CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nestled securely in the thicket of trees, the tiny cottage had managed to stay quite dry. Delaney, however, had not. When she’d first arrived, she was dripping from head to foot all over the hard-packed clay floor.

Calliope had been right on several accounts. The cottage was quite snug and clean as well. A single chair—sturdy but old and flecked with aged red paint—stood by a crescent-shaped fireplace recessed into the stone wall. A basket of firewood and kindling lay at the hearth with a cloth-wrapped bundle of tinder and flint. And a fringed blanket was draped over a peg on the wall.

As the spring rain turned into a storm outside, Delaney made herself more comfortable and started a fire. Yet even then, she couldn’t remove the chill that covered her from head to toe. Her clothes were still dripping wet. She couldn’t very well stand before the fire, expecting her clothes to dry quickly. They needed to be wrung out.

Shivering, she looked outside to the raging storm. Surely neither Bree nor Calliope would venture out in this. And who knew how long the storm would last? Delaney wasn’t about stand there with her teeth chattering the whole time. She stripped out of her dress, petticoat, shoes, and stockings, leaving her clad in only her somewhat dry chemise. She hoped that by the time the rain stopped, her clothes would be dry. To make sure of it, she retrieved a few fallen branches from outside the door, hung her clothes across them, and positioned each by the fire to dry.

When that was all settled, she took the blanket off the peg, gave it a good shake out the door, and then wrapped it around her body, tossing one end over her shoulder and fashioning it like a tartan.

Immensely pleased with her ingenuity, Delaney laughed and spun in a circle. “Anyone who ever doubted my ability to manage the rest of my life on my own should see me now.”

A rumble of thunder answered, causing another shiver to race through her. Moving across the room, she opened the narrow door to appraise the storm. That was the moment, she realized, that it was not thunder she’d heard after all. It was a horse and rider.

And none other than Griffin Croft.

Delaney’s heart raced. What was he doing here? He couldn’t find her. Not like this.

She shrank back from the door, her hand holding the blanket in place. She was suddenly very aware of how it only draped to her knees and left one shoulder exposed, revealing the strap of her chemise.

In a panic, she looked around the room. There had to be something she could use to make herself more presentable or to hide her altogether. And yet, there was nothing. Her clothes were still drying. Even if they weren’t wet, she didn’t have time to don so much as her petticoat.

His horse stopped directly in front of the cottage, and he leapt down in a rush. Water sluiced from his hat and clothes as he hastily tied the reins around a low-hanging branch.

Frozen in dread, all she could do was stand there and watch as he turned and saw her.

The moment he glimpsed Delaney McFarland’s bare feet, Griffin halted midstride. Slowly, his gaze traveled up over her slender ankles and shapely calves, to the edge of the russet blanket. He should have looked away, but he simply couldn’t. Greedily, perhaps foolishly, he continued to drink in the sight past the curve of her hips and to that delectably small bosom swathed in a gather of fabric that draped temptingly over one shoulder. Her other shoulder was all but nude, dressed only in a scrap of transparent silk that matched the creamy skin bared to him. Lightning swift arousal tore through him, thickening his blood and making his heart pound hard, laboring for every beat.

Those pink lips formed a round O of astonishment. Her untamable hair framed her face. A few dark curling tendrils stuck to her cheeks and neck, revealing their wetness.

Coming to his senses, he took a step forward to get out of the rain.

However, he hadn’t enough sense to duck his head and collided with the stone frame of the door, hard enough that he heard the thud of his forehead cracking against it. He staggered back a step. In fact, he might have fallen if not for Delaney’s sudden grip on his waistcoat.

She released him the moment he righted himself. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“I should think the answer obvious.” Then again . . . considering the circumstances, perhaps it wasn’t completely apparent. She might wonder if he had other designs. He would ease her mind on that account—at least for the time being. Now was certainly not the time to profess his intentions. “Calliope told me you were here. Alone. In the storm.”

“Well, you needn’t have come.” She bristled and moved backward into the cottage. In four steps she was already to the far end, where she positioned herself behind a lone chair.

“Needn’t have come?” Overwhelming worry had driven him here in the first place. And all she could say was that he needn’t have come? “I would be dry and enjoying a nice brandy right now, if not for you.”

He was to the chair in two strides. The sounds of water dripping from his coat and the crackling of the small fire echoed around them. Removing his gaze from her for the first time, he noted the snugness of the space. Although perhaps it seemed even smaller because her clothes were hanging on branches to dry.

He stared at her dress and petticoat, both transparent from the rain. He should leave. Now. He should return to the house before . . .

Seeing her cross her arms beneath that tantalizing bosom of hers, he forgot what he was thinking.

For months, Griffin had been crazed by desire for this woman. There was no hope for it. He’d tried to fight his attraction for her, but the bristly and impulsive Delaney McFarland was a constant temptation. “You seem to have made yourself at home.”

“Would you have me sit here in dripping clothes until I caught a cold while waiting for the storm to end?”

“No. You have the right of it.” No other woman could deliver a set-down while dressed in a mere blanket and make it sound so convincing. “I should like to remove my coat as well, but the only way would be to peel it off like a banana skin.”

She glanced down to the puddle forming at his feet. “You could catch cold,” she said softly. Was that concern in her voice?

Catch cold? He nearly laughed. At the moment, he felt like he was on fire. “Not likely.”

Then, without hesitation, she moved behind him. “I cannot stand by and allow your arrogance to be the death of you.”

If an argument had been on his lips, it was soon reduced to ashes when he felt her hands on his shoulders and the way they slid to his collar. He shuddered. Arrogance wouldn’t be the death of him, but she might.

Determined to remain in control and not reveal how much she affected him, he pushed apart the lapels and shrugged. It loosened enough for her to take a firmer grip. She yanked, but the coat seemed fused to the thick muscles of his upper arms. He’d ridden hard, so it was no wonder the coat was tighter than usual.

“How did you manage to don this coat in the first place?” she asked with grunt, jerking the fabric down another inch.

He glanced back and saw her struggling to keep the end of the blanket in place. Another heady rush of arousal filled him. He looked forward quickly but let his head fall back on an oath. “It wasn’t wet when I dressed this morning. Perhaps it has shrunk.” His coat was the only thing growing smaller on him at the moment.

“Or perhaps your shoulders are too . . . large,” she said, her voice as insubstantial as that strap across her bare skin. He felt the barest brush of her fingers over his shoulders. “D-did you get this way from boxing?”

“Amongst other things.” He’d employed many strenuous activities of late to keep thoughts of her from distracting him. Tempting him.

“Mr. Harrison told me that you went to see the boys and offered them boxing lessons.”

He gave a sound of assent but made no comment. He hadn’t been able to get Delaney or Warthall Place off his mind and had decided to offer his own brand of support.

In the next few moments, with their efforts combined, the jacket slid off and fell to the floor with a soggy plop. Keeping his gaze averted—or trying to—he picked up the coat, took it over to the door, and wrung it out. By the time he stepped in front of the fire, she’d moved her garments out of the way to make a place for his.

“Now, sit down and let me take a look at that bump,” she ordered, as if expecting no argument.

He was about to tell her that he’d received greater blows from Everhart than that little bump from the door, but instead, he found himself obeying.

“Close your eyes . . . please.”

When he did, she stepped in front of him.

The edge of the blanket brushed his legs, just above the knee. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, and yet he felt it within the marrow of his bones. Unable to help himself, he opened his eyes to slits and watched her movements. Her soft hands brushed his hair back, and her fingers tenderly prodded the flesh above his brow.

“Do you think I will live?” He wasn’t certain he would at the moment, not when every drop of his blood rushed to fill his erection. There was no concealing it in his current position either. The thick ridge was outlined clearly beneath his damp breeches.

“I’ve no doubt your head is hard enough to withstand numerous collisions,” she teased.

Then, as she took a step back, the end of the blanket fell free of her shoulder, exposing her. The small bosom he’d fantasized about for months flashed before him. Her transparent chemise did nothing to block his view of the delicate teardrop-shaped swells or the pale pink nipples near the center.

Automatically, she went to cover herself, and in the same instant, untamable desire claimed him, taking control. He caught her hands. “Don’t. Please let me . . . just this once.”

Restraint abandoned him. He couldn’t take it. He had to touch her, taste her, feed this growing need within him. Perhaps it was the bump on his head that had addled his brain, but he could no longer control his actions.

Drawing her hands behind her back, he left her open and exposed for him. “You’re perfect. Just as I’ve imagined. Better than each of my fantasies.”

She didn’t resist, but let him trail a finger along the outer edge of one breast and then the other. “You’ve imagined this? With me?” Her voice came out on a breath, as if awed by his admission.

“Countless times.” And yet the color of her flesh was a surprise. Her breasts were white and flawless as porcelain. The puckered center was a delicate pink hue, paler even than the blush of her cheeks. They appeared almost fragile, or perhaps like pink-tipped meringues that would dissolve on his tongue.

He tugged her forward and closed his mouth over one peak. She let out a muffled cry. The silk rasped against his tongue, but still he could feel her ruched flesh beneath. It wasn’t enough. He needed to taste the rain on her skin.

Griffin released her hands in order to lower the straps. Slowly, he pulled the insubstantial fabric down, inch by inch, below her breasts and to her slender waist. Setting his hands on her skin, he explored the softness of her stomach, the slender cage of her ribs, and finally those perfect mounds.

He feasted on her flesh, tasting her, devouring her. Delaney moaned and moved closer, straddling his legs. Fingers threaded in his hair, she pulled back his head and lowered her mouth to his.

Her hair fell over him like a red curtain, sparking awareness. He’d wanted this, wanted her, for a very long time. It seemed like ages.

She lowered onto him, the blanket falling away completely. That scrap of silk pooled at her waist and barely reached the tops of her thighs. With her legs surrounding him, he could feel the tantalizing heat of her. Moving his hands to the generous curve of her hips, he slid her along the throbbing length of him. They groaned in unison, agreeing for the first time.

He should stop this, he knew. But raw, primal need drove him now.

The kiss turned fierce. Wild. On her own, she rocked her hips in a rhythm that threatened to unman him. It felt impossibly good. Somehow, he knew this all-or-nothing woman would be the end of him.

Griffin needed to stop. This was madness. He was too close to the edge. Too close to losing control. He stilled her hips, earning a groan of frustration from her. “Delaney, I—”

“Please,” she whispered, imploring him with those deep violet irises. The taste of her sweet breath filled his mouth. She strained against his hold.

He nearly embarrassed himself by coming apart in his breeches. His own release was close. Too close. But he couldn’t deny her. Slowly, he brought his hand to the core of her desire. Fingers brushing against the soft curls, they were instantly damp. A choked sound of pleasure tore from his throat. What he wouldn’t give to be inside her.

She held his gaze, her eyes hooded with passion. He followed the seam of wet heat, stroking her flesh. A sound, almost a whimper, came from her open mouth. He wanted to memorize every part of her, every nuance of texture and heat. She was silk and velvet, slick and white-hot. He delved into those wondrous swollen folds to the ripe bud awaiting his touch. “So perfect,” he breathed.

And with the barest touch, she shuddered. Neck arched, her hips jerking in unmistakable release. “Griffin!”

Delaney collapsed against him, her breath heaving in and out of her lungs. Her inner flame was alive and brighter than ever.

There was no denying it any longer. She was in love. She’d known it for weeks. Maybe even longer. She loved Griffin Croft. And it frightened her to death.

Yet at the same time, it felt impossibly good. Especially when he’d said she was perfect and just as he’d imagined. He’d fantasized about her—her!

He was breathing hard, too, his head hanging over the back of the chair, his arms slack by his sides. He turned his head and drew in a breath. “Mmm . . . I never should have underestimated the passion of a woman whose hair smells sweet, like rain and fire combined. I must be on my guard in the future, so that I am a fit husband. I very nearly embarrassed myself.”

Delaney shot away from him in a flash. With her legs still trembling, she stumbled slightly. “Husband?” She struggled to pull up her chemise and slip her arms through the straps. “We are not getting married.”

The look he gave was one of bewilderment. “After what has transpired? Oh yes, we are. I am not a man who would sully a young woman’s reputation and not make amends.”

“I have not been sullied. Only . . . pleasured,” she admitted, solely out of requirement. Suddenly, she felt foolish and embarrassed. “No barrier has been breached.”

“Believe me, had it not been for the buttoned fall of my breeches your barrier would no longer exist.” Frowning, he stood. “Your passion rivals my own. In fact, you nearly unmanned me. There is only one acceptable conclusion for two such like creatures.”

She swallowed, unable to fight the urge to look down. There, she noticed an unmistakably thick bulge that moved as she continued her intimate examination. Had she really been close to unmanning him?

“If you would like, I could prove it to you,” he said, as if she’d spoken the question aloud. He took a step toward her. “In addition to removing you of your barrier and any further doubt of how well matched we are.”

Her gaze snapped up to his. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I wasn’t speaking of necessity,” he said, low enough that she barely heard him, his gaze making an equally intimate perusal of her body. “Then again, perhaps necessity is the correct word after all.”

A confusing mixture of sensations moved through her. A pleasant, pulsing heat throbbed between her thighs, urging her to step forward and return to his embrace. On the other hand, her lungs seized and burned, compelling her to run from him. He expected to marry her?

“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” Griffin said quietly. The passion that was in his gaze a moment ago seemed suddenly doused by concern.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Stepping around him, she reached for her slightly damp petticoat and slipped it over her head. “I just don’t want to marry you.”

“You’ll have to get used to the idea.” He crossed his rather impressive arms over his chest. There was no amusement or teasing in his expression.

She glared at him. Did he actually believe she would simply give in to his demands? Arrogant, conceited man! “In case you have forgotten, we require different things. You require a wife who will give you an heir. I require a marriage in name only; ergo, no children and no true husband, fit or otherwise.”

He smirked at her. “After what you’ve shown me this afternoon, I know very well that you require a husband in the truest sense—and often.”

“You will have to be that husband for someone else,” she said, gritting her teeth. She tugged her dress free of the branches as well. Slipping it on, she tied the inner tapes before fastening the bib front to conceal her breasts.

Throughout the entirety of her dressing, Griffin didn’t say a word. He merely watched, as if every movement she made was meant for his pleasure. “I’m afraid my mind is made up. You’re the only woman I want to marry. Though . . . I do not want a long betrothal. I believe I will speak to your father in the morning.”

She yanked too hard on her stocking, and it ripped apart on the branch. All the breath left her lungs in a sudden whoosh of dread. “You cannot!” Even though she yelled it, the words came out a mere whisper. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Griffin, please don’t do this. I cannot marry you.” She absolutely refused to repeat her mother’s mistake.

He came forward and took her in his arms, smoothing the hair back from her face. “Don’t be afraid. I cannot bear it.”

Did he think she was afraid of him? Guilt filled her at his incorrect assumption. She shook her head and reached up to brush her hand against his cheek. “I’m not afraid of you. Believe me, if I were a different person, I would be the happiest woman in the world to accept your offer.” She lowered her hand. “But the woman I am cannot marry you.”

His nostrils flared as he released her and crossed the room. He jerked open the door and stood still for a long while, staring out at the copse of trees and beyond, as if to find a solution. But she knew there was none. The simple truth was, she could not marry him, because she loved him far too much.

She folded the remains of her stockings in her hand and stepped into her soggy, ruined slippers. Before she could walk to the door, he turned.

“Then we will marry in name only.”

Delaney rarely cried and she never expected to do so in front of Griffin. The fountain she’d suddenly become annoyed her. Hot tears burned as they forged a path down her cheeks, dripping onto the damp muslin. “I am sorry, Griffin, but I refuse to do that to you.”

“This makes no sense at all. If you would just tell me—”

“Please,” she said, lifting her hand to his mouth to silence him. “If you care at all for . . . my honor, please let me return to the house, and don’t follow too closely behind.”

He withdrew a damp handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dried her tears before pressing the soft linen into her hand. “I won’t follow too closely, but I will come to call on you tomorrow.”

She nodded and walked out of the little cottage without looking back. As for tomorrow, she planned to be far away from Danbury Lane.