Too Tempting to Resist (17 page)

He opened the gate just enough to squeeze through and pushed it closed behind him. The high, weathered walls with their earthtone lichens and twines of gray-green ivy gave no hint of what was hidden within the mortised stones. Gryff stopped short and blinked at the riot of textures and colors, feeling a little drunk, a little disoriented. In the space of a few small steps, he had been magically transported from staid Oxfordshire to an exotic pleasure garden in some unknown land.

The impression was accentuated by the sight of a fanciful female figure twirling in circles on the soft grass. A garland of oak leaves and daisies crowned her hair, which, freed from its pins, spilled over her shoulders in glorious honey-colored waves. The curling ends danced across the back of a white peasant blouse, its gauzy cotton liberally embroidered with bright flowers.

His gaze slid lower, taking in the billowy scarlet trousers, snugged at the ankles with turquoise ties, and her bare feet.

She must have heard his sharp intake of breath, for she stopped humming and spun around.

“You make a very striking Gypsy sorceress, Lady Brentford.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times before any words came out. “I—You—W-who in the name of the Devil gave you permission to invade my privacy?”

“Imp of Satan bade me to come in,” replied Gryff. “Though I admit, I might have misunderstood his invitation.”

She bit her lower lip. “Oh, never mind that. More importantly,
why
are you here?”

The crackling sounded like crickets chirping as he held out the odd-shaped package wrapped in thick brown paper. Strangely enough, he felt a little tongue-tied, so all he said was, “To bring you this.”

She made no move to take it.

“It won’t bite,” he murmured.

Pushing back her sleeves, Eliza gingerly plucked it from his outstretched hand.

“Sorry, it’s a little like carrying coals to Newcastle,” he went on as she started to undo the wrapping. “Had I known, I could have brought gold bangles and a floral headscarf. But that would not have sent quite the right message.”

“Which is?”

The paper fell away, revealing a bouquet of pale purple blooms.

“Please forgive me,” they both said at once, reciting the secret language of lavender hyacinths.

A breeze ruffled through the tall spikes of lavender, filling the air with its sweet herbal fragrance. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out.

“Forgive you for what?” she asked softly.

“I thought maybe…that is, I worried whether you might…” It was his turn to stammer. “Hell’s bells, I am making a complete mull of this, aren’t I?” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I haven’t felt this awkward since I was a spotty-faced schoolboy trying to ask the milkmaid for a kiss.”

Her lips twitched. “I bet you didn’t have to ask twice.”

“Actually she turned me down flat,” replied Gryff. “I was short for my age, and a trifle plump.”

Eliza arched her brows in disbelief. “That rather defies the imagination.”

“So does this.” A sweep of his hand encompassed the profusion of the colorful plantings. “It’s remarkably unique—in a wonderful way.”
As are you
, he wanted to add.

“Thank you. But—”

“But I still haven’t explained my presence,” interrupted Gryff. Her hint of a smile had loosened the knot in his tongue. “Yes, right. Well, the thing is, I was thinking about what you said yesterday about men and their toys.”

Her lashes flicked down, hiding her eyes.

“And I wanted to assure you that I’ve never thought of you in such a way,” he went on in a rush. “If I’ve given you the wrong impression—” He tipped his chin at the bouquet in her hands. “I beg your forgiveness.”

Eliza touched a fingertip to one of the petals. “I was speaking of men in general. There are always exceptions to the rule.” She finally looked up. “Most people would say it’s
my
behavior that is unforgivable. I’ve acted like a shameless hussy, a wanton jade.”

He started to protest but she cut him off. “And you know something—I don’t care!” She tilted her face to the sun. “I don’t care that my face has unfashionable spots, or that I dance barefoot in gypsy trousers, or that I’ve stolen scandalous kisses with a notorious rogue. It makes me feel happy.”

Gryff felt a smile bloom on his lips. “I am glad. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Lady Brentford.”

“Ah, well, a Hellhound
would
say that.”

“That wasn’t a Hellhound speaking,” he replied softly. “It was simply…”
Who was he?
“…an old dog who would like to think he can learn new tricks.”

Eliza blinked, as if trying to bring him into sharper focus. “I should put these lovely flowers in water,” she said abruptly. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” Turning in a blur of jewel-tone colors, she hurried for the back door of the cottage.

Still smiling, Gryff shucked off his hat and coat, wanting to feel the perfumed air tease through his hair and the sunbeams suffuse his skin. All of his senses suddenly felt heightened—he was intimately aware of the colors, the smells, the textures, the sounds.

Drawn to the buzzing of a honeybee close by, he crouched down to study the artful array of border plantings. The garden had been planned with a masterful eye for detail. The effect was enchanting.

Rising, Gryff wandered along the pathway, drinking it all in. In the far corner of the wall was a stone bench, and on it was a sketchpad and wooden paintbox. Recalling her remark about having no artistic talent, he couldn’t help but be curious. Quickening his steps, he decided to steal a quick peek before she returned.

Alas, there was nothing on the page but a flat background wash of light blue.

“Lord Haddan!”

He set the pad down. “Your secrets are still safe, Lady Brentford. There’s naught here to betray your talents.” He chuckled. “Or lack of them.”

T
hat may be so.” Eliza sought to still the pounding of her heart. There was no reason to be alarmed. Even if Lord Haddan saw a finished sketch, it would mean nothing to him. “However, you have no right to look through my private things without permission.”

He acknowledged the scold with a solemn nod. “You are right, of course. Having recently chastised a friend for doing much the same thing, I should be sensitive to such transgressions.”

“No harm done,” she murmured. It was strange how the enclosed space of the garden, which seemed quite large when she was alone, suddenly felt crowded with his presence. The stretch of his shoulders blocked all but the tips of the tallest bushes and the light citrus scent of his cologne overwhelmed all of the floral perfumes. “I would offer you some refreshments, but I’m afraid I have nothing but a jug of water and a bowl of walnuts.”

“Thank you, but I am happy just to linger here for a bit and feast on the marvelous sights and smells you have created.” His gaze circled the space and came back to her. “I take it you designed all this.”

“The basic plantings have been here for ages. I just added a few embellishments.”

“You are far too modest, Lady Brentford.” Gryff took another leisurely look around. “It takes a true artist to make such imaginative use of colors, shapes, and texture. Clearly you have an eye for creating beauty.”

His praise stirred a tingle of heat inside her. “Thank you. Most people don’t really notice how flowers can be arranged and combined to…make a statement, as it were.”

He grinned. “Perhaps that’s because most people don’t understand their secret language.” He pointed at a stand of graceful calla lilies. “They say ‘magnificent beauty’ and I heartily agree.”

She paused and regarded him thoughtfully. “You know, sir, during all of our outdoor interludes here at the Abbey you have shown yourself to be very articulate on plants, and the subtle shapes and nuances of Nature. It speaks of more than a casual knowledge of landscape design.”

It may have been the scudding of a leaf or a cloud, but it seemed to her as if a slight shadow flitted across his face. “Does it? I’m flattered that you think so,” replied Gryff evasively. “Ah, walnuts!” he exclaimed an instant later, spotting the bowl in her hands. “How nice.”

“Yes, but Elf seems to have dragged off the nutcracker to some feline hiding place.”

“Never fear, I know an old soldierly trick.” He took a seat on the grass and stretched out his leg. “If you would kindly help me remove my boot, Lady Brentford.”

She regarded him quizzically. “Your boot?”

Pointing to the decorative stone tiles set around the sundial, he mimed a hammering motion. “One simply places a nut on the flat stone and
whack
!”

“With a boot?”

“Hoby crafts a very fine heel.”

Eliza grasped his ankle and gave a hard tug. “Does he charge extra?”

“Oh, no, not for English walnuts,” said Gryff with a straight face. “Only for Spanish almonds and French filberts.”

A laugh welled up in her throat, and all at once her worries seemed to loosen their grip. “What about American pecans?”

“That’s double.”

As he spoke, the boot suddenly slipped free, sending her tumbling backward onto the grass.

He began to laugh.

“Oh, you odious man! You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Untangling herself, she sat up and took aim at his head with the shiny leather. However, a fit of giggles ruined the threat.

The gesture made Gryff start laughing harder. “You look like an enraged Earth Goddess, sprung to life from a bed of flowers.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “What offering must I make to placate your wrath?”

The boot landed by his side. “Nuts,” commanded Eliza. “Shelled and fed to me as I recline on my grassy throne.”

Leaning back on her elbows, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun-dappled ground suffuse her body. A swirl of sweet perfumes tickled her nostrils, the soft serenade of the garden birds and bees danced on the breeze. It would, she reflected, be wonderful if some magical moments could be captured in a bottle and saved forever.

“Dream on,” she whispered.

Whack, whack, whack.
The sound of Gryff’s labors snapped her back to the present, and with a rueful smile she reminded herself of an old adage.
Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow…

Tomorrow—she would not think of tomorrow.

Lifting a lid, she watched him gather up the cracked walnuts and come take a seat beside her.

“Lean back and open your mouth, Your Majesty.”

A nutmeat touched her tongue. “Mmmmm.” She chewed slowly and swallowed. “Ambrosial. I could get used to this.”

He popped a piece into his mouth. “The High Servant of Shoe Leather is at your beck and call anytime.”

“Mmmmm.” Eliza accepted another offering. “Have a care, Lord Haddan. You might find yourself shackled into a lifetime of service.” Belatedly realizing the implication of her words, she flushed. “That is, I—”

Another morsel silenced her stammering.

“I can think of worse fates,” he said lightly. Stripping off his stocking, Gryff wriggled his toes in the grass. “I can see why you come here. It’s very peaceful.”

“Do you spend much time at your country estate, sir?” she asked.

“No,” he answered. “I’ve been neglecting it for too long.” He inhaled a deep breath and released it very slowly. “But London is losing its allure.”

“I think you would be happy in the country.”

He cocked his head. “And I don’t strike you as happy now?”

She didn’t answer right away.

One dark brow rose in question. “Well?”

“It seems to me that you would be happier at this moment if you took off your other boot.” She, too, could evade an uncomfortable query. “Your left leg must be hot as Hades.”

He waggled his foot. “The Limb would be very grateful for your kind assistance.”

A few quick pulls removed the boot without further mishap. “The Limb now owes me a custard tart.”

Gryff chuckled. “Done.”

They sat for a bit in companionable silence, their shoulders touching, their toes playing in the same patch of fragrant grass. His closeness was strangely comfortable. It seemed to fit like a familiar shoe.

“Why are you smiling?” asked Gryff.

“I was imagining Your Lordship as a well-worn shoe.”

He gave a feline stretch. “And here I thought I was the very
soul
of Manly Magnificence.”

“Are you always this silly with ladies?”

“No. I know so very few who dare to let themselves laugh.” There was an odd note in his voice. “Or wear gypsy trousers, or eat custard tarts in the wild.”

“We are a very odd couple,” she mused.

A rumbled sound, impossible to interpret. It might have been a laugh, or merely a cough to clear his throat.

“By the by, how did you come to have such a fetching ensemble in your wardrobe?” asked Gryff.

“There is a Gypsy caravan that comes through Harpden each summer. I’ve become friends with one of the women, a healer who is skilled in the use of medicinal herbs and plants,” replied Eliza. “She gave these clothes to me as a gift in return for some paintings I did for her.”

“Ah. And yet, you’ve told me that your talents with a paintbrush were sadly lacking.”

Damn.
“Th-they weren’t very good.”

He looked down his nose at her for a long, thoughtful moment. “Once again, I think you are being far too modest, Lady Brentford. And I can’t help but wonder, what secrets are you hiding from me?” And why?

“We all have secrets, Lord Haddan.” She recalled his little notebook, and how reluctant he was to share its contents. “Are you going to tell me that your private life is an open book?”

“No, indeed.” His mouth quirked. “Though a good deal of it has been splashed on the front pages of the scandal sheets.”

Eliza didn’t want to think about those exploits, many of which involved sparkling champagne and voluptuous women. She suddenly felt very dull and plain.

“Feed me another nut, High Servant of the Shoe Leather.” Might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasted. Illusions had a nasty habit of disappearing in a puff of putrid smoke.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Shells crackled. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

“If you put an earthworm inside it, I shall turn you into a frog,” she warned.

“Then I shall beg a kiss from a fairy princess and turn into a handsome prince.”

“Don’t press your luck.” Sitting up a little straighter, she primly parted her lips.

“Eyes closed!” he repeated. “No cheating.”

“Oh, very well.” Eliza squeezed off her peeking, though she felt a little foolish sitting there like a flytrap.

A piece of walnut hit softly upon her tongue, followed by another.

“Very clever,” she said after swallowing the morsels.

“I’m a dab hand at cricket,” he replied. “Let’s try a spin pitch.”

The next nut bounced off her lip and fell beneath the open collar of her shirt. Her eyes flew open as it rolled inside her chemise.

“Oops.”

The marquess’s laughing face was just inches from hers. His green-gold eyes glinted with unholy mischief and his lordly mouth quivered with boyish merriment.

“Oops,” she whispered.

As his laugh grew louder, the ground began to tilt and spin beneath her. Reason blew away in the breeze, and suddenly Eliza pitched forward, capturing him in a shameless kiss.

“Mmmm, you taste good,” she murmured, after enjoying a long, leisurely embrace.

Gryff nipped her chin. “Mmmm, so do you.” Framing her face with his sun-warmed palms, he teased his teeth along the swell of her lower lip. “Delicious.” A sigh tickled her cheek. “But I didn’t come here to seduce you, to use you for my own selfish pleasure.”

“There is a question of just who is seducing whom,” she murmured, twining her arms around his neck and scooting into his lap. “If you are afraid for your virtue, Lord Haddan, I give you leave to withdraw.”

“Oh, I think my virtue is up to the challenge, Lady Brentford.” A stirring beneath her bottom punctuated his reply.

“Is it?” She shifted slowly from side to side.

“You,” he rasped, “are very…very…” Her wriggling reduced his words to a gasp.

“Wicked?” she offered. “Wanton?”

“Alluring,” he answered. “Enticing. Enchanting.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “
Me?
” No one had ever seen her as such.

“Yes, you. And do you know what I intend to do about it?”

Her skin began to prickle all over. “What?”

“Listen very carefully, Lady Brentford.” He inched a little closer. “First, I am going to take the tassels of your shirt and untie them.” His fingers worked the strings free. “Then I am going to ask you to raise your arms to the sky.”

Her hands shot up. Slowly, slowly, the embroidered cloth slithered up over her head.

“Now for your chemise. Let me think.” Gryff cocked his head, his gaze studying her breasts. “I could suckle your perfect little nipples through the cloth. The friction of the wet fabric would set them afire.”

Eliza let out a little moan.

“Or I could tear the delicate fabric straight down the middle…” He drew his thumb from her breastbone down to her navel. “And peel it away, like a harem slave disrobing a plump, sweet grape for the sultan to devour.”

She shivered, aware of a honeyed heat forming between her legs.

He teased his touch lightly over her nipples. “Choices, choices. I can’t seem to decide.”

“
Haddan
,” she gasped in throaty protest. “Stop. No—that is,
don’t
stop.”

He leaned back, and their bodies were no longer touching. “What is it you want, sweeting?”

“I—I want you to make love to me,” she whispered. The ground felt deliciously warm as she raked her fingers through the fragrant blades of grass. “Without delay.”

A husky chuckle teased a thrill along her spine. “Then perhaps you had better help things along.” Gryff folded his arms across his chest. “Why don’t you undress yourself. I’ll watch.”

Her eyes widened. What he proposed sounded indecently…intriguing. She hesitated, but on catching a glimpse of the smoldering heat in his gaze, she slowly stripped off her chemise, baring her breasts to the tickle of the breeze.

“Go on,” he rasped.

Eliza loosened the strings of her trousers. Oh, it was exquisitely erotic to be taking off her garments while he watched. The sinuous slide of fabric aroused every inch of her skin to heightened sensations—the currents of the breeze, the softness of the grass, the heat of his gaze.

Her hips lifted, allowing the gypsy trousers to slither down past her knees. A little kick freed them from her ankles. Gryff made a strange little sound in his throat as she inched off her drawers, leaving her entirely naked.

Reaching out, she caught the tail of his cravat and gave a tug. “Now it’s your turn.”

Smiling, he complied, drawing out the dance with a lazy, languid grace.

“You,” she chided, “are a very maddening male. Perhaps I’ve changed my mind in the interim.”

“Then I shall have to exercise the powers of my persuasion.” Gryff pushed her back in the grass and covered her body with his. “And make you think again.”

“I don’t want to think,” she said dreamily, as his cock nudged up against her passage. “I just want to feel.”

“Hmmm.” He nibbled her earlobe. “How does this feel?” he whispered, entering her with a slow, smooth thrust.

“Heavenly,” she responded, staring up at the sky. “I wish it could…”
Last for a lifetime.
“…go on all afternoon.”

“Very well—we’ll take it very slowly.”

He set a leisurely rhythm, and Eliza followed his lead, matching his movements, letting her imagination wander along with the flickering sunbeams. It was oh-so scandalous, to be lying outside in broad daylight, twining her hands in his hair, exploring the chiseling of his body, the texture of his muscles, the taste of his mouth.
And oh-so exhilarating.
Kissing and caressing him made her whole being thrum with pleasure.

Shifting his weight, Gryff slipped his hand between their bodies and touched the soft curls between her legs.