Page 32 of The Lady's Last Mistake
She could hear his distraction as he gave his answer, so different than how he’d been while attending Amir. His mind was somewhere else entirely.
She held her breath as one of his hands swept up her arm again, and this time, came off her shoulder. The coarse pads of his fingers touched her cheek and stroked back, toward her ear. Instinctively, she turned her cheek into his warm palm. Cassie exhaled, her half-lidded gaze centered on Grant’s cravat. The looseness of the neckcloth exposed some of his throat and, thanks to the still lit lantern, bright light reflected off his skin.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked in a restrained whisper.
His other hand drifted down her arm and continued, past the edge of the blanket and onto her gown. His fingers curved over her hip, igniting an electric current where he touched.
“Yes,” she breathed in answer. “Much better.”
His palm pressed against her, settling firmly onto her hip. As his thumb lifted from her cheek and rubbed along her bottom lip, Cassie closed her eyes. An involuntary sigh rose up her throat. A surge of desire muffled her hearing and beat through her body. The blanket had turned her skin into a furnace.
The scuffing of boots coming down the stairs shattered the trancelike state.
Cassie gasped and jerked away fromhim so forcefully she backed into the examination table, rattling it. Grant’s heated gaze cooled as he spun away from her and went toward his desk a mere moment before Tris entered the office.
Tris narrowed his eyes, but acted like nothing was amiss. “My lady, Isabel was wondering if that was your voice she heard.”
Cassie tossed off the blanket, suddenly cold again, and charged toward her pelisse and gloves, where she’d left them on the chair.
“I’ll come up and say hello before I have Patrick drive me home.” She didn’t look at Grant as she started toward the sitting room exit.
“Do not forget the Tennenbright’s ball,” Grant said, his voice overly incisive and commanding.
It was all the reminder she needed for good sense to slap back into her. She could not afford to soften toward him, not even in the slightest. She’d lost her wits once with a rogue and look where that had gotten her.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
Chapter
Ten
Ahand clapped down onto Grant’s shoulder and shoved him. He’d been taking a sip of wine, and now, a splash crested the rim of the glass and wet his upper lip. It nearly dribbled down his chin, onto his snowy cravat.
“Christ,” he hissed when he saw the man who’d come to his side.
“Having a difficult time drinking, Thornton? Perhaps you should’ve remained in the nursery.” Hugh Marsden, the Viscount Neatham, chuckled as Grant brought out a kerchief to wipe his mouth.
“What in hell are you doing here?” he asked, cursing his friend’s wretched timing.
He shot a look out into the crowd, just as he’d been doing since he arrived a half hour ago. Lady Tennenbright’s gala was packed to the crown moulding with members of the ton, but so far, the person for whom he had attended had yet to arrive.
“Your tender greeting warms my heart,” Hugh replied.
“You’re supposed to be at Cranleigh.”
Not here, in London, where he would bear witness to the arrangement Grant had all but strongarmed Cassie into.
Hugh looked out into the crowd with a pinch of distaste. He wasn’t fond of such events. Raised as the illegitimate ward of the late Viscount Neatham, Hugh had lived most of his life on the fringes of society, cast out as a good-for-nothing blackguard. He’d been an officer at Bow Street when he’d met Audrey Sinclair, then the Duchess of Fournier, who at the time had been married to the previous duke. Right from the start, Grant had seen his friend’s interest in the duchess, even though it had taken Hugh some more time before he’d admitted it to himself. But though Audrey and the duke had married out of friendship, and the duke’s romantic interest lay with men, she’d still been the wife of a peer—and thoroughly off-limits. The duke’s untimely death had given Hugh and Audrey the opportunity to be together, and now, they were living in happily wedded bliss with their young daughter, Catherine.
“Audrey and I have returned to Town for Christmas, and her sister, Lady Montague, wished for her to attend tonight,” he explained. Then, he glanced toward Grant suspiciously. “But what of you? Did you take a wrong turn somewhere and arrive at a society ball by mistake?”
Grant sipped his wine again. Hugh knew his habits and his preference for events hosted by demimonde rather than ton.
“I thought a change to the routine would be beneficial,” he answered.
“Beneficial for whom?”
Grant lowered his glass. Being vague with a former BowStreet officer as sharp as Hugh Marsden was destined to fail. His friend was going to learn of it anyhow. Best be out with it.
