Page 6 of The Earl’s Gamble (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life)

6

Griff

“ A head of winter, I’ve scheduled a chimney sweep to come in.” Walker’s monotonous voice carried through Griff’s office. “He’ll be covering the manor over the next week or two, but he’s left the order of the rooms to me. Are there any rooms that need to be vacant on any particular day?”

Half-listening, Griff fetched a stack of ￡1 banknotes from the safe, shoving a small stack of ￡20 notes out of the way. He began counting them out, ready to hand over to Walker to pay the salaries of the household staff for the week. A stack of 10-shilling banknotes already sat on his desk, ready to allocate out. “Not that I’m aware,” he murmured absent-mindedly. “Shame he couldn’t come today to sort out Her Ladyship’s chimneys while she’s down in Cornwall visiting the Dowager Lady Starcross.”

His voice was a grumble, but in truth he was glad his mother hadn’t become lost in her widowhood. Since coming out of mourning, she seemed to be on a grand tour of her friends’ estates.

“Indeed, my lord.” Walker scribbled something down on his pad. “Additionally, one of the maids has noticed that the blue armchair in the drawing room is fraying at the edges. Shall I arrange for it to be reupholstered? ”

He turned back to the safe, ready to fetch more cash—before stilling. Actually, hadn’t there been a stack of ￡50s in here too? He supposed Mama must have taken them out for her stay in Cornwall.

Griff moved some of the jewellery boxes out of the way, flicking open a few to check that they hadn’t been fleeced by persons unknown. Tiaras, necklaces, earrings, an orange sapphire ring that had belonged to his grandmother. It was all in there. Definitely Mama.

She’d be back tomorrow morning. He’d have to remind her to let him know when she was taking cash.

“Yes,” Griff replied. It was a shame it hadn’t been noticed earlier. He could have had it fixed before tomorrow’s cursed birthday dinner. He was dreading it more with every coming hour, regretting having given Lady Jilly the impression that a proposal was incoming.

“And I notice no date has been set for Miss Finch’s departure. Do you have one in min—?”

In the corner, the grandfather clock clicked, before commencing the rich, vibrant bells Griff knew so well. It was eight o’clock, he realised. And he was going to be late for dinner.

Leaving Walker to fetch and distribute the rest of the money from the safe, Griff made a beeline for the stairs. It was just him and Rose tonight.

After three weeks of daily stretching exercises, Woodbridge had presented them with a graph tracking the progress they’d each made. Griff’s attention had drifted over his own to focus on Rose’s, thoroughly pleased to see improvements in her range of motion and a decrease in her level of pain.

He entered the breakfast room, opening his mouth to apologise for being late—and promptly closing it. The table was carefully laid, in addition to engraved silver chafing dishes having been set out for them. But there was no sign of his dinner companion .

Had he got the time wrong? But no, there was food in them. Fl?dle to start with, by the looks of it, followed by a pork-and-apple pie.

Griff headed back down the corridor. The last time he’d seen Rose had been for their lunchtime exercise appointment. He knocked on her bedroom door, keeping an ear out for any noise from within. “Rose? May I come in?”

A muffled noise came from within.

He opened the door slowly, giving her enough time to call out a warning. When nothing came, he finally peeked around the corner to see that Rose was abed, her hair a golden tumble around her shoulders and her eyes barely open.

She’d been asleep.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he offered. “If I’d known you were sleeping, I would have let you rest. When you weren’t at dinner, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Her eyes flew open as she struggled up to a sitting position. “Oh god. I’m so sorry.” She threw her legs off the bed, ready to jump to her feet in a panic—before a squeak of pain had her clapping her hand over her mouth.

Griff was across the room in an instant, going to his knees before her but too scared to touch anything for fear of making it worse. “What’s wrong? Is it broken?” What did it refer to?

“Cramp.” She clutched at her weak leg, breathing through the pain. “I…I may have bitten off more than I could chew.”

She was as skinny as a rake. He didn’t see how. “Meaning?”

“Well.” She swallowed hesitantly. There was a strange mix of emotions on her face; determined pride pinched by pain. “After Doctor Woodbridge came earlier and I saw how much improvement I’ve made in the past couple of weeks…” She trailed off, and Griff’s feeling of dread began to rise. “I thought I might be able to tackle the stairs by myself. ”

“Did you fall?”

Rose bit her lip. “No?”

“That was terrible,” he told her. “I’ll ask you again but this time you do a better job of lying. Did you fall?”

Her snort of laughter filled the room, culminating in an affectionate grin that didn’t quite mask the pain in her eyes. “No,” she said confidently.

Griff took her hand. “The next time you want to try something new, tell me.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He gave her a small nod. “It’s your leg that hurts, you say? Or is this a new injury incurred when you didn’t fall?”

“My leg,” Rose replied. A sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead.

“Let me help you back on the bed. May I touch you?” When she inclined her head, he ever-so-gently supported her leg from below, placing one hand at her ankle and one behind her knee.

When she sat at the head of the bed against the mountain of pillows, he fleeced the rest of the room of its cushions and settled her leg on them for support.

Her stomach gave an angry yowl.

“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he promised her—and her stomach. He scurried back down to the breakfast room to retrieve their respective dinners on a tray. The clinking of silverware followed him back down to Rose’s room. “Here you are.”

There was something soft in her eyes as she let him settle it on her lap. “Thank you, Griff.”

Griff gave her a wink. “I’m just going downstairs to fetch some things. ”

He wasn’t long, soon returning with a hot water bottle radiating soothing heat and a bottle of tincture. “So,” he began on entering, “I did intend to ask Mrs Mercer for something from her medicine cabinet, but it’s her day off today so I had to settle for asking Walker instead. He provided this.” Griff wiggled the bottle of tincture between his thumb and forefinger. “On closer inspection, I realised it’s tincture of opium.”

“Oh.” Rose blinked.

“Walker said the safe dose is three to four teaspoons, although whenever our medical officer prescribed tincture of opium he recommended one teaspoon.” And even then, the man had been as stingy as a miser. “Although I’d be more comfortable with one teaspoon, based on my experiences. Three to four teaspoons seems…dangerous, quite frankly.”

“Thank you for going to the trouble of procuring it, but I think I’ll just use the hot water bottle. My leg isn’t agonisingly painful, by any means.” Rose gave the little bottle a suspicious look. “I know how addictive it can be.”

Griff let out an exhale of relief. He hadn’t wanted to make the decision for her, but was immensely glad she refused.

Rose had almost finished her pork-and-apple pie, a self-conscious tint in her gaze. “Thank you for bringing it up, though. You didn’t have to do that.”

“ That being to care for you?” he inquired.

“Well…” Rose answered awkwardly. “Yes. A lady does like to be independent.”

“You’re my guest,” he told her matter-of-factly. And I like taking care of you . It pleased him to wait on her.

The relieved gasp she let out when he held the hot water bottle against her leg had his cock perking its ears up like an unruly hound. Get down , he told it, smothering it with his tray of food and pretending it didn’t exist .

“You don’t have to eat in here if you don’t want to,” Rose said shyly.

Griff paused, a bit of pie halfway to his mouth. “Would you prefer I leave?”

With a coquettish smirk, she shook her head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the toes of her uninjured leg curl. “I like your company.”

“And I like yours,” he admitted, his tone rougher than he’d intended. Extraordinarily so. She’d infused light into a life that had been marred by loss and isolation. He looked forward to seeing her, be it during mealtimes or their daily sessions in the orangery or even passing each other in the corridor. “Even if you tried to maim me in the lift.”

Rose’s lips parted in outrage. “That was an accident! I didn’t know how sensitive the controls were.”

He grinned at the sight of her anger.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked, frowning. Having finished her food, she placed her empty tray on the table beside her bed.

“Because I…” Griff paused. He didn’t quite know the answer at first. “Because when you arrived you were so…wounded. Literally. Metaphorically. I like seeing you angry because it means you’re comfortable enough to be angry.”

A pale pink blush spread across her cheeks. “If you don’t stop being sweet, I’ll have no choice but to try and use the lift again.”

“And have you land in my lap? What a terrible punishment indeed.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Rose’s eyes opened wide, shocked out of whatever response she would have made.

The air in the room vanished, replaced by the kind of taut tension that could snap at any minute. Griff’s eyes locked with hers, waiting for her to tell him off. To admonish him. To demand he leave.

But she didn’t .

“Would you like me in your lap again, Griff?” Her words were a whisper, designed to lure him in closer.

They succeeded. “Would you like to be in my lap again?”

“I asked first,” she said, her eyes lowering as the apprehension rose. One of them had to make a move, but Griff had a feeling he needed to be the one to take the plunge. “Answer me.”

Fuck. That tone .

“Yes,” he hissed. My lady. “I want you in my lap, Rose. You have no idea—” Griff cut himself off with a curse. Rose may not be a lady in the strictest sense of the word, but he wanted to treat her like a lady. To serve her like a lady. Admitting that his cock was as hard as steel at the idea wasn’t polite .

Rose’s smile quirked to the side. “You forget, I was married for a decade. I know what men want.”

He truly, truly doubted whether she knew what he wanted. What he needed . He’d long since learnt his desires were abnormal among men. “And what do you think this man wants?”

She paused, as though trying to decide her next action, but then—

With an inviting smile, she held out her hand. “Come.”

Griff shoved the tray off his lap and took her hand. The touch of every woman he’d ever known had been silky smooth, but not Rose’s. Heavy calluses and scars marred her flesh, just as difficulties had marred her life.

They accomplished their goal, reeling him in until he was close enough to see the faint, bewitching line of freckles across her nose. The pillows propping her up were thrown off the bed, until she reclined, guiding him alongside her.

Laying a reverent hand along the length of her cheek, Griff dipped his head and gave in to the temptation. She may have been a widow, but he wasn’t a cad. His kiss was slow to begin with, his tongue sliding against the seam of her lips in the hope that she’d let him in.

She did.

A groan of satisfaction left him as her taste enveloped him. She tasted of sweet apples, and he angled her head to get more of it, feeling her fingers threading through his hair as he did so. Her touch sent a shiver of need down his spine, heading straight for his cock.

Her touch pulled him closer, beckoning him to climb atop her. “Not tonight,” he whispered against her lips, trailing his kiss down to her neck. “You’re hurt.”

Rose’s moan was a hushed mewl of arousal, unclasping the buttons on her blouse as his lips neared. “Don’t make decisions for me, Griff. I don’t think you’ll like my response.”

His cock jumped in his trousers, straining to reach her beneath the damp fabric. Fuck , something in that threat made him wonder if he would . “Then tell me what you’d like me to do?”

“Touch me,” she commanded, authority locking into her voice.

Griff couldn’t obey quick enough, pushing her blouse aside to reveal her pale nipples hiding beneath the sheer fabric of her teddy, hardened into little points. He closed his lips around them, sucking them through the fabric as her cries echoed above him.

Rose clasped his head with both hands, drunk on pleasure. “ Go lower,” she gasped, her hips twitching. “Use your hands.”

The edge of his lip curled upwards. He let his hand drift down to the hem of her skirt, slowly pulling it upwards. He was careful to only touch her uninjured leg, eagerly watching the anticipation in her eyes grow as his touch climbed higher.

“Is this better?” he breathed, skimming along her inner thigh, pushing her to the edge just to see what he’d discover there .

The darkened intensity of her eyes told him he was playing a dangerous game. “So very, very nearly.”

“Are you always this authoritative in bed? Because I have to admit it’s quite beguiling.”

Her lips pulled to the side in an arousing smirk; her eyes lowered with desire. “Do you now?”

Nodding, Griff bit out a snarl of desire when he breeched the loose leg holes of her teddy and met the saturated warmth lurking between the wispy curls at the apex of her thighs. He mapped the topography of her body, and she gasped when his touch slid over her clitoris, tailing off in a tortured whine when he lingered there in unending circles. “I like following your orders,” he admitted, bearing his needs before her.

“Go inside,” she whimpered. “I want to feel you inside me.”

With his lips on her neck, he groaned. He wanted to be inside her too. To plunge into her heat and feel every gasp, every shudder.

His hand was a poor substitute, but it was better than nothing. Griff held her eyes as he slowly slid a finger into her entrance, savouring the sight of her pleasure. The weight of her arms around his neck, the feel of her spine arching as he added another finger.

“Does that please you?” he purred, withdrawing his touch only to plunge back in, curving his fingers until her eyes rolled back in her head.

She nodded, her mouth hanging open in ecstatic anguish. “So much.”

Griff pressed his thumb on her clitoris the next time he withdrew, smirking at the cry that left her. He felt her inner walls twitching around his touch, squeezing his fingers in an echo of what they could do to his cock.

“Griff,” Rose chanted, her voice high and strained with pleasure. She squirmed in place, her hips dancing as she took the pleasure he offered. Her heavy-lidded eyes connected with his, pleading with him every bit as much as her voice. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

“I would never disobey you,” he promised against her lips, feeling her punishing little claws dig into his shirt.

A spark of interest flared in her expression. “Would you not?”

He swallowed, wondering if this was the moment she’d reject him. And his desires along with him. “I would serve you on my knees if you allow me, my lady .”

“Oh, Griff, ” she gasped, her eyes flaring with interest. “Yes, yes, yes.” Shock jumped into her gaze—before her climax drowned it.

Griff smothered her high-pitched moan in his kiss, surprised to feel the gush of her orgasm soaking his hand far beyond anything he’d expected. Her arms clung to his neck as wave after wave assailed her, until she sagged onto the bed. He could still feel tiny little tremors as he slid his hand from between her legs, surprised to find the cuff of his dress shirt was drenched.

A worried voice interrupted his amused grin. “Why are you smiling?”

Other than the fact you didn’t reject my proclivities outright?

He held up his hand, twisting his forearm to show her the wet fabric clinging to his wrist from all angles. “How the devil am I supposed to explain this to my valet?” He laughed.

Rose bit her lip in a failed attempt to hide her amusement. “Maybe you just throw that one away.”

Griff dipped his head, touching his lips to hers in a soft embrace. Twin pink spots grazed his cheeks. “Not a chance.”