A Reckless Match Read online

  Ignoring Rhys and Morgan’s avid interest, he strode into the study and slammed the door behind him for some privacy. He realized his hands were trembling as he tore open the letter.

  Lord Powys, he read, then frowned.

  That was formal. Not even Dear Lord Powys. And why was she using his title? Why not Dear Gryff, or Darling? Still, perhaps she’d been worried someone else might read the letter. Fair enough.

  Please accept my undying gratitude for your assistance yesterday. I think it fair to say that it was an experience I shall never forget.

  Gryff snorted through his nose. Assistance was one word for it. He’d never forget it either. Especially the part where she moaned his name as he drove her to a heart-stopping climax. Or the bit where she’d kissed him as if the world were going to end.

  Thank you for the tin of gold. Harriet didn’t think you’d surrender it, but I never had any doubts about your honor.

  Gryff mentally consigned Harriet to perdition, even though he had to admit that the Davieses had a certain amount of historical form in backing out of deals with the Montgomerys.

  I’m sure my father will be willing to discuss ways to retrieve the rest of the gold from the seam we discovered.

  Gryff snorted again. “Willing” might be stretching it. Old Montgomery would probably prefer to have his balls roasted over an open fire than work with him, but he’d have no choice if he wanted to clear his debts and save the ancestral pile.

  But those discussions will have to wait until we return from London. Tristan is on his way home, and we have decided to go en famille to welcome him.

  With best wishes, and hope for your future friendship,

  Madeline Montgomery

  Gryff stared at the final lines blankly. And then their meaning penetrated his dull brain and he slapped the letter down on the desk with an audible thump.

  London. She was going to London. Away from him.

  He re-read the letter, and felt his temper rise.

  Friendship? Gratitude!

  He didn’t want her bloody gratitude! He wanted her naked in bed, under him, over him, loving him, for as long as it took to get her out of his system.

  You’re never going to get her out of your system.

  “Shut up,” Gryff muttered crossly. But his sly subconscious wouldn’t listen.

  You know why? Because you’re in love with her. And you’ve been in love with her forever. Just admit it, you idiot.

  Gryff raked both hands through his hair. Was it true? He tested the idea carefully, probing at it as he’d poke a loose tooth with his tongue. He blinked at the leather desktop. It didn’t seem to be an unreasonable deduction.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  He was in love with Maddie Montgomery, and she wasn’t even here for him to tell.

  A surge of righteous indignation assaulted him. The little coward, writing him a letter then running away. If she’d had enough of him, she could bloody well tell him to his face.

  And if she hadn’t had enough of him, and was merely haring off to London to avoid whatever this … this thing between them was, then he wouldn’t let her get away with that either.

  A striking thought came to him: In giving her that tin of gold, he’d given her the means to evade him. Well, damn it. She ought to be in love with him. He’d saved her from almost certain death on several notable occasions, just like every bloody prince in every stupid fairy tale. Not to mention he’d given her several orgasms, under very challenging circumstances, and was quite prepared to give her countless more, if only she’d let him.

  He bloody well deserved to get the girl.

  One way or another he was going to make her admit her feelings for him. Whether they were good, bad, or indifferent.

  He couldn’t believe they were indifferent. Nobody kissed the way she did, yielded so sweetly, participated with such enthusiasm, if they were indifferent.

  He stood, ready to order Beddow to start packing for London, then stopped in horrified realization. He couldn’t go to London—because of that bloody duel with Sommerville. He sank back into his chair with a groan.

  Rhys entered the study without knocking and collapsed gracelessly into one of the deep leather armchairs. Gryff scowled at him.

  “Hung over?” Rhys asked amiably.

  “No.”

  “Injuries from yesterday giving you grief?”

  “No.”

  “Must be a woman, then. Nothing else puts that look on a man’s face.”

  Gryff scowled at him some more.

  “Miss Montgomery, I take it?” Rhys chuckled, unperturbed by the glower. “You looked exactly like that when you came back in from the garden at Squire Digby’s. Only five minutes after she came in with a very similar expression, I recall.”

  He studied his nails, and Gryff cursed his brother’s perspicacity.

  Rhys glanced at the letter on the desk. “Lovers’ tiff?”

  “We’re not—” He bit back the instinctive denial as he realized that’s exactly what they had been. Heat flushed his cheeks. He wanted them to be lovers again.

  Rhys raised his brows and chuckled. “Ah.”

  Gryff dropped his forehead to the desk. “Bloody hell.”

  “I spoke to one of those two lovely barmaids at the Red Dragon when we were in town,” Rhys said. “Bess. Or Tess. One of the two. They said their cousin Gwynn, who’s one of the maids up at Newstead Park, was off to London with the family.” He paused significantly. “But perhaps you already knew?”

  Gryff raised his head and ran his hands through his hair.

  Rhys sent him a sunny, innocent smile that fooled him not a bit. There was a devilish twinkle in his eye. “I forgot to tell you yesterday, what with all the excitement. Sinclair wrote to me. It seems you’re no longer persona non grata in London.”

  Gryff’s heart missed a beat. “How so?”

  “He said Prinny was at White’s the other day, and remarked at how dull it was without you. When Fox pointed out that he was the one who’d banned dueling, he said—and I quote—‘Good God, Charles, half the House of Lords would be locked up if we punished everyone who dueled. My father forgave his war minister and foreign secretary when they did it. Someone tell Powys to come back before I die of boredom.’”

  “Good God!” Gryff muttered.

  “That’s practically a royal command,” Morgan chuckled, striding in through the open door.

  “He only wants me back so he can ask me for money,” Gryff said dazedly. “Or to beg me to forgive the loans Father gave to him. He’s always short of cash.”

  “That’s probably true,” Rhys said. “But at least it means you’re not banished here forever.”

  Gryff shook his head. When he’d ridden down here last week he’d thought of it as a punishment, as something to endure until he could return to the excitement of London. Only the promise of seeing Maddie again had made it remotely tempting.

  Now she was the reason he was desperate to get back to town. He wanted to be wherever she was.

  He’d never been as attracted to any other woman as he was to her. She fascinated him on almost every level. Not just the physical, but the intellectual too. She was brave, and strong, and beautiful. God, he knew of fifty men who’d have given up at the first obstacle down in those caves, but she’d soldiered on. Resourceful, determined. Amazing.

  He wanted to see her, to tease her, to laugh with her, and to love her. Again. And again. And again.

  A hundred times might not be enough. He was beginning to think a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

  The thought made him pause. No, not a lifetime. That was ridiculous.

  Or was it?

  Filled with new determination, he pushed back from his chair and stood.

  “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to town.”

  Chapter 47

  “Maddie, you’re never going to believe this. Fortune smiles on us once more!”

  Maddie glanced up from her book and lifted her brows at her fat
her’s jubilant expression.

  They’d been in London for almost a week now, and it was as entertaining and as exhausting as ever. Tristan had arrived shortly after they’d all unpacked at the town house in Han-over Square, and the past few days had been a whirl of social engagements and house calls to renew friendships and acquaintances.

  “What is it?” she asked mildly.

  “A note from James Christie.” At Maddie’s blank look he said, “You know, the auctioneer, over in Pall Mall.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “He sent me a list of items in his next sale. You remember that dictionary you asked me about a short while back?”

  “Yeees,” Maddie said slowly. Heat rose in her skin and she tried to fight the telltale blush that accompanied it. That dictionary had caused a whole heap of trouble.

  She’d been trying not to think about the man responsible for that trouble all week, and had failed spectacularly.

  Her friend Elizabeth Trent had told her that Gryff and his brothers were back in town, and the news had kept her on pins and needles for days. She’d jumped every time there was a knock on the door, and her pulse increased whenever the mail was delivered.

  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him or not. It wasn’t as if he’d call on her here, for a social visit, but she’d been hoping he might reply to her letter.

  The possibility that he might have followed her back to town to persuade her to reconsider an affair was too far-fetched to hope for. He’d probably just got bored with life in the country. Perhaps, now that she’d relegated him to the status of friend, he was looking for some other woman on whom to lavish his affections. The thought made her grind her teeth.

  Father was still talking.

  “Well, by the greatest good fortune, the second volume’s coming up for sale tomorrow. What do you think of that, my girl?”

  Maddie wasn’t sure he expected a reply, but she smiled brightly anyway. “That is excellent news.” A kernel of suspicion stirred in her chest. “Why would someone be selling just the second half?”

  Father shrugged. “Who knows? People lose books all the time. I know I do. Does it matter?”

  “No. I suppose not,” she murmured.

  Her initial thought—that Gryff was, for some unfathomable reason, selling his half of the book—was foolish. It was just a coincidence.

  “Do you know who the seller is?”

  “No idea,” Father said dismissively. “The catalog just says ‘property of a gentleman.’”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I’m going to bid for it.”

  “You still have bills to pay,” she cautioned. The gold from the caves had been worth more than six hundred pounds, and father had used it to pay off his most pressing creditors. That, in turn, had been enough to reassure the rest, who’d agreed to wait until the next batch of gold had been extracted for payment in full. Father had assured them it would take less than six months.

  “You still have to speak with Lord Powys and agree how you’re going to mine the rest of the gold,” she reminded him.

  He gave a petulant huff, like a child forced back to his studies on a sunny day.

  “Promise me you won’t bid more than fifty pounds,” she begged.

  “Fine.”

  Aunt Constance looked up from her knitting as father withdrew. “Is he talking about Samuel Johnson’s dictionary, dear?”

  Maddie nodded.

  “Do you know, Pru and I met Doctor Johnson several times? Didn’t we, Pru?”

  “Oh, yes! It must be over fifty years ago now. He was vastly amusing.”

  Aunt Constance chuckled. “Wasn’t his dictionary famous for leaving out quite a few prurient words?”

  “I believe it was. Lavinia Webster congratulated him for omitting them, and Johnson said to her, ‘Why, madam, have you been looking for them?’”

  Aunt Connie cackled in delight. “I remember! She was such a prude. Her face went as red as a beetroot. I laughed myself silly.”

  Maddie shook her head at their antics, then smiled as Tristan entered the room. Her older brother was looking well, still tanned from his travels. She was glad to have him safely home.

  “Everyone looking forward to Lady Belton’s party tomorrow night?” he asked the room in general. “I’ve heard it’s going to be a dreadful crush.”

  Maddie’s heart skipped a beat. Would Gryff be there? And if so, how should she act when she saw him?

  At least she had a nice dress to wear. Father had authorized new gowns for Harriet and herself from Madame de Tourville in Bond Street, and she’d chosen an absurdly flattering seafoam-green silk. It was the most daring gown she’d ever bought, but the demure styles she’d worn for her previous seasons hadn’t appealed. She wasn’t the same girl who’d first come to London four years ago, and she was heartily glad she wasn’t expected to wear the pale, insipid colors required of the debutantes.

  The question was, did she want to see Gryff or not?

  Chapter 48

  Christie’s auction house in Pall Mall was a handsome building with iron railings and a triangular portico above the door. Maddie had decided to accompany her father, just to make sure he didn’t succumb to auction fever and bid more than they could reasonably afford. Tristan had decided to come along too.

  Unlike many establishments, which actively dissuaded women, the auction rooms were open to all, and she nodded to several women of her acquaintance, including Lady Harcourt and Mrs. Coutts, as they took a seat and waited for the auctioneer, James Christie the younger, to ascend the rostrum and start the sale.

  Father was in a jovial mood at the prospect of finally completing the dictionary, but his brows drew together as he scanned the room and fixed on someone across the aisle.

  “What’s that insufferable popinjay Davies doing here?” he hissed.

  Maddie’s heart leapt to her throat, but she forced herself not to swing around in her seat. Instead she slowly turned her head and located Gryff, who was seated a few rows back. His sister, Titian-haired Carys, was sitting next to him, looking ravishing in a lilac silk gown trimmed with lace.

  Maddie drank in the sight of him. He was dressed impeccably in a bottle-green jacket and buff breeches. The twinkle of an emerald stickpin gleamed in his perfectly tied cravat.

  She jerked her head to the front again, glad he hadn’t turned and noticed her spying on him. “Perhaps there’s a book he’s interested in buying,” she said levelly.

  “Poppycock! I know why he’s here, the scoundrel. He’s heard about the dictionary and means to bid against me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. Why would he want two copies of the second volume? If anything, I’d expect him to be after the first half, to complete his own set.”

  “The first volume isn’t in this sale. And he’d do it just to take perverse pleasure in thwarting me, that’s why,” Father groused. “He’s as bad as his father. Even if he doesn’t win it, he’ll have still inflated the price. It’s what Davieses do.”

  He was working himself into a fine state of agitation, but Maddie couldn’t help notice the twinkle of anticipation in his eyes at the prospect of a new challenge. He was enjoying it, she realized with a start. The presence of a new foe had added an extra dimension to the task.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong,” she murmured, but the words sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears.

  Tristan lifted his brows as he caught sight of Carys. “That red-haired hellion’s still scandalizing the ton, I take it?”

  Maddie chuckled. “You could say that. Her latest escapade was a horse race along Rotten Row.”

  He made a disapproving clucking sound with his tongue. “The girl’s always been a hoyden. Her brothers give her far too much leeway. Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean she should be given carte blanche to do whatever she pleases.”

  Maddie sent him a teasing sideways glance. “Oh, you noticed she’s beautiful, hmm?”

  “From a purely aesthetic point of view,”
Tristan said quickly. “Her temperament leaves a lot to be desired.”

  “She’s turned down at least a dozen suitors since you left.”

  “I wonder how many of them realize what a lucky escape they’ve had. She doesn’t need a husband, she needs a tamer.”

  “Now, that’s mean,” Maddie protested. “You have to admit she’s far more interesting than the latest batch of insipid debutantes. At least she’s memorable.”

  “Memorable,” Tristan echoed with a laugh. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

  The subject of their conversation chose that moment to lean forward in her seat and look directly over at them. Her wide mouth curved in a genuinely delighted smile. Tristan cursed under his breath as she raised her faintly curved eyebrows in silent, laughing reproof—she’d caught them watching her.

  Maddie had no doubt Carys was aware they’d been talking about her. As they watched, she brought her gloved fingers to her lips and blew Tristan a teasing kiss followed by a tiny wave.

  Tristan whipped his head back around and sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Maddie sent the other girl a friendly smile, then turned back to the front as the auction began.

  “What lot is the dictionary?” she murmured.

  “Twenty-three,” Father said.

  They all waited impatiently.

  “Lot twenty-three,” Christie finally intoned, “Dictionary, Samuel Johnson, volume two.”

  A clerk dressed in black held the book aloft next to the rostrum so the room could see it. Maddie shifted in her seat and forced herself not to glance back at Gryff.

  “Shall we start the bidding at two pounds?”

  “Here!” Father raised his hand to gain the auctioneer’s attention.

  Christie nodded. “Two pounds, here at the front. Any more interest?”

  Maddie held her breath, praying her father was wrong about Gryff being there to outbid them, but her heart leapt as Christie accepted a bid of three pounds from behind them. She swiveled around, and sure enough, Gryff was lowering his hand. He caught her eye and a wicked grin slid over his face.

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. The wretch! He really was bidding against them.