Wicked in Your Arms (11 page)

With several long strides, he caught up with her. Grabbing her by the arm, he whirled her around. “Why must you be so combative? I'm trying to make amends.” The words astonished him the instant he said them. He was trying to make amends? With a woman who should be beneath his notice.

“Why?” She tried to twist her arm free from him, but still he clung. “Why should you care—”

“Because—” He stopped at the sound of his voice, loud and jarring. “Because,” he repeated, his voice level, “I suspect you are one of the most singular women I'll ever know.” His face heated at the declaration. It was as if the words spilled forth with no volition.

She eyed him suspiciously as if unsure whether he complimented her or not. “Singular?”

Truth be told, he wasn't certain whether he complimented her or not either. He only knew he spoke the truth. “Singular,” he repeated. “And I should hate for you to . . .” He hesitated, searching for the word. “Dislike me because of the way I conducted myself on our first encounter.”

She moistened her lips. His gut tightened as he followed the movement of her pink tongue. “You care whether I like you or not?”

He gave a single nod, wondering how he'd gotten into such dangerous territory. He was actually trying to convince the female that he liked her. Why? To what end? Did he expect for them to be friends? That did not seem realistic. He'd never been friends with a woman before.

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed on him. “Why should you care whether I like you?”

The only thing he could think about just then was his ominous warning to his cousin. When he'd staked a claim on Miss Hadley and called her
his
.

With that single thought burning through him, he inched his head toward hers, moving in slow degrees, as a hunter might close in on his prey. “I fear if you did not like me, I would never be able to do this.”

Chapter Twelve

G
rier watched with wide eyes as the prince's head descended toward her, certain she was dreaming. He slanted his lips over hers. She didn't draw breath as the cool dryness of his mouth pressed to hers.

This was no dream.

She didn't move, not even a stir. Much too shocked, too afraid that should she move it would be to toss her arms around his neck and drag him tighter against her. It had been too long since she had
this
. Since anyone felt inclined to reach out and touch her. She didn't trust herself. Last night proved she shouldn't.

He pulled back to look at her and her chest tightened at the sight of his handsome face. This close she could see that the tips of his lashes were far lighter than the rest of his hair.

His lips curved in a slow, seductive smile that pulled at her belly. “And I'm so glad that I can.”

“Can . . .
what
?” Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

“Kiss you.”

The words rolled over her, thick as syrup. And just as decadent.

“Oh.” She blinked, murmuring rather dreamily, “Yes. Kissing. You can do that . . . some more.”

“Excellent. Although you should know that this sort of thing generally works better when you move your mouth.” His head inched back toward her, his breath fanning her lips. “When you part your lips. Just a little. Remember?”

Her eyes drifted shut, lulled by that deep velvet voice, by the brush of his lips on hers. His breath was warm and sweet and she sighed.

She moved her lips tentatively at first, her thoughts racing, jumbled, trying to remember why this was wrong . . . why she shouldn't be doing this. She'd known why last night.

All thoughts fled as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips wider for him. She shuddered at the first stroke of his tongue against hers and lifted her hands to his shoulders. She curled her fingers into the hard shape of him beneath his great cape and surrendered to his mouth, kissing him back. Their lips fused hotly, the perfect fit, like two long-lost pieces of a puzzle.

She wrapped her arms around him, clinging, pressing herself close with abandon. He moaned with satisfaction and slipped his hands beneath her cloak. Palming her back, he hauled her against him.

Splayed against the hard breadth of him, she was instantly enveloped in his heat. The wintry world around them disappeared. There was nothing but him. His hard pulsing body. His warm hands. His mouth. Those delicious lips with the faint taste of chicory coffee.

He slanted his mouth over hers one way and then another, exploring her, tasting, gliding his tongue sinuously against hers until a low throbbing twisted in her belly.

The kiss deepened until they clung to each other. Her hands moved, roved, reveling in the impossible strength she felt radiating from every inch of him.

Small starved whimpers rose from her throat. He slid one hand down her back and grasped her bottom, pulling her against him. She felt the definite bulge of him through his trousers. She was no green girl that she didn't know what that signified. He wanted her.

It should have horrified her to know that she was all alone with a virile man, engaging in intimacies that could lead to only one thing. That should be reserved for her husband.

And yet she was not. In that moment, Grier did not care.

All her life she'd tried so hard to do what she thought was
right
, the good and proper thing. She'd tried so desperately to earn everyone's acceptance and approval. Even when no one expected it of her. Even when all they saw when they looked at her was the game master's mannish bastard daughter. But then it occurred to her that
that
voice had never served her well before. It had never won her acceptance. Why should she listen to it now?

He tasted delicious. And his kiss was deep and smooth, nothing messy or slavering like the way Trevis had kissed. This was bliss and she had no wish for it to end.

This man would know how to make your first time exquisite.

The shocking thought rushed through her head unbidden, making her cheeks flame hotter, her body ache and burn in places she never knew could even feel. She would be clay in his hands.

Suddenly the prince stiffened, and she wondered rather insensibly if he had gleaned some knowledge of her outrageous thoughts. Just because he kissed her did not mean he wished to take it that far after all.

He broke their kiss and lifted his head, looking beyond her shoulder. She tried to pull from his embrace, but he held fast, tugging her close.

She cleared her throat softly, distrustful that her voice would rise a mere squeak from between her kissed-numb lips. “Unhand me, please.”

His arm tensed around her and his brow furrowed as he continued to study the horizon. “Do you hear that?”

She listened, at first hearing nothing but the wind, but then she caught sound of it. Voices. Very faint. As whispery as the wind itself. “Yes.”

He released her then. Grasping her arm, he guided her forward. Together they climbed the small rise. She risked a glance at his face, but he stared ahead, his features impassive. Did he regret their lapse of restraint? Of course he did. He was here to find a bride, presumably the very worthy and estimable Lady Libbie. A rich earl's daughter. She fit his needs perfectly. He certainly didn't wish to become entangled with her.

Topping the rise, Grier spotted the several figures on horseback. “Stable lads?”

“The horses must have returned and they've come to find us,” he murmured.

She nodded. “They shall be quite relieved to know we've sustained no injuries.” She lifted an arm and waved to gain their attention, quite eager to take her leave of his company and reflect on her improper response to his advances—so that she did not repeat such a mistake again. Because, truly, this needed to stop.

“You are quite the surprise, Miss Hadley.”

She turned to find him gazing upon her. “I thought you claimed you were coming to know me. Am I not predictable anymore?”

“Ah, knowing someone and being able to predict someone are two very different things. I'm coming to know you in that I know you're not someone who can be predicted.”

With a cool voice she was much proud of, she suggested, “It would behoove us not to waste too much time contemplating each other, do you not agree,
Your
Highness
?” She placed emphasis on his title, letting it stand between them as a reminder of the gulf that forever separated them.

He stared at her for some time before answering. “Indeed so, Miss Hadley.”

The grooms were upon them now. And not a moment too soon as far as she was concerned.

“We're quite well,” Prince Sevastian assured the concerned faces staring down at them. “Thank you for your hasty rescue. Just a slight mishap. Nothing to fret over. Miss Hadley here is quite chilled, however. Would one of you see her to the house at once? I'm quite well enough to walk the rest of the way.”

A groom hastily dismounted and gave up his mount for her.

“That's not necessary,” she objected.

Her arguments were silenced with a wave of the prince's hand. She glanced at each of the grooms' faces. They looked only at the prince, eager for his next command. Nothing she said would sway them.

Sighing, she held her tongue. Best to let people think she was the missish type of female who gets chilled and cannot walk out of doors. Besides, she didn't want the staff gossiping that she was some hot-blooded virago. She already had a strike against her with her father in tow.

She narrowed her gaze at the prince standing so stalwart in the morning wind. As if nothing untoward had occurred. He didn't spare her a glance even as she couldn't stop devouring the sight of him. Her cheeks blazed afire.

Perhaps he only wished to be rid of her and that's why he wished to send her ahead. A groom assisted her as if she were some delicate lady who could not manage. In moments, she was riding at a ridiculously slow dawdle, led by the groom who gave up his seat for her. She sent a glance over her shoulder at the prince, speculating that his strides might very well overtake her.

He gazed straight ahead, his eyes unreadable beneath his slash of dark brows. Sucking in a deep breath, she faced forward again and plodded ahead, letting him fall behind as she waited for the house to appear.

B
y the time Sev reached the house, he had done nothing to exorcise Miss Hadley from his thoughts. He spent the half-hour walk attempting to persuade himself that he merely craved a woman and not her specifically. One of the comely housemaids whose eyes followed him about hungrily should satisfy his needs.

There was no glimpse of Miss Hadley upon entering the high vaulted-ceiling foyer and his heart sank with a disappointment he couldn't deny. There was something about her—a fire, a passion he had not seen since before the war. She was no simpering, naïve, spoiled miss. She possessed an air, a certain knowledge of life and, perhaps most astounding of all, she wasn't jaded for it.

His steps echoed a lonely sound across the aged marble as he moved toward the grand staircase.

It already seemed long ago that he had held her with winter winds buffeting them on all sides. If the sweet taste of her didn't linger on his mouth, he might have convinced himself the entire encounter had not occurred. Surely only in a dream would he have disregarded logic and acted so rashly.

What on earth motivated him to kiss a marriage-minded female he had no intention of wooing for the purpose of matrimony? His goal was clear. He'd traveled to England for one reason only and he needn't waste his time chasing after an ineligible female.

And yet somehow, in the course of their brief acquaintance, she had transformed in his mind. He no longer saw the unfortunate sun-browned, freckled female with the unfashionable hair and miserable pedigree. No. He saw a strong, enticing female who would do quite well in his bed. Too bad she was not angling for the position of mistress.

Shaking his head as if that might free him of such a pointless wish, he entered his chamber, startling his valet from where he dozed in the chair by the window.

“Your Highness? Back already?” The elderly man had been his father's valet and closest friend. His brother had inherited him first, then Sev next. There was no question that he should find a younger, spry valet. As long as Ilian was willing, he would serve as valet to the Crown Prince of Maldania. Tradition was not something to be tossed aside lightly, especially one involving Ilian.

For some reason the thought of tradition only further drove home how wholly inappropriate his feelings for Miss Hadley happened to be. She was an heiress hunting for a husband, and he best not dally with such a female.

“I'll ring a bath for you.” Ilian's joints cracked as he passed Sev.

He spared the man who was like family to him a tender smile. “Thank you, Ilian.”

His valet nodded. “Can't have you looking mussed if we're to woo the future queen.”

Sev's smile slipped further. His mind drifted to the lovely Lady Libbie, feeling strangely empty as he imagined her as his bride. “No. We can't have that.”

A short time later he was the first to arrive in the dining room, but he was not to be alone for long.

His cousin entered the room as he was cutting into a fat kipper. Sevastian greeted him with a nod, studying Malcolm's back as he moved to the sideboard and made himself a generous plate of food.

Malcolm tugged down his jacket as he seated himself, and Sev couldn't help noticing it had already grown snug in the fortnight they'd spent together. A definite paunch had grown there since Sev located him in his rented rooms in Seven Dials—a far cry from the fashionable lodgings Sev had expected to find him occupying.

When Grandfather banished his uncle twenty years ago for daring to ravish a visiting Italian dignitary's daughter, Malcolm and his mother accompanied him to England, despite Grandfather's offer for them to remain behind. Aunt Nesha refused to believe the Italian girl's accusations and wouldn't let her husband depart without her, so the entire family fled to England. When they left they were by no means penniless. His uncle, Sev learned, had lost everything at the gaming hells and then only inconvenienced his family further by dying in a duel and leaving them to endure poverty without him.

Sev felt only pity for Malcolm when he learned that they had been living in genteel squalor, pride preventing them from returning to Maldania.

“Even if I wanted to, Mama refuses,” his cousin had explained when Sev offered to send them home now. “She feels shame over Papa's banishment . . . and she's still angry. She'll take nothing from Grandfather.”

Sev had seen his aunt only a moment, a wan figure reclining on a faded chaise, her smelling salts in one hand and a much-read novel in the other—which she had thrown at his head. The genteel aunt of memory was nowhere in evidence. That woman would not have known the curses to heap upon his head for Grandfather's lies and cruelty—as she phrased it.

Sev did not blame his grandfather for banishing his uncle—by all accounts his uncle had badly damaged the girl. But none of that was Malcolm's fault, so he had taken his cousin under his wing, supporting him with his own dwindling funds since he arrived.

Malcolm wasn't to blame for his father's sins. And besides that, his cousin might be penniless, but his rank still gave him access to the
ton
. Malcolm knew everyone. There wasn't a hostess who did not dote on him. With Malcolm as his guide, Sev saved precious time. Malcolm knew instantly what debutantes Sev should consider.

“Pleasant ride this morning?” Malcolm asked, lowering down to the table and digging vigorously into his breakfast. “I don't know how you rise at such an ungodly hour.”

Sev took a lingering sip of his coffee. “Cousin . . .”