Griffin Stone:Duke Of Decadence

Especially so when somewhere a man called Michael was awaiting her return.

‘You are very quiet,’ Bea said as she raised her head to look at him.

Griffin breathed in deeply before speaking. ‘I was just thinking that—’ He paused with a frown as there came the sound of a loud knocking. ‘What the devil?’ He sat up abruptly, a scowl marring his brow as he turned towards the door.

Bea also frowned at the interruption; she was desperate to know what Griffin had been thinking as he’d lain so quiet and unmoving beneath her.

Was he as happy as she was, overwhelmed by the warmth of emotions flowing between them?

Or was he regretting what had just happened between the two of them, and seeking some way in which to gently but firmly express those regrets?

‘You must dress immediately,’ he instructed harshly as there came the sound of another loud pounding, causing him to rise quickly to his feet before hastily fastening his pantaloons. ‘Now, Bea.’ He scowled darkly as she still sat naked upon the hearthrug. ‘It would seem we have a visitor, and you cannot be seen like this!’ He gathered up her nightrail and robe and pushed them into her trembling hands. ‘Make haste, Bea,’ he encouraged impatiently as he pulled his shirt on over his head before turning away.

Bea felt bereft as she watched Griffin march across the room to the door and leave the library without sparing her so much as a second glance.

As if he had already forgotten the intimacies the two of them had just shared.

And perhaps he had. Perhaps men did not feel the same way about such things? Did they not appreciate the vulnerability that occurred inside a woman when she placed her trust, her naked self, so completely into the hands of another human being?

Certainly Griffin would not have been celibate in the years since his wife’s death and yet he remained unencumbered by a second marriage, which would seem to imply that his affections had never been engaged in any of those liaisons.

Had Bea been foolish to believe that she was somehow different from the other women he had made love to, and that Griffin held some measure of affection for her?

Or was it just, in her determination to show Griffin she was not the mouse he believed her to be as well as her need to be with him, that she had deliberately chosen to believe that he cared for her?

Her memories of her own past might be seriously lacking at present, but still she knew instinctively that men were different from women, in that their physical desires were not necessarily accompanied by the same feelings of affection or love.

Love?

Did she love Griffin?

She certainly cared for him a good deal, and would be very sad to part from him when the time came, but was that love?

‘Perhaps now that I have persuaded Pelham to go back to bed you will explain what the hell you are doing here!’ she heard Griffin hiss fiercely from outside in the hallway.

‘I would rather we were alone together in a private room before doing that,’ a male voice replied unconcernedly. ‘With the door closed so that we cannot be overheard— Hello, who have we here?’

Bea viewed the newcomer nervously as he stepped inside the library, one blond eyebrow raised in mocking query as he slowly took in her appearance from the top of her head to her toes.

Lavender eyes.

The man had lavender-coloured eyes, Bea realised inconsequentially.

Bright, wickedly sparkling eyes, set in a face of such aristocratic handsomeness that he was likely to take a woman’s breath away at a glance.

His eyes were fringed by thick dark lashes, his nose was perfectly straight between high pronounced cheekbones, chiselled lips curved into a speculative smile above a surprisingly determined jaw.

As tall as Griffin, and almost as broad across the shoulders, the blond-haired gentleman was dressed in the height of fashion, despite the lateness of the hour. His superfine was a perfectly tailored black, his linen snowy white, a diamond pin nestled in the folds of his neckcloth. He had a tapered waist and hips, long legs, the layer of dust on his black boots the only evidence that he had almost certainly arrived here on horseback.

He turned his quizzical gaze on his host. ‘Griff?’

‘Bea, this is my friend Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland,’ Griffin introduced tersely.

The thing he had dreaded when he’d sent that letter to Maystone, that one of the Dangerous Dukes would hasten to Lancashire, had indeed come to pass. The question was, how much had Maystone imparted regarding the situation here?

He and Christian had a long-standing affection for each other, having attended Eton together, along with the other Dangerous Dukes, but even so Griffin knew that Christian was everything that he was not. Elegant. Charming. Fashionably dressed, no matter what the occasion.