“You mean to take advantage of me,” she said hoarsely, but made no move to stop him. “You call Lockhart a rake, but you are worse than he,” she added as he grasped the edge of her gown, and incautiously, deliberately, began to gather the material, pushing it up, rolling it up over her bent knees, along with her chemise, until she was sprawled in that chair, her legs apart, nothing between her and him but her frilly drawers. “You are seeking revenge for that horrid gargoyle,” she said, her voice nothing but a husky whisper now.
He laughed low, put his hands on the insides of her thighs, stroking them, watching the copper color of her eyes deepen to oak as he shook his head. “’Tis a beastie. And I’ve no desire but to show ye exactly what ye asked, leannan. And now that ye have, I’ll move Buckingham Palace if I must to have a taste of ye.” To prove it, he moved his hands to the apex of her drawers, grabbed the opening, and in one fluid yank ripped it open.
Anna gasped.
“Ye’ll tell yer maid ye met with a wee accident,” he said, and with a wink lowered his head to the flesh between her thighs.
The moment his lips touched her, Anna cried out and began to squirm at the feel of his breath against the most vulnerable part of her. When he flicked his tongue against her, she moaned, her hips moving earnestly against him. He grabbed her hips to steady her as he began to explore the untouched recesses of her body, his tongue flicking into every crevice, feasting on her flesh, his senses awash in her earthy scent.
When he drew the small pearl that was at the core of her desire in between his teeth and lips, her hands flailed against his shoulders and head, her fingers in his hair, grabbing fistfuls, then snatching at his shirt, the chair—anything to ground her as he brought her to the edge of the abyss, then happily pushed her into that dark, bottomless hole with all the male strength in him he could muster.
She cried out with her climax; her fingers sank into his hair, pulling him to her, her hips riding up and up and up against his mouth.
And then she lay still, the only sound her labored breathing. With a chuckle, Grif sat back on his heels, found the neckcloth he had dropped beside him, wiped his mouth, then wiped her. Still, she did not move. Her head lolled on her shoulder; one arm was curled above her head, the other lying lifelessly down the side of the chair. Her hair was a terrible mess of ringlets come quite undone. She looked like a woman who was completely and thoroughly satisfied.
It wasn’t until he lowered her skirts that she opened one eye and peeked at him, a soft glow in her cheeks and a lovely smile on her lips. “You’re horrid, Grif. I shall never forgive you.” But she was smiling as if she wanted more, wanted all of it.
That was the moment that Grif thought it possible he actually loved this woman.
Across town, Drake Lockhart was seated in his study, quietly studying the Bow Street man, Mr. Winston Garfield, as he reviewed his credentials.
Over the last few weeks, as Drake’s attention was drawn more and more to Anna, he couldn’t help notice that Lord Ardencaple was never far away. It had aroused his suspicions, and he had been quite keen to know who, exactly, was Lord Ardencaple.
But his suspicions had been raised to new heights when Nigel had mentioned a resemblance to Captain Lockhart, their cousin. From what Drake was given to understand, Captain Lockhart had arrived in London soon after the end of the French war, and had quickly reacquainted himself to Nigel with some tale of a family dispute. Unfortunately, Nigel and their father had been too fond of drink at the time to remember anything but the vintage of their port.
Nonetheless, it was a well-known fact about town that after attending the Lockhart ball, when Nigel and Father had retired to Bath for a time, the captain had mysteriously disappeared.
The only reason that fact had stayed in Drake’s mind at all was because Barbara had mentioned that the removal of the parlormaid and the footman for thievery occurred just after the ball. She had naturally assumed that when all the silver was brought out for the ball, the two servants had helped themselves. Drake believed that was probably true. But it was the disappearance of the family heirloom from an entirely different place that gave him pause.
Just when their cousin, Captain Lockhart, went missing, the family heirloom went missing, too. While he had nothing on which to base his suspicions, he could not help but believe that their long-lost cousin was somehow involved with the family heirloom, particularly given its value.
Drake’s suspicions of Ardencaple were flamed in part by his disdain. From the moment the Scot had made his splash about town with Mr. Fynster-Allen, it seemed that whenever Drake was enjoying the attention of a debutante, Ardencaple found a way to interrupt it. That seemed especially true of the Addison sisters. But it wasn’t until an evening at Almack’s, where he’d watched the bloody rake move between Lucy and Anna quite freely, that he realized the man might offer for one of the sisters before he was able to. And now that Nigel had mentioned the resemblance…