Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(57)

He forced his hand to fall away, pleased at the sound of her disappointed moan, evidence of the desire she would pretend not to feel for him.

Her head fell back on the bed, breasts rising on sharp breaths, lids still heavy over her eyes.

“I know you, Duchess.” He grasped her hips and pulled her roughly against him, letting her feel the proof of his desire. “Don’t hide from me anymore. Not after everything that’s passed between us. You’ll leave when I’m ready to let you go,” he announced.

A thoughtless, absurd edict, he knew. And yet he was selfish enough not to care. Wanted her too much to care. Wanted her enough to damn both of them.

Defiance sparked in the dark depths of her eyes and he knew he’d touched a nerve. She wedged a hand between them, trying to shove them apart. “Arrogant pig,” she hissed.

He reached for the hem of her dress, determined to ease the straining ache against his trousers, to sink into her heat, to prove to her that they were far from finished, that they would share a bed. And their bodies. For however long they were together.

She was a fool to think otherwise, to think they could return to being polite strangers…that he would allow that to happen.

He had grown too accustomed to the warmth of her body.

A knock sounded at the door.

She ceased struggling.

Stifling a groan, he released her skirts and climbed down from the bed.

The maid that had shown them to their chamber stood in the doorway. “I’ve been sent to fetch you to dinner.” Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to peer over his shoulder, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of Astrid in a state of dishabille, worn and sated from a thorough loving.

Exactly what he had hoped for as well.

Looking over his shoulder, he motioned out the corridor. “Dinner is served, Duchess.”

Sliding down from the bed, she straightened her clothing.

Later, he vowed. Later he would prove to her that barriers did not exist between them. At least none that he couldn’t tear down.

Chapter 21
Dinner was a celebratory affair. Astrid, originally seated three down from Griffin, now sat to Griffin’s immediate right. He had seen to the change of seating, despite the disapproving frowns of both his grandfathers.

Griffin kept her close to his side, talking over her when addressing MacFadden and Gallagher. Occasionally his hand would slide beneath the table to cover her thigh. In those moments, her breath would snag and she would strive for a neutral expression, praying he did not realize his effect on her.

“The loss of one crop should not devastate an entire population,” Griffin volunteered when the conversation turned to the current famine. “A thriving economy needs variety in its crops…and at least one high-value commodity for exportation, especially in the event of bad harvests.”

This spiraled them into a deeper conversation about crops and possible solutions to battle the famine. Astrid shifted uneasily in her seat, uncomfortable and feeling invisible throughout their conversation. An observer. An outsider.

At one point, Griffin drank from the mug in front of him and complimented Laird MacFadden, “Now, that’s a fine whiskey.”

“Distilled right here,” MacFadden announced proudly.

“Aye,” Gallagher grudgingly admitted, no doubt loathing to give a compliment of any kind to his old adversary. “MacFadden has the finest whiskey in these parts. Always counted myself lucky when a barrel or two fell into my lap.”

“You mean when you stole a barrel.”

“You produced this here?” Griffin asked, intercepting what appeared to be the start of an argument.

“Aye. MacFadden whiskey. We’ve made it since the fourteenth century.”

“Fine Scotch whiskey is a commodity. You should market it,” Griffin suggested.

His grandfather frowned. “Sell our whiskey?”

Griffin nodded. “This is what I was talking about. A product like this would meet high demand in English markets. Hell, worldwide.”

“I don’t know,” he mused, delving through his long, gray-streaked hair to scratch his scalp. “Don’t know if we have enough grain for such a large operation—”

“But combined we would,” Gallagher announced.

The two old men eyed one another warily, clearly taken aback to see each other as something other than enemies. As potential partners.

Astrid glanced at Griffin, marveling that he had wrought such a change in these men. And in so short a time. She wondered if he realized that they had changed for him. All for the love of him. A sentiment she could too well imagine.

MacFadden turned to look at his grandson now. “Would you be interested in heading up such a venture? Take our two clans into the future? I could only stomach such a partnership if you were to lead the enterprise.”

Gallagher leaned forward, earnestly nodding. “We need you. Your people need you.”

Your people? Astrid could not suppress a small smile from curving her lips. They certainly knew how to heap on the guilt and obligation.

Griffin lifted his mug and savored another sip, contemplating, she guessed, a future in Scotland versus one in Texas.

He turned his head and his gaze caught and held hers. Something flickered in his blue eyes.

A long moment passed before he echoed her earlier words, saying, “I’ve a life waiting for me at home.”