Wicked in Your Arms (16 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“W
hat's it like? Maldania?” Grier asked much later. Sated as a cat on a sunny day, she curled up on Sev's warm body. Her fingers stroked softly against the smooth expanse of his chest. “Do you miss it?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, enjoyed the way his voice rumbled up through his chest and vibrated against her cheek where it rested. “I miss Wales,” she announced, her voice whisper-soft. “It's so green there it almost hurts your eyes. And the wind is different. The air smells fresh and new.” She released a breathy laugh. “If that makes any sense.”

“It does. Maldania is like that. Green hills and mountains. Forests so deep you can walk through them and believe you're the last person on earth.”

“I know that feeling.”

His hand brushed through her hair, pulling back when catching in the snarls, and then starting again.

“My brother taught me to fish and hunt in those forests.”

“Tell me about your brother.”

His chest lifted on an inhalation beneath her. “He was to be king. Not me. I was simply the spare. I should have been the one killed. No one would have missed me.”

Her heart clenched at his words.
She
would have missed him. And the notion terrified her. She could have gone through life never knowing Sev. Never knowing this. Never having him. It was torment to consider. “I don't believe that. It's not true. You would have been missed—”

“You're sweet.” He kissed her forehead. “But my brother was essential. I was not. He was born to the position, brought up always knowing who and what he was. I only became necessary after his death.”

“He was killed during the war?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sure everyone is just happy and relieved that they have you.”

“Oh yes.” His chest tightened beneath her cheek. “To be sure. That's what they tell me—every chance they get.”

“They?”

“My grandfather, the consul, people I come across in the streets. They're all so
relieved
. So very relieved that they have their crown prince.”

Crown prince
. Not Sevastian.

And then Grier understood. In that moment, it all became glaringly clear. She understood his austerity. His lack of levity. His life was not his own. He did not have a right to such emotions. He belonged to Maldania.

She suddenly felt hollow inside with the knowledge that he could never be hers . . . and yes, a secret part of her had begun to long for that. He could belong to no woman because he belonged to Maldania.

She struggled to find something to say. Something heartening. “You have purpose. That must count for something. You can do so many good things for so many people.” Even as she said this, she felt only numb inside. He'd have his
purpose
in life. And she would never have him.

“I know.” His voice rang grim, but no less determined. “That's why I'm here.”

“England, you mean?” Not with her, of course. It would be just silly of her to think he meant with her.

“For my country to even begin recovering I must marry.”

An awkward hush fell between them. Everything changed. Their tender intimacy shattered.

Her fingers stilled on his chest. If marriage to a wealthy, respectable woman was his agenda, then what was he doing here with her?
Wasting time.

She was sure his thoughts echoed her own. Painful but true. She might have the fortune he needed, but she wasn't the queen he sought. She began to pull away.

In one swift move, he flipped her on her back. She gasped as he slid his very muscled thighs between hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice an eager tremor on the air.

His face stared down at her. Hard. Determined. “I think that would be obvious.” The tip of him nudged at her opening. “You were trying to leave.”

“And this will keep me here?” She could not even recognize the hoarse croak of her voice.

“You tell me. Will it?” The head of him pushed a fraction inside her before slipping out again.

Tormented, she whimpered, her fingers rising to dig into the smooth flesh of his shoulders. “Please,” she begged.

“Please what?”

She breathed heavily beneath him, the tips of her breasts pebble-hard and rubbing his chest in the most arousing way. He propped himself on his elbows and eased slightly inside her again, the tip of him barely inside her. Her head thrashed on the bed, in agony.

“Take me.”

T
ake me.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to have her. Again. And again. And that was just the crux of the matter.

“Grier,” he began, determined that tonight would
not
be the last time . . . that this could somehow continue as long as he was in England. The need to have her again burned within him. He refused to examine why. It didn't matter why. It simply . . .
was
.

He'd have this woman again, as often as he could. Every chance. Even if he had to go out of his way to invent those opportunities.

“Hmm.” She arched beneath him, moaning. Even in the gloom, he detected the hot need in her gaze.

“I want to see you again. In Town.”

Her eyes widened at the suggestion, and he knew he had her attention. “Discounting social gatherings we both might attend, I don't see how.”

“It can be arranged. I can arrange it.”

She bit her lip. He caught sight of the flash of white teeth. “I don't know.”

She pushed at his shoulder, managing to scramble free. “What can come of it?”

He hauled her back and kissed her soundly until they were both panting and clinging to each other.

“This,” he growled, sliding his hands beneath her and dragging her thighs apart again. He slid inside her slick heat in one smooth thrust. She arched beneath him, meeting the invasion with a moan of welcome. “And this.”

She cried out, dropping back on the bed as he worked over her, taking her in deep, slow strokes, lifting her hips higher until he found the right spot for her to reach climax again. She shrieked when he found it, and he smothered the cry with his lips, drowning the sound as her inner muscles clenched and squeezed his cock, wringing him of his own shuddering release.

They collapsed against each other, clinging and panting. For several moments neither moved, too spent, too overcome.

“I'll leave it to you,” she finally said, her voice whisper-soft. “I know we should end it tonight before we're caught and my reputation is truly beyond repair, but my will is weak when it comes to you. So if you wish to meet again—” She stopped, unable to say anymore.

“I do. We shall.” He tightened an arm around her waist as if someone threatened to steal her away.

He knew it was foolish to feel so attached to her. Plenty of women had shared his bed before and he'd never felt this . . . this desire, this deep attachment, this
need
. Especially after sex.

Sex was fun. A physical release. Usually after he'd had a woman in his bed, after the chase ended, his interest ended, too.

Something told him it would never be that way with Grier. He would never tire of her.

Her soft sigh brushed his cheek. “Should you go now?”

“No. I'll stay until you fall asleep.” Until it wasn't so hard to tear himself away from her. Regrettably, that moment never came and he wondered if it ever would.

An hour before dawn he slipped away, leaving Grier lost to her dreams.

S
he had a lover.

The thought reverberated through her head countless times as she sat in the carriage beside Cleo. Jack slept across from her, snoring loudly, but she was glad for it. Glad she did not have to hear reminders that she must renew her search for a husband upon their return to Town. She bit her lip until the pain lanced sharply along her nerves. She welcomed the sensation, preferring it over the unease knotting her stomach at the prospect of finding a husband—of letting another man into her bed, her body. Swallowing the sudden surge of bile rising in her throat, she turned her face to the tightly drawn curtains as if something of interest could be seen there.

They made a caravan of sorts, the dowager's houseguests all departing at once for London. Occasionally she would part the velvet curtains to glimpse outside, acting as though she merely studied the countryside, but she actually searched for Sev atop his stallion. Several of the gentlemen rode alongside the carriages. Grier longed to ride outside among them. Another reason to loathe the constraints of Society.

“Close the curtain. Letting in a draft.” Jack opened his eyes long enough to complain before turning on the squabs and settling back into his nap.

Grier dropped the curtain and resettled back against the squabs. Her mind drifted to the evening ahead when they would stop at the inn. Her heart raced to consider that she would see Sev again then.

She had no expectation that they would manage to steal a moment alone . . . but just to see him again . . . to feast her gaze on him made her belly flip and her heart ache in the most alarming way. This really was getting out of hand. How was she to let another gentleman pay her court when she could only think of the Crown Prince of Maldania in her bed, doing the most sinful, improper things to her? She had to put a stop to this at once. Such thinking would lead her nowhere but heartache.

She'd caught a glimpse of him this morning before ascending the carriage but it had been reminder enough. One look into his gold eyes and her face caught fire as memories of the night before—mere hours ago—consumed her.

Color had heated her face at the sight of him. How could she function in his presence without drawing suspicion? Cleo especially would be certain to notice.

Last night she had been weak to agree to an affair. Could she find the strength today to tell him she'd been wrong? Senseless and lost to passion. Her thoughts spinning, she sighed.

“Tired?” Cleo spoke from beside her.

Grier nodded. “Yes. A bit.”

Cleo parted the curtain on her side of the carriage. “We should be at the inn soon. It's dusk now.”

Grier nodded mutely, a thick lump rising in her throat that she shouldn't feel.

More encounters with Sev and the more attached she would become until it was impossible to disengage herself without breaking her heart.

She rested her head back against the seat. They'd be there soon—and she'd find the strength to tell the prince that she'd been wrong. That they could not continue their affair. Their one night together had been just that—one night.

T
he dowager's house party occupied every table in the inn. While their evening fare was being fetched, Grier stood before the giant fireplace, thawing herself by holding her bare hands out to the welcoming heat.

The dowager herself sat in a hardback chair, complaining of her sore muscles and the long days left until they reached London. “I'm too old to keep making this journey. It's a misery.”

“No one said you had to return to Town, Grandmother,” the duke intoned from where he stood beside her chair, one hand behind his back, the other propped upon the top of her chair. He looked bored and disdainful all at once. Had she ever thought him and the prince alike?

“And miss all the excitement when it's learned that the scandal of the year took place beneath my very roof? Indeed not.” She huffed mightily and took the cup of chocolate her maid fetched from the serving girl. She sent her grandson a glare as though he had lost all sense. He rolled his eyes.

The serving girl moved along with the tray of steaming cups, stopping before Grier to offer her one. Grier took the proffered cup, glad to wrap her chilled fingers around the warm ceramic. She carefully sipped the rich, steaming liquid. Her gaze drifted, finding Sev where he stood at the second fireplace several yards away. His cousin hovered beside him, as always.

Sev's gaze collided with hers almost as though he felt her stare. Finding herself under his scrutiny, she sucked down too much drink and scalded her tongue. She hissed at the burn.

People moved about the room. Conversation rumbled on the air, but she could focus on nothing save Sev.

She read the hunger in his gaze, felt its echo inside her, and wondered how on earth she was going to tell him they needed to end this thing between them.

“Grier!”

At the sudden sound of her name, she jerked as if caught committing an offense. She snapped her gaze around the room, searching for the source.

And that was when she saw him.

Her mug slipped from her fingers, cracking into jagged pieces on the stone floor. Others exclaimed around her, but she could say nothing, could offer no explanation. She could only stare at the man bearing down on her with long strides. Her heart hammered, her mind reeling with a single question.

What was Trevis doing here?

Chapter Nineteen

“G
rier, my dear girl! I can't properly express my relief to find you at last!”

She stared up at the boy she'd known all her life. He was a man now—the very one she had thought she would wake up with in her twilight years. It was with some bemusement that she studied him with fresh eyes and felt . . . nothing.

He seemed smaller than she remembered. His eyes were rather beady, his gaze slitted with a cagey look to them. The color? A bland shade of blue. His hair? An equally bland brown. Strange how none of it made an impression on her now.

He seized her hand with no care for their audience. “I've been looking for you.”

Horrified, she shook her head and attempted to tug her hand free. She had to look. Her gaze slid to Sev. He no longer watched her. His stare fixed with deadly intent on Trevis. She shivered at the ruthless glitter in his gold eyes. She'd never seen him look such a way, and she felt convinced she had an image of him in war, the battle lust bright in his gaze.

Trevis's voice intruded, pulling her attention. “I've searched everywhere for you.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

At this question, he glanced around them. Grier managed to free her hand and bury it in her skirts.

“Miss Hadley?” the dowager demanded from where she sat, perking to life at the sudden drama unfolding. “Who is this—this person?”

“Your Grace.” Grier waved a hand toward Trevis, seeing no way around the introduction. “This is Mr. Powell. We were . . . neighbors in Wales.” She sent Trevis a warning glance that urged him not to announce himself as her former employer.

At that moment Jack arrived, his gaze immediately landing on Trevis hovering near her. Sharp suspicion flared in her father's eyes. “Grier, what is the meaning of this?”

Jack swept a measuring gaze over Trevis, doubtlessly noting his fine cloak and Hessians. Grier sensed his barely checked aggression. The fact that Trevis was a gentleman was likely the only thing stilling Jack from leaping upon him.

“Mr. Hadley.” Trevis dipped his head, greeting her father with the confidence of a man accustomed to getting his way.
Not always. He couldn't get me.
“A pleasure, sir. I've heard a great deal about you.”
He had?
Liar. “So glad to finally make your acquaintance. I hope you do not mind me tracking you down like this. I called upon you in Town and they told me how I might find you.”

“My staff told you where I went?” He frowned slightly. “Seems my people aren't as loyal as I thought.”

Trevis cleared his throat awkwardly. For the first time, unease flickered over his face. His hand slipped back on her arm as if seeking to reclaim his confidence.

Grier shook her arm free from his grip, beyond irritated. “What are you doing here?” She did not bother to hide her annoyance. Or bewilderment.

He turned his attention back to her and gave her a slow, deep smile, followed with a quick, smug wink.

Grier blinked, her nerves bristling with agitation. She remembered that smile and that wink, remembered how they had affected her before. And how they failed to affect her now.

She shook her head once, wondering what had ever possessed her to think so highly of Trevis.

Instead of answering her question, he turned back to her father, “Mr. Hadley, might we have a word in private?” He slid Grier a knowing look as he said this—and again that infernal wink. She frowned, utterly baffled. Why was he here? Why would he want to speak with Jack?

For a moment Jack looked as though he might demand an explanation right there and then, but then he glanced around at their captivated audience. “I suppose so,” he said gruffly. “I'm sure we can find someplace private to talk.”

Jack motioned a servant forward and spoke to her in low tones. Grier could only stare at Trevis, grappling with the collision of past and present before her very eyes.

Suddenly Jack and Trevis were moving. Not about to let them depart the room without her, she lifted her skirts to follow.

Jack hesitated, gauging her with a look. She lifted her chin and gave him a very determined stare, conveying that he would
not
be conversing
about
her with Trevis while she was not present. She would know what was afoot.

Jack motioned for her to precede him and she fell in line behind the maid leading them to the small back parlor. It took every ounce of will not to look behind her for a glimpse of Sev.

Was he still watching her? Watching Trevis with that killing gaze? She imagined he was. Thanks to Trevis's mysterious arrival, every member of their party watched her. She shivered. Attention she did not want or need.

Arriving in the cozy parlor, the maid left them alone, closing the door and closeting the three of them in.

Crossing her arms, Grier faced Trevis. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here for you, of course.”

She dropped her arms and looked at him in utter incredulity. “What for?”

Trevis looked uncertain. “Grier,” he said softly, sounding pathetically hurt. “I thought you would be glad to see me, my love.”

She cringed. “Don't call me that.”

He pouted as though her words wounded him.

“What makes you think I would want to see you? I left home. Did my resignation not convey that I wanted nothing more to do with you?”

“Will someone tell me what this is all about?” Jack blustered. “I've a fine bowl of venison stew growing cold as we stand here.”

“Jack, this is Trevis Powell. You may recall that when your man located me, I was working on his estate as his game master.”

“Oh. Powell. That's right.” Jack grunted, thoroughly unimpressed as he looked Trevis over. “Thought the name was familiar.”

Trevis snapped his heels together, standing tall and erect as though he faced a firing squad. “Yes, Mr. Hadley. I quickly realized my mistake in letting your daughter go. I should never have let her leave my life.”

“You didn't
let
me do anything.” Her hands opened and shut into fists at her sides. “I
chose
to leave because I had no wish to remain on as your mistress. You do recall that, do you not, Trevis? You refused to marry me, but wished to take our relationship to a more intimate level.”

Faint color stained his swarthy cheeks. His eyes darted nervously at her father. “That was wretched of me, I confess. My apologies.”

Jack snorted. “You've gall calling upon me after you propositioned my daughter. I should put a bullet through you.”

Trevis visibly swallowed.

Grier rolled her eyes at what sounded like actual fatherly protectiveness . . . and for Trevis doing nothing more than what Jack did to her own mother. Still . . . the notion did curl warmly around her heart.

Trevis held out his hands in supplication. “I've come to make amends.”

Grier crossed arms once again. “Is that so? And how do you intend to do that?”

“By marrying you, of course.”

Grier dropped her arms. “Marry me?”

Jack laughed roughly, shaking his head side-to-side. “Too late on that score, lad. Grier's destined for bigger fish than you.”

Trevis's features reddened. “I'm considered quite the catch back home.”

“Aye, back
home
. You're in a different pond now.”

Trevis slid angry eyes from her father to Grier. “This is up to you, Grier. We don't need his approval.”

Jack sobered instantly, all laughter fleeing his voice as he said, “Actually you do, you little bastard. If you think you'll get one coin of mine, you're mistaken.”

Trevis blinked in such an astonished way that Grier instantly understood. It all made perfect sense. Somehow, someway, he'd learned of her sudden turn of fortune. He was here for one reason and one reason only.

Grier was an heiress now and worth his time. That's what brought him sniffing about now.

“So. How'd you find out?”

Trevis stared at her for a long moment, not understanding. Or feigning to not understand.

She asked again, her voice a snapping bite on the air. “Come now, the truth. How'd you find out?”

He pulled back his shoulder and stared at her coolly, the lovesick swain gone. “The Reverend and Mrs. Hollings returned from their trip to Town. It seems they saw you at the opera.”

Grier smiled mirthlessly, nodding as she recalled bumping into the couple. Especially memorable had been their sagging mouths when they'd seen her in her fine silks. “Ah, the lovely Hollingses. Carried tales of me, did they? Let everyone know the bastard of Carynwedd found herself a fortune. I should have guessed.” It was actually difficult to say who gossiped more—the reverend or his wife.

“She's too smart for the likes of you, lad. Best return home,” Jack advised. “You'll not snare yourself an heiress here.”

Trevis flushed. “Grier,” he began. “What about everything we've shared?”

“You know . . . it's all a bit foggy.”

“That's not true,” he denied, his chest swelling. Clearly he did not believe any woman could forget him.

Grier glared at Trevis. “You're unbelievable. Did you truly think I would toss my arms around you with gratitude?”

He shrugged. “You wanted me then—”

“That was then, Trevis. This is now.” Grier moved toward the parlor door. Pulling it open, she turned to face the boy she'd spent the better part of her life pining after—and felt nothing. “Good-bye, Trevis. Sorry you made the journey for nothing.”

Trevis's face grew splotchy. “This is your last chance. I shan't ask again, Grier.”

She cocked her head and smiled sweetly at him. “I truly hope not.”

With his face burning brighter, he stormed past her and out the small parlor.

Once he was gone, her shoulders slumped and the smile slipped from her face. Suddenly she felt very wearied.

“You all right?” Jack asked gruffly.

She stared at him, surprised that he should even care to ask, that he still stood here and had not rushed back to finish his stew.

Grier nodded. “I'll be fine. Just need a few moments.”

Jack tugged on his cuffs as if suddenly uncomfortable. “I expect you can do a lot better than him, Grier. Fortune or no fortune.”

Grier looked at him sharply, quite certain he had not meant to compliment her. “Thank you.”

“Forget about him. You'll find yourself a better man.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed, the weariness back. “Someone titled.”

“Well, yes. But perhaps someone who can appreciate you, too . . . and not be so bloody obvious about the fact that he's after your dowry. You've a lot to recommend you besides my fortune.”

Grier blinked, unsure what to make of the fact that Jack Hadley was actually being kind to her . . . as a true father would be.

“Yes,” she agreed, a smile twitching her lips. “He could at least possess intelligence enough to disguise the fact that he only wants your money.”

With another nod and tug on his waistcoat, Jack cleared his throat. “I'm going to return to my dinner.”

“Enjoy,” she murmured. As Jack passed through the door, she added. “And . . . thank you.”

He looked over his shoulder, the uncomfortable expression once again on his face. “For what?”

“Acting like a father.”

A flicker of emotion cracked his gruff exterior. “Th-that's what I am. Like it or not, I'm your father.”

She smiled at him, surprised at how easy it was to do. “I like it.”

He shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with what amounted to her praise. “Don't tarry. You need to eat.”

She nodded. “I'll be along soon.”

With a nod of his own, he turned from the room.

She watched him walk from sight before moving back into the parlor and dropping onto an overstuffed chair, convinced she could fall asleep and spend the night right there.

“Grier.”

Opening her eyes, her heart skipped to life to see Sev crossing the threshold. She shot upright. “Sev.”

He stopped before her chair. Squatting down before her, he took her chilled hand into his own. “Are you all right?”

She gave a wavery smile, her heart softening at the concern in his voice. “Fine.” She looked down at his large hand clasped in her own. “Fine now any rate.” She released a pent-up breath. Just how true that was frightened her. In a mere moment his presence could put all her troubles to rest.

“Who was that man?”

She waved a hand dismissively, hoping he would not force the topic of Trevis. “No one.”

“Clearly not no one.”

“His name is Trevis Powell.”

“Who is he to you?”

A muscle rippled the skin of his jaw and that dark look came back into his eyes. “He touched you with much familiarity,” he added in a thick voice.

“He's no one to me,” she insisted. “Let us just leave it at that.”

“How do you come to know him? What was he doing here? He was looking for you specifically.”

“After my father passed on, I stayed on as his gamekeeper. He came here to convince me to go back with him.”

Sev's lion eyes narrowed. “And why would he want you to do that?”

“Because he thought I would want to,” she hedged, looking down at her lap where their fingers clung to each other. Sev's fingers tightened the slightest amount around hers, clearly dissatisfied with her vague response.

“Grier,” he prompted.

She sighed and continued, relenting to the embarrassing truth. “He learned that I'm an heiress now. He wants my money—or rather Jack's. The same as every other man that pays me the slightest heed.” She snorted. “Well, except you. To the rest I'm simply a fat banknote.”

“He proposed to you then?”

She nodded. “Only he's lacking the required title to meet Jack's criteria . . . oh, and there's the fact that I can't stomach the sight of him. That, too. Those factors make it hard to accept an offer of marriage from such a man.”