To Wed A Viscount (10 page)

Yet Faith almost did fall at the feel of his large hands stroking over her hips. She started trembling when she felt his fingers reach under her skirts. Expertly he brushed aside her undergarment. Faith gasped, and she gazed frantically up at the night sky, as if searching among the heavens for the means to control her confused emotions.

She knew he would stop if she asked him. But the words stuck in her throat. It was too delicious, too enthralling to end now. Besides, they were to be married tomorrow. Did it really matter if they anticipated their wedding night by a mere twenty-four hours?

His hands grew bolder, caressing her upper thighs with light, teasing fingers, until she felt the moisture gathering and the pleasure becoming nearly unbearable.

“Griffin?” Her voice was a softly whispered plea.

She pushed herself forward, almost mindlessly, seeking relief from the restless tension he had created deep, deep inside her. Faith felt his body tighten, heard him curse softly under his breath.

“My God, you make me forget my very name,” he growled roughly in her ear as he abruptly pulled away his hands.

“Please, Griffin, you cannot mean to stop,” she cried. Her hands reached out blindly for his.

“A true gentleman would never leave such a lovely lady in distress,” he whispered sensually. His lips grazed the vulnerable skin beneath her ear. “Yet this is a matter of some delicacy. A woman's passion.”

A woman's passion.
Those hoarsely spoken words set her blood raging and her heart soaring. Finally, after years of curiosity and secret longing she was experiencing passion.

His hands moved behind her knees, and without warning he swung her into his arms. Faith closed her eyes and leaned into his solid, warm strength, sighing softly when he settled them on a garden bench tucked beneath a towering tree.

He positioned her awkwardly across his lap, but Faith barely noticed. She struggled to draw breath as she felt his hand slide downward, toward the very center of her longing. His fingers probed gently, parting the slick fold of her sex, kneading her overheated flesh in precisely the right spot. Warm shivers raced across her skin, and she shuddered each time he stroked her.

She lifted her face to his, and he answered her silent plea with a rough, hard kiss. Her lips clung to his as the rhythm of his strokes increased. Restlessly she moved her hands down to his, clasping the strong wrists. The hair on his arm felt crisp and springy, the muscles of his forearms were tense and strong.

It was such an intimate, unfamiliar act, yet she felt totally at ease with it, suffering no twinges of virginal horror.

“Let yourself relax,” he whispered roughly against her face, before sinking his teeth into the fleshy lobe of her ear. “Trust me.”

How could she not? Sprawled half naked in a moonlit garden while the musicians played at Lady Dillard's ball and the cream of society mingled and danced and flirted, Faith realized she had already placed all her trust in this man. And a goodly piece of her heart.

The rhythm and pressure of his hand increased. Small sobs of delight escaped from her lips as she rose with him, wantonly opening herself to his shameless caress.

The spasms of pleasure broke without warning. Her wits scattered, Faith could do nothing but cling tightly to Griffin and let the sensual delight wash over her. She cried out in surprise and wonderment, and he caught her lips with his own to capture her ecstasy.

Her body convulsed, and she could almost feel the blood rushing past her ears. For an instant she felt more alive, more attuned with her body and emotions than ever before.

Faith drifted slowly down to earth, finally becoming aware once more of her surroundings. The warm kiss of the gentle night breeze against her still-heated skin, the fragrant scent of garden flowers now mixed with the pungent scent of fulfilled desire.

Yet despite the great pleasure Faith had just enjoyed, she felt a yearning within herself for something that was just beyond her reach. Something that only Griffin could give her.

“But there is more. I know there is more.” She wiggled in his lap and found the hard proof of her words poking insistently against the soft cheeks of her bottom. “Why must we stop? Oh, Griffin, we are to be married tomorrow. Does it really matter?”

“Good Lord, you would lead angels down a sinful path and they would follow joyously.” He clenched and unclenched his fingers repeatedly, then rubbed his forehead vigorously as if he were in great pain. “We shall wait because it is the proper and civilized thing to do. I vow, I will show more respect than my brother did, Faith. So no matter how much you tempt me, I shall not make you mine until we are legally wed.”

Heaving a disgruntled sigh, Griffin gingerly shifted the womanly bundle in his lap. Faith protested and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Biting back a curse, the viscount gently disengaged her entwined fingers and attempted to set her on her feet.

The erection straining against his breeches was painful, and each wiggle of her luscious backside was like a knife probing an open wound.

“Come, let me help you fasten your gown,” he said gruffly. “I loosened a few of the buttons earlier.”

His words had the desired effect of freezing her movements, and Griffin swiftly took advantage of the situation. He set Faith on her feet and stepped behind her. When he was finished fastening the buttons on the back of her gown, he turned her to face him.

“You are a man of infinite talent, my lord,” she said quietly. “Adept at not only divesting a lady of her garments but also dressing her.”

“It seemed prudent to learn both tasks,” Griffin quipped, but the charming grin on his face faded at the sight of Faith's somber countenance.

What an idiotic thing to say! Boasting of his previous experience to his future wife. He was sure she was now wondering how many other women he had performed this intimate service for, and while the number was rather large, the frown on Faith's face told him the number she was imagining was far greater.

“After tomorrow, you shall have the exclusive right to my services as a lady's maid,” Griffin declared sincerely.

“You do me a great honor, sir.” Faith plucked a small leaf off a nearby bush and crumpled it between her fingers. “I hope that shall not prove to be too great a hardship for you.”

He reached for her hand. “I shall not take my marriage vows lightly, Faith. And I expect the same fidelity from you.”

Her face brightened considerably at his declaration of intended faithfulness and Griffin's heart swelled. It was puzzling, but for whatever reason, her approval was something he inadvertently sought.

He felt confident that if he set himself to charm her, he would succeed. Faith was unlike most of the women he had known. On the surface she seemed simpler, less complicated, but he was not foolish enough to underestimate her intelligence. No, the main difference between Faith and the women of his past was that Faith needed him.

Griffin wondered suddenly what it would be like to lie beside this woman and watch her sleep at night. He eyed her with speculation, and she returned that gaze with a steady one of her own. He usually thought it uncomfortable to stare at a woman without speaking, yet with Faith he did not experience that awkward feeling.

“I'm glad we took a w-walk in the moonlight,” she said softly. Her hand strayed to his chest, and she played absently with the silver buttons on his waistcoat. “Lady Dillard's ball is a lovely party, but it is quite magical out here in her luscious garden.”

“ 'Tis you who bring the magic to the evening, Faith.”

Her eyes flashed with genuine pleasure at his outrageous flattery. Griffin's insides tightened. He shifted from foot to foot, disturbed to discover the restless yearning he felt was not entirely due to sexual frustration.

She was to be his wife, his lifelong responsibility, yet he realized suddenly that he was looking to her to fill not only a physical but an emotional need inside him. A void he had never before acknowledged.

He had known many women in his lifetime. Yet his heart and head had not made a decision about the sentiment of love. Was it truly an emotion that could be achieved and sustained for a long period of time? A lifetime, perhaps?

He had no answers for those questions. All he could acknowledge was that his pulse was quickening with a primitive sensation that was caused specifically by this one particular woman who stood beside him.

He could feel her looking at him, watching with luminous brown eyes, seeming to hang on his every word as if what he said was the most important thing she had to hear. It was a heady responsibility. He felt exceptionally gentle toward her and the keen pressure to make certain his words were creating sweet memories in her mind.

“I'm afraid our magical time has come to an end for this evening. We had best return to the ball before our long absence is noticed,” he said. “Tongues will start wagging.”

She nodded in agreement, but he could see her expression was solemn, almost wistful. He touched her hair and she lifted her face.

“So now we are concerned about the gossipmongers, my lord?” Faith queried, rubbing her arms briskly. “Earlier we did not care. Or so you said when we began our waltz. However, before that it was of paramount importance to avoid gossip and scandal at all costs. Why, 'tis the very reason we attended this ball.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Gracious, I feel as though I need to write all this down in the margin of my dance card, since it is impossible to follow your constantly changing opinion on the matter.”

“I promise my moods shall not be so mercurial in the future.”

“Do not make promises lightly,” Faith said. “For I shall hold you to your word.”

“I never doubted that you would.” He bent his head and gave her a brief, soft kiss.

A rueful smile appeared on her face. “Now you seek to distract me.”

“A distraction? Is that how you view my kisses?” A roguish smile surfaced. “I must be losing my touch.”

She laughed. “I don't believe that is possible.”

He gave her a sheepish grin, then raised her ungloved hand and brushed her knuckles with warm lips. Griffin heard Faith suck in her breath. The air was once again taut with tension and awareness of each other.

It was clear that something had altered between them. Exactly what, Griffin was not certain. He heaved a slight sigh. What strange, maddening spell had she woven around him?

He focused on her face, studying her intently in the glimmering moonlight. With the blush of color in her cheeks, she almost looked pretty. The dress she wore had a plunging round neckline that bared her shoulders. The excellent cut and fit of the garment did much to showcase her limited female assets.

It made her appear taller, more buxom, more womanly. The simple lines and lack of lace, bows, and other fripperies allowed the deep green of the fabric to offset what Griffin decreed as her best asset. Her lovely, soft, pale, creamy complexion.

Her expression was open, her gaze steady. She lacked experience in artifice or teasing, and her flirtatious inclinations seemed natural and genuine. Griffin appreciated knowing she was a woman he could trust and around whom he could relax. It would be unbearably exhausting to have to keep one's guard up around a spouse.

She had followed his dictates by coming to the ball this evening, even though she had not fully appreciated the need. Griffin was more pleased than he could say that she had bowed to his demands.

Bowed, but not crushed, which gave him even greater delight. Her face was in the shadows, but Griffin imagined he could see the firm set of her chin. She was spirited and opinionated and not adverse to showing either trait. He had been amused to observe her earlier nervousness and admiring of how quickly she managed to conquer it.

Griffin acknowledged that he was anticipating their marriage bed with more enthusiasm than he believed possible. This little garden escape had merely hinted at the depths of her sensuality. She had come into his arms with an eagerness many women would have feared showing.

There would be no messy virginity to bother about on their wedding night, no ignorant fears and maidenly modesty. That thought pleased him, too.

The odious Lord Dunstand was far more correct than he realized. They were a matched pair.

Griffin had always considered himself a practical man. As a second son he knew his future had to be earned, and he had taken the task of establishing himself with single-minded determination. Now that he had inherited the title, he would apply that same determination toward all of his newly acquired responsibilities—and that included his marriage.

He might not know her all that well, but what he did know of Faith pleased him. The possibility for a solid union and a happy future loomed like a lighted beacon flashing through the darkness.

They walked quickly along the moonlit garden path with only the sound of their footsteps and the faint strains of music and conversation coming from the house to break the silence. There was still a lingering trace of tension and awareness between them that seemed to heighten the excitement.

“How shall we enter the ballroom without being seen?” Faith whispered as they reached the terraced patio.

“Very carefully,” Griffin replied with a ready grin.

Faith giggled and squeezed his arm. She retained her tight grip as he slowly opened a narrow French door. With an economically lithe movement, he slipped inside Lady Dillard's ballroom, pulling Faith along with him.

Once successfully inside, Griffin shut the door firmly and assumed a casual, bored air. His eyes wandered lazily over the many guests filling the room, none of whom were paying them any attention.

The viscount turned and exchanged a conspiratorial smile with Faith. She held her finger to her lips, to silence his gloating. The moment the next dance began, Griffin pulled her into his arms and once again twirled her about the dance floor, feeling strangely pleased with himself.

 

 

The dawn brought gray skies and showers, but by late morning the sun had managed to peek through the clouds. Faith fidgeted and fussed for most of the morning, trying desperately to focus her mind and calm her emotions. When that failed, she set herself to doing small, inconsequential tasks, but they did not hold her attention.

Her wedding was scheduled for 3:00
P.M.
and it was barely noon. Faith wondered how she was going to pass the next few hours without losing her mind when a loud knock sounded on her bedchamber door.

“Come in,” she called out in an almost desperate tone.

The door opened slowly and Meredith appeared on the threshold. “Am I intruding?”

“Heavens, no.” Faith reached out and practically pulled her friend into the room. “I'm going batty in here all by myself. I've supervised all the packing, taken my bath, had my hair arranged and rearranged three times. 'Tis too early to start dressing, and I cannot concentrate on either my book or my needlework.”

“All brides are nervous on their wedding day,” Meredith said. “Grooms, too, I suspect.”

Faith laughed, trying to imagine Griffin nervous about anything. “Perhaps some grooms. Not mine.”

Meredith smiled briefly. “Actually, I came here for another purpose. I was wondering if there was anything you wished to discuss. Do you have any questions you'd like to ask?”

“Questions? About the wedding ceremony?”

“No, about the wedding night.”

Faith looked at her friend in disbelief. Then, with a quick motion she pulled out a chair. “Sit,” she commanded.

Meredith sat, and Faith took the chair opposite hers. She said nothing further, just looked at Merry with open curiosity.

Meredith took a deep breath. “Since you don't have a mother who can tell you these things, I thought I might be able to help. Aunt Agatha volunteered to speak with you, but she looked so nervous I doubted she would be able to string two coherent thoughts together.”

Faith's eyes grew large and round. “Are you saying that you have
personal
experience to convey to me? Exactly when did this happen? And with whom? Oh, why have you never told me this before, Merry?”

A delicate brow arched up. “Don't be a goose, Faith. I do not have any real experience in these intimate matters. I do, however, have knowledge.” Meredith picked up Faith's hairbrush by its silver handle and twirled it anxiously between her fingers. “You know that my mother is very committed to progressive thinking and has always seized every opportunity to display that attitude.”

Faith bobbed her head up and down eagerly in response.

“Well, on the night of my eighteenth birthday she came to my bedchamber, much the same as I have now done with you, and initiated a rather frank conversation about marital relations. She told me that her own mother had come to her on the eve of her wedding and told her half truths in such a vague manner that she was totally confused. And extremely terrified, even though she held my father in great affection.

“Determined that such a fate would not befall me, my mother explained, in most graphic detail, the intimacies of the marriage bed.”

“Meredith, you're blushing,” Faith declared in an astonished voice.

“I'm embarrassed,” Meredith admitted. She fumbled with the hairbrush in her hands, then dropped it to the carpet.

“We have been friends forever,” Faith insisted, bending down to pick up her brush and return it to its rightful place on the dresser. “We have discussed everything under the sun with each other.”

“This is quite a bit different from our usual conversations.”

“Does this mean we are finally growing up?”

“It means we are getting old.” Meredith chuckled softly. “And this conversation is aging me faster by the minute.”

Faith smiled. “Your mother only had your best interests uppermost in her mind. I think you should feel grateful for her openness.”

“Why? I doubt I shall ever marry. In my case, this is useless information.”

“Knowledge is never useless,” Faith insisted.

Meredith made a noncommittal grunt. “I shall gladly share mine with you, where it will have an opportunity to be tested.”

Faith glanced down and rubbed the tip of her slipper into the carpet. She wanted to feel terribly sophisticated discussing these matters, but in truth she was having difficulty refraining from bursting into nervous giggles. Still, it seemed foolish to waste this golden opportunity to ask just one question.