The question stunned him into silence. Grif did not move. The clock did not move, the air did not stir, nothing—it was as if the entire world stood still for a moment, and Anna couldn’t help but bite her lower lip as myriad emotions skimmed across Grif’s green eyes. He stared at her for an interminable moment, his expression turbulently confused, as if he didn’t know who she was, could not quite seem to place her, did not know what to make of her.
And then his brows dipped low over eyes that flashed with an expression so hard she could not name it. “Have ye lost yer bloody fool mind?”
He suddenly whirled away from her. “Criosd, what have I done to deserve this?” he exclaimed. “What bloody curse brings this on me head?” He pivoted around to her again, his expression gone very dark. “What is it about this man that has ye so enamored?” he demanded. “Will ye tell me what it is, then? For the life of me, I canna see why a lass as bonny as ye are would toss away all that she has for the likes of him! He’s a rotten bastard, Anna! He cares no’ a wit for ye—how can ye no’ see it?”
Although the truth in his words jolted her, she lifted her chin and folded her arms defensively. “You’ve no idea what you are saying!”
“Aye, but I do!” he said sharply, striding to her again. “He doesna care for ye, Anna! What allure does such indifference as his have for ye, then?”
The question burned her, for it was a question that had taunted her from the fringes of her consciousness, whispering answers like jealousy, salvation, fear. And now, the question spoken aloud, brought to life by a man who would just as soon see her die a spinster as marry a bastard, burned in the back of her eyes. “Just tell me!” she demanded hotly.
“All right, I’ll tell ye,” he said roughly, and suddenly grabbed her on either side of her head, forced her to look up, so that she’d have to look him square in the eye. “If ye present yer breast to him and invite him to touch it, he will take ye for a whore. Do ye understand what I say to ye, lass? Ye will have carried yer silly game too far!”
She angrily shoved against his chest and out of his grip, and said imperiously, “Thank you.”
He reared back, still staring at her, obviously appalled. “Ye are a bloody fool,” he said quietly, thoughtfully. “For a woman as intelligent as I think ye are, ye’re a bloody fool.”
His censure knifed her, and she looked at her hands, which, she couldn’t help noticing, were shaking slightly. But she lifted her head and smiled, walked to the door. “It is not necessary to meet at Rotten Row. I shall call on you on the morrow, as we previously planned.”
Whatever he might have thought, she would not know, because she opened the door and stepped behind it. She heard him mutter beneath his breath and stride to the door and out, his boots echoing down the corridor.
She shut the door behind him, walked to a chair, and fell into it, feeling all at once ashamed for having let him see the strange desperation she was surprised to realize she felt, ashamed for having asked such a bold question.
Ashamed for having asked it… but not for having thought it.
Eighteen
W hen Grif entered the room where Lucy was receiving, he was filled with so much fury that he scarcely heard her usual litany of platitudes. It was one thing for Anna to impose herself on him as she had, but it was quite another for her to impose herself and then have the absolute gall to ignore his advice! And frankly, he wasn’t certain what made him more furious—that she ignored his advice or that she intended to offer her body, or any part of it, to the likes of Drake Lockhart.
This he mulled over until he thought his head might very well explode from his shoulders, and when he merely nodded at Lucy’s insufferable remarks about the bloody weather, she cocked her head and studied him prettily. “Would I be mistaken in perceiving you to be a bit out of sorts, my lord?”
Grif turned a startled glance to her—was it so obvious? He drew a breath, pushed his irritation down, and forced a smile. “Ach, no, Miss Lucy. Please forgive me ill manners.”
“Lord Ardencaple!” she exclaimed with a smile. “You could not possibly be ill-mannered! Why, you’re always so marvelously cheerful that I credit you with bringing the sunshine whenever you call!”
Aye, and he could credit her sister with bringing black clouds and thunder and lightning—
“I am quite appreciative of your cheerfulness,” Miss Lucy added primly.
“That is a compliment I shall hold dear,” Grif said, his smile coming easier as he tapped his heart.
“I believe that if one enjoys another’s company, one should say so,” she said with a pert little nod of her head.
“And do ye likewise believe that if one demands another’s company, particularly the company of the opposite sex, that she—or he, certainly—should also express at least a wee bit of gratitude for receiving that company?”
Lucy blinked. “I beg your pardon? Have I demanded—”