Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tuesday Night, The Duchess of Maxwell's Drawing Room

T he dinner for Gemma had finished not an hour ago, and after seeing all their guests to the door, Meredith and Griffin both retired to the drawing room to sit down and rest for the first time all evening.

Meredith was exhausted. In addition to being hostess for the evening, she hadn't slept a wink in three nights. Ever since the Hemworths' ball, she'd only been able to think about one thing.

Griffin was madly in love.

With her.

He may not have said it. But that's because she hadn't allowed him to. Instead, she'd run away like a coward. Because she still couldn't let him say it. He could not love her. He needed to love someone who could give him children, who could produce the heir to the dukedom, who could be free to love him back.

And that was the worst part. Lately, in the dead of night, when she was alone with her thoughts, she'd begun to suspect that she did love him back. She hadn't put much faith in love before. She'd never had a reason to. But with Griffin, it was easy, effortless even.

But even if they loved each other, it didn't change anything.

She could do nothing to encourage his feelings. In fact, she needed to dissuade him from the notion. She needed to tell him in no uncertain terms that he must pick another lady and marry her. Even though the thought made her feel sick. Not to mention, Griffin's marriage might very well put a stop to their close friendship. It should put a stop to it. And that was a frightening thought. Griffin had always been there for her. Since childhood. Even the years he'd been gone to war, he'd written her as often as he could. She'd always known he was there. How would she ever learn to live without him?

Thank heavens she'd had the dinner party to concentrate on these last few days. If she hadn't been spending so much time planning the perfect evening, she might have gone mad. The party had been a welcome distraction. And fortunately, tonight had been a success.

"Thank you for the lovely dinner," Griffin said as he fell onto the dark-blue sofa cushion next to Meredith.

The butler delivered two glasses of port wine and took his leave. A few candles were scattered about the room, but otherwise Griffin and Meredith sat in quiet and darkness. It was heavenly after all the activity of the evening.

"Do you truly think Gemma enjoyed herself?" Meredith asked, lifting the wine glass to her lips.

Griffin took a sip from his glass and then turned it round and round with his fingers. "She seemed to. Did you get any notion that she preferred any one of the gentlemen?"

"I truly thought Pembroke might be the chap for her, but now I'm not certain. He does seem to be quite smitten with her."

"You're right. She didn't appear to be particularly enamored of Pembroke," Griffin agreed.

"I shall pay her a call tomorrow and ask, of course," Meredith said with a tired smile.

"Of course," Griffin replied with a nod. He took a deep breath. "Give me your feet." He set his glass on the table beside him and pointed toward Meredith's slippers.

Meredith dutifully kicked off her slippers and allowed Griffin to pull her feet into his lap. He began to massage her toes.

"Oh, my," she moaned. "That feels delightful. I had no idea you could do that with your hands." But then she blushed all the way down to her bodice.

A wicked grin popped to his lips.

Meredith closed her eyes and groaned as Griffin worked his thumb into the center of one of her stockinged feet. Oh, dear, perhaps she shouldn't have allowed him to do this. It was making her feel warm in far too many places.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Griffin said.

"Ooh, yes." Another moan. "That feels so good. I've been on my feet all day seeing to all the preparations."

"You must be exhausted," he replied in a deep voice, working her foot between his thumb and forefinger.

"Honestly, I am." She arched her back like a cat. "I so wanted the evening to be a success, but now I'm feeling the effects of rushing around the house all day."

"I'd say it was a success." He pulled his thumb down the center of her foot, pressing deeply.

A tremor made its way up Meredith's leg. Ooh. What he was doing with his hands should be illegal.

"How does that feel?" Griffin's voice was deep and husky .

"So good it's nearly sinful." Meredith arched her back again. "Have you always been this good at foot rubs?"

"Perhaps your feet have simply never been so tired."

"Is it getting warm in here?" She fanned her face with her hand.

"Perhaps a bit." His gaze captured hers and she glanced away first.

She let her head drop back onto the cushions and closed her eyes.

"You have one more guess, Meredith. Don't you know who she is? The lady I fancy?"

"Wh…what?" She pressed a hand to her throat.

"We've played our game long enough, don't you think?"

"It's a silly game, isn't it? I never should have started it." She was desperately trying to act as if the whole thing was hardly worth discussing further.

He tilted his head to the side and regarded her down the length of his nose as if studying her. He was still massaging her feet. "Go ahead. I know you can work it out if you think hard enough." His voice had taken on a more languid, more…sensual quality.

Meredith cleared her throat and met his stare again. The noose was tightening. "I'm…frightened." She hadn't intended to say those two words out loud, but now they were there, hovering in the air, proving to be more true with each passing moment.

Griffin's brow collapsed into a frown. "Why's that?"

Meredith swallowed. "Be…because once I make my final guess, I've little hope that you'll reveal her identity if I am wrong." It was a lie and they both knew it.

He slowly shook his head back and forth, his gaze still locked on hers. "That's not why."

She pulled at the bodice of her gown. She was sweating, and the fabric was sticking to her chest. She could barely think with him rubbing her foot that way. "Wh…what do you mean?"

"Go ahead, Meredith. Guess." His voice was languorous.

"I don't want to," she insisted, swinging her gaze away from his.

"Giving up so easily? I've never known you to be a quitter, Mere." He moved his hands to her other foot and smiled at the new groan he forced from her throat.

She expelled her breath in a long, low rush. She leaned back and placed her wine glass on the side table. "Fine," she breathed. "Lady Olivia Monthope?"

His gaze had never left hers. "No. And you knew it wasn't her."

Meredith swallowed. Of course it wasn't Lady Olivia Monthope. All Meredith had left was her misplaced anger at him for not just coming out and telling her, even though she didn't want him to. "The game is over."

"Not yet." Griffin's grin was devilish. "I have faith in you, Meredith. I'll give you one more guess."

Meredith swung her feet off his lap. She couldn't take any more of his languid foot massage. It was too intimate. Gooseflesh was spreading up her legs and giving her tremors where there should be no tremors. But when she pushed herself back against the sofa cushions, she found herself sitting thigh to thigh with him. And the heat from his muscled leg was scorching her. She'd never been so aware of him. His large body next to hers. The light scent of his cologne. The solid form of his shoulder so big beside hers. She closed her eyes. A tremor of desire passed through her. "I should have another dinner party for Gemma in a few weeks," she forced herself to say.

He reached for his glass. "Ah, the change of subject. A classic move in our friendship."

She bit her lip but continued to stare straight ahead. Of course he knew what she'd done. It was what they always did. So why did it feel frightening to her tonight instead of freeing?

"Not to worry," he continued. "I know precisely how to play the subject-change game. Another dinner party for Gemma would be lovely, thank you." His smile was pat.

She lifted her chin. "I only want Gemma to be happy and find a good match."

Griffin downed more of his wine. "But not a love match?"

Meredith froze. She knew what he was up to. Love was a subject usually off limits for them. At least it had been ever since the night before Griffin had gone off to war. But she would not take his bait. Instead, she merely shrugged. "If Gemma thinks she's in love, all the better. I would never tell her no such thing exists."

He turned to Meredith and narrowed his eyes again. "How can you be so certain it doesn't exist?"

"You know you and I shall never agree on this topic," she replied, somewhat impatiently.

His voice was low, inquisitive. "Why, Meredith? Why are you so set on never marrying again? Why do you think you were a terrible wife?"

She sucked in her breath. "Why are you so set on discussing it?" she countered.

"Why do you think?" he countered.

"Why must you always answer my questions with a question of your own?" Her voice was nearly a whisper.

"You want to know the identity of the woman I love. I want to know why you don't believe in love. What happened with Maxwell, Meredith?"

She closed her eyes and expelled her breath. She wanted to tell Griffin the truth. She truly did. But… "I cannot tell you. It's just too…too…humiliating." She opened her eyes again .

Griffin shook his head. "We're friends, Meredith. We should be able to discuss these things."

"Don't you think I want to tell you?"

He shifted in his seat to face her. "Just tell me one thing then, Meredith. I need to know. Is it…does it have to do with your…intimate relations with Maxwell?"

Meredith's cheeks flamed. She pressed her fingertips to them as if to cover her shame. "Yes," was all she could manage. "Please don't ask any more."

"If there's one subject I don't want to know anything else about," Griffin breathed, "it's that. And I certainly don't want to torture you." Setting his wine glass aside, he took her hand and rubbed his thumb across the tops of her knuckles. "Let's discuss something else. If you don't believe in love, what do you believe in?"

She lifted her gaze to his and blinked up at him. "What do you mean?"

He leaned toward her and held his mouth just above her ear. "How about passion , Meredith? You went looking for a lover, didn't you? I assume you believe in passion."

Meredith closed her eyes and tipped her head back. He was going to kiss her. Griffin, maskless Griffin, her best friend, was going to kiss her, and of course she wanted him to.

And then his lips were on hers and there was no earthly reason she could think of to push him away. She wanted him, just as she had at the Onyx Club. She wanted him badly.

"Yes," she whispered as Griffin's hot kisses rained down her neck. "I believe in passion."

Griffin's mouth returned to hers and his lips parted over hers, coaxing out her tongue. When the kiss deepened, her arms moved up his strong shoulders and around his neck. She pulled him toward her. He leaned over her until she fell back on the sofa and his body moved into place atop hers. Intimately fitted to his length, her fingers moved up to tangle in his soft hair.

Oh, God, yes.

It might be wrong, but this was what she'd wanted. This was what she'd been dreaming about night after night. She may have allowed Mr. Sapphire to touch her, but it was Griffin she'd fantasized about. She'd wanted him all along. No masks. No pretenses.

His mouth moved to her ear and gently traced the shell of it, while his left hand moved down to her hip. She tipped back her head, allowing him better access to her neck. He kissed slowly along the column and dipped lower to kiss her along the edge of her bodice.

He tugged on the smooth fabric and when her breast popped free, his scorching mouth covered her nipple. His teeth grazed across her bud, then he nipped it, and Meredith cried out. "Griffin," she moaned as he tugged the peak deeper into his mouth and sucked it hard.

Her core ached. Her hand moved down to touch the outline of his hard length beneath his breeches. She rubbed him up and down.

He clenched his jaw. "Meredith, please. Don't do that. I can't?—"

"Make love to me, Griffin," she pleaded against his ear.

He pulled back to look into her eyes. His right arm was braced on the cushion beside her head. "Truly?"

"Yes, please," she whimpered.

Her hands were already busily unbuttoning the fall of his breeches.

"Wait, Meredith, let me make this good for you."

But she wouldn't wait. She was frantic. Mindless. This was right. She didn't want to wait any longer. She wanted him. "Now," she demanded, still unbuttoning his breeches .

Griffin helped her and soon he was free. Her hand wrapped around his thick, solid length and he groaned.

His hand went down to pull up her skirts, push aside her shift, and find her softness. He played with her folds and let one finger slowly enter her. "You're ready, Meredith. Are you certain?"

She found his mouth and kissed him hard. "I've never been more certain of anything," she said as she pressed her forehead against his, still clinging to his neck.

Griffin positioned his hips above hers and slowly slid into her.

Meredith gasped. Ooh. This was different. So very different from?—

But when Griffin began to move, all thoughts scattered from her mind. She wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed him deeply while his hot, hard length drove into her again and again. He moved his hand down to press against her belly, bringing the soft spot inside of her into contact with his length, and when he did, she shattered into a thousand little pieces, repeating his name in a tortured gasp as waves of lust rolled through her entire body.

Griffin pumped into her again, again. "Oh, God. Meredith," he finally groaned against her mouth, finding his pleasure at last.

In the aftermath, they lay in each other's arms. Her breathing came in shallow gasps. Meredith shook her head. That had been so unlike anything that had happened in bed with Maxwell. It was as if the two acts were completely unrelated.

She cleared her throat. What should she say to Griffin? How should she act now ?

"We can pretend as if this never happened." She quirked up her mouth in the semblance of a smile. "We've had plenty of practice at it."

"You want to pretend as if this never happened?" His voice was incredulous.

"It was…amazing, but I— Of course you must marry. We don't have to tell?—"

Griffin covered her mouth with a kiss and then he pressed his forehead to hers again. "Damn it, Meredith. You have one more guess. Take it. You know . You know in your heart who she is? You've always known."

He cradled her jaw and looked adoringly down at her face.

She broke then. She couldn't pretend any longer. Tears fell from her eyes. Perhaps she didn't want to know, but he was right. She did know. She had always known. "Me?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes briefly and kissed her again. "Yes, you. It's always been you."

"You…love me?" She could barely breathe. " I'm the lady you wish to…marry?" It wasn't as if she hadn't already guessed, but hearing it out loud, saying it out loud, made it all so…real.

He pushed himself off her, hoisted up his breeches, and fell to one knee beside the sofa. "This is hardly the way I intended to ask, but please, please marry me, Meredith. I love you. And I'll never take away your freedom." He squeezed both of her hands.

Meredith's throat was so tight it ached. This was lovely and romantic and absolutely everything at once, including…panic-inducing. But of course she couldn't marry Griffin. Even if she wanted to.

The tears would not stop. "I can't marry you, Griffin. I'm sorry. I can't."