Grey's Lady Read Online Free PDF

tied his cravat into a simple knot. “Then I suppose it must suffice.”
    “Well, aren’t you too kind?”
    He turned to face her. “Why the shrewish tone?”
    “I don’t care for your terseness.”
    “Madam, I’ve no time for this now. We’ll discuss it on Saturday.”
     
    * * * *
     
    As far as Beth was concerned, it was over between them. No one spoke to her as if she were some underling. Certainly not a temporary lover. That night, when the chores were done and the last of the nieces and nephews put to bed, she chased her ire away with a generous mug of rum and slept like the dead. However, dusk settled uneasily on Friday, the air humid and heavy with an impending storm. Sultry and sweaty, she spent the night tossing and twisting, reliving the moment when Grey had held himself within her, until the future of her sanity seemed to hinge on recapturing that moment in the flesh.
    Morning found her tired and cross. By evening, it took all her concentration to project an outward expression of calm as her fingers twinkled over the piano keys. Early supper guests trickled into Mrs Bickle’s Inn. The dining hall would be open until ten, and her shoulders began to ache in anticipation of a long evening.
    A peculiar, prickling restlessness centred around her navel. Instinctively, she looked up at the door. Silver eyes fixed on her, like a hawk spotting prey. Lamplight threw his angular cheekbones and patrician nose into stark relief.
    God, it was him .
    Here.
    How dare he invade her working life? How stupid of her to have told him where she was employed. Resisting the urge to pound the piano keys, she forced her expression to be pleasant, a little distant, as if he were just another customer. As if all her senses weren’t singing an aria.
    His mouth tightened and his eyes flared, briefly. He walked towards her, his broad-shouldered, powerful body moving with undeniable grace. Her heart hammered in her breast as he stopped in front of the piano. His stare pierced her for the space of several of those fierce, erratic heartbeats. Between them, the air crackled with raw sexuality. Her whole body tensed, as if waiting for the sparks to ignite.
    Then he turned and left.
    She ought to have been relieved. But her stomach sank with cold disappointment. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He had just been another amusement, a feather in her bonnet. A handsome, sensual, skilled feather. But she could walk away from him the moment she chose to. And she had.
    She glanced down and something caught her eye. In her tip jar, amid the ones and fives, three crisp, hundred-dollar bills.
    Jarring notes clashed as her fingers faltered on the keys.
    How dare he!
    She jolted to her feet and jammed her hand into the jar, crushing the bills in her hand, then dashed after his departing back.
    Once in the lobby, she caught up with him and grabbed his arm.
    He whirled on her, his expression fierce as he stared down at her. From his superbly tailored jacket of Federal blue wool and intricately tied cravat to his imperiously jutting jaw, he reeked of power and self-assurance.
    And yes, he was absolutely gorgeous. Her pulse began to race as her nipples tightened. Desire twisted down through her belly, increasing her ire a hundred fold. It wasn’t fair for him to have such an effect on her, whilst he stood there so cool and unaffected.
    Too incensed to heed the two merchant class gentlemen who waited in the lobby, she hurled the crushed bills against his chest. They fluttered to the floor about his fine, polished, brown Hessian boots. He was nothing special. Just another wealthy man who thought he could buy her time and her loyalty, while giving her nothing real of himself. Her blood went frigid. She wasn’t for sale. What she gave, she gave for her own enjoyment. She decided when, where and for how long.
    “You insult me,” she said.
    His eyes flickered coolly over her. “Three hundred dollars isn’t an insult. Twenty-five would have been an