Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(70)
Author: Tessa Dare

He pressed his brow to hers. “I don’t want to withdraw. I want to be deep inside you when I come.”

She was stunned. “Griff, no. The risk is too great.”

“I want the risk.” He kissed her lips. “I never thought I’d say that again, but I want it. I want you, always.”

He was talking madness. Lust had addled his brain. She had to leave; he must stay. They were both completely unprepared to deal with those consequences. But some crazed, unthinking part of her wanted the same. The decision would be made. No undoing it. He couldn’t shut her out of his life. And how wonderful it would feel, to someday place a cooing, healthy infant in his arms. Her heart melted at the idea.

She could make him so, so happy.

He paused above her, tensing every muscle. And when he began to thrust again, she sensed a now-familiar shift in his rhythm. His peak was near.

“Don’t stop me.” He pumped hard and fast. “I can’t let you go.”

“Griff . . .”

“Take me,” he breathed, driving deep. “Take everything. Just love me.”

“Yes.” Her own climax broke, sending her into a place beyond thought or reason. “Yes.”

The door crashed open.

Pauline shrieked. They jolted apart, and she burrowed under the bed linens, still shuddering with the last tremors of orgasm.

Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God.

Griff cursed and flipped onto his back, drawing her into a protective embrace. The hard, frustrated ridge of his c**k throbbed against her hip. “What the devil?”

Lord Delacre stood framed in the entryway. He lifted a hand to shield his view. “It’s worse than I thought. My eyes.”

“I thought the door was locked,” Pauline whispered, clutching the bedsheets to her chest.

“It was locked,” Griff said through gritted teeth.

“I broke it in,” Delacre said. “This is urgent, Halford. Do you know this girl you’ve been squiring all around the ton is a bloody barmaid?”

Oh, Lord. Pauline’s face blazed with humiliation.

Griff’s arm slipped from its protective perch around her shoulders. She felt his erection flagging, too. He slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Everyone knows,” Delacre answered. “Eugenia Haughfell ferreted out the truth, and now it’s all over Town.”

She should have known. Those cursed Awfuls.

“No doubt this week has been quite the lark for you, Miss Simms. But it’s at an end.” He walked a few paces into the room, plucked Griff’s discarded breeches from the floor and flung them at him. “You’ve had some narrow scrapes, Halford, and I’ve seen some brazen fortune-hunting schemes in my time. But this beats all. Seduced by a barmaid in the ancestral bed.”

Calm and silent, Griff collected the breeches. He turned aside—away from Pauline—and slid his legs into them one at a time. His back was to her as he stood and yanked the breeches to his waist.

Farewell, she thought wistfully. Farewell, finest arse in Creation.

This was it, then. She’d known they were down to their last few hours of bliss, but this was a mortifying ending.

She wanted to disappear under the mattress.

Delacre went on, “At least no one can expect you to marry the girl. The gossip will deem her just another of your debauched larks. Toss her a bit of money and send her off. But I hope you’ve been careful not to get a brat on her. She probably hid it from you, but there’s imbecility in the bloodline.”

Griff paused in the act of fastening a button on his breeches falls. He looked up at Delacre for a brief moment.

“Del,” he said, in a low, easy voice, “it will take me about ten seconds to button these. That’s how much time you have to run.”

Lord Delacre shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m certain this—”

“Run.” Griff finished the last closure. He swung his arms at his sides, shaking his fingers loose. The expression on his face was thunderous. “I mean it, Del. You had better flee. Because I fully intend to kill you.”

Griff could tell by the look on Del’s face that his oldest “friend” didn’t believe him.

“Come along, Halford.” He held up his hands. “You can’t be serious.”

Griff pulled back his right fist and crashed a full-force punch into Del’s gut. “Convinced?”

Del doubled over, eyes wide with shock. “Jesus.”

“That’s right, say your prayers. You’re going to need them.” He threw another punch, this time catching Del on the jaw.

Realizing he was at a disadvantage, Del scrambled down the corridor. “Stop and think about this, Griff!” he called. “We had a pact, remember? I’m trying to be a friend. Rescuing you from entrapment. Saving you from greater scandal.”

“You had better save yourself.”

They raced toward the salon, where they’d begun so many days together.

They wouldn’t be using blunt practice swords today.

Griff yanked a short sword from its wall mount and swung it, limbering his arm. “I’ve something to tell you, Delacre. All these years we’ve been perfectly matched fencing opponents?” He raised his blade. “I’ve been holding back.”

As soon as Del had armed himself, Griff went on the attack, swinging in savage blows, driving his opponent backward until he had him against the wall.

Griff let the blade press ever so slightly against Del’s cheek, until a thin line of blood appeared. “Oh, too bad. That might leave a scar.”

“Women are mad for scars. I’m still miles better looking than you.” Del smirked. “Perhaps barmaids aren’t particular.”

“You vermin. She is not a barmaid, and she will never be one again.”

“Do you mean you knew?” Del lifted one boot and kicked Griff in the chest, sending him reeling back a step.

Griff recovered quickly, but the brief separation gave Del enough time to raise his weapon and defend himself.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Delacre said, panting. “Are you . . . God, you can’t believe yourself to be in love with that girl.”

Griff shook his head, but not in denial. Love was too small a word for what he felt. Just now, when she’d been beneath him . . . He’d never thought he would feel that way again. Ready to brave any sorrow just to keep her at his side. Perhaps the impulse wasn’t logical or reasoned, but it was real and true. It was choosing hope rather than despair. Seizing the one sparkling possibility in a roomful of someones.