However, it was the change in Griff that gave her the most pleasure. He was clearly delighted to see his ancestral home gradually being restored to its former glory. His frequent smiles led her to hope they’d left their enmity behind and become friends. It was true the feelings his smile evoked were more wanton than friendly, but that simply made it easier to play the flirt.
“This house is growing on me,” she admitted to Rebecca as they took tea in the freshly wallpapered drawing room one afternoon. She’d begun to look forward to the daily ritual. Griffith Halliwell was proving to be an excellent conversationalist with a keen sense of humor. He’d kept them amused with all kinds of tales, including one about a nobleman betting on a race between two raindrops on a window pane. He appeared to enjoy discussing current events—a topic men normally reserved for visits to their gentlemen’s clubs.
Rebecca raised a brow as she sipped her tea. “Clifton Heights suits you.”
Heat that had nothing to do with the hot beverage rose in Susan’s face. She’d tried valiantly to hide the burgeoning feeling of belonging at Clifton but, clearly, her friend had taken note of the way she swanned about like the lady of the manor. “It’s a grand house,” she agreed, stroking the rich brocaded texture of the reupholstered sofa. “Any woman would be fortunate to call it home.”
“And you’ve taken a liking to the earl, as well,” Rebecca asserted.
“What if I’ve discovered qualities I didn’t suspect he had?” Susan retorted. “That doesn’t mean…”
She closed her mouth abruptly when Griff sauntered into the room. For a big man, he moved with athletic grace. He was definitely at home in his own skin. “I’ve heard they have something called punkah fans to cool rooms in tropical climes,” she mused aloud in an effort to distract attention from her blushes. “This room gets stuffy and could benefit from such a contraption.”
“I believe we’d need a eunuch to make it work,” Griff replied, bestowing one of the mischievous smiles that never failed to make Susan’s nipples tingle.
Rebecca slurped her tea in a most unladylike manner, clearly amused by the unpardonable mention of anything to do with male body parts, or lack thereof.
“Tea?” Susan asked, doubtful she’d be able to hold the teapot steady enough to pour a cup without spilling into the saucer. Not for the first time, she pondered what it was about him that triggered wanton sensations. Broad shoulders, a ruggedly handsome face and arrogant masculinity normally left her cold.
“Allow me,” Rebecca said, coming to her rescue when Griff nodded.
He wasn’t one of those dandies who stuck out his pinkie in an affected manner when drinking from a cup. Most men of Susan’s acquaintance, even Earl Gabriel, never seemed to know quite what to do with a china teacup and saucer. Griff, on the other hand, balanced the saucer on one thigh, managing to return the cup to its cradle after taking a sip—all with unerring accuracy, though he didn’t even glance at the saucer. Susan became fixated on his thighs, spread as they were to accommodate the balancing act. It wasn’t a gentlemanly way to sit since it inevitably drew the eye to…
“We really must think of a way to cool this room,” she insisted, fanning herself with her hand.
“You seem to be the only person feeling the heat,” Griff replied with a chuckle.
She averted her eyes from his teasing gaze. The bounder knew she found him attractive. If she were being honest with herself, what she was beginning to feel for Griff Halliwell went far beyond mere attraction.
“Have you ever bred horses here?” Rebecca asked, thankfully steering the conversation in another direction.
“At one time,” Griff replied. “Clifton has the space and the facilities, but I’ve invested a lot in moving to Pendlebury Stables.”
“You prefer the big city,” Rebecca said.
Susan would have thought he’d be anxious to head south again. She was surprised when he hesitated in response. “Before you ladies got started on fixing up this house, I would have said I did feel more at home in London. However, now…”
Susan had to be careful not to fall into the temptation of thinking his enjoyment of her company was perhaps the reason he lingered in Lancashire. It was more likely a desire to get his hands on Orion that was keeping him at Clifton Heights. “Perhaps you could give us a tour of the facilities here,” she suggested. “That way, we can have some idea of what’s needed for our stud enterprise at Thicketford Manor.”
“Excellent idea,” he exclaimed, seemingly unperturbed by her determination to keep Orion in the north. “I’ll arrange it with Rogerson for the morrow.”
He rose and handed his cup and saucer to Rebecca. “This evening, after dinner, I suggest we baptize the billiards table they delivered yesterday.”
Susan’s heart raced. He could have no way of knowing she’d been playing billiards since she’d lived with Hannah in Somerset. Her mentor had ridiculed the notion that ladies of breeding didn’t indulge in the sport.
“I couldn’t possibly play,” Rebecca exclaimed. “I’ll leave it to the two of you.”
Susan hoped Griff didn’t notice her friend’s naughty wink.
*
Waving away Frederickwho hurried to assist him, Griff pushed his chair back from the table and contemplated the two women who’d joined him for dinner that evening.
The refurbishment of the dining room was still a work in progress but the space already felt more inviting without the old-fashioned Queen Anne sideboard. Susan could hardly contain her impatience for the arrival of the newly ordered satinwood furniture designed by Sheraton. Her enthusiasm for the house reminded him of how much he’d loved the place of his birth before tragedy struck. He felt at home here again, although he could never move back north and live alone. He was too gregarious and outgoing to cope with loneliness.
As his dinner companions chatted about this and that, it came to him he hadn’t enjoyed meals as much for quite some time. Before his move to the capital, dining alone in this cavernous room had aggravated his grief. Life in London was fuller in terms of things to do and places to go, but he ate by himself most evenings if he didn’t dine at his club.
He’d never consciously avoided inviting his mistresses to join him for meals, but he couldn’t imagine the dinner table conversations being as lively and intelligent as sparring with Susan and Rebecca. Edwina Waxenby, for example, was prone to prattle on about the pitiful quality of Lady So-and-so’s lemon tarts. She relished passing on the latest scandalous rumor running rampant through theton. Since Griff wasn’t in the marriage mart, he avoided balls and had no interest in theon ditsthat flowed from such events. Unfortunately, they formed the basis for Edwina’s conversational arsenal. Not that they’d done much talking during their trysts but he’d been obliged to feign interest in a great deal of nonsense during the admittedly tedious seduction. And it had all been for naught when he learned of her horror of horses.