It wasn’t necessarily the right thing to do, but it was the only thing he could do.
Griff slid his hand down his chest toward his aching cock. He was entirely naked, having shucked his clothing without waiting for Clark. He didn’t want anybody to see him in this state—this wanting, desperate state where all he could think about was her.
Thank goodness only the butler had seen him when he returned, and he had sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom without even waiting for the man’s greeting.
He’d slammed the door behind him, the flame of the candle lit on his nightstand flickering from the disturbed air.
And then tossed his clothes to the floor as quickly as he could before sliding into his bed.
“Ahh,” he heard himself moan as his hand curled around his shaft. He held it for a moment, relishing the sweet tension prior to beginning to move.
And then he did, sliding his palm up and down the warmth of his cock, grasping the top and twisting before sliding down again to its root.
Damn it, he wished he hadn’t erred so tremendously earlier this evening. If he hadn’t, it might be her soft hand curled around him, tugging on his cock as she licked her lips, all that dark hair falling around her gorgeous breasts.
Not that he’d seen them yet, but he knew they’d be gorgeous. Just like the rest of her.
Her small hand might not even fit all the way around him. She’d have to tighten her grip to grasp him, squeezing his girth as she stroked up and down.
Would she be sitting upright in bed, perhaps straddling his thighs?
The image sent a bolt of lust through him, so he decided that yes, she would be straddling his thighs. Her wet warmth spread out in front of him as she touched him.
Perhaps her other hand would be touching her breast, those delicate fingers trailing over her nipple, which stood erect, practically begging for his mouth.
Maybe he’d ask if she wanted him to suck her nipples. Would she like him to talk during sex, or would she be too focused to concentrate on words?
He gripped himself harder, images in his mind of her touching him as she rubbed herself on his thighs as he stroked faster. Wishing it were her, but knowing that there was a distinct possibility it wouldn’t happen, and he’d have to make do with his hand.
Thinking how he’d let her stroke him close to breaking point, then tossing her on her back and pushing all the way inside, making sure to use his fingers on her little button so she would climax.
Biting her shoulder as he thrust in and out, grabbing her legs so they wrapped around his waist, feeling her breasts rub against his chest.
“Unnnggh,” he groaned, feeling his balls tighten as he drove inexorably toward his climax.
He spent a few seconds later, arching off the bed with the impact of the orgasm.
He felt the satisfying release flow through him, relaxed back down onto the bed, his stomach wet from his spend, his whole body shaking.
Damn it. This was good, but he knew that being with her for real would be far, far better.
He resolved to do whatever he could to make it right—not just so he could get her into bed, although that was a strong motivation—but because he wanted to feel her trust again.
And he wanted to see her naked and shaking with as much passion as he was.
“Good morning, my lady.”
Lord Stanbury was as subdued as an enormous handsome man could be. His tone was low, his gaze respectful, and even his hair seemed tame.
“Good morning, my lord.” Della nodded as she took her cloak off the hook. “Thank you for coming so promptly this morning. I wasn’t certain if you—” And she paused, wishing she hadn’t started to say what she had.
Because of course his whole mien changed. He froze, and it felt as though his whole body was vibrating. Although, truth be told, she much preferred Exceedingly Angry Lord Viscount Whatever to Lord Meek. Much to her dismay.
“Did you think I would renege on my promise because of what did not happen last evening?” he said in a growl.
Damn it, and now she wanted to leap on him. Contrary, contrary Della.
“No, I didn’t,” Della replied, lifting her chin. “It was a thoughtless thing to say, I apologize.”
He took a breath, as though to argue, then blinked as he realized what she’d said. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Della echoed. She took a deep breath. “Let me begin again, this time without being so careless of your feelings. Thank you for coming this morning.”
“We have a bargain,” he said gruffly. And then his eyes widened. “Not that one, I mean. The first one.”
She had to laugh at his reaction—aghast that he might seem to be dismissive of her desires.
When actually if she let him, she had no doubt that he would encourage her desires.
Damn it.
“Are you all right?” he asked, returning to his more considerate tone.
“I am,” she said firmly.
“Because I didn’t mean to upset you last night.”
She rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “Of course you didn’t mean to upset me. Who sets out to upset someone?” Besides her father the duke and Mr. Baxter, that was. But she would not tell him that—he was just as likely to go hunt both of those men down and punch them, which of course would be the exact opposite of what she wanted.
Which was the problem in the first place.
He absorbed her words, then burst into laughter. “I never thought of it that way. Although I will admit that I believe there are occasions where you try to deliberately upset me.”
His expression was tentatively hopeful, and it made her heart get all mushy. Because he was flirting with her, naturally, but not forcing anything upon her. Allowing her to take the lead, but letting her know how he felt.
“Let’s go,” she said, wishing she were less of a good friend so she could take Lord Aghast and Thoughtful here into her parlor and have her way with him. But she was a good friend, and Sarah had been waiting for so long for news of her Mr. Wattings that Della couldn’t and wouldn’t justify waiting any longer just because she had feminine wants and needs.
“Of course,” he said, his hand going automatically to the small of her back, but then hesitating right when he would have touched her.
She turned and nodded at him in acknowledgment. It was a small gesture, but it was an automatic one for most, if not all, gentlemen. That he would hesitate because he was uncertain if she wanted it spoke more than a thousand apologies.
Although she might take those as well. It could be fun to see him grovel.
“I think I might’ve seen him.” And then the man paused, making Griff want to shake him until his teeth rattled in his head.
Not that that would help. But it would be most satisfying.
“He was here mebbe six months ago?”
He and Della had gone straight to the docks where a ship had just arrived, its crew spilling out in search of companionship and alcohol. Probably not in that order.
They’d asked nearly forty sailors if any of them knew Mr. Wattings, and none of them did, until this one scratched his head and squinted and surmised that perhaps he did.
He and Della had whisked the sailor away to the closest pub, where Griff bought him an ale, buying one for himself as well, waiting impatiently as the man downed his drink, belched, and then scratched his head some more.
“Where was he?” Della asked.
The sailor paused in his head-scratching to give her an appreciative glance. Griff was pleased that he did not immediately want to punch the man—mostly because he already wanted to punch him for taking so long to answer the question.
“He was aboard the Righteous Lady,” the man replied. He was thin, his skin sallow, as though he hadn’t been let on deck during his voyage. “Last I saw him he said he was leaving London. Said there was nothing for him here.”
“But there was!” she replied in a fierce tone. “His wife and child were here.”
The man shrugged, looking wistfully at the bottom of his glass. Griff gestured to the barmaid for another, at which the man brightened considerably.
“All’s I know is how he looked when he left.” The barmaid put the glass down on the table, removing the empty one. “Like his heart was broken.”
Griff glanced over at Della, not surprised to see her eyes moisten and her chin wobble. She was fierce, certainly, but she was also fiercely loyal and passionate, so anything she felt would immediately reveal itself on her face.
It was a good thing she didn’t play cards.
“Did he say where he was going?” She spoke in a low tone, as though it was the most important question she’d ever asked. Perhaps it was.
The man shook his head. “No, but if I had to guess . . .”
Another pause.
She shook her head at Griffith as though she knew he wanted to leap up and drag the man’s words from his throat.
“. . . I’d think he went somewhere to work with animals. He kept saying animals wouldn’t betray you, not like people.”
He heard Della’s sharp intake of breath, and wished he could do something to ameliorate her reaction.
“He must think Sarah abandoned him,” she said in a tremulous whisper. “And that is why she can’t find him. He left because he thinks she broke his heart.” She rose, shoving the chair behind her, the legs screeching along the rough wooden floor. “We need to find him, Griffith.”
He rose as well, something blooming in his chest at hearing her use his name so naturally. She hadn’t before, at least not that he could remember. And he knew he would have remembered it.
He wanted to hear her say his name again. Only in a more desperate way, when she was on the verge of her climax and she knew he could bring her there.
“Uh, yes. Find him. We will,” Griffith said, realizing she was waiting for a reply. Impatiently, he had to say.
Would she be as impatient when—? He really needed to find this Mr. Wattings. Or resign himself to his hand for the rest of eternity.
“The Naval Office is the next natural step,” Della said as they exited the pub. “I know you might not want to go there, because of your past interactions with them—”
“You mean getting arrested and accused of treason or whatever it was?” he replied in a lazy voice, as though it didn’t come within inches of irrevocably changing his life.
She had to admit, he had remarkable aplomb.
“We can go there. I’ll wave my title around and see if we can get some answers. Besides which, eventually I’m going to have to tell them I’m not coming back.” The last part he said as though he were dreading it all.
Della nodded, pleased he was so willing to venture to a place she doubted he ever wished to return to again—a place where the future he wanted was housed, while also being the place that had attempted to rob him of his freedom.
He is not doing it for you, she reminded herself. It was all because of their bargain. And to find his missing seaman, since it was clear it rankled his masculine pride to have lost someone so thoroughly.
Although she knew he was doing it a little bit for her. And she knew why.
The question was whether she would be able to allow him that much control over her body without immediately wishing to rescind it.
“We can walk,” Griffith said, gesturing ahead of them. “It’s only a mile or two. I presume you’re not too much of a lady to balk at some brisk exercise?”
Della began to frown in outrage, then realized that was exactly the reaction he was looking for. “Of course, my lord,” she replied in a silky tone. “I wish only to proceed with the investigation and locate our missing sailor.”
“Mmph,” he grunted, beginning to stride ahead, making no accommodation for her shorter stride. Or if it was accommodating, it wasn’t quite accommodating enough. But she relished his brisk walking. It meant that he knew she could handle it, that she would adjust herself to work alongside him. That she didn’t need special treatment because she was a lady.
She knew that he would treat her as an equal if or when they ever managed to find their way amicably to the bedroom. She’d be more than able to keep up with him there, and she couldn’t wait to challenge him with some of her own wants and desires, and discovering what his were.
So the faster they located Sarah’s husband, the more swiftly they could proceed to a bedroom of their choosing to explore.
No wonder he was walking so quickly.