Too Tempting to Resist (12 page)

As a stifled chuckle slipped from out from the folds of her shawl, the knot in his chest loosened, allowing his breath to release in a rush.

“I imagine that you would choose the breast,” said Eliza, her lips still quivering with mirth.

“I like both.” He grinned, feeling ridiculously happy at seeing her smile. “Why don’t I carve up a little of each for us?”

Eliza nodded in assent. “What else is in there?” After a peek under the cloth, she took out a loaf of crusty bread, a wedge of crumbly cheese, chutney, and a jug of cider in quick succession. A last foray produced the tart, which she set down ever so carefully beside her.

“Am I forgiven for all my past transgressions?” he asked, passing her a plate.

“I’ll tell you after I’ve tasted the tart.”

What with the fresh air and exercise, Gryff found that he, too, had worked up a good appetite. Shrugging out of his coat, he fixed a generous helping of the food for himself and dug in.

“This is delicious,” murmured Eliza, breaking off another wedge of the buttery cheddar and topping it with a dollop of pickled fruit.

He liked how she ate with gusto. There was an earthy sensuality to her uninhibited enjoyment of the taste and textures of the food. The sight of her mouth savoring the—

Gryff made himself swallow his lecherous thoughts.

Taking another swig of the potent cider, he leaned back on his elbows and watched the gentle undulations of the leaves overhead. The breeze had softened, and with the stones radiating the heat soaked up from earlier in the day, he felt his mood turning even more mellow.

“You were right,” he heard Eliza announce. “Well, half right. There are enough pickings left for at least a regiment.” A fork clinked, followed by a soulful sigh. “Sorry, though. I’m not sharing the tart with anyone but you.”

“Is it good?” he asked drowsily, not opening his eyes.

“Absolutely divine.” Her skirts brushed up against his thighs. “Here, you have to try a bite.”

He lifted a lid. Her almond-shaped eyes were rich with merriment, and he was suddenly, hungrily aware that of late he had come to have a craving for nuts. “If you insist.”

“You won’t regret it. “

She leaned in closer, and all he could see was the cupid’s bow curve of her mouth and the sinuous stretch of her smile, made a touch lopsided by the dab of creamy custard clinging to the corner of her lips.

“Open wide,” she said, teasing a forkful of tart in front of his nose.

Gryff obeyed the order. But before she could feed him the morsel, he straightened slightly and flicked out his tongue to lick away the excess pastry. “Sorry, you had a spot.” He smacked his lips. “Mmmm, you’re right. It’s delicious.”

Her throat convulsed. “I—I have lots of spots.”

“So I see,” said Gryff softly. He touched his lips ever so gently to the bridge of her nose. “Hmmm. They seem to be stuck there. Perhaps I should try harder.”

Eliza caught a dancing lock of hair and smoothed it behind her ear. “Ladies are told to use lemon juice to erase them,” she murmured.

“I can think of a far sweeter method to try.”

Sunlight played over the curl of her downswept lashes, winking like bits of burnished gold. Despite the brightness, her eyes remained hidden in shadow. “I thought you promised that your intentions were honorable.”

“So I did.” Reluctantly he leaned back. “And a gentleman always keeps his promises.”

Her expression pinched as she let out a sardonic laugh.

Gryff wouldn’t have thought that a fleeting whisper could express such a multitude of emotions.
Anger. Exasperation. Doubt. Hurt.

“Do they?” she replied after the sound had died away. “How odd to hear you say so.” Eyes narrowing, she stared out over the lake. “In my experience, a gentleman always does exactly as he pleases, regardless of what flowery words he’s spoken.”

“Perhaps you’ve been consorting with the wrong sort of gentleman, Lady Brentford.”

She carefully set the plate and fork down on the stone and dusted the crumbs from her fingertips. “Yes, well, I don’t seem to know any who aren’t rakes, roués, and reprobates.”

How could he argue when honor demanded that a gentleman not lie to a lady?

Wind ruffled her hair, loosening another pin. Curls floated free, like drizzles of honey against the blue sky.

“You deserve better,” he said, breaking the sliver of silence.

“Life is rarely fair.” Her mouth tipped into a crooked smile. “I may deserve better…” She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “But I’ll settle for you.”

M
aybe it was the fizzy cider, or the surfeit of butter and sugar that had addled her brain. Whatever the reason, Eliza felt reason slipping away. For so much of her life, dreams and desires had been far out of reach. She had learned to keep them bundled up and stashed away in a dark place, where they wouldn’t bother anyone. Only sometimes late at night would she sneak a peek beneath the coverings and let herself think about what if.

What if.
What if she had spent a Season laughing with suitors and dancing til dawn? What if her marriage had not been a cold, loveless match?

What if, for once, she dared to grab at something before it became just another
what if
?

Boldly, before reason reasserted its grip, Eliza placed her hands on the slope of his shoulders. Sleek muscles met her touch, their sculpted contours smooth as marble through the soft-textured linen.

“Lady Brentford,” he began.

At that instant she wasn’t Lady Brentford, she was…some nameless longing dancing in the slanting sunlight.

Dipping her head, she kissed him full on the mouth.

He tasted of apples, that forbidden fruit of temptation. Oh, no wonder females had been seduced into sin. The tart-sweet spice held hints of an earthier, distinctly masculine flavor.

Under her hungry assault, his lips parted, and then their tongues were touching. Twining, twirling, teasing in sensuous play. Eliza hitched closer, reveling in the lush heat flooding her senses. Her body was once again transformed. She was no longer a drab widow, but a sensual sylph, capable of driving men mad with desire.

She could have gone on forever, lost in this haze of fantasy, but he shifted beneath her, just enough to jar her back to reality.

“Sorry.” She broke away, blinking against the glare of the sunlight as she sucked in a shivering breath. “So,
so
sorry.”

“For what?” asked Gryff, his voice sounding just as dazed as hers.

“For acting like a wanton strumpet. A shameless hussy.” Did he think her disgusting? Depraved? “I know it’s very wrong to succumb to sinful urges. I—I apologize for subjecting you to such unwanted advances.”

His beautiful eyes reflected the shimming swirls of green and gold around them. “Unwanted?” he repeated in a husky whisper. He caught her hand as she tried to scoot away. “Unwanted?”

Gently unfisting her fingers, Gryff pressed her palm to the fall of his breeches. “Trust me, Lady Brentford, I’ve been wanting to kiss you witless all day, but was trying to restrain my beastly lust.”

“Oh.” Eliza sighed as she felt the contour of his rigid cock hard against her yielding flesh. “Oh, I like your beastly lust.”

Gryff chuckled, and then captured her mouth in a ravening embrace. “Mmmm, I like your sinful urges,” he murmured some moments later.

Turning her head, she lay her cheek against his, feeling the faint stubbling of his whiskers. “I don’t know how to explain them. You stir such wicked thoughts in me.”

“Like what?”

Dare she say them aloud?

“Like what,” he prompted.

“Like the mad desire to fill your navel with custard and slowly lick out every last drop.”

His cock twitched hard against her hand.

“Like the wild urge to trace my lips along the curling, ink-dark lines of your dragon tattoo.”

He groaned, and the thrumming echo seemed to linger in the air.

“Is that so terrible?” Her cheeks were hot as hellfire.

“No,” he rasped. “You know what fantasies I am having?”

Eliza held her breath.

“First I would unravel the ribbon from your hair…” His fingers pulled the silky strand free. “Then I would tug each and every hairpin free and toss them into the lake…” A tinkling of tiny splashes followed. “Next I would take off my shirt…” His muscles rippled as he tugged the fabric over his head. “And then I would lie back on this warm stone and beg you to do with me as you will.”

Eliza watched in fascination as the light played off his bronzed skin and the dark, curling hair peppering his chest.

Gryff propped himself on his elbows, his eyes following her finger as she scooped up a dollop of the tart’s creamy filling and filled the dimple in his belly.

“Sweet Lord,” he said, his voice a little unsteady.

Oh, she liked that. With a few playful strokes, she shaped the custard, then leaned down, letting her breath tease against his skin.

Did she dare?

“It is unfair to taunt and torture me,” he rasped.

At the look on his face, Eliza suddenly felt a surge of power. “You mean you want me to do this?” A light flick of her tongue circled the sweet, barely grazing.

He let out a quivering hiss.

“Or this?”

“God give me strength.”

Emboldened, she traced her lips round and round, suckling, nibbling. There was a hint of salt on his skin, which heightened the sweetness of the custard. And the wisps of silky-soft hair added an intriguing texture. The dark frizz led down, following the curl of the dragon’s sinuous neck…

Her hands moved tentatively to the fall of his breeches and, one by one, worked the fastenings free. He squirmed ever so slightly as she pulled the buckskin several inches lower on his hips. “I want a closer look at your dragon—may I?”

A groan—or was it a growl?

She flattened her palm on the plane of his belly, feeling the liquid pounding of his heart beneath the skin.
Or was it her own?
It didn’t seem to matter. The thrum drew her down, and then her tongue was tracing the dark swirls of ink.

Gryff slumped against the back of the bench, his eyes closed, his breath coming in hoarse little rasps.

Wicked—this went beyond wicked.

Growing more confident, Eliza grasped the soft leather and inched his breeches and his drawers down from his thighs.

Released from restraint, his cock sprang up. “You,” Gryff gasped, his eyes opening, “are a vision of ethereal beauty with your goldspun curls dancing against the clouds.” One large hand reached up to tangle in her hair, while the other guided her grip around his manhood.

Haddan called her beautiful?
Deep down inside, Eliza knew it was likely just a pretty phrase that he said without thinking. But it didn’t matter. No man had ever called her beautiful.

Sighing, she let his heat suffuse her palm. He was so soft, yet so hard.

“You feel like velvet over steel,” murmured Eliza. Enchanted by contrast, she feathered her fingers along his length, up and back, up and back. Circling him again, she squeezed.

His whole body clenched.

“Am I doing this right?” she asked, watching the play of sunlight over the planes of his face. Tightening her hold, she quickened her stroke just a little, reveling in the heat thrumming through him.

“Exquisitely right.” His voice was a ragged whisper. He swiveled his hips and thrust up against her with a groan.

“I like touching you, Haddan,” announced Eliza, surprising herself with the bold statement. Oh, but she
did
like it. Eager to explore the nuances of his shape, his feel, she changed her tempo, her stroking. It was all so new, so intriguing…

Catching her wrist, Gryff suddenly wrenched free and grabbed a cloth from the hamper to cover himself as he released a rumbled growl through his teeth.

After a moment, he fell back, his chest heaving, his body going limp.

“Haddan?” The brusque movement had broken the erotic spell. Uncertainty swirled up inside her as she realized how impulsive her actions had been. Should she apologize?

He looked up with a lidded gaze, as if reading her thoughts. “Don’t try to think, Lady Brentford. Just feel.”

She drew in a deep breath of the clean-scented country air and held it in her lungs.
I feel happy
, she decided. However fleeting it may be.

Trouble.
Gryff felt the afterglow of their intimacy give way to shadows. He should have listened to the first little warning. Now he was in deep, deep trouble. And in danger of sinking deeper.

All the familiar rules seemed to explode into myriad pieces when he was with Lady Brentford, leaving him feeling conflicted and confused. A part of him—the honorable part—feared that once again he was leading an innocent into ruin.

Unfortunately, Honor’s voice seemed to be growing fainter and fainter.

“Would you mind turning,” he said softly, feeling a little ashamed of himself. “So that I may put myself to rights.”

Eliza scooted around, nervously smoothing her unruly curls and tying them back in with the ribbon she retrieved from the flagstones. By the set of her shoulders, he saw that she was embarrassed.

Pulling on his shirt, Gryff quickly refastened his breeches. The clatter of the cutlery and cider jug as she repacked the hamper was a little overloud.

“Lady Brentford—Eliza…”

She looked up through her lashes.

“Might I ask you to step over here for a moment?”

She hesitated.

“Please.”

Her steps scraped over the stone.

Reaching up, he framed her face between his palms and drew her down for a quick, chaste kiss. “There is no reason for a stormy face. A man and a woman just indulged in a mutually delightful intimate game amid a sparkling of glorious sunlight.” He smiled. “That’s cause for celebration, not recrimination.”

Her mouth crooked. “I seem to turn into the W-whore of Babylon when I’m around you.”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Your passions are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“They aren’t?”

Gryff laughed lightly. “Good heavens, it would be awfully hypocritical of me to say otherwise.”

Her mouth quirked up at the corners. “That’s one of the things I like about you, Haddan. You are honest about who you are.”

The comment stirred an inward cringe. But in truth, he hadn’t really
lied
to her—he had just told a small fib concerning his real reasons for visiting Leete Abbey. But as they had nothing to do with her, there was no reason to confess. It would only make things more…complicated.

“Hmm—I think I’d like to hear some of the other things you find attractive about me,” joked Gryff, anxious to deflect the talk away from morality.

Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you get far too many flatteries as it is, sir. I shall keep my thoughts to myself.”

“How cruel,” he murmured, and tucked the last remnants of the meal into the hamper. “Are you tired of walking, or could we return to the manor house by way of the ruins?”

“As you pointed out, it’s a lovely day for a stroll, and unlike your London ladies, I’m a country-bred female, so I am hearty as an ox,” answered Eliza. “We can leave the basket here, and it can be fetched in the morning.”

Her self-deprecating quip made him frown for a moment. “There is nothing ox-like about you, Lady Brentford—”

“I’m hardly a Pocket Venus,” she countered.

“True—rather you are a magnificent Diana, Goddess of the Forest.” He rose and offered his hand. “Lead the way through your realm.”