“I am no lord.”
She frowned. That was why he was upset? Most men would adore the title. “Now who is the bitter one?”
Those dark brows drew together.
Meg shrugged, settling down in the grass and tucking her slippered feet beneath her gown, finding amusement in teasing him. She had a feeling the man was never teased. “The hard edge of your voice indicates you are bitter about the fact that you aren’t a lord.”
He frowned down at her. “Hardly.”
His answer certainly surprised her, although she tried not to show it. “Then why the need to reprimand a person for calling you so? Tis a sign of respect, after all.”
He released a wry laugh. “Of course, you were showing me respect, how very proper of you.” Much to her dismay, he settled on the ground next to her. He didn’t touch her, but he might as well have for she felt his nearness all the same. He leaned back on his elbows, stretching his long legs before him. They were partially hidden from view by the fence, but it was still quite improper.
“I have no desire to be placed amongst the lords of England.”
“What do you mean?” She couldn’t help but ask.
He sighed, his gaze scanning the field around them. His stance was too casual, they were too secluded for her liking. “My father was a wealthy merchant. We moved to London to escape the turmoil that was France.” He gazed out onto the hills, seemingly lost. His face softened and she could almost imagine him as a little boy. “He thought we could be…he thought we could become a part of society. Have a normal family, live a normal life.”
How she understood that feeling of never belonging. She’d been silly enough to think she could belong with Mathew and his family. But they had never really accepted her. She’d noticed the way they ignored her, barely drew her into the conversation and all because they held the silly title of Baron.
“I don’t think I’d want to belong,” Meg said softly.
He smiled, that dimple flashing and Meg’s heart skipped a beat. Blast him, he was playing nice, using his charms to lure her in. What did he want? Information on Lord Brockwell? Why else would he be so attentive to a poor country girl. Well, let him pry, for she knew nothing about the man.
“You are telling me you wouldn’t want to marry a wealthy lord if given the chance?”
Meg shrugged. “Who wants to be titled if you can’t run around the fields all day?”
“Or swim in rivers?” He added, reminding her of the horrible state he’d first found her. Lord, she’d been in her shift.
“A gentleman would not have mentioned that incident.”
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.” He reached out and drew his hand down her arm.
“Stop that.” She jerked away from his cold touch. She had to get away from him before she did something stupid, like let him kiss her… again. “As lovely as this has been, I have things to do.”
She started to stand, but was jerked back down with a thump. Grayson held onto her skirt, his face passive, but his eyes wicked…so very wicked. She couldn’t move, wanted to suddenly be closer to him.
“Surely you have time to chat with a new neighbor.”
“I’m sure you’ve chatted with plenty of neighbors,” she hissed.
“But not you, and I find you so incredibly interesting.”
She couldn’t look away. Somehow, in some way, she found herself leaning toward him, falling into those emerald eyes. Wanting to taste those smooth, cool lips.
“Rumor has it that you’re writing a book about Wildflowers.”
She knew she should be embarrassed about his knowledge, for she’d told so few people about her dream, but she couldn’t find the energy. His hand slid up her arm, cupping the back of her head. His fingers entwined around her curls and he drew her closer. And because she’d gone mad, she didn’t pull back, but instead found herself pressed to his chest, practically atop his hard body. She wanted more of him, hungered for him in a way she didn’t understand. His hands cupped her bottom, drawing her up against his hard erection.
With a growl, his teeth nipped at her lower lip. The pain was sharp, stinging. Meg gasped, drawing back. “Grayson?” The coppery taste of blood seeped into her mouth. His eyes…lord, were his eyes glowing?
“Shhh,” he whispered, cupping her head and pulling her closer once more.
“But…”
His tongue darted out, licking off the blood, soothing the sting. Suddenly, she found herself on her back, Grayson’s hard body atop her. His hands were on her thighs, his fingers bunching the material of her skirt up to her waist. A cool breeze swept across her calves, the grass tickling her skin. Everything was happening so fast, yet she couldn’t seem to care, to grasp hold of a rational thought. All she could focus on was his mouth pressing to her jaw line, then lower to her neck.
His cold hands had made their way under her skirts, his chill touch oddly erotic through the thin material of her bloomers. Meg shifted, groaning. Need twisted almost painfully in her lower belly, spreading down her thighs. She had to have more of him, all of him. For days the ache had been there, waiting just below the surface for Grayson to return.
Meg lifted her pelvis, nuzzling her body against his hard staff. She might be a virgin, but she wasn’t daft. She knew he wanted her and for some reason the realization thrilled her to the core.
“Dear, dear Meg,” he whispered against her neck. “How I want to taste you.”
Yes, she wanted to say, please taste me! But she couldn’t do more than whimper.
“So good.” His tongue darted out and he licked her neck.
Meg’s fingers bit into the hard muscles of his back. His body was heavy, pressing her into the earth. So heavy she could barely breathe and yet she didn’t care. His knee slipped between her thighs, spreading her legs as much as her skirts would allow. His teeth scraped against her neck, his tongue darting out, over and over, licking her skin until she squirmed beneath him, eager for more.
“Meg?” Sally’s voice pierced her foggy reality. Suddenly the pressure of Grayson’s body was gone. Gasping, Meg opened her eyes. Dark clouds hovered menacingly low, but no Grayson.
“Meg!” Sally called.
Meg shoved her hands into the grass and sat up. Grayson stood ten feet away, his back to her. He hadn’t been a dream after all. His shoulders rose and fell with each harsh breath he took, his hands fisted at his sides. He seemed upset. She should be upset, yet she wasn’t…just oddly burning…burning for something she didn’t understand.
“Here…Sally,” she managed to get out. Meg tucked her feet underneath her and stood on trembling legs. She spun around turning her back to Grayson, searching over the fence for her sister. What must Grayson think of her? She pressed her fingers to her lips, then drew back. There was no blood. Had she imagined the taste? Imagined the sting of his teeth on her?
Sally appeared at the gate. “Oh, there you are. Hanna isn’t feeling well and she’s asking for you.”
“I see.” Meg pressed her hand to her own fluttering stomach. After what she’d done, what had happened, she couldn’t just walk away from Grayson without a word. She had to say something to the man, but what? “I…I have to go.”
Sally frowned, leaning her elbows on the fence. “Who are you talking to?”
Meg pushed open the gate, annoyed to see it worked quite well now that Grayson had mended it. “Gray... I mean, Mr. Bellamont.”
Sally’s frowned deepened as her gaze moved from Meg, to scan the field below. “But, he’s not here.”
“Sally,” she whispered. “Don’t be daft.” Meg turned. “Of course…”
The field lay empty. Grayson was gone.
Chapter 7
“This is a terrible idea, Mary Ellen. Just wretched,” Meg whispered.
Each bounce of the carriage took her closer to Bellamont and possibly closer to her demise. Mad, that’s what she was. But Mary Ellen merely hummed, smoothing the wrinkles from her mauve dress and brushing bits of grass fro
m the hem as if they were going to a bloody ball. “Don’t be silly, if we don’t attend, they’ll think poorly of us.”
“As if they don’t already?” Meg tightened her hold on the reins and darted a quick glance behind them to make sure the rest of the family was unaware of their conversation. “You know they’re going to whisper about us. How can you stand it?”
The rising moonlight sliced through the trees, making Mary Ellen’s hair glow like silver, so bright it was almost difficult to look directly at her. “We can’t hide merely because those old biddies are gossiping about our lack of money. Besides, when will you get another chance to see his home?” Mary Ellen smiled, her front tooth slightly crooked, a blemish she despaired of daily. “I heard he’s having iced lemon.”
Meg rolled her eyes. As if sweets made the visit all right. “You sound like Hanna and Sally.”
As desperate as she was to keep well away from Grayson Bellamont, she couldn’t deny Hanna’s excitement was contagious. The dear child was rarely able to attend societal functions because of her reaction to the sun. And yes, there was a part of her eager to see the man after what they had experienced in the field. And yes, a part of her that was rather annoyed with the fact that she hadn’t heard from him in the days since. Although what she expected, she wasn’t sure.
Perhaps a note saying, “So sorry I almost took your virginity in the field. Do forgive me and attend my gathering. We’re having iced lemon.”
“What are you girls talking about? I can’t hear a thing,” Papa called out from the back of the carriage.
Meg resisted the urge to sigh. “Nothing Papa, merely excited is all.”
“Ah yes, suppose everyone is.” He grinned at them, his eyes sparkling, completely clueless as to the truth, and she’d try to make sure he remained that way. He’d had too much heartache in his life, he didn’t need know the entire town thought of him as a drunken fool. Did he have any idea that Lady Young was planning on tossing them from the house?
“Mr. Bellamont said there’d be fireworks. Real, true fireworks,” Hanna cried out.
“Lemonade, sweets, iced creams, everything,” Sally added, clasping her hands together.
Hanna jumped up and down on the cracked leather seat, the carriage bouncing. “I’ve never had iced cream.”
Meg fought her grin. She didn’t want to be amused, she wanted to go back home. Blast Mr. Bellamont. Blast the man for trying to pull every neighbor into his tangled web of deceit with his money and charm. A single, wealthy man didn’t hold country fairs for the neighbors. He ignored them, and instead, turned to the more gentlemanly occupations of hunting, drinking and whoring. Then again, why visit the local whores when Meg was willing to lift her skirts with just a glance from the man. Heat shot to her cheeks at the mere thought of seeing him again. What must he think of her?
“Oh my,” Mary Ellen said softly.
Meg blinked, forcing herself from her stupor, and followed her sister’s gaze.
Stretched from the house and down the drive were rows and rows of carriages, gleaming under torches that lined the lane. Meg pulled their buggy to a stop next to a sleek, black phaeton that surely would have turned its nose up at the site of their functional yet humble buggy, if it were alive.
“We don’t even have this many people in town. Where in the world did they all come from?”
“Perhaps his friends and family?” Mary Ellen said.
“Ha, I doubt Mr. Bellamont would invite his friends and family to mingle with poor country folk.”
“Meg,” her father’s sharp voice brought with the heat of shame. “Mr. Bellamont is doing a wonderful thing for this community.”
Bleedin wonderful. Her own father was caught in Grayson’s trap. She set the brake and hopped to the grass. “Of course Papa, I’m sorry.”
He slipped his hand into hers. “I know you didn’t mean anything, my sweet.” He shuffled out of the carriage. Once on the ground, he laid his soft palm against her cheek. “You would never think anything so sinful.”
The heat in her face intensified. She gave her father a weak smile. Was it sinful to wonder what Grayson looked like without his shirt on? To wonder if he’d ever kiss her again? To dream every night of his touch whether she wished to or not?
“Is everything well, my dear?” Papa’s bushy brows drew together. “Even in the moonlight, I can see you’re flushed.”
“Yes, yes, of course Papa.”
His smile deepened. “That’s a good girl.”
Mary Ellen helped Sally and Hanna from the buggy and they started down the drive. The two young girls skipped beside Papa, a whirlwind of laughter and excitement under the warmth of the torchlight. Dressed in their light blue smocks, they resembled twittering bluebirds.
“Will you tell him?” Mary Ellen whispered.
“Tell who what?”
“Tell father the Constable thinks you and Beth murdered Lord Brockwell.”
Meg gasped and stopped. “How did you know?”
Mary Ellen sighed. “Half the town knows and by the end of the night, the rest probably will as well.”
Meg groaned, her hands twisting her light pink skirts, a color too young for her age but the only respectable gown she owned. “Blast it.” Another excuse for Lady Young to toss them out on their ears, as if she needed another reason.
“Stop that,” Mary Ellen reprimanded, swatting her hands away. “You’ll wrinkle your dress.”
“It’s too dark for anyone to see anyway.” Meg sighed, following her sister down the drive. In the distance the sound of laughter and conversation could be heard. A large, merry gathering. Would they be welcomed, or ignored? “We have more important things to worry about than the state of my skirt.”
“Sally was asking questions.”
Meg stumbled, her fear escalating. “About what?”
Mary Ellen shrugged. “She wanted to know why we can’t talk about London, and why you had to pick Hanna up there and not Ireland. It’s not right lying to her, she’ll put it all together eventually.”
She didn’t like lying to Sally either. She didn’t like lying to anyone, but what choice did she have? “She’s too young. Perhaps in a year or two we’ll tell her the truth about where Hanna came from. But for now, she’s too young, she’d slip.”
“Ha, Papa knows.”
Lanterns were settled on each shallow step that led to the massive front door. “Papa would never tell.”
“Yes, but what if he drinks again and isn’t aware of what he says?”
Meg clasped onto her sister’s hand, more for her own comfort than for Mary Ellen’s. “It’s not something we have to worry over. He won’t.”
A soft breeze swept through the large elms that lined the drive, the leaves rattling on the branches like a warning to retreat. “And Hanna?”
“What about her?”
“The way she sleeps all day, the way she reacts to the sunlight.” Mary Ellen shuttered. “Meg, you and I both know something is off about the child.”
“Mary Ellen! Don’t you dare—”
“I’ve heard word that Mr. Bellamont’s staff has been asking about us,” she blurted out.
Mary Ellen wasn’t the only one. Meg, too, had been warned by a neighbor. Even after hearing it for the second time, an icy chill still caressed her skin. Yet another reason she needed to uncover the man’s secrets. If not for her own safety, then for Hanna’s. “Perhaps he was merely curious.”
“Girls, coming?” their father asked. Both slapped a smile upon their faces and hurried after him.
“Coming, Papa,” Meg called out.
The moon broke through a patch of clouds, highlighting the trail in a silver glow. “I highly doubt he was merely curious, Meg. I went into the store and Mrs. Timms says, ‘well speak of the devil.’ Apparently, Mr. Bellamont’s housekeeper was in there not five minutes before me. She was asking questions about Hanna’s mother, how she died, where. Seems rather suspicious to me, Meg.”
Meg nodded, taki
ng her lower lip between her teeth. Suspicious, indeed. Her stomach churned, her anxiety growing with each step up the stairs she took. She could have ignored the questions, ignored the way he appeared and disappeared like a spirit. But she could not ignore his eyes. Those brilliant green eyes that so reminded her of Hanna’s.
“Tis why I have a plan.”
Mary Ellen paused, forcing Meg to stop with her. “Oh Meg, please tell me this plan doesn’t involve me.”
Meg shrugged. “I might, perhaps, need a little help.”
Mary Ellen sighed long and loud and continued on her way. Meg rushed after her.
“Please tell me you won’t end up in prison.”
“Don’t be daft.” They stilled at the front stoop and Meg looked into her sister’s brown eyes. “Don’t worry, Mary Ellen. I merely want to get to know our neighbor a little better.”
“Good day, Mr. Bellamont,” her father’s voice saved Meg from defending herself.
Meg and Mary Ellen spun around. Grayson stood there, looming over them like some Angel come to weigh their worth. All four girls dipped into curtsies. Would she ever tire of seeing him? Would her body ever stop reacting the way it did when he was near?
From beneath her lashes, Meg admired the way his dark brown jacket fit over his broad shoulders. He stood with ease, elegance, as if he owned the world, owned them. There was something strangely attractive in his assuredness.
He gave them all a slight bow. “I’m delighted to see you’ve decided to join in the festivities.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, wouldn’t miss it,” Papa said. “Now, where did you say the food would be?”
The corner of Grayson’s mouth quirked, but his gaze was on her, as if sharing his smile with only Meg. She looked away, too uncomfortable with the intimacy. She didn’t want to be close to Grayson for the man wasn’t to be trusted. She didn’t want to think about that kiss in the field and the intimate way he touched her. She sure as hell didn’t want to think about the sinful dreams she had every night.
“There is a wonderful buffet in the garden,” he said. “Come, most of the town has arrived, and there is no reason not to begin the festivities.”