Deception: The Deception Trilogy, Book 1 Read online

  If Griffin didn’t marry by the time he was thirty years old the inheritance would default to George’s younger brother, Sebastian.

  As for how the son of an earl and an ordinary girl from Virginia with a criminal record met and fell in love, according to the folder Griffin and Mel met in the public garden and instantly clicked. It seemed he thought his father’s lawyer would perfectly understand why they felt the need to hide certain details of Mel’s background to make it more palatable for his social circle.

  Something prayed on my mind as I grabbed a clutch to match my dress and stuffed the cell phone in it, along with a lipstick. Griffin was waiting for me at the elevator, dressed in a black cashmere sweater and black suit trousers. As I approached, and before he could say anything, I enquired, “Does that mean you’re technically an earl?” as if we had been in the middle of a conversation. “Are you Lord Mandeville?”

  He looked down at me as I came to a stop before him. “You read the folder already?”

  “I’m a fast reader.”

  Griffin considered me a moment. “I declined the title. I have no desire to be part of an ailing British aristocracy. It went to my uncle.”

  Surprised by this, wondering at the mystery of a man who seemed to want money and status but would shirk a title, I asked, “So Sebastian is Lord Mandeville now?”

  “Yes.” Griffin smirked and hit the button for the elevator. I caught sight of a watch on his wrist, my mind momentarily boggling when I recognized the black leather strap and brass dial from the Chanel store. It cost six figures. Holy— “Little good it’ll do him. The title isn’t worth much without the estate to go with it.”

  He gestured for me to enter the elevator. “So the estate isn’t entailed to the title?”

  There was no hiding his surprise as he stepped in beside me. “That isn’t something I thought someone like you would have any knowledge of?”

  I tried and failed not to glare at him. “I have been known to crack a book.”

  For some reason this made his lips quirk at the corners as if he were fighting a smile, and he hit the button so the elevator doors closed.

  Suddenly the air went out of my lungs as I became aware of the heat and smell of him. He wore expensive cologne—musky with a hint of spice. It tickled my senses. Unable to stop them, my eyes travelled up his body and when they made it to his face my skin prickled to realize he was checking me out too.

  His gaze came up from my feet and snagged on the cleavage he could see teasing through the chiffon. My breath caught, forcing my chest out, and the action drew his eyes to mine.

  Heat suffused me as I found myself drowning in his dark gaze.

  I couldn’t look away.

  Why couldn’t I look away?

  The elevator doors opened and air whooshed in along with the sounds of laughter, music, cutlery and plates clinking.

  “Sir?”

  Griffin wrenched his gaze from mine, freeing me, and I almost staggered.

  The butler from earlier stood outside the elevator.

  “Xavier, is the car ready?”

  “The valet brought it around, Sir,” Xavier said in a crisp, cultured American accent. He held out keys to Griffin.

  Griffin put a hand on my lower back and I swear it might as well have been my ass for the sensation that moved through me at his touch. He took the keys with his other hand, wished Xavier a good night, and started to lead me across the impressive foyer of the club.

  My heels clicked on the marble as I tried to stay steady beneath Griffin’s guiding hand.

  “Mandeville, where are you off to?” A man called from the doorway of one of the rooms to our left.

  Griffin raised a hand to him. “I have a date. Enjoy your evening, James.”

  James’s gaze flicked to me. “I bet you’ll enjoy yours more.”

  My ‘date’ chuckled and held open the large glass, brass, and mahogany doors that fronted the building. “What should I call you?” I asked, shivering suddenly in the cool spring air.

  “You need a coat. Didn’t Anna buy you a coat?”

  “She did. Your name?”

  “You know my name.” He nodded to the doormen. “Eddie. Jones.”

  “Sir.” The doormen both tipped their heads to us and I saw little wires in their ears. They were both huge and looked more like bodyguards than doormen.

  “I meant do you go by Griffin?” I insisted as we walked down the steps toward a black car parked in front of the building. And not just any car. It was sleek, low-to-the-ground, and looked expensive. I didn’t know a thing about cars but this looked like it was something.

  He held the passenger door open for me. “My friends call me Griff.”

  I nodded and lowered my ass onto the soft leather seat before swinging my legs in, pressed together.

  He shut the door and rounded the car to get into the driver’s seat. I stared at the luxury interior, trying to take it all in.

  “What kind of car is this?”

  He clipped on his seat belt and started it up. “Aston Martin Vantage.”

  I remembered reading an article about luxury cars and I was pretty sure this one came in at six figures. My eyes bugged out of my head at the thought of spending that kind of money on a car.

  Griff chuckled at my expression. “Wait to you feel her purr beneath you.”

  There was something erotic about that sentence coming out of his mouth and I looked away, feeling much too hot for comfort.

  He was right.

  The car did purr.

  It also moved through traffic like a panther, not making a sound, movements smooth and agile. I didn’t even know cars could feel like that.

  “Like it?” Griff asked after a while.

  “It’s very nice,” I replied, stroking the buttery-soft leather at my thigh. When I looked over at him, his eyes were on my hand. Or my thighs. I wasn’t certain. I just knew they weren’t on the road. He lifted his gaze and our eyes connected in a moment of thick tension, which he abruptly broke by turning his focus back to where it should be — the road. “Where are we going?”

  “The Meritage.”

  I’d never heard of it. “Where is that?”

  He shot me a confused look, the wrinkle between his eyes disappearing as he said, “I keep forgetting you live in New York not Boston. The Meritage is a five star restaurant in the Boston Harbor Hotel. I’ve arranged for the photographer to take pictures of us leaving there. He’ll follow us to the Ruby Room at the Onyx where we’ll have a drink and be seen.”

  “Are these your usual hangouts?”

  He shrugged. “I go when I need to, to be seen.”

  That wasn’t really an answer.

  The Meritage was a lovely restaurant but what really made it shine was the view and the reason I hadn’t heard of it was because I’d never be able to afford to eat there on my salary. We were led to a table by the window, looking out over the harbor and a beautiful, decorative gazebo that sat on the hotel’s boardwalk.

  I was excited about the prospect of eating in such a nice place until I cracked open the menu. My stomach dropped. I didn’t eat like this. There was octopus on the menu, for God’s sake! The last and only other time I’d eaten in a fancy restaurant was years ago and my companion then had been as clueless as me. We’d laughed together at our childlike wonder over the rich dishes put before us.

  My companion tonight, however, was so intimidatingly cultured I wanted to hide beneath the table.

  “Do you know what you’d like?” Griff murmured as he perused the menu.

  “Do you have a recommendation?”

  “Let’s do the six course tasting menu.”

  I looked over it, realizing each course came with a different glass of wine. “I don’t really drink.”

  “Wine?” he raised an eyebrow.

  “Ever.”

  Griff frowned. “You were drinking at our last meeting. You had several cocktails.”

  Damn it, Mel.

  “Well, I m
ean, I was nervous then. But I don’t really drink wine or cocktails otherwise.” The truth was I was a girl of simple tastes. I liked a nice beer. But I wasn’t crazy about wine.

  “Because of the DUI?”

  Oh yeah, that. I shrugged. “No, I just don’t like wine.”

  My date frowned. “What do you drink then?”

  “I like beer,” I answered honestly.

  A smile tugged at his lips, surprising me. “Yes, I like a beer, too. But this isn’t really that kind of place. We’ll do the tasting menu. I’m sure this wine is better than the wine you’ve had before.”

  Ugh, such a snob. “You don’t know that. I might have had very nice wine in the past.”

  He raised an eyebrow at my argumentative tone. “Oh? Like what?”

  I scowled. “I’m not a wine connoisseur. I don’t remember the names of the wine I’ve had.”

  “Let me take a stab in the dark. A bottle of 2018 Chateauneuf du Crap?”

  “You’re a terrible snob.” It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. I tensed as he stared blankly at me. Griffin Mandeville hadn’t hired me to take pot shots at him.

  “Yes, I am. I’m afraid as my wife-to-be you’ll just have to get used to it. We’re doing the six course tasting menu.” He closed his menu and reached for mine.

  I handed it over but, since he hadn’t gotten angry at my last comment, said, “You’re also very high-handed.”

  “Yes. You’ll need to get used to that too.”

  “I don’t think we should do the tasting menu if you’re driving,” I continued stubbornly. The truth was I wasn’t sure if my sister was affected by her DUI charge. I’d like to think so. But I definitely was. She almost killed someone because she got behind the wheel of a car drunk.

  “I won’t have that much.” Griff shrugged.

  I sat back in my chair, feeling my heart begin to pound because I didn’t want to get confrontational about this. But I had to. “Let me rephrase: I won’t get in the car with you if you’ve been drinking.”

  He scowled. “This is because of the DUI.”

  “No, it’s because it’s the right thing to do. Do you often drive when you’ve been drinking?”

  The muscle in his jaw twitched. “I never go over the legal limit.” The words were almost choked out of him, as though he couldn’t believe he was having to explain himself to me.

  “You will definitely be over the legal limit if we do this tasting course and then go to a bar.”

  “I don’t remember you being this self-righteous.”

  “Our meetings were brief. You can’t possibly get to know a person in that time.”

  He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he scrutinized me. “Yes, but you seem like a completely different person.”

  Trying not to flush or squirm in my seat I lied, “I was who I needed to be to get this job. But I won’t pretend to be anyone but who I am when I’m with you. I already have to pretend with everyone else. It’ll be exhausting. This is who I am. And I’m not getting in the car with you if you have too much to drink.”

  His eyes flicked to the stubborn set of my jaw and then he cursed in disbelief. Suddenly he stood up and my eyes rounded as I looked up at him, wondering if he was going to walk out of the restaurant on me. Instead he pulled his cell out of his trouser pocket and then sat down again. His glower never left me as he called someone.

  “Xavier,” he bit out, “I need someone to come and collect the Vantage. Miss Jennings and I will get a car back to The Patrician later… yes… no there’s nothing wrong with the Vantage. Miss Jennings is uncomfortable with me driving if I’m going to be drinking at dinner,” he practically sneered and then that muscle in his jaw twitched and I’d know why when he continued, “Yes, Xavier, Miss Jennings probably is right.”

  Laughter bubbled on my lips as I realized his butler was taking my side. At the frustrated expression on Griff’s face, little giggles escaped before I could stop them.

  Griff looked arrested by the sound and to my surprise his expression softened. “Just don’t send Abe. He scuffed the alloys last time… yes, that’s fine. Get him to call me when he’s here and I’ll run down with the keys. Thank you, Xavier.” He lowered his cell and placed it on the table. “Satisfied?”

  Attempting not to smirk in triumph, I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  The waiter suddenly appeared as if he’d been waiting for Griff to get off the phone. “Ready to order, sir?”

  After we’d ordered, we sat in awkward silence for a while. I stared out at the gazebo, searching for something to say.

  “It’s used for weddings and such,” Griff suddenly said.

  I glanced back at him, my brows drawn together in question.

  He gestured to the glass gazebo on the water. “They hold wedding ceremonies in the gazebo.”

  Which drew us quite nicely to something we needed to discuss. “Are we to have a big wedding or..?”

  “We’ll elope,” Griff said, looking and sounding pained by the entire notion. “In two months we’re going to a house party in Rhode Island. My friend, Quentin Danvers and his wife, Amelia, hold a house party every summer. It’s a three night event at their beach house which is more like a mini-mansion so they invite a lot of people. Some stay there and others find accommodation elsewhere. We’ll be staying at the house. Lots of society people. Lots of witnesses. On the second night we’re there I’ll propose. When we return, we’ll make some noise about planning the wedding, hiring a planner etc. But two weeks into it, we’ll elope, get married on Martha’s Vineyard, just the two of us and our witnesses. We’ll say we couldn’t wait to get married.” He snorted and glanced out of the window. “That way we can meet with my father’s lawyers as soon as possible.”

  “Expedience is the key,” I murmured.

  His dark gaze moved back to my face. “Yes, exactly.”

  Dinner was easier to get through than I’d initially imagined. First, the food was rich but it was delicious and it was served in small portions because of the number of courses. And although wine wasn’t really my thing, I had to admit that the food went great with the choices that had been selected. Griff continued to surprise me by sensing this was a new experience for me and taking something that might have been called pleasure, if it was anyone else, in my wonder.

  We discussed the food and wine and what I liked and didn’t like in a far friendlier atmosphere than the one we’d entered the restaurant. As we left, he placed his hand on my lower back again to guide me to a town car.

  “I thought we were getting a cab?”

  Griff shook his head as the driver opened the back passenger door for us. “When I gave my man the keys to the Vantage I had him arrange a last minute car for us.”

  I slid into the car, the leather supple beneath my legs. It smelled like leather polish and something citrusy in the backseat. As Griff got in beside me, keeping an obvious distant between us, I teased, “Are you too good for cabs?”

  He threw me a look. “I like knowing how and when I’m getting home. Better to hire a car for the evening than wait around on the sidewalk for a cab to show, especially when my date is not wearing a coat.”

  Oh. That was kind of considerate, actually.

  We were barely in the car five minutes when the driver stopped outside the Kimpton Onyx Hotel on Portland Street. Griff led us inside the hotel, his hand on my lower back again. He guided us to the hotel’s restaurant and bar called The Ruby Room, where an attractive hostess smiled at us. “Dinner or drinks this evening?”

  “Drinks. I reserved a table. Mandeville.”

  She nodded. “Right this way, Mr. Mandeville.”

  I didn’t even know you could reserve a table just for drinks.

  It was smack-you-in-the-face obvious why the place was called the Ruby Room. Red upholstered chairs, bar seats, and red lighting. Weirdly it did not look like something out of the red light district. It just managed to veer into contemporary bar chic instead.

 
The hostess stopped us at a little bistro table with a reserved sign on it. She lifted the sign off it and gestured. “Your table. I’ll have a waiter come over for your drinks order.”

  The bar was crowded so it was very cool we didn’t have to stand in the crush to get served.

  Griffin pulled out my chair for me and I blinked in shock. No date had ever pulled out my chair for me. The host had done it at the restaurant so I just hadn’t expected the gentlemanly act from Griff.

  Somehow I managed to lower myself gracefully into the seat without stumbling over my surprise.

  He lounged in the chair opposite me and it took everything within me to fight a shiver as I looked at him. Did he have to be so outstandingly handsome? I had a moment of private inventory of his features as his brooding gaze travelled across the bar. He seemed to wear a perpetual scowl—just a tiny line between his brow— that dared you to talk to him. And his deep-set eyes were so dark, the expression was unreadable. But it was his mouth that annoyed me. Set among the bristle of a week or so of not shaving, it was so goddamn sensual. I’d never met a man with lips like Griffin Mandeville. From our first meeting, which couldn’t possibly have only been a few hours ago, to all through dinner, I’d had to fight not to stare at his mouth.

  Although I’d been drinking copious amounts of water with dinner so I didn’t get drunk on the wine, I still felt a little hot and buzzed. That slight lowering of my inhibitions caused desire to tingle low in my belly and I squeezed my thighs tighter together in hopes of quelling the sensation.