She stared at her reflection in the cheval glass. Lord Griffin was attracted to her in a way she’d never believed any man ever would be. Perhaps the question she ought to ask was whether or not she could survive knowing that she’d turned her back on what he offered.
The answer to that was a loud and resounding “No.”
11
It had not beenGriffin’s intention to reveal how much he wanted Emily, but damn him if he hadn’t been driven to exasperation by the certainty she had about her own undesirability. The fact that she would suppose he’d been driven to kiss her because of some primal instinct and not because he was genuinely drawn to her was galling.
Huffing out a breath, he picked up the ratchet wheel with the tweezers he’d purchased and placed it carefully over the mainspring. The coil had been repaired and all remaining pieces cleaned, so the clock should work perfectly once he finished reassembling it. The clickspring was gently eased into place, and Griffin sat back, admiring his work. Only the winding pinon and wheel remained, and then he’d be finished with no more excuses to avoid Miss Howard’s company.
And hehadbeen avoiding it if he were honest. For the past three days since the picnic, he’d kept to the parlor in order to complete the paint job or to the dining room where he’d worked on her clock. Now that both tasks had almost been completed, he would have to come up with additional ways to keep his distance from her. The alternative would be to surrender to every temptation she offered.
Of course there was the third option of simply leaving. He could be back in London within three days and on his way to Vienna the next. Mrs. Howard was here now, after all, along with her maid and coachman. Griffin’s protection was no longer needed as much as it had been before. But the very idea of leaving Miss Howard behind, of travelling away from her and adding distance between them, squeezed at his heart.
He couldn’t do it.
Not yet.
But if not now, then when?
He scrubbed his hand over his jaw and glanced around. What he needed was a drink. A large glass of soothing brandy. Spying a crystal decanter through the china cabinet’s glass door, Griffin pushed back his chair and went to retrieve it, relieved to discover that it was full.
He filled a glass, returned the decanter to where it belonged, took a fortifying swallow, and considered his options once more. Miss Howard was being indecisive and distant. Ever since he’d blurted that he’d been mad for her right from the start, she’d put up a wall between them. Hell, she’d done so even before, he reflected. After he’d caught her spying on him during his morning swim.
But her distance toward him had grown more pronounced in the last few days, and he found that he now missed more than just attempting to court her with seduction. He missed talking to her; the simple exchange of opinions, experiences, and recollections that they had begun to enjoy. He took another sip of his drink. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Perhaps he’d been too forward.
This was certainly an angle worth considering. Because they’d agreed to be brutally honest, he’d thought she’d appreciate directness, even when it came to his advances. But he was starting to suspect he might be mistaken about that. Perhaps a more subtle approach would be better, or at least less likely to scare her off.
And shewasscared, though of what exactly he wasn’t quite sure. But he’d seen it in her eyes when she’d stepped away from him in the parlor and again when he’d passionately told her of his desire.
He wasn’t sure why this would be the case unless she worried he’d move too fast or expect too much. So then, the way forward would be with increased subtlety and flirtation.
And then?
Griffin returned to his seat, set down his glass, and finished fixing the clock. He wound it with the key and was swiftly rewarded by its soft ticking. Whatever happened would be up to Miss Howard. All her life she’d been steered in one direction and told what to do. If there was one thing he could give her that he believed would mean more to her than anything else, it was being given the chance to choose.
Of course he almost forgot all about this honorable intention of his that evening when it was time for them to leave for the Partridge residence. Griffin was waiting in the foyer when a glimpse of red at the top of the stairs caught his attention. He looked up, mesmerized by the shimmering silk now making its descent, and by the woman it encased.
Dear merciful God, she was stunning and more than capable of bringing ten thousand men to their knees if she put her mind to it. Griffin could only stare as the part of the gown that covered Miss Howard’s legs came into view. It was followed by her hips, her waist, her breasts, and finally, when he managed to tear his gaze away from that particularly delectable part, her face.
“You look,” he swallowed so she wouldn’t catch him drooling, “incredible.”
The shy smile with which she responded only added to her allure. Innocence incarnate, even when she pretended sophistication. Griffin could scarcely breathe.
“Thank you,” she murmured, the words softly spoken beneath her breath. She cleared her throat. “I must give Mama credit. Scarlett was her suggestion.”
Griffin shifted his gaze to Mrs. Howard, who’d somehow materialized next to her daughter without him noticing.
“Good choice.” He smiled politely and prayed his expression did not reveal the extent to which Miss Howard stirred his imagination. And other things.
Thankfully, Mrs. Howard’s eyes brightened with appreciation, none the wiser. So Griffin opened the front door and escorted both women to the waiting carriage.
“Ifearedthe dress would be too bold,” Emily discreetly told Lord Griffin when they arrived at Partridge House. She’d spent the drive fidgeting with her skirt while he’d conversed with her mother from the opposite bench. Apparently, the two shared a fondness for Vermeer, music boxes, and Vivaldi.
By the time they arrived at their destination, the Four Seasons in its entirety had been discussed with several favorite parts hummed in time to the tap of Georgina’s slipper.
“In my opinion, it is perfect,” Lord Griffin assured her in an equally low whisper as they accompanied Emily’s mother up the front steps. His hand settled briefly against her lower back, the heat from it pressing possessively into her skin for the second it lasted.
And then they were at the front door, being welcomed by the Partridge butler and ushered into a grand foyer where shawls were collected before they were led into the parlor to meet their hosts. Mr. David Partidge was the first to step forward and greet them, his attention going first to Emily’s mother and then to Emily herself.
