“What did you have in mind?” she asked, irrationally disappointed when he replied, “I propose a guinea to the winner.”
In the end, it was a close game, and she might have gone to bed victorious if she’d spent more time lining up her shots and less on mentally stripping Griff Halliwell down to his skin.
*
“After Capability Browndesigned the original house and the layout of the gardens, it’s said he declared this room to be his favorite.” It sounded pompous to Griff’s own ears but, if he stopped expounding on the decor of his chamber, he’d have to examine his motives for bringing Susan into his bedroom.
After last evening’s game of billiards, continuing to deny he was aroused by Susan Crompton seemed pointless. He’d played the game with numerous mistresses, but simply as a way to get them out of their clothes. He’d been sorely tempted to suggest they play for similar stakes last evening. Trouble was, he got the feeling the feisty bluestocking would have agreed. Perversely, he wanted to be the one to peel away the layers that concealed the real Susan Crompton. She was an enigma and solving the riddle was becoming an obsession.
When he’d first suggested over breakfast that she and Mrs. Waterman apply their talents to the lord’s chamber, she’d hesitated, eyeing him with the unsettling gray gaze that seemed to look right through him. Rebecca had flat-out refused but, astonishingly, Susan had agreed.
So, here they stood, either side of the enormous bed he’d never shared with anyone. After the accident, it had taken months to pluck up the courage to move into the lord’s suite of rooms. He’d never been tempted to bring a female into the chamber, or even into the house. Using his parents’ bed for meaningless sexual adventures would have been sacrilegious. Potts’ justifiable silent censure would have been too much to bear.
He closed his eyes, willing away the lunatic notion Susan belonged in this chamber. Looking everywhere but at the bed, he felt like an awkward adolescent.
He’d tried hard over the past fortnight to deny his growing attraction. The plan was to use his irresistible powers of seduction to convince her to part with Orion. However, he was increasingly afraid he’d have difficulty controlling his male urges if he embarked on a liaison with her. She’d somehow gotten under his skin. The opinionated bluestocking with the stern countenance had metamorphosed into a charming and beautiful temptress. Or had the task of breathing new life into Clifton Heights revealed the real Susan Crompton?
There was no prospect of a future for them, and he wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment, though, eventually, he’d have to produce an heir. Insistent as his cock was that he should bed her, he’d come to accept that Susan wasn’t the type of woman he could dally with—nor, amazingly, did he wish to ruin her.
He preferred life in London, although Clifton Heights didn’t seem as lonely now. Susan, Rebecca and Potts had chased away the emptiness. Even Mrs. Fazakerly had wrought miracles with the enormous task of banishing years of dust and grime. Newly arrived from the Farnworth estate, Rogerson had immediately impressed Griff with his suggestions for improving management of the estate. Mr. Fazakerly reported the new manager had made a good impression on the tenants during his first visit to the village.
“I would recommend any color, except green,” Susan said, jolting him back to the bedroom.
Still trying to keep his mind off the bed, Griff wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “Pardon?” he replied.
“Green,” she repeated. “Paints and wallpapers of that color are made with arsenic. We discovered that when we believed Gabe…”
Griff concentrated on her lips. She was explaining something about poisonous wallpaper—he must have misheard! But those lips looked so kissable. One kiss couldn’t hurt, could it?
“Oh,” she exclaimed when he suddenly strode to her side of the bed and put his arms around her waist.
The unexpected desire lurking in the depths of wide gray eyes pushed him over the edge. Still, the second before his lips touched hers, he cursed himself for a fool. Even if she had feelings for him, she was too straitlaced to do anything about it.
His body mocked his assumption when she molded her body to his. Emboldened, he nibbled her lower lip, his heart and loins taken completely by surprise when she did the same to him.
*
Never having kisseda man before, Susan was embarrassingly unsure what to do when Griff nibbled her lip. However, his nibbling gave rise to pleasant sensations in her lady parts. It seemed only logical to return the favor.
He growled deep in his throat, which lessened her anxiety. He liked the nibbling.
An inner voice whispered that kissing Griff Halliwell was a mistake. Men like him only wanted one thing from a woman, a fact borne out by the way he put his hands on her bottom and gathered her to his hard body.
However, the warmth of his tongue that she had somehow allowed into her mouth was quite distracting, and didn’t feel wrong at all. She liked it when the tips of their tongues toyed with each other.
In fact, the entire experience of being kissed while held in strong, possessive arms was much more pleasant than she’d have believed possible. Of course, this experience wasn’t the kind of thing a woman could research.
She conjured a vision of the shock on the Chetham Library docent’s face if she announced she wished to research kissing. Amusing though it was, this errant musing fled when Griff’s hand wandered to her breast. His thumb stroked her nipple, highlighting another gap in her knowledge. Who knew nipples were so intimately connected to an even more private area of a woman’s body?
That was her last coherent thought before her mind switched off and she surrendered to the wave of intoxicating sensations running rampant through her body. She let Griff breathe for her, savoring the rich taste of fine brandy as a hint of his cologne stole up her nose.
A voice whispered she should object if he coaxed her to his bed. However, when they broke apart, she saw the same confusion in his eyes that she felt. He dropped his hands as if suddenly realizing he’d picked up a red hot coal. “Forgive me,” he rasped, his shoulders tense. “I shouldn’t have.”
She opened her mouth to assure him his kiss was the most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced, but he assumed the mask of indifference she’d seen in the court.
Wounded that he had used her so callously, she allowed outrage to twist her own features. “You, sir, are a cad.”
Smiling smugly, he proffered his arm. “Once a rake, always a rake,” he sighed. “Shall we?”