Naughty or Nice? Page 26

  “Let’s play charades, then,” Elsa suggested, eyes like big, brown saucers. “We can act them out. You go first, Uncle Garrett.”

  Garrett smiled. “Elizabeth is the guest. She should go first.”

  For the first time that evening, her gaze met his, and the impact of it sent a jolt right to his toes.

  She smiled. It was a strained smile. “But I’m certain you’re so much better at charades than I am, my lord.”

  That was it! Garrett didn’t care that his sister and her children were present, he was going to find out just what it was that had her so angry at him. He’d had enough of her barbs.

  “Well, it’s my house and I decide who goes first,” Regina piped up before he could say a word. “And I agree with Garrett. Elizabeth shall go first, if for no other reason than as punishment for ‘my lording’ in my presence. You may call him Garrett or Cubby or even You There, Eliza, but do not inflate his ego by calling him ‘lord.’ ”

  Garrett groaned at her mention of his childhood nickname and hoped Elizabeth didn’t pick up on it.

  No such luck. “Cubby?” She arched a brow in his direction before turning to Regina. “Why Cubby?”

  Smiling slyly, his sister rose from her chair and came toward him with that squishy baby-talk face that he absolutely abhorred. She wouldn’t . . .

  She would. Regina clutched his chin in her hand and stuck that deformed face right in his. “Because he always wooked just wike a wittle bear.”

  “At least I wasn’t born with a head shaped like a goose egg,” he murmured as she laughed and released his chin.

  “Oh, come now,” she admonished, turning her teasing gaze to an equally amused Elizabeth. “Eliza isn’t some young miss to be put off by embarrassing stories of your youth. Why, she’s practically family, and as an engaged man, you have no need to impress her.”

  The reminder of his engagement made Garrett more uncomfortable than his sister’s teasing. Elizabeth didn’t like it, either, he noticed. Her smile was stiff and forced on her pale face.

  “No,” she agreed, her voice husky. “I’m in no need of impressing.”

  Regina noticed, too. She had to. In fact, Garrett wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she’d made the remark on purpose just to gauge his and Elizabeth’s reactions to it. But to what purpose? Reggie didn’t have a malicious bone in her body, so she certainly hadn’t done it to hurt either one of them.

  His sister also didn’t seem convinced by her friend’s compliance. “Then impress us, dear Eliza, with your wit.” She cast a glance at her husband, who was fixing himself a drink at the bar. “Get over here, Henry, so we can have an equal number of players.”

  With the efficiency of any general, Regina divided them into two teams. She said it was because a little competition made everyone try harder, but Garrett had to wonder if she didn’t have an ulterior motive when she put him on the same team as Elizabeth.

  For the benefit of the children, they acted the charades out rather than making riddles or word puzzles out of them. It wasn’t commonly how charades were played, but nothing was common in his sister’s house. And so Regina would actually be able to guess, they could only use characters or titles from books or poetry. His sister was notoriously bad at charades.

  As dictated, Elizabeth went first. She held up two fingers.

  “Two words!” Elsa cried, grinning at Garrett. They were on the same team.

  Garrett tried to keep his attention on what Elizabeth was doing rather than the woman herself, but it was difficult. Stooping a bit, she waved her arms out around her, as if trying to draw the entire room to her bosom. It was her bosom that had Garrett captivated. So full and round, he remembered the pink hardness of her nipples, how she moaned when he took each peak into his mouth . . .

  “Room!” Elsa cried.

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth gestured to each of them and then spread her arms again.

  “Family!” shouted David.

  “Many!”

  Elizabeth nodded at Elsa, signaling that she was close.

  Garrett’s gaze went back to that spectacular chest. “Lots,” he suggested with a smirk.

  She clapped her hands, jumping up and down excitedly. She didn’t even seem to notice where he was looking.

  Frantically, she gestured toward Regina, not even bothering to face the other team. Her efforts were solely for Garrett and Elsa. Had a bit of a competitive streak, did she?

  “Mother!” David shouted from the other team.

  “Beautiful woman,” Henry suggested calmly, sipping his port. Regina smiled at him.

  “Lady!” Elsa cried.

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “Egg Head!” Garrett cried, laughing when Elizabeth’s mouth tightened grimly and she pointed a stiff finger at his sister.

  Regina laughed too. In fact, the only person not laughing was Elizabeth. Stomping her foot, she thrust both hands toward the other woman as though it should be obvious.

  “Oh!” Regina gasped, eyes bright. “Wife! Lot’s Wife!”

  Shoulders slumping, Elizabeth nodded. “That’s it.”

  Henry hugged his wife while David triumphantly crowed his sister’s defeat. Grinning, Garrett clapped for his sister. She was practically giddy at having guessed the right answer.

  “How could you not get Lot’s Wife?” Elizabeth demanded as she flounced onto the sofa beside him.

  Stunned, Garrett glanced to his right. Elsa was arguing with her brother. He looked back at the flushed woman on his left. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, I’m talking to you!” Her eyes glittered like gold coins. “How could you not get something so inanely simple?”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. “Because,” he explained in a low tone, “I always let my sister get the first one right. Always have, always will.” He glanced down. “And not even watching your glorious bosom jiggle when you stomp your foot could persuade me to change.” He grinned.

  She stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide. She made a noise that sounded very much like a cough, and for a moment, Garrett suspected she was choking on rage.

  But then a twinkle lit in her eyes as they crinkled at the corners, and the cough turned into a chuckle and the chuckle turned into full-throated laughter.

  They laughed together for what seemed like an eternity, but then their gazes locked and smiles faded as they both realized how comfortable they’d gotten. The softness of her expression reminded Garrett of that night on the ship, which reminded him of how her body had felt wrapped around his. She remembered, as well. He could tell by the nervous way she licked her lips as she looked away.

  “My turn!” Regina announced, leaping up from her seat. “I want to play next.”

  Turning his gaze to his sister, Garrett tried to concentrate on her actions, but his mind refused to cooperate. All he could think about was the woman beside him, and how godawful much he wished he’d never met her.

  Because she was there for the taking, and he wanted her, but she wasn’t his to have.

  “Still angry with me?”

  Elizabeth jumped at the sound of his voice. She thought the entire house had gone to bed. She’d gone to the library looking for something—anything—to take her mind off the man who’d plagued her thoughts for the past three days. But not even Shakespeare could sway her from her thoughts.

  “Angry?” she echoed, her heart hammering in her throat as she turned and met his frank gaze. He stood just within the glow of the candles, half haloed, half shadowed, in nothing more than a wrinkled shirt and trousers. Just the sight of him made her mouth go dry.

  “Now, Cubby, why would I be angry with you? You only humiliated me by using me in your Taming of the Shrew charade.”

  His laughter was soft and teasing, shivering down her spine like a trickle of warm water. “You have to admit it was effective. Even Elsa-Wheezie-Bird figured it out.” He stepped closer, so that the branch of candles on the desk caught the hollows of his face. “But tha
t wasn’t what I meant.”

  Elizabeth turned her back on him, slipping the book she’d been skimming back into its place on the shelf. She knew exactly what he meant. “Do all the people in your family have nicknames?” she asked, her voice tremulous. She was such a coward where he was concerned.

  “Yes,” he replied. She heard him take a step closer. He wasn’t even within arm’s reach, and yet she was certain she could feel the heat of him against her back. “It’s inevitable. If we care about you, you get a nickname.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze resting on his chest. She was too afraid to look at his face. “Like Cubby if you’re always scowling?”

  She’d meant it to be a dig, but he just laughed. “Exactly. Or Elsa-Wheezie-Bird if you’re a little girl who can’t whistle to save her life.” He was directly behind her now, his breath warm on her neck. “You’ve been christened with one, as well.”

  Elizabeth shivered. “Really?” She stepped to the side, putting distance between them again. “What is it?”

  He folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “Right now it’s ‘Elizabeth Rex, Spy Queen of the World, Slayer of Dragons and Rescuer of Uncles.’ ”

  “What?” She turned fully to face him. “You’re making that up.”

  Garrett shook his head, smiling that stupid, silly, unbelievably wonderful smile of his. “No, my niece and nephew did. The ‘Rex’ was Elsa’s idea. She didn’t want to use ‘Regina.’ ”

  Against her will, a smile lifted the corner of Elizabeth’s mouth. “Why? Because it’s her mother’s name?”

  “No, because she’s at that age where she believes your sex infinitely more superior to my own, and much more deserving of the title.”

  Elizabeth laughed at that. “Smart girl.”

  “She is. I suspect the moniker will eventually be shortened to just ‘Eliza Rex,’ but you never know with this lot.” He moved toward her again. “Now, are you going to answer my question?”

  “Question?”

  He wasn’t fooled. “What did I do, Elizabeth? Why didn’t you meet me that night?”

  Her chin rose a notch. “What difference does it make now, Garrett?” It felt odd to call him by his Christian name. He’d been “Mr. Maxwell” for too long. Her Mr. Maxwell.

  “Because,” he said, stepping directly in front of her, “I waited for you for hours. It was humiliating to sit there, knowing everyone could see I’d been duped.”

  Shame chilled Elizabeth’s blood. But wouldn’t he have been more humiliated had she actually met him? A man of his station would have been embarrassed to be seen with her.

  “You broke my heart,” he told her, his fingers coming up to brush her cheek. “And I would love to be able to forgive you for it. Why didn’t you come?”

  She could lie. She could make up some foolish story that would make him sorry he asked, but vulnerability shone in his eyes beneath those slashing brows. She owed him the truth.

  Locking her gaze with his, she swallowed. He was so close, she could feel the heat and strength of him. He was bigger than she remembered, obviously having regained the weight he’d lost in prison. If she pressed against him, would he be as hard as he had been that night, or would he feel softer, more forgiving?

  “I did go to the hotel that night,” she confessed, her voice little more than a croaked whisper. At his shocked expression, she continued. “I saw you arrive in your fancy carriage, dressed like the lord you are. I couldn’t . . . couldn’t face you.”

  His brow furrowed, making his features even more fierce in the dim light. “Couldn’t face me? Why the hell not?”

  Elizabeth took a step back. This wasn’t the Garrett who’d held her and made love to her. This was the man who’d kept himself alive on the battlefield while those around him perished.

  Her back came up against the wall. There was nowhere left to run. Funny how a woman so renowned within the intelligence world for bravery could spend so much time running from one man.

  “Answer me,” he demanded, the softness of his voice a sharp contrast to the tautness of his face and body. “Why couldn’t you face me?”

  “Because you weren’t what you were supposed to be!” she replied, pressing her shoulder blades into the plaster as he closed the distance between them.

  His chest brushed her breasts. Her nerves jumped and tightened in response. He was too close. She couldn’t think with him this close, not when she could feel his anger and see the hurt in his eyes.

  “What was I supposed to be?” He placed a hand on either side of her head, fencing her in.

  “A soldier,” she whispered, licking her lips as he leaned closer. His breath was warm against her temple. “A normal man. My equal.”

  “I am.” His lips brushed her cheek. “I am your equal, and you are mine.”

  Liar! Slamming the palms of her hands into his chest, Elizabeth pushed. Hard. He stumbled back a few inches—not nearly as far as she would like.

  “You are not my equal,” she informed him through clenched teeth. “And I am most assuredly not yours.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course you are!”

  God love him for being so obtuse. Sighing, Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Garrett . . .” Dropping her hand, she raised her weary gaze to his. “You were born to be a viscount. I’m a clergyman’s daughter who had the good fortune to marry a soldier who did well for himself. We never would have met if not for my vocation. I am beneath you and we both know it.”

  She waited for him to make an innuendo out of her words, but it never came. He just stared at her as though she’d kicked him.

  “Beneath me?” He stepped toward her. “How can you even think such foolishness? Elizabeth, you rescued me from prison. You saved Willis’s life. How can you believe yourself to be anything but my equal? If anything, I’m beneath you.”

  He had been beneath her once. Closing her eyes, Elizabeth turned her head away. She couldn’t stand this. She didn’t want to hear she’d been wrong, because that would mean he cared, and if he cared, that would mean she’d done a great disservice to them both eight months ago.

  Strong, warm fingers cupped her face, forcing it up. She opened her eyes. It hurt to look at him, but she did it anyway.

  A lock of hair fell over his forehead, softening his features. “Did I do something that night to make you feel as though you weren’t good enough?”

  How could he ask such a question? She shook her head, feeling the smoothness of his palms against her cheeks. “No. You made me feel as I’d never felt before.” Her heart clenched at the truth in her words.

  Smiling faintly, he brushed the pads of his thumbs under her eyes. “Then why did you throw it away?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “Because I knew someone of your stature could never marry someone like me, and no matter how you made me feel, I could never be your mistress.”

  His smile faded. “Mistress?” He dropped his hands. “You thought I’d ask you to be my mistress?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” she challenged, angry that he’d made her admit the truth. “You already had someone waiting for you and you couldn’t marry both of us.”

  His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath the skin. “I didn’t propose to Caroline until I’d lost almost all hope of ever finding you. And even then, I still searched the docks for your boat, harassed the Home Office for information about you.” He drew a breath. He was shaking—it was in his voice. “The only thing I asked of you was that you meet me for dinner. All I wanted was the chance to get to know you, to see if what I thought we shared was real or all in my mind.”

  “Garrett . . .” What could she say?

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I would have proposed marriage to you or not, but it wouldn’t have mattered if you were the queen of Egypt or a bloody chimney sweep! I just wanted to discover if Mrs. Vail the woman and Mr. Maxwell the man could have had a future.”


  Tears stung the back of Elizabeth’s eyes and clutched at her throat. He shouldn’t be telling her these things. It only made her wish things could have been different. She didn’t want to know, because she knew the truth. She knew the answers to his questions.

  “They couldn’t have,” she whispered as her vision blurred. “I couldn’t make my husband love me. How could I ever keep you?” She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. She would not cry!

  Shock washed over his features, followed by yet more anger.

  “Your husband,” he hissed, hauling her to him, “was an ass.”

  His mouth came down hard on hers and Elizabeth welcomed it. His anger was something she could deal with. The implication that she had been wrong was not.

  Slipping her arms up the solid wall of his chest, she pressed herself against the length of him. How did he manage to awaken such emotion in her? How could he make her want him with a desperation so intense she thought she might die without him? She could no more resist him than she could the need to breathe.

  His tongue was hot and wet against hers as her palms pressed against his chest. Beneath the thin lawn of his shirt, his flesh was warm to the touch. His heart hammered against her palm in time with her own frantic pulse. She wanted to feel his skin, taste him on her tongue . . .

  His hands slid down her back, pressing her even closer. His groin was hard against her belly, and she could feel him growing harder and thicker still.

  She gripped the open edges of his shirt as his fingers cupped her buttocks, lifting and tilting her so that her pelvis was closer to his. His hips moved against her, igniting the spark of ache that flared between her legs. Arousal, sharp and swift, knifed through her, and with one impatient tug, Elizabeth tore his shirt open, baring his chest and stomach to her searching hands.

  His nipples were hard against her palms, and her own tightened in response to his soft moan. She slid her hands all over him, across his ribs, the plains and contours of his stomach, up through the crisp mat of hair to his shoulders. She wanted him naked. Wanted to feel all his glorious body beneath her hands.