“Well, did you hear me?”
“Excuse me?” Grayson stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest.
The marble bench beneath him was as cold and hard as his own body, yet he couldn’t seem to drudge up the nerve to go inside where he might come across Meg. Merde, last night had been a mistake. A mistake he feared he’d make all over again if alone for only a moment with the woman.
He’d never be able to think rationally now that he’d tasted her blood. So sweet. How easy it would have been to sink his teeth into her neck. He rubbed his trembling hands over his weary face. He’d almost lost control.
Millie stopped in front of him. “Her sister’s husband, the one who died, his last name is Clancy.”
Slowly, Grayson looked up at her. “And you’re rather proud of that, aren’t you? Uncovering the information so quickly.”
She moved to a pink rose bush and plucked a bloom, bringing it to her nose. “Never send a man to do a woman’s work.”
He almost hated being the bearer of bad news. Almost. “I already knew.”
She spun around to face him, her smirk gone. “You didn’t.”
How he wished he could laugh, but he’d found little amusement since Meg had arrived. “Sent a man to investigate in Ireland the day I arrived here. Should be getting back any moment now.”
She stomped her foot and rested her hands on her hips. “Putain de merde!”
Grayson clicked his tongue. “Such language.”
A pink flush stained her cheeks, but he knew the blush was not one of embarrassment but annoyance. There were so many few times when she lost control, that he should have savored the moment. Instead, he found himself thinking of Meg.
“Must you always win?”
He sighed and looked out over the flowers. “I can’t help it, winning comes quite naturally.” They’d both been spies during the war, hiding in the darkness of shadows. Their unspoken competition to uncover answers before the other was a known amusement among the troops. They were rather equal in talent, although neither would admit it.
She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what will you do? Charge Meg with murder?”
He frowned, his attention returning to her. Why did he feel like charging Meg with murder would be like charging himself? She’d crawled into his body, resided in his veins and skin and the very air he breathed. “I don’t know yet.”
“You can’t really believe she’s a murderer, Gray. Even I can see she reeks of innocence. It hovers around her, this sweet scent. Quite nauseating.” Millie paced in front of him, her lavender skirt swirling around her ankles. Even in the dull sunlight, her golden locks glimmered. She was gorgeous, really. Men wanted her, artists wanted to paint her and women wanted to be her. Blast it all, why didn’t he just marry her and get it over with? No one understood him like Millie. And Meg… Meg was a poison. Having her had ruined him. He couldn’t eat, drink, breathe without thinking of her.
“Why do you care? Humans are merely an amusement, I believe you once said. Do not tell me you’ve actually found a soft spot for a human?”
“No,” she muttered. “I merely know an innocent when I see one.”
She grew silent, pouting, no doubt wondering how she could get the best of him.
“Marry me, Millie,” he blurted out.
When she turned her wide eyes toward him, the heat of embarrassment crept into his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, cringing.
Instead of answering, she threw her head back and laughed.
Grayson frowned.
She waved her hands through the air, bending at the waist as she sucked in deep breaths between her peals of laughter. “I...I...apologize.”
Grayson rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed. “So glad you find marriage to me amusing.”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks and collapsed next to him, her hand resting on his thigh. “You silly, silly man.”
“Please, do go on. You’re doing wonders for my ego.”
Her lips quivered as she fought her grin. “Gray, you know very well that I have no desire for this simple, human life. Marriage? Children?” She shivered in disgust.
He raked his hands through his hair. “We’d get along much better than most couples.”
“True, but there’d be no spark, no fire. We’ve known each other much too long. Seen everything. We’d be bored to tears. Besides, the idea of marriage, of being tied down… normal... that’s your dream, Gray. Dear God, I have my hand on your thigh. Most men would be panting right now, but you haven’t even notice.”
He brushed off her touch and stood. No, a normal life was no longer his dream. He’d given up on that years ago. How stupid he’d been as a youth thinking he could have a happy marriage, a family. Families were for humans.
She stood and slipped her arm through his. “Besides, the only reason you’re asking me is because she’s gotten to you.”
Grayson stepped away from her, knowing exactly where the conversation was headed. “Who?”
Millie smirked. “You know who and what I’m talking about. Don’t play coy with me.”
Grayson’s irritation grew. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have no designs on Meg James.”
“Ah, so you do know who I speak of. That’s telling, don’t you think?”
“What I think is that you’ve become awfully obnoxious.”
She laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist, giving him a quick squeeze. “Oh Gray, you’re grasping at straws, trying to keep your feelings at bay and honestly, it’s quite amusing. Almost…human.”
“I don’t know what you speak of.”
“Surely you do. It’s as visible as the day, the way you can’t stop watching her.”
He crossed his arms. “Because I’m afraid she may murder me in my sleep.”
“The way you instantly stiffen when she arrives.”
“Preparing for an attack,” he mumbled.
She strolled along the path that led through the rose bushes. “The way you dream about her at night.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
She grinned over the top of a red rose bush. “I know.”
Anger coursed through his body, heated anger that taunted, threatened. She was playing with him, a little game he didn’t enjoy. “You go too far.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps you aren’t in love yet, but you’re well on your way.”
“We can’t love.”
She plucked a bloom, sniffed delicately, then slipped the blossom behind her ear. “Of course we can. Besides, we’ve all heard stories of our kind desiring the blood of one specific human so much, that we’d kill anyone who dare touch our bloodmate.”
“Nonsense. Stories made by silly girls.” He wanted to put a knife to her throat and tell her to take it back. It wasn’t only Meg’s blood he wanted. Hell, he wanted her entire soul. “She’s not my type.”
Millie sighed and turned the corner, coming to a pause directly in front of him. “Stop imagining my death and merely listen for a blasted moment. Perhaps I’m teasing…a little. But there’s also truth to my statement. She’s exactly your type.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, mostly to keep from strangling her. “Explain.”
She tilted her head to the side as if thinking over her response. “She’s loyal, to a fault. Merde, she’d give her own life for a friend.” She shook her head, as if disgusted. “She’s caring and kind.”
“As much as a murderer can be.”
Millie rolled her eyes, dismissing his comment. “She loves her family. She’d help anyone in need. In short, she’d be perfect for the army. She’s got everything a man such as yourself needs, combined with a beautiful face. Hell, even I can smell how damn sweet her blood is. How could you not fall for her?”
He wouldn’t even think about the taste of her blood right now. No, the thought would be too much to handle. “Yes, she’s perfect, if only she didn’t have that murder conviction hanging over her head.
”
She lifted a golden brow. “You know what I think?”
“No, but I suppose you’ll tell me anyway.”
“I think you’re using that as an excuse. You know as well as I she didn’t murder a soul, but you have to cling to that story or you’ll have nothing to hold you back from falling for the woman.”
“She’s human,” he snarled.
“So?” She sighed long and loud. “You know how I feel about humans, but if you like her, if you find you need her to make your life better, who am I to dissuade you? After you’ve lived as long as we have, Lord knows we need as much amusement as possible.”
He didn’t want to listen to Millie’s nonsense. She was wrong. So why didn’t he leave?
“Tell me, Gray. Do you find your gaze straying toward her when she’s near? Do you find your mind constantly wandering to her? And what if it had been her hand on your thigh only moments ago? Would you have noticed then?”
Merde, he couldn’t answer her. He wouldn’t, because she was right.
The wind shifted, bringing with the sweet scent of Meg. Grayson stiffened, his gaze jerking to the path that led from the house. The crunch of gravel underfoot sounded moments later. Meg swept around a rose bush, only to freeze when her gaze met his. Her face was pale, and damn it, if her lack of color didn’t worry him.
Her straw bonnet dangled forgotten from her fingers. She did not hide from the sun, but reveled in it, as most humans did. She wore a light blue dress borrowed from Millie, the neckline much too low for a Vicar’s daughter.
Must he be punished? Had he not suffered enough? The woman had invaded his mind, his soul and here she was, as if he’d conjured her by thought alone.
“Forgive me,” she murmured and turned to leave.
“Of course not,” Millie called out.
She rested her hand on Meg’s arm. “Stay, enjoy the beautiful day. I have letters to write.” She threw Grayson a wink before she swept down the path in a great display of ruffled skirts and lace. With Millie gone, the garden settled into peaceful silence.
Meg shifted, wrapping the blue ribbons that dangled from her bonnet around her fingers. Fingers that last night had slid into his hair, had wrapped around his shoulders. Her lips parted and he thought she would say something. Damn it all, he should say something.
“I merely … needed fresh air,” she mumbled.
Without a word she turned and started toward the house, taking his soul with her.
He rushed after her. “Meg.”
She stilled, and slowly turned. Her gaze didn’t meet his, but remained focused on the ground. She looked tired, she looked confused. His fingers curled, wanting to cup the side of her face. To slip his hands into her hair where the sun glinted off strands of mahogany, gold and auburn. He feared he’d never sleep again until he tasted her completely, had her fully. His gaze slid to her throat where a pulse beat frantically.
She sighed and finally met his gaze. “Well?”
Grayson stared at her, unable to look away from her clear, blue eyes. He felt like he was falling, fighting a battle. A battle he wanted to lose. “There are things we need to discuss.”
She tilted that stubborn chin. “Such as why it is you felt the need to rescue me?”
Taken aback by her remark, it was a moment before he responded. “Pardon?”
“Why did you rescue me from the gaol? What’s in it for you?”
Flustered by the directness of her question, he raked his hands through his hair. “I was doing your family a favor.”
“I don’t believe you. Admit that you were hoping to get answers.”
His anger flared. Obstinate woman! “Whether you believe me or not, you must know your silence will not suffice.”
“What would you have me do? Turn in Beth for a crime she didn’t commit? She has no chance, they want her to hang and they will see it done.”
He paced in front of her, his frustration mounting with each step. This was exactly why he could never marry a human. They were irrational. A blood sucker did not ask for another’s loyalty, they did not need anyone else. “It’s preposterous that you trust her. Ridiculous and mad.”
She looked away from him, a sadness he didn’t understand softening her eyes. “I’m all she has. She trusts me.”
Anger made him reach out, his fingers digging into her upper arm. Why couldn’t she understand? “And what about you? If she were a true friend, she’d never let you take the fall.”
“She has no idea what’s happened.”
Grayson tugged her close, frantic to make her understand, so close he could feel her heart thumping against his chest. “I don’t know if I can protect you, Meg. Do you understand?”
She jerked out of his grasp, her cheeks flushed. “I never asked you to protect me.”
He reached for her before she could run. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he jerked her close once more. “Don’t you understand, someone has to protect you.”
Her eyes swam as she stared up at him with so much emotion, he thought he’d be sick. “Not you. I mean nothing to you. You won’t even tell me the truth about what you are. So why am I here?”
Because he needed her. Needed all of her. “I have no bloody idea.” Dear God, he couldn’t help himself. He pulled her forward and molded his lips to hers, a soft, gentle kiss.
She was stiff under his touch, an unmoving statue, and for a moment he thought last night had been a dream. Maybe she hadn’t softened in his arms, hadn’t kissed him back with a fever that scared the hell out of him.
And then she sighed and sank into his body and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. His thumb brushed her chin, willing her lips to part. When her mouth opened he made quick work of sweeping his tongue into her warmth.
She tasted sweet and sugary, like ripe fruit and he couldn’t seem to satisfy his hunger. Grayson wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her flush against his body. Her soft breasts cushioned his chest, sending heat pounding through his veins. Instead of pulling away, of fighting him off like she should have, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers slipping into the strands of hair at the base of his head. With a moan, she tilted her head, deepening the kiss like an expert when only a few days ago she’d been a novice.
“Gray?” Millie’s voice murmured through his lust-filled mind. He willed the woman to go away, praying he’d only imagined the call of his name.
But Meg gasped and pressed her hands to his chest, pushing back. Her face flamed red, her breathing ragged, her entire body trembling with need or embarrassment, which he wasn’t sure. He wanted to pull her to him, and at the same time he wanted to push her as far away as possible.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Millie said, drawing his attention. She stood there frowning, a crease between her golden brows. “But the Constable, he’s in the sitting room.”
Perfect timing. Meg stepped from his reach, her gaze focused on the ground. He didn’t want to deal with murders and human law right now. He wanted to...hell, he didn’t know what he wanted. “I’ll go.” He started past Millie when she reached out, resting her hand on his forearm.
“He wants to see Miss James. He seemed rather...upset.”
Grayson’s gaze jumped to Meg. Her lips swollen and red from kissing him. “Hell, what have you done now?”
Her hands twisted in her skirt in what he realized was a nervous gesture. “Nothing,” she said. “I’ve been here, as you very well know.”
Grayson sighed and took her hand. “Come along, then.” They left Millie in the gardens.
“I’m sorry,” Meg whispered running to keep up with his fast pace.
He almost tripped. “Sorry?”
“For kissing you.”
They stilled on the back stoop, wilting foxglove brushing their thighs. Was she truly apologizing? He’d never apologize for kissing her. In fact, he was thinking about kissing her even now. “I think you had help.”
She flushed and looked away. “We can’t...w
e can’t ever do that again.”
Grayson sighed and looked heavenward. “It was just a kiss.” He pushed the door open. God save him from human virgins. Their innocence was appalling. Another reason why he couldn’t marry a human.
“I mean it, it was a mistake, a...a lapse in moral judgment.”
They stilled in the hall. And just like that, his anger and despair were gone. There was something about her words that greatly amused him. Or maybe it was the ridiculous realization of what they were talking about. “I’m a lapse in moral judgment?”
“Well,” her free hand fluttered in the air. “You know what I mean.”
He wanted to show her exactly what a lapse in moral judgment could be.
“Miss James,” the Constable’s voice snapped through the room and grated Grayson’s already frayed nerves.
“Constable,” Meg muttered, tearing her hand away and dropping into a curtsey.
The man was dressed as somber as usual in a black coat and trousers. Fortunately, the Constable hadn’t argued when Grayson had sent a note explaining Meg’s whereabouts. He knew Grayson had more pull than he.
But now it seemed the man was back for vengeance. “Where were you last night?”
Meg’s brows furrowed, confused by the question.
“Obviously here,” Grayson answered for her, leaning against the staircase railing. “Why?”
The Constable released a long breath through his nose. “Can you prove that she was here the entire time?”
Grayson pushed away from the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “I demand to know what this is about.”
The Constable glanced Meg’s way. “Lord Brockwell’s mother is missing.”
“What?” Meg gasped.
“The Dowager was found missing this morn by their housekeeper. The child servant she took in is also missing. What I want to know is where were you, Miss James?”