at her, ready to fight off any force. But he did not haul her back; he merely ran his hand up her calf to her thigh, back and forth over the smooth, sensitive skin, and then his light touch ventured farther up. They both gasped as his fingers found her curls, and he gently stroked her between her legs. “I shan’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I promise.”
“But I won’t make . . .” He hadn’t agreed that they’d made love before, she reminded herself, even as the spiraling tension sucked her body tight. “I won’t . . .”
“Hush,” he commanded. “Just let me.”
She was beyond speech as he caressedher. And when he pushed fingers inside her, the explosion soon struck. She cried out in surprise, though this time she had known what would happen.
His fingers trembled as he unbuttoned his trousers.
“Griffin, I shall not—”
He guided her hand to his erection. “There are other ways,” he growled and lay on his back. “Let me describe them.”
She squeezed him and enjoyed watching his face crumple into helpless pleasure.
“Go on,” she said, and bent to give him an experimental lick. He responded with a very gratifying groan.
Her heart sped up again. “Tell me what to do.”
Araminta was an eager student. Interesting how his pleasure seemed to pound through her. She treasured the glassy spark in his heavy eyes as he lost himself to the passion that she gave him. Oh, that defenselessness on his face was almost as exciting as his touch had been on her. He gave a thick cry and was a slave to her touch. He murmured her name, and stared into her eyes as he was seized by ecstasy.
They spent more than an hour doing careful, slow studies of each other. He was far too sore for anything strenuous.
Filled with the luxurious sensation of spent lust, she tried to ignore the sense of shame. Something more nagged at her. She shouldn’t have indulged in this pleasure. As she fell asleep, she worried that a part of her had been injured, even more important than her pride or her long-vanished feminine modesty.
Love. The word whispered through her and woke her from the light doze. Next to her on the large bed, bathed in the late-afternoon light, Griffin breathed and twitched restlessly. In sleep, his mouth and the tension around his eyes relaxed, and showed a kinder, more vulnerable man, the hint of the boy he’d been. An achingly beautiful person. One large hand curled over his chest, and she remembered how talented those hands were on her body. She wanted to kiss the scars on the knuckles.
“Oh God damn bloody hell.” She whispered the worst curses she could conjure.
She should have avoided his bed, and not only to protect herself from bearing a baby out of wedlock. She had forgotten to protect her heart. Why did she have to learn these lessons only when the pain hit her?
She loved him, irretrievably.
His body, his sarcasm, his gentle fingers, his scowl, his annoying nosiness, his complexity, his cold manner.
She, Araminta Woodhall, unemployed Colored spinster cook, temporary inhabitant of New York City, thoroughly loved Griffin Calverson, millionaire businessman and entrepreneur, relation to British royalty. At least they shared the temporary New York address, she mused.
He wanted her, but didn’t love her. And never would. After all, Griffin Calverson did not believe in love. She’d known that even before she’d met him.
She propped herself on one elbow and watched him sleep, but not for long. Despite everything, she retained a trace of pride and didn’t want him to wake and see her despair. No doubt she would be incapable of hiding from his sharp vision.