Bea stared at him incredulously. ‘That is utterly ridiculous. Surely I have a right to know who I am? Why those things were done to me?’ Two bright spots of angry colour burned in her cheeks as she glared at Christian Seaton.
‘You have every right, yes.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately, I am not presently at liberty to discuss it.’
‘Griffin?’ Bea turned her angry gaze on him.
Griffin was as much at a loss as Bea. Except to know that Christian’s silence on the subject, his added protection, implied Bea’s situation was even graver than he had anticipated it might be. ‘I believe that, for the moment, Bea, we will have to accept Sutherland’s reticence on the subject.’ His gaze remained on Christian as he answered Bea, knowing by the other man’s expression that he was not remaining silent out of playfulness but necessity.
‘By “we” I am to presume you mean me.’ She glared. ‘For no doubt the two of you will discuss the matter at your earliest convenience!’
Griffin winced. ‘Perhaps it is time you returned to bed, Bea?’
‘I shall do no such thing!’ she said angrily. ‘I am not a child to be ordered to my room. This man—this Duke—knows exactly who I am, and yet says he is not at liberty to reveal it. And you agree with him!’ She glared at Griffin incredulously.
As Bea had no knowledge of the work he and Christian had been involved in for the Crown for so many years, she could not possibly understand the need there often was for secrecy, even from each other. ‘Christian must have his reasons.’
‘None that are acceptable to me, I assure you!’ She was breathing hard in her agitation, and with each breath Griffin was able to make out the hard, aroused pebbles of her nipples against her robe.
Which meant that Christian must be able to see that delectable display too.
Griffin’s jaw tightened. ‘I really think it best if you return to your bedchamber now, Bea.’
‘And I have said that I have no wish to return to my bedchamber!’
‘The two of us will talk again in the morning,’ Griffin concluded firmly.
Bea glared first at Griffin and then at Sutherland, and back to Griffin. ‘You are both mad if you believe I will calmly accept this silence until this Lord Maystone arrives!’ She gathered up the bottom of her robe with an angry swish. ‘I will give you both until morning to discuss the matter, and then I shall demand to know the answers!’ She turned on her heel and marched angrily from the room.
‘What a fascinating young woman,’ Christian breathed as he gazed after her admiringly.
‘You will keep your lethal charms to yourself where Bea is concerned.’ Griffin was in no mood at present—or any other time, he suspected—to listen to or behold another man’s admiration for Bea.
Christian gave him a long and considering stare. ‘As you wish,’ he finally drawled softly. ‘In the meantime, perhaps you might care to explain to me just exactly what it was you were doing in the library with your “goddaughter” at this time of the night?’
Griffin felt his face go pale.
* * *
Hateful.
Hateful and impossible, Bea decided as she angrily paced the length and breadth of her bedchamber.
Both of them!
How could Griffin, especially after the intimacies they had so recently shared, possibly side with the hateful Duke of Sutherland?
Why was her identity such a secret?
Who was she, and what had she done, that Christian Seaton refused to discuss it in front of her?
Bea sank down on the side of her bed, weariness overtaking her as the events of the evening finally took their toll on her.
Just a short time ago she had been so happy, had felt so utterly desired, so satiated in that desire, yet now it was as if that closeness between herself and Griffin had never taken place. As if there was a distance between them so wide it might never be bridged.
Her cheeks heated as she thought of the intimacies they had shared. The pleasure Griffin had given her with both his hands and mouth. The unmistakeable pleasure she had given him in return. The taste of him on her lips.
Oh, dear Lord, would Seaton know that the two of them had been making love shortly before his arrival?
Griffin’s appearance had certainly been dishevelled enough; he had not bothered to resume wearing his neckcloth or waistcoat and jacket before striding out into the hallway, and his hair was in disarray from her caressing fingers. Just as his lips had looked as puffy and swollen as her own now felt.