Damn it, he cared.
He cared, and he could no longer deny it. He’d brought her into his house, taken her under his protection. Lady or not, he wanted to treat her well.
Her hands slid up his chest, then trailed down his arms. She pressed a light kiss to his neck. “Griff, please.”
His c**k throbbed in eager agreement.
Her, his stupid heart whispered. I’ll take her.
But beneath all this, his veins ran cold with a deep, dark current of fear. It was too great a risk for them both. He couldn’t take her like this when she’d never be his for the keeping. That way lay danger and months of despair.
“I can’t.” He stroked her hair. “It isn’t you. I want you more than you could possibly know, in ways you couldn’t even fathom. But I just can’t.”
He released her with abruptness—because that was the only way he could do it at all.
Chapter Fourteen
Pauline came late to breakfast. She considered skipping the meal entirely—pleading headache or fatigue—but she didn’t want to invite any questions.
She wasn’t sure how she’d even look at the duchess this morning. The woman had the perception of a hawk. She would have to mind her every move, word, and glance to avoid giving anything away.
As she neared the breakfast room, she stopped in the corridor and took a moment to compose herself.
She could hear voices from within—both the duchess’s and Griff’s.
Drat.
He wasn’t supposed to be awake this early. How was she going to manage this?
The same way he managed it, she supposed. After their encounter in the dining room the previous morning, she knew Griff would have no difficulty. He would barely acknowledge her presence, no doubt.
In fact, that was probably why he’d come to breakfast at all—because he worried that she would blurt out over toast that she’d shamelessly thrown herself at him mere hours ago. He wanted to quell any speculation.
Just pretend nothing happened, she told herself. You were not alone with him in the library. He did not gather you in the most tender, needing of embraces. He most especially did not lift your skirts and give you delicious pleasure while whispering the most tender, arousing words to ever caress your ear.
The memory was so acute, she bit her knuckle to keep her reactions in check.
When she had her resolve firmly in place, Pauline turned the corner and entered the breakfast room. She kept her eyes downcast.
“Beg pardon for my tardiness, your graces. I slept rather—”
The scrape of chair legs interrupted her. The sound froze the blood in her veins.
Oh no. Surely he hadn’t.
She looked up in horror.
He had.
The eighth Duke of Halford had come to his feet when she entered the room. Without thinking, apparently, because he couldn’t possibly have meant to do such a thing. Gentlemen rose to their feet when ladies came in. They did not rise for servants.
No man had ever stood for Pauline. Not once in her life. It was the best, most thrilling sensation. But when it came to the cause of discretion, this was complete disaster.
And then he made it worse—he inclined his handsome, dark head in a sort of bow. “Miss Simms.”
Up went the duchess’s eyebrow. “Well.”
That one syllable spoke volumes. Her grace knew everything. At least, she knew something had happened. Pauline could only pray the details remained a rough sketch in her imagination.
“Be seated, Miss Simms,” Griff said.
She shook her head. “You first, your grace.”
“Both of you, remain as you are,” the duchess said. She rose from her own chair. “I was just about to leave for the morning room, and now I’ve saved you the trouble of rising twice.”
“Do we have lessons this morning, your grace?”
She gave Pauline a strange look. “No. It’s Wednesday. My day to be at home to callers. I expect a great many inquisitive ladies this morning.”
“You don’t want me to sit with you?”
“Best to keep them wondering, I think. If they want another look at you, there’s the fete at Vauxhall Gardens this evening. For now, you may be at your leisure.”
Pauline curtsied as the duchess exited the room.
As soon as the older woman had gone, she whispered to Griff, “What are you doing, standing for me? You shouldn’t stand for me. You saw the duchess’s face just now. How smug she looked. She’ll think something has changed between us.”
“Everything has changed between us.”
Everything changed inside her, at that statement. Her internal organs began scouting for new neighborhoods.
He said, “When you’ve finished your breakfast, get your things. We’re going out.”
“We? Out? Where?” Pauline was aware she sounded something like a yipping dog. But her mind was full of questions.
“You and I. Will go out of the house.” He walked his fingers in demonstration. “On an errand. Did you have some other plans for the morning?”
Pauline had just been contemplating an hour or two of reading, followed by a nice long nap.
“I don’t have any plans,” she said.
“Very good. Meet me in the entrance hall when you’ve fetched your wrap.”
She still wasn’t sure what last night meant to him. Or even what it meant to her. But this morning she couldn’t turn down the chance to spend time with him.
She wanted to be with Griff more than she wished to be anywhere else.
In her heart she knew this meant she was on the verge of something emotional and treacherous—and at serious risk of falling in.
Be careful, Pauline. Nothing could come of it.
For today, she decided to ignore the posted warnings and dance on the edge of heartbreak. Surely she could teeter on this brink a few hours longer without falling completely in love with the man.
After all, it was only an errand.
Except that it wasn’t only an errand.
Oh, no. It was something far better. And far worse.
He took her to a bookshop. The bookshop.
When the coach pulled up before the familiar Bond Street shop front, Pauline’s heart performed the strangest acrobatics in her chest. It tried to sink and float at once.
The cruel words echoed in her memory. I’ll chase you off with the broom.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, accepting Griff’s hand as he helped her down from the carriage.
“It’s a bookshop. If you mean to open a circulating library, don’t you need books? They don’t sell very many of those at the fruiterer’s or linen draper’s.” He tugged at her hand. “Come, we’ll buy up every naughty, scandalous, licentious volume in the place.”