Remi’s brow wrinkled and he caught Grantham’s arm, pulling him into the chamber. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What is it? Is Mama well?”
“She’s fine,” Grantham assured him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Priscilla.”
She shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself. I think there is a bath waiting in the other room. Perhaps I’ll avail myself of that while you two talk.” She sent Remi a meaningful look and then slipped away, shutting the door to the dressing room section of the chamber.
“I assume that was meant to be a bath for two,” Grantham said, ducking his head and wishing his mind didn’t conjure images of Ophelia in a bath waiting for him. “I apologize for ruining your fun.”
“No one can ruin my fun, I assure you. Sometimes the waiting is the best part.” Remi tilted his head. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m so obvious?” Grantham asked, unsure of how to start now that he was here, so he decided to stall instead.
“You know you are,” Remi said. “You hate this tower. I’ve never understood why. You wouldn’t come up here without a reason.”
Grantham swallowed. No, no one knew why he hated this tower. Except Ophelia. He’d told Ophelia his secret, hadn’t he? Opened up to her unlike he’d ever done with anyone, not for years. And then defiled her in his throne room.
He shivered at the thought of her sprawled on the seat, legs wide, sex slick from his tongue and her orgasm. He could still taste her. How could one be so aroused and hate oneself so much all at the same time?
“Grantham!”
He jolted at Remi’s sharp tone. “I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t know where else to go. Who else to talk to. Who else would ever understand what I’ve…what I’ve done.”
Remi’s brow knitted with concern and he motioned to one of the chairs before the fire. “Sit.”
Grantham wasn’t accustomed to being ordered about, and under normal circumstances he might have bristled, but in this moment he was pleased to have someone else direct him. He was clearly incapable of directing himself.
He sat and Remi snatched up a discarded shirt from the end of the rumpled bed. As he put pulled it over his head, he said, “Speak.”
Grantham ran a hand through his hair. “I kissed Ophelia.”
Remi sat down across from him, and from the expression on his face, Grantham could see he was less than impressed with this confession. “So? I’m honestly surprised it took this long, I noticed your attraction to the woman weeks ago. You can’t take your eyes off her and—”
“Not on the lips,” Grantham said, cutting off whatever his brother would have said next.
Remi stared at him, expression blank and unreadable for what felt like a lifetime. “Ah, you kissed Ophelia.”
Grantham nodded. “In the throne room. On Father’s throne. My throne? The throne.”
Remi’s eyes went impossibly wide and he leaned forward. “I’m sorry, what did you do?”
Grantham jumped to his feet. “All she does is lure me with those ridiculous eyes. She taunts and teases and tempts and then she spreads this light across everything she does. I can’t chase that, I don’t have the freedom you and our sisters have had to do so. And yet here she is, like a rainbow through the gloom. After the first time I kissed her—”
“You’ve done this multiple times?” Remi burst out.
“Not that kind of kiss. A kiss-kiss. A regular kiss. Lip to lip.” Grantham huffed. “After the first time, I told myself I couldn’t repeat it. After the second time I told her the same. But it’s like I can’t stop myself. It’s magnetic, this attraction. So much so that I forget my place, forget my limitations. Forget where I am.”
Remi let out a breath slowly. “I still don’t understand how you ended up in the throne room.”
“I followed her. I just left in the middle of the gathering with the counts and the advisors, stalked off like my main duty isn’t to my country, as if my position isn’t being threatened at every turn. I left all that to follow a woman. And instead of kicking her out of the room, instead of insisting she stand up off of the throne and stop…stop tempting me, I dropped to my knees and…and…”
He stopped himself and shut his eyes. He could still hear Ophelia’s gasp of pleasure, the soft moans, the way she said please and broke him at last.
“What did I do?” he whispered.
Remi wrinkled his brow. “The amount of guilt you are expressing is not equal to what you’ve done.”
“On the throne, Remi,” Grantham said, tilting his head.
Remi lifted his brows. “It’s quite impressive, really. I wish I’d thought of it.”
Despite himself, Grantham felt a smile tug the edges of his mouth. He fought it admirably and shook his head. “Stop.”
Remi moved toward him. “You’re acting like you’re English. We don’t see sex with such a ridiculous view that they do. So why torment yourself so?”
Throwing up his hands, Grantham said, “Because she is English and they definitely value virginity in a way we don’t. What I’ve done would be considered ruination. And certainly it must have shocked her.”
She hadn’t seemed shocked, but that didn’t mean anything. She had been swept away like he was, but he couldn’t imagine what she thought now. What questions had been hatched in her mind.
He would have pondered it more, but he noticed that Remi’s expression changed, just in the slightest and his gaze darted away. Like he knew a secret.
“What is that look?” Grantham demanded. “Remi?”
“It is not my secret to tell,” his brother said. “I wasn’t even told it, frankly. Just guessed.”
Grantham’s eyes went wide. Remi had changed when he mentioned the topic of virginity. “Are you implying that Ophelia is not a virgin?”
Remi would know, he supposed, because he and Priscilla didn’t seem to keep secrets. What that would be like, he couldn’t even imagine.
“I haven’t said anything,” Remi said slowly. “Christ, Grantham, your ability to see through everyone is quite a thing. Why don’t you talk to Ophelia about what happened? About what she wants? For all you know, it might even be more.”
Grantham’s stomach flipped at that thought. “More? What makes you think I want more?”
“Because I can also see through you, you arse.” Remi smiled at him gently. “Mostly. I can see how much you’re struggling, even if you refuse to let anyone in. And I can see how much you want this woman every time you look at her. She is here so short a time, why not allow yourself pleasure if she wants the same? At the very least, it might ease some of this tension. Make her less of a distraction if you are no longer trying to avoid her.”
Grantham considered that. It was true that most of his intruding thoughts about Ophelia were of the vein of fantasy. His dreams about her heated and powerful. If he did go to her, come to some arrangement about her remaining time in Athawick…certainly the shine would come off, wouldn’t it? It would be reality and he could sort that out, pack it away when he needed to. He’d been doing it his whole life.