Marry me.
For a beat, a wave of triumph rolled over him with such sudden ferocity, he feared it would drown him altogether. She had made it shockingly easy for him. The plan he had formed over the last few days was going to be easier to execute than he had expected. He would marry Lady Violet, grant himself the time he needed to clear his name, and then he would go to the Home Office with the evidence of Arden’s incompetence.
Griffin had no doubt the Home Office would be infuriated by Arden’s wrongheaded insistence upon finding guilt where none existed. The need to ruin the duke, to force his removal as League leader, had begun burning with the fiery fuel of vengeance within him. And then Arden would live thereafter with the reminder of his folly. He would face Griffin, knowing he had wronged him, knowing Griffin had married Lady Violet because of his own ineptitude.
But he forced his expression to show nothing of his pleasure. Instead, he frowned down at her. “Marry you, my lady? Have you forgotten you already possess a betrothed? I cannot think Flowerpot would agree to your marrying the both of us, and nor would I. I do not share my women.”
The thought of Lady Violet ashiswoman made a fresh surge of primal possession charge through him. It was not only the rightness of it—there was something about her that had called to him, from the moment he had first laid eyes upon her, in a deep, intrinsic sense—but also the physicality of making it so. Of stripping her bare, of learning her curves with his hands and mouth, owning her with his lips and his tongue and his cock, of sinking inside her.
It was right. It was going to happen. He would worry about the consequences of all the rest later. For now, he had to live in the moment. To make the proper decisions to protect his bloody neck from the hangman’s noose, for once he was commended to prison, his chances of proving his innocence and ever walking away a free man would be exponentially decreased. Lady Violet West could be his last hope for more time, the time he would require to clear his name.
Her flush deepened. “I will end the betrothal with Charles, naturally, if you…that is to say, if you were to indicate your interest in becoming my husband.”
He would dearly like to indicate his interest in the form of his lips upon hers and his tongue in her mouth, but he refrained with the greatest of efforts. Griffin did not wish to seem too eager, and nor did he want Lady Violet to suspect he harbored ulterior motives or had settled upon her as his salvation on his own.
No, indeed.
Husband.
The word ought to inspire some fear in him. For a devoted lifelong bachelor,husbandhad always been an expletive, rather than an aspiration. But for some bewildering reason, the thought of becoming that very role to Lady Violet—making her his duchess, taking her to bed, making herhis—appealed in a way it ought not.
In a way that went well beyond self-preservation.
“My interest in becoming your husband,” he repeated. He still held her fine-boned wrists in both his hands. With his thumbs, he began to rub slow, small circles over her silken skin. Just above her wildly thumping pulse that told him she was as fearful and excited by their proximity and the possibility of their future joining as he was.
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I know it is most unusual, but only think of it thus, Strathmore: I am Lucien’s sister. He would not be nearly as eager to cast his sister’s husband into prison. Indeed, I think I could well be your only saving grace, until we have sufficient time to conduct proper research and discover who is behind planting the false evidence against you at your home.”
He could not agree more. Not to mention the prospect of having her in his bed was enough to send him into a conflagration. But still, they would face some trying situations together.
If they were able to flee and wed without Arden’s knowledge, there would be hell to pay afterward. And if Arden were to discover their plans and put a halt to them, they would also face a multitude of repercussions. Lady Violet needed to be certain, and likewise, Griffin needed to be equally certain of her. He had to be able to put his faith and trust in her, without question.
“Have you truly thought about this, my lady? You have been cossetted your entire life. Your world consists of precious little opposition. You have your crocheting and your Aunt Horrible and your brother, and Flowerpot, but all that will change. If you wed me, your life will be forever altered. After I can clear my name, you will no longer live beneath your brother’s roof, but beneath mine. You will share my bed. Bear my children. Is that what you want?”
Damnation, what ailed him? Why did the reminders he offered for Lady Violet only stiffen his wayward prick even more with each word he spoke? Why did the thought of her sharing his bed and bearing his children—of him planting his seed deep within her womb—make him so bloody desperate for her? Desperate for a resoundingyesfrom her sweet lips?
“What makes you think I have been cossetted?” she demanded, her stubborn streak making itself known once more.
He liked her when she was fiery. By God, it made him want to kiss her senseless and then fuck her senseless too. When she was his, he could do both. For now, he did not dare do either.
“You are Arden’s sister,” he said pointedly. “I know him. He is an overly protective arsehole. And if anyone would be cossetted and protected, it is you. My guess is, he selected Flowerpot for you, and told you to marry him.”
She rolled her lips together in a telling gesture, before exhaling on a long sigh. “He recommended Charles to me, yes. I do believe he had my best interests in mind. Charles is a kind man. He would not be faithless or abusive as some husbands are.”
Griffin could not—would not—keep the cynicism from his voice. “Is that all you want from a husband, Lady Violet? Your only requirements are a man who will not beat you or stray from your bed?”
Her jaw tensed, her jade eyes deepening to a pure, true emerald. “Of course not. I want a man who is honorable and brave, who is kind and caring, who will make me a good and trustworthy husband.”
Her words struck a chord within him, and he realized for the first time, just how long it had been since anyone had deemed him worthy of anything, other than being a hired assassin, a glorified solider, a man willing to commit any sin to protect the country he loved.
“You think me trustworthy?” he asked, even though he knew he should not. Something within him made him pose the question, made him require her response. “Your brother believes me a treasonous cutthroat, willing to sell my soul and my secrets to the Fenians for the lure of more coin. You love your brother, do you not?”
“Of course I love my brother,” she said without hesitation. “But I also believe you trustworthy and innocent of any charges he would seek to lay against you. I love Lucien, but that does not mean I believe he is right in all things, or in every judgment he makes. I have my own mind and will, you know.”
“Yes you do.” He could not help himself. He brought first one of her hands to his lips for a kiss, and then the other. Just a simple chaste kiss upon the top of her delicate, smooth-as-silk hand. But it was enough. “Tell me, how do you propose to make this work? I am currently your brother’s prisoner, and you are no better. Arden will never grant us his approval. We will need to escape together and marry in secret. Are you prepared for a scandal? For your brother’s condemnation?”
Damnation, he was probably dissuading her with each new word he uttered. He ought to stop. To rein himself in. But the honorable part of him—the part he had believed long dead—seemed to have revived itself.
She stared at him, unflinching. “I have already thought of everything, Strathmore. I am prepared for everything you speak of and more.”
