The Viscount Made Me Do It by Diana Quincy

“Now touch your toes,” Hanna instructed.

Peeking in through the half-open dispensary door, Griff took a moment to watch the scene unfolding inside the clinic before announcing his presence.

Annie Peele folded at the waist, her fingers stretching toward the floor. “Like this?”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Mrs. Peele asked Hanna.

“Yes, excellent. Now straighten up and bend slightly backward.” Hanna wore a lilac dress that might appear frumpy on another woman. But not on her. Nothing could diminish her proud stance and strong form. Or the easy command with which she wielded her knowledge to help others.

Annie complied with Hanna’s directions, stretching her hands high in the air as she performed a slight backbend.

Hanna took notes as she watched the girl, her brow adorably furrowed. They appeared to be alone at the dispensary.

“What next?” Annie asked excitedly. “How do I keep the pain away?”

“Exercise and stretches will help. You will come and see me a few times a year for a massage to keep everything in place.”

Griff pushed the door farther open, choosing that moment to make his presence known. The bell over the door sounded. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite ladies all in one place.”

Hanna looked in his direction, and his heart somersaulted. Her dark gaze dropped to the massive bouquet of flowers in his arms. “Hello, Lord Griffin.”

“Congratulations.” The formal address told him all he needed to know about her mood. “I understand you opened your doors to patients this morning.”

“It’s a relief to treat patients without my family traipsing in and out of my office. Or patients having to run the gauntlet of Citi’s inspection every time they visit.”

“Your grandmother is not for the faint of heart.” He extended the flowers. “These are for you to mark this special occasion.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the bouquet, yet her old reserve from when they’d first met was firmly in place.

Griff looked past her. “And how is Annie doing?”

The girl beamed. “Much better, my lord. Parts of my back were out of position, but Miss Hanna has put them back in.”

“She’s a miracle worker,” Mrs. Peele said.

Griff’s tender gaze met Hanna’s. “She certainly is.”

“Nonsense.” Hanna busied herself arranging the flowers in a water pitcher. “Bonesetting is not about miracles. I use time-tested treatment methods.”

“Well, it’s miraculous to us. But now, we really must go.” Mrs. Peele ushered Annie toward the door. “Dr. Pratt will be wondering where I am.”

“I miss your cooking terribly, Mrs. Peele,” Griff said.

“Then, you shall have to come to dinner. Dr. Pratt is quite lonely without you.”

“I will do so,” Griff said. After mother and daughter said their goodbyes and departed, Griff faced Hanna. “How are you?”

“I couldn’t be better.” She put her shoulders back as if he’d challenged her in some way. “And you?”

“Better now that I’m here with you.” He scanned the clinic. “Where is your partner?”

“Evan had to pay a house call.”

“And the servant?”

“Lucy is running an errand. She will return at any moment.”

“We are alone. Finally.”

Avoiding his gaze, she wiped down the examining table. “But I am quite busy, so if you don’t mind—”

“Are you?” He made of show of looking around the empty dispensary. “Busy, I mean.”

She faced him. “Do you want me to come right out and say that I’d like you to leave?”

“At least that would be honest.”

“Have you been honest with Lady Winters?”

“About what?”

Temper flashed in her luminous eyes. “Does your high-born lady know you have a taste for dallying with the lower classes?”

He stiffened. “No, she does not.”

“Just as I thought.” Turning her back to him, she strode toward the back office. “You may see yourself out.”

His neck burning, he followed her. “I’m not leaving.” His voice was hard. Cold.

He found her facing the desk, her palms face down supporting her body weight.

“There is nothing left for you here,” she said.

“We both know that is not true.”

She pivoted to look at him. “Go back to Lady Winters.”

She was jealous. Delight streaked through him. “I am not engaged in a liaison of any sort with Lady Winters. I do not love Lady Winters. I am not betrothed to Lady Winters.” He stepped closer. “Nor do I ever plan to marry her. She is a childhood friend. I do not think of her in that way.”

“Why not?” She folded her arms over her chest. “She’s clearly beautiful.”

“You are the only woman I can see.”

Her face softened. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“And I am not dallying with you. For you to even suggest it is an insult to us both.” He barely contained the anger in his voice. How dare she believe that of him? Of herself. “You are not a woman a man trifles with. You are the kind of woman a man never wants to leave.”

She stared at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” He stepped closer, his pulse bounding strong and hard at the base of his neck.

“Because there can be nothing real between us.”

“This feels very real to me.”

“I am a laboring girl. A bonesetter. The daughter of foreign merchants. You are a viscount born into privilege. We could not be further apart. Oh!”

He swept her into his arms before she could finish her sentence. “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“Unless you tell me to stop, I am going to kiss you.”

She clamped her lips together. A thrill shot through him as he settled his mouth on hers. This was not the gentle exploration of their last kiss. His tongue was immediately in her mouth, stroking, seeking, devouring. “We don’t feel very far apart now, do we?” he murmured against her soft lips.

“Mmm.” She responded as if he were some delicious treat. She kissed him back, hard, determinedly, inexpertly. As if desperate for every taste of him, every part of him. Even if it was just for this moment.

Griff wanted this encounter to last forever. But reason slowly, reluctantly, reasserted itself. This could go no further. Griff pulled away.

She protested. “Don’t stop.”

“We must.”

She stiffened. “If you’d prefer not to—”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do.” He tightened his arms around her. “But I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You mean to protect my virtue.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s ridiculous.”

“What is?”

“Being expected to guard my maidenhead as though it’s the most important thing in the world to a woman.”

“You are not making it any easier for me to remain gallant. It’s already deuced annoying as it is.” The discomfort in his pantaloons attested to that. “But I will not put you in jeopardy to satisfy my urges. No matter how strong they are.”

“What about my urges?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am too old to marry. If anything, I am wed to this dispensary and my work. Few husbands will accept a bonesetter as a wife.”

“Any man who would not want you is an idiot.”

“But I am still a woman,” she continued, “with a woman’s urges. I’d like to experience physical intimacy with a man.”

Griff’s muscles pulled taut across the back of his shoulders. “Do you have a particular man in mind?”

“A very specific gentleman.” She peered at him from beneath a fringe of long, dark lashes. “The man who awakens things in me that I never knew existed, who makes me question the sacrifices I’ve made to practice my craft. And prompts me to reconsider some of my choices.”

Desire saturated his blood. “Such as?”

“I’ll never give up bonesetting. But I want to know what it can be like between a man and a woman. And since I don’t plan to marry, why not take pleasure in each other? Discreetly, of course. No one else need ever know.”

His breathing accelerated. “But your reputation—”

“—will remain unblemished so long as nobody finds out.”

She made it sound so simple. Nothing in Griff’s life had ever been simple. “I never want you to think I don’t respect you.”

“Truly respecting me means acknowledging that I am a grown woman who knows what she wants, and at the moment I want you.”

He swallowed hard. “You certainly make it difficult for a man to remain a gentleman.”

She closed in on him until their bodies were touching. “Then don’t,” she whispered, her lips coming up to meet his. Griff immediately gave in. After all, he wasn’t a saint and nothing was as irresistible as Hanna when she took control.

His lips crashed down on hers. They explored each other with their tongues, mating, tangling, stroking: the kiss became less gentle and more heated, more demanding on both of their parts. He kissed his way down her neck, nuzzling, licking, tasting her tender skin.

His insides broiling, he bent her back over the desk, pressing his hips into hers, grinding into her sweet softness. She spread her thighs, cradling his erection through her skirts. Her boldness made him even more aroused. He whipped her fichu from her dress, baring her décolletage. He touched his tongue to the beauty spot adorning her chest.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, dragging his lips down to the upper swells of her breasts.

Hanna arched into his mouth, practically offering her breasts to him. “And I. It feels like forever.”

Blood surged to his groin. His fingers touched her neckline, her skin soft and warm against his fingers. He tugged until her breasts were freed. He paused to stare at the fleshy mounds with their pointed caramel tips.

“I am the most fortunate man alive.” He murmured as his mouth closed over the pert tip of her breast, his tongue flicking her nipple. She tasted sublime. Sweet yet earthy. Uniquely her.

She cried out as he sucked on her nipple. He caressed her other breast with his hand, filling his senses with the touch, taste and feel of her. Hanna thrashed beneath him. A sob erupted from her chest.

Griff froze. “Have I hurt you?”

“No.” He heard the tears, the emotion, in her voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My body feels entirely too wound up. It’s like I want you so much that it hurts.”

Tenderness swelled in his lungs. “Oh, glorious girl.” He kissed away the tears that slid down the sides of her eyes. “Being intimate with someone can be overwhelming.”

In truth, Griff felt somewhat overcome himself. He’d been sexually excited before, but this was different. Every touch. Every kiss. Every sigh was heightened with Hanna.

“Truthfully?” she asked. “Is it overwhelming even for you?”

“Yes.” He feathered his fingers along her hairline, following the adorable dip at the center of her forehead. “Absolutely.” He kissed her gently this time. She kissed him back with such sweetness, such tenderness, such desperation, that it fleetingly crossed his mind that this must be what love felt like. The kiss deepened, grew more intense. Unbearably pleasurable. He wanted nothing more than to mount her, to find bliss in her sweet heat.

Hanna squirmed beneath him, her body straining.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she said tearfully.

“Am I hurting you?” He brushed her hair away from her temple in a tender motion. “Is it too much?”

She shook her head and looked away. Embarrassed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, please don’t stop.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “Let me fix it.”

“It’s like I’m seeking something, or my body is, that I can’t find.”

He kissed her breast. “That’s arousal. It’s perfectly normal.”

“What do I do with it?” she asked, frustrated.

“Ah, but in this instance, that is my duty.” His pulse raced. “And my reward.”

He lifted her skirts and moved his hands over her thighs until he found the slit in her drawers. She instinctively closed her thighs. “What—”

“I can take away that ache, that frustration.” He stroked her thigh softly. Enticingly. “If you will allow it.”

She regarded him with such trust that Griff’s throat hurt. “Are you going to . . . copulate with me?”

“No, I mean, not right at this moment.” God, how he wanted to! It would be heaven to plunge into her sweet warmth. To find his release. But it wouldn’t be right. She was still sexually inexperienced. An innocent. And at the moment, neither of them was thinking clearly. “I’ll use my fingers to ease you. You’ll still be a maiden.”

“Oh.” She relaxed her thighs.

“Good girl.” He touched his mouth to hers again, using his tongue to kiss her so thoroughly it felt like the desk beneath them was floating. His fingers traveled to the triangle of hair between her legs. And then to tender flesh. She was moist. So wet. So perfect. He stroked gently, forcing himself to go slow, to ease her into being touched so intimately.

“Oh,” she said, “that feels wonderful.”

He laughed quietly. “I see you are a talker.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll explain it to you later.” His finger moved to her sweet bud. He circled it gently, moving in a steady rhythm, and saw the need in her start to rise.

“It’s happening again.” Her voice strained as her back arched off the desk.

“Good,” he whispered in her ear. “Let it. Don’t fight it.”

“I don’t know how.” Frustration knotted her voice.

“Your body does.” He kissed her cheek. “Just breathe, and let your body do the rest.”

She let out a guttural sound as something inside her began to soar. He felt her muscles tense. His finger worked a little faster.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” His words became more urgent as he put his mouth to her breast and sucked hard. He lightly bit her nipple. “Reach for it.”

“Oh . . . oh . . .” She couldn’t seem to find any words. Her lower body began to tremble. Griff felt her muscles tense, hold and release. And then the throbbing where his fingers were. Satisfaction rippled through him. Although his cock was hard and swollen, his body agitated almost to the point of pain, watching Hanna come was its own reward. He’d never forget it.

He held her for a few moments before kissing her gently, slow and sweet. “Better?”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes sparkled, her delicately curvaceous body moving with a sweet languor. “Virtue is supremely overrated. You knew exactly what to do.”

“What can I say?” He kissed one breast and then the other. “Seeing to your pleasure is my pleasure.”

“Why is that happening?”

“What?” He licked her nipple.

“Those pulsations . . . you know . . . down there.”

He cupped her breast, still savoring being able to touch her like this. “Those pulsations mean you’ve achieved your pleasure.”

“How fascinating.” Her hands were running through his hair. A chill of pleasure ran through him. He could stay here like this with her forever. Unfortunately, he shouldn’t. Reluctantly, he pulled away and straightened.

Taking her hands, he helped her sit up. “We should put you to rights before someone comes in.”

Her eyes rounded as her hand flew to her mouth. “How could I be so careless?” She scooted off the desk, hurriedly tucking her breasts away.

Griff regretted losing the tantalizing view. But it was for the best. He needed to calm his raging body. He could hardly walk out of the dispensary in his current physical state.

Hanna was too busy tidying her clothing to notice him. “Anyone could walk in and discover us. Evan. Lucy. One of my brothers. Even Citi, heaven forbid.” She looked around wildly. “Where’s my fichu?”

He knelt to get it for her. “Here.”

Adjusting the lace scarf around her neck, she tucked it into the neckline of her dress and gave Griff a pointed look. “We have to be more careful. If I were to be publicly compromised—”

“I’d marry you to save your reputation?” The suggestion tumbled out of his mouth before he could consider the implications.

“What?” she stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I cannot marry you. My family would never accept it.”

“You cannot marry me?” Most mothers would knock down his front door to offer up their daughters. Even with the rumors about his parents, Griff’s rank and wealth afforded him his pick of society’s debutantes. “Why wouldn’t your family accept me?”

“Because you are not Arab,” she said simply. “If I marry at all, I must choose a husband from among my community here in England.”

“Are you telling me that your family would prefer to see you wed to a shopkeeper than an English peer?”

“If the shopkeeper is Arab. Yes.”

He let out a small laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s a way to keep our traditions from being lost. In any case, none of that matters because I’m too old to wed. Hence, our delightful experimentation.”

Griff gaped at her. Every woman he’d ever met aspired to marriage. It was the way of things. Ending up a spinster was considered a terrible fate.

The bell to the front door jangled. Hanna started to exit the office but halted and spun back to face him. “How do I look?”

He adjusted her fichu. “Irresistible,” he said, still struggling to comprehend how a merchant family could possibly think a viscount wasn’t good enough for their daughter.

“Hanna?” a male voiced called out. Griff recognized, with considerable distaste, the partner’s voice.

“Back here.” She rushed toward the doorway.

Evan’s tall frame appeared on the threshold. His gaze settled first on Griff. Then he examined Hanna. “Are you well?”

“Of course,” she said calmly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Griff admired her aplomb. No one would ever guess she’d come apart in his arms just minutes earlier.

Distaste flickered in the man’s face. “Griffin.”

“Bridges.” Griff gave a chilly nod. “If you will excuse me, Miss Zaydan, I’ll be on my way.”

“My lord.” Her eyes met his. “Thank you.”

He held her gaze. “You are most welcome.”

“For what?” Evan asked.

That seemed to break the spell. Hanna actually shook her head. “Lord Griffin bought me some flowers. It was . . . they are . . . spectacular.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Griff assured her.

Evan glared at him. “I thought you said you were leaving.”

“And so I am,” Griff replied. “I wish you both a very pleasant rest of the day.”

Hanna followed Griff and Evan onto the dispensary floor on shaky legs. The pleasurable aftereffects of her intimacy with Griff thrummed through her body, making her feel warm and lazy. She just wanted to curl up and take a nap.

The door at the dispensary entrance opened as the three of them emerged from the back office. Hanna’s stomach knotted when she saw who it was.

“Norman?” Griff said to Dr. Pratt. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same question of you.” Dr. Pratt removed his hat. “But I will not. Ah, there you are Miss Zaydan. It is miss, is it not?”

“It is.” Any lingering warmth in her evaporated. Nothing good could come of Dr. Pratt visiting her dispensary.

The man stared at her through round spectacles. “You are the reason I am here.”

Evan came to Hanna’s side. “Why is that?”

She licked her lips. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to inform you that in one week’s time, you must appear before a commission.”

“What kind of commission?” Griff asked.

Dr. Pratt spoke with clinical detachment. “I have no choice but to convene a medical committee to assess whether the bonesetter should be allowed to continue to practice in London.”

Hanna’s stomach dropped. “Why?”

“Norman,” Griff growled, “what have you done?”

“Me?” He laid a hand flat over his chest. “I myself have done nothing. I did warn you she would be made to account for her transgressions.”

“And you made certain it came to pass?” Griff retorted.

“Not at all. She brought this on herself,” he said evenly. “Viscount Payton is outraged at the damage she did to his son’s arm. He demands justice.”

“Payton?” Evan asked. “Who is that?”

The blood drained from Hanna’s face. “Mansfield’s father.”

“Precisely,” Dr. Pratt said. “You are accused of putting out his son’s wrist at a coffeehouse on Red Lion Square. Do you deny it?”

Griff interjected. “Don’t answer that.”

Hanna cupped her fist with her opposite hand. “Who will be on this commission?”

“A collection of medical experts and notable citizens of influence.”

“Will Payton sit on this commission of yours?” Griff asked in a raised voice.

“He will not. He will likely be a witness. As will Mansfield.”

“I see.” Hanna forced herself to stay upright, to show no outward expression. She wouldn’t give Dr. Pratt the satisfaction. But they both knew her time as a bonesetter in London was as good as over. No one would take the word of a laboring-class immigrant’s daughter over that of a viscount and his son, who could probably trace their bloodlines back to the Conqueror. Their blood was as blue as it came. Hanna was powerless against them.

“If that is all, Dr. Pratt,” she said calmly. “Or is there more?”

“That is it.” Dr. Pratt replaced his hat on his head. “I shall look forward to seeing you at the hearing in a week’s time. Good day.”

The bell rang over the door as Dr. Pratt departed, passing two people entering the dispensary. A man escorting a woman, Mrs. Baker. Hanna’s patient. She suddenly remembered that she had an appointment.

Mrs. Baker surveyed the three of them standing silently in the clinic. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all.” Hanna recovered herself. She ushered the woman in. “You are on time. Please come in.”