Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(51)

She’d caught a glimpse of him this morning before ascending the carriage but it had been reminder enough. One look into his gold eyes and her face caught fire as memories of the night before—mere hours ago—consumed her.

Color had heated her face at the sight of him. How could she function in his presence without drawing suspicion? Cleo especially would be certain to notice.

Last night she had been weak to agree to an affair. Could she find the strength today to tell him she’d been wrong? Senseless and lost to passion. Her thoughts spinning, she sighed.

“Tired?” Cleo spoke from beside her.

Grier nodded. “Yes. A bit.”

Cleo parted the curtain on her side of the carriage. “We should be at the inn soon. It’s dusk now.”

Grier nodded mutely, a thick lump rising in her throat that she shouldn’t feel.

More encounters with Sev and the more attached she would become until it was impossible to disengage herself without breaking her heart.

She rested her head back against the seat. They’d be there soon—and she’d find the strength to tell the prince that she’d been wrong. That they could not continue their affair. Their one night together had been just that—one night.

The dowager’s house party occupied every table in the inn. While their evening fare was being fetched, Grier stood before the giant fireplace, thawing herself by holding her bare hands out to the welcoming heat.

The dowager herself sat in a hardback chair, complaining of her sore muscles and the long days left until they reached London. “I’m too old to keep making this journey. It’s a misery.”

“No one said you had to return to Town, Grandmother,” the duke intoned from where he stood beside her chair, one hand behind his back, the other propped upon the top of her chair. He looked bored and disdainful all at once. Had she ever thought him and the prince alike?

“And miss all the excitement when it’s learned that the scandal of the year took place beneath my very roof? Indeed not.” She huffed mightily and took the cup of chocolate her maid fetched from the serving girl. She sent her grandson a glare as though he had lost all sense. He rolled his eyes.

The serving girl moved along with the tray of steaming cups, stopping before Grier to offer her one. Grier took the proffered cup, glad to wrap her chilled fingers around the warm ceramic. She carefully sipped the rich, steaming liquid. Her gaze drifted, finding Sev where he stood at the second fireplace several yards away. His cousin hovered beside him, as always.

Sev’s gaze collided with hers almost as though he felt her stare. Finding herself under his scrutiny, she sucked down too much drink and scalded her tongue. She hissed at the burn.

People moved about the room. Conversation rumbled on the air, but she could focus on nothing save Sev.

She read the hunger in his gaze, felt its echo inside her, and wondered how on earth she was going to tell him they needed to end this thing between them.

“Grier!”

At the sudden sound of her name, she jerked as if caught committing an offense. She snapped her gaze around the room, searching for the source.

And that was when she saw him.

Her mug slipped from her fingers, cracking into jagged pieces on the stone floor. Others exclaimed around her, but she could say nothing, could offer no explanation. She could only stare at the man bearing down on her with long strides. Her heart hammered, her mind reeling with a single question.

What was Trevis doing here?





Chapter Nineteen

“Grier, my dear girl! I can’t properly express my relief to find you at last!”

She stared up at the boy she’d known all her life. He was a man now—the very one she had thought she would wake up with in her twilight years. It was with some bemusement that she studied him with fresh eyes and felt . . . nothing.

He seemed smaller than she remembered. His eyes were rather beady, his gaze slitted with a cagey look to them. The color? A bland shade of blue. His hair? An equally bland brown. Strange how none of it made an impression on her now.

He seized her hand with no care for their audience. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Horrified, she shook her head and attempted to tug her hand free. She had to look. Her gaze slid to Sev. He no longer watched her. His stare fixed with deadly intent on Trevis. She shivered at the ruthless glitter in his gold eyes. She’d never seen him look such a way, and she felt convinced she had an image of him in war, the battle lust bright in his gaze.

Trevis’s voice intruded, pulling her attention. “I’ve searched everywhere for you.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

At this question, he glanced around them. Grier managed to free her hand and bury it in her skirts.

“Miss Hadley?” the dowager demanded from where she sat, perking to life at the sudden drama unfolding. “Who is this—this person?”

“Your Grace.” Grier waved a hand toward Trevis, seeing no way around the introduction. “This is Mr. Powell. We were . . . neighbors in Wales.” She sent Trevis a warning glance that urged him not to announce himself as her former employer.

At that moment Jack arrived, his gaze immediately landing on Trevis hovering near her. Sharp suspicion flared in her father’s eyes. “Grier, what is the meaning of this?”

Jack swept a measuring gaze over Trevis, doubtlessly noting his fine cloak and Hessians. Grier sensed his barely checked aggression. The fact that Trevis was a gentleman was likely the only thing stilling Jack from leaping upon him.