The dark quality in his voice was making her intimate places swell and ache. Her gaze dropped to his eager, arcing cock. Seeing how badly he wanted her . . . it made her desire him even more.

Just to tease him, she moved back to the middle of the bed. “Let me gaze a bit longer, please. It might be my last chance.”

“It won’t be your last chance.”

The mattress dipped as he joined her. He rolled atop her and settled between her thighs. Thanks to his brief sojourn out of bed, his body was cool. Cool and solid as marble.

“This will be the last time,” she whispered.

He slid into her with one long, powerful stroke. “It can’t be the last time.”

She wrapped her legs over his. He worked in and out of her, bracing himself on his hands and staring down at her, deep into her eyes. The intensity was piercing. She felt so exposed, so raw and vulnerable. Her hands began to tremble where she touched his arms. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

He stopped, holding still within her. A slight frown wrinkled his brow.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I wouldn’t change a single thing. You’re perfect.”

Her heart wrenched in her chest. At last, that word again. And it didn’t come when she was dressed in a silk gown and draped with jewels, but just here. Here, when she lay naked beneath him in the full light of morning. Nothing hidden, nothing concealed. Nothing between their bodies but musk and heat.

It was worth the whole week’s wait, to hear it now.

She slid her hands to his back and arched her hips, drawing him deeper. “Take me hard. Hold nothing back. I want to be sore. I want to feel you for days.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. He did as she asked, lifting her legs and guiding them around his hips so he could ride her hard and well. Her breasts danced to his rhythm. His thighs smacked against hers with every deep, penetrating stroke.

She raked her fingernails down his back, scoring his flesh—so that he’d feel her for days, too. She rode the wave of his deep, forceful thrusts.

He pressed his brow to hers. “I don’t want to withdraw. I want to be deep inside you when I come.”

She was stunned. “Griff, no. The risk is too great.”

“I want the risk.” He kissed her lips. “I never thought I’d say that again, but I want it. I want you, always.”

He was talking madness. Lust had addled his brain. She had to leave; he must stay. They were both completely unprepared to deal with those consequences. But some crazed, unthinking part of her wanted the same. The decision would be made. No undoing it. He couldn’t shut her out of his life. And how wonderful it would feel, to someday place a cooing, healthy infant in his arms. Her heart melted at the idea.

She could make him so, so happy.

He paused above her, tensing every muscle. And when he began to thrust again, she sensed a now-familiar shift in his rhythm. His peak was near.

“Don’t stop me.” He pumped hard and fast. “I can’t let you go.”

“Griff . . .”

“Take me,” he breathed, driving deep. “Take everything. Just love me.”

“Yes.” Her own climax broke, sending her into a place beyond thought or reason. “Yes.”

The door crashed open.

Pauline shrieked. They jolted apart, and she burrowed under the bed linens, still shuddering with the last tremors of orgasm.

Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God.

Griff cursed and flipped onto his back, drawing her into a protective embrace. The hard, frustrated ridge of his cock throbbed against her hip. “What the devil?”

Lord Delacre stood framed in the entryway. He lifted a hand to shield his view. “It’s worse than I thought. My eyes.”

“I thought the door was locked,” Pauline whispered, clutching the bedsheets to her chest.

“It was locked,” Griff said through gritted teeth.

“I broke it in,” Delacre said. “This is urgent, Halford. Do you know this girl you’ve been squiring all around the ton is a bloody barmaid?”

Oh, Lord. Pauline’s face blazed with humiliation.

Griff’s arm slipped from its protective perch around her shoulders. She felt his erection flagging, too. He slowly sat up in bed, rubbing his face with both hands.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Everyone knows,” Delacre answered. “Eugenia Haughfell ferreted out the truth, and now it’s all over Town.”

She should have known. Those cursed Awfuls.

“No doubt this week has been quite the lark for you, Miss Simms. But it’s at an end.” He walked a few paces into the room, plucked Griff’s discarded breeches from the floor and flung them at him. “You’ve had some narrow scrapes, Halford, and I’ve seen some brazen fortune-hunting schemes in my time. But this beats all. Seduced by a barmaid in the ancestral bed.”

Calm and silent, Griff collected the breeches. He turned aside—away from Pauline—and slid his legs into them one at a time. His back was to her as he stood and yanked the breeches to his waist.

Farewell, she thought wistfully. Farewell, finest arse in Creation.

This was it, then. She’d known they were down to their last few hours of bliss, but this was a mortifying ending.

She wanted to disappear under the mattress.

Delacre went on, “At least no one can expect you to marry the girl. The gossip will deem her just another of your debauched larks. Toss her a bit of money and send her off. But I hope you’ve been careful not to get a brat on her. She probably hid it from you, but there’s imbecility in the bloodline.”

Griff paused in the act of fastening a button on his breeches falls. He looked up at Delacre for a brief moment.

“Del,” he said, in a low, easy voice, “it will take me about ten seconds to button these. That’s how much time you have to run.”

Lord Delacre shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m certain this—”

“Run.” Griff finished the last closure. He swung his arms at his sides, shaking his fingers loose. The expression on his face was thunderous. “I mean it, Del. You had better flee. Because I fully intend to kill you.”

Griff could tell by the look on Del’s face that his oldest “friend” didn’t believe him.

“Come along, Halford.” He held up his hands. “You can’t be serious.”

Griff pulled back his right fist and crashed a full-force punch into Del’s gut. “Convinced?”

Del doubled over, eyes wide with shock. “Jesus.”

“That’s right, say your prayers. You’re going to need them.” He threw another punch, this time catching Del on the jaw.

Realizing he was at a disadvantage, Del scrambled down the corridor. “Stop and think about this, Griff!” he called. “We had a pact, remember? I’m trying to be a friend. Rescuing you from entrapment. Saving you from greater scandal.”

“You had better save yourself.”

They raced toward the salon, where they’d begun so many days together.

They wouldn’t be using blunt practice swords today.

Griff yanked a short sword from its wall mount and swung it, limbering his arm. “I’ve something to tell you, Delacre. All these years we’ve been perfectly matched fencing opponents?” He raised his blade. “I’ve been holding back.”

As soon as Del had armed himself, Griff went on the attack, swinging in savage blows, driving his opponent backward until he had him against the wall.

Griff let the blade press ever so slightly against Del’s cheek, until a thin line of blood appeared. “Oh, too bad. That might leave a scar.”

“Women are mad for scars. I’m still miles better looking than you.” Del smirked. “Perhaps barmaids aren’t particular.”

“You vermin. She is not a barmaid, and she will never be one again.”

“Do you mean you knew?” Del lifted one boot and kicked Griff in the chest, sending him reeling back a step.

Griff recovered quickly, but the brief separation gave Del enough time to raise his weapon and defend himself.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Delacre said, panting. “Are you . . . God, you can’t believe yourself to be in love with that girl.”

Griff shook his head, but not in denial. Love was too small a word for what he felt. Just now, when she’d been beneath him . . . He’d never thought he would feel that way again. Ready to brave any sorrow just to keep her at his side. Perhaps the impulse wasn’t logical or reasoned, but it was real and true. It was choosing hope rather than despair. Seizing the one sparkling possibility in a roomful of someones.

It was her. All her.

He’d been dead inside. She’d brought him back to life.

“I’d die for her,” he said. “And I’d kill for her. The rest doesn’t concern you right now.”

“Devil take me. You do love her.” Del ducked, parrying Griff’s enraged strike. “Oh, this is even worse. Just what are you expecting to come of it? You plan to make her your mistress?”

“Guess again.”

“Well, I know you don’t mean to marry her.” Delacre laughed. “That would be rich. I can see the scandal sheets now: ‘the Barmaid Duchess.’ ”

They locked swords. Griff flexed his arm, pushing the crossed blades forward until one edge lodged against Del’s throat.

“I think the papers will carry a different story tomorrow. One about the late Lord Delacre.”

He mustered all the strength in his arm and prepared to flex.

“Griff! Griff, no!”

Chapter Twenty-four

Pauline skittered to a halt in the doorway, having hastily dressed in yesterday’s discarded frock. “Don’t do this,” she called. “He’s your oldest friend. You don’t want to hurt him.”

“Oh, I want to hurt him,” Griff said evenly. “I want, very much, to hurt him.”

Fair enough. She couldn’t deny that after hearing his cruel words, watching Lord Delacre squirm conveyed a particular sort of pleasure. But it had to stop there.

“Griff, please.” In cautious steps, she approached the men. “His life isn’t worth one-tenth of yours. Your mother is in the house somewhere. You don’t want her to see this. And if nothing else moves you, think of the servants. There would be a horrific mess.”

“Do you hear that, Del? That’s the lowly barmaid pleading for your life. The woman you insulted, begging me to spare your loathsome skin. I think you ought to thank her.” Through gritted teeth, he added, “Now.”

Delacre nervously cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“ ‘Thank you, Miss Simms,’ ” Griff demanded. “And make me believe it.”

“Thank you, Miss Simms. I owe you my loathsome skin.”

Griff inhaled through his nose. Then slowly exhaled. After a long moment, he shoved away, and both swords clattered to the floor.

Delacre slumped to the ground with relief.

Pauline felt like doing the same.

“When next you see her,” Griff said, giving Delacre a light kick in the ribs, “you will greet her with respect and address her by her rightful name. As her grace, the Duchess of Halford.”

Now Pauline’s knees truly buckled. “What?”

“What?” Delacre echoed. “Halford, we had a pact.”

“For God’s sake. Leave off about the stupid pact. We were nineteen. At that age, we thought midnight grouse hunts were a grand idea, too.”

Griff crossed to Pauline and took her hands in his. “I can’t let you leave today.”

She shook her head with vigor. “No, no. Griff, I can’t stay. My sister. I promised her.”