“Over and done?” She tried to laugh. “Goodness, Lord Ardencaple! The Featherstone event is one of the premier events of the Season! Have you any idea how coveted an invitation to this gathering is?”
“I didna covet an invitation, ye will recall,” he said sharply. “And I donna refer to this affair, but the fact that I am here so that I might entertain yer sister and thereby fulfill me part of the bargain for the beastie.”
“Well, you needn’t be so cross, Grif,” she said quietly. “I can’t possibly imagine how one silly weekend might harm you.”
“That has been the problem, Anna. Ye canna possibly imagine. Ye havena tried to imagine. Ye’ve thought of no one but yerself.”
Anna gasped, but truly he could no longer stand by, gazing at a face he loved without feeling the anger bursting inside of him. He would do well to just endure this interminable weekend so that he could possess the beastie and leave London as quickly as possible. Then he could forget Anna, forget everything that had happened. He’d make himself forget.
“Really?” she asked coolly. “And I suppose you’ve had the good of your fellow mankind at heart all this time?”
He should have turned away from her, standing so regally before him, but he let his gaze drift down her body, to where her perfectly matched, embroidered silk slippers peeked out from beneath her gown, and up again, past long legs covered in the finest silk, past the flare of her hips and the curve of her waist and bosom, to her lush, full mouth, and her glistening eyes, eyes that always glistened with a devil-may-care glee.
“Frankly, one might argue that you’ve thought of no one but yourself as well,” she haughtily continued. “Duping innocent people!”
Grif couldn’t help himself; he smiled lopsidedly. “Ye’re wrong, lass. I’ve good reason for what I do, and well ye know it.”
Anna lifted a sculpted brow. “Ah. And I suppose my reasons are trifling?”
“That is the kindest thing I might say of them.”
“Why is it,” she said, taking a step closer to him, “that gentlemen always assume the reasons for their abominable behavior are infinitely more important than those for a woman’s honest behavior?”
“Because they are,” he said.
“And you think your gargoyle—”
“Beastie—”
“—is more important than the sum of my life?” she asked, thumping him on the chest.
Grif cocked a brow at her boldness. “Aye. I do. The beastie is for me family, for the future of the Scottish Lockharts, whereas yer quest is naugh’ more than a game to ye.”
“A game. That’s what you believe this is to me?”
“Aye. A bloody rotten game,” he said, his smile fading.
She sighed with exasperation. “You may call it what you like, but it’s just as much a matter of my future as it is yours, for I have no choice but to marry, lest I be put on the shelf. I’m in my third Season, Grif—have you any idea how crippling a third Season is for an unmarried woman?” she exclaimed. “If I don’t make a match, I will be put out to field at Whittington Park like an old used-up dog! This is very important to me, and I will thank you not to pretend you haven’t liked playing this so-called game along with me!”
He snorted his disagreement at that, and Anna’s frown deepened. “You have! But you mustn’t be so cross, for it’s almost over, and you will never have to lay eyes on me again,” she said, and incongruently reached for the pearl buttons of his waistcoat.
He looked down at her hand on his waistcoat. “What in heaven’s name do ye think to be doing?”
She pressed her lips together, toyed with the buttons of his waistcoat for a moment. “It’s almost over, Grif, and…” She paused, staring intently at his buttons. “And will you kiss me?” she asked in a whisper as she lifted her gaze to his. “Will you kiss me once more like you did that afternoon in the drawing—”
“No,” he said roughly, and pushed her hand away as he stepped back. “God blind me, but I’ve fulfilled me part of this bloody agreement, and now ye may save yer kisses for yer Lockhart and leave me be!”
“But why not?” she rashly insisted, moving forward so she was in front of him again, her body boldly touching his, burning him. “Once I give you the blasted gargoyle, I’ll not ever see you again, will I?” she asked earnestly.
The question made him feel remarkably empty, as if the life had gone out of him. “No,” he said honestly.
She rose up on her toes, so that her lips were just beneath his, almost touching his. “I rather like your kisses, Grif. If I’ll never see you again, where’s the harm?”
He could smell the sweet scent of roses, could all but feel the soft surface of her skin, and suddenly grabbed her arms, his fingers digging into her bare flesh. “Where’s the harm? Are ye so careless with yerself, Anna?” he asked, yanking her close. “Have ye no more regard for yer virtue than this?”