Helena looked at him curiously. “It’s remarkable. Do you truly not care?”
Malcolm sighed and came to stand next to her. “It is not that I don’t care,” he said after a moment. “This house and its contents are truly remarkable, as you say. But I somehow feel as if they aren’t mine. They are my father’s, and my grandfather’s, but I don’t belong here.” He waved a hand. “Since I’ve returned I’ve stayed mostly in the library and avoided these rooms. “
“Of course you belong here. You are the Earl of Wroxton,” said Helena firmly. “You own these wonderful things, but you are also responsible for them.”
“Yes, that is it exactly. I’ve spent the better part of a decade thinking I’d never see any of this again, and now that it is mine I feel as though it’s slowly smothering me.”
“Nonsense. I think it is a very good thing you are having this ball. The house will be full of guests, and flowers, and music, and you will see how very lovely and welcoming it is. This is your home, Malcolm. It is where you belong.”
“Do you think so?” he asked slowly.
“I am sure of it,” she replied firmly.
“What makes you sure?”
“Because I feel about Keighley Manor the way you must feel about Wroxton Hall,” she replied simply. “I was born there, and it is home. London is all very well, I suppose, and you, of course, have seen many wonderful places. I would love to see them all too, but I would also always want to return to Keighley Manor. The rose garden, and the yew tunnel—and the priest hole—are all part of my memories.”
“What about the Queen’s Room?” asked Malcolm, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“You are incorrigible. Yes, the Queen’s Room as well.” Helena smiled up at him.
“Perhaps you can help me create some memories here.” He took her hand in his. “But for now, you must help me plan the ball, with the music and flowers.”
He opened the door to the next room. “This is the blue drawing room,” he said, gesturing extravagantly.
Helena looked around, taking in the walls covered in blue silk and the elegant furnishings. More paintings decorated the walls, and the chimneypiece was of variegated purple and white marble.
“How lovely,” she breathed.
“We could use this as the card room,” said Malcolm thoughtfully.
“What a pity to waste it on the gentlemen and their gaming,” she teased.
“I promise not to spend too much time in here.”
“Of course not; you are to be the host, and must tend to your guests.”
“You are very demanding,” he complained. He led her out of the drawing room and back into the hall, with its white and black floor and enormous gilded chandelier that hung down from the ceiling, two floors up. They went through a door with marble cherubim perched on the pediment.
“The picture gallery,” said Malcolm.
Helena gave a gasp of delight. The celadon walls were covered with Old Master paintings and representations of the Arlingby family. She walked slowly through the room, gazing up at them.
“This is your father,” she said, stopping at one painting.
“A good likeness, I would say,” Malcolm’s voice was curt.
“He was very kind to me,” ventured Helena.
“I’m glad, for I would hate to think anyone was unkind to you. My father and I did not care much for each other. He thought I was irresponsible and foolish.”
“You were young—and quite likely irresponsible and foolish.”
“He was young once too, and might have remembered,” said Malcolm shortly.
Helena forbore to press the topic and moved on to the next portrait, which hung over the Carrara marble chimneypiece.
“That,” said Malcolm, “is the infamous first Countess of Wroxton.”
Helena gazed up at the painting critically. “She was very lovely,” she observed. “She looks quite pleased with herself.”
“I imagine she must have been. She captured a king, if only for a bit, and made a countess of herself, which lasted until her death. It’s more than many of us achieve in a lifetime.”
“She must have had a great deal of determination.”
“So they say. I’m told she had quite a temper.”
“Your family—” Helena hesitated.
“What about my family?”
“Was her son—an Arlingby?” she asked tentatively.
“Ah, you’re asking if the second Earl of Wroxton was the child of her husband, or a by-blow of the king’s?” Malcolm smiled down at her. “How very curious you are. We don’t know. My lady’s husband acknowledged paternity, and that is all that matters. While Charles had many a bastard, I’m tempted to believe we are not descendants of his. He was very dark, and the Arlingbys are fair.”
“It all seems so scandalous.”
Malcolm laughed. “She was no more scandalous than her descendants. Look at Rowena, compromised by the devilish Earl of Brayleigh and forced into a marriage. Or me—the Wicked Earl, as you don’t hesitate to tell me. Nor should we forget you.”
“Me?” Helena blinked. “I am neither scandalous nor an Arlingby.”
“On the contrary. As you constantly remind me, you are a woman with a disreputable past, and you are currently involved in a torrid affair with a very scandalous man. Who has every intention that you too will be an Arlingby someday soon.”
“Don’t be nonsensical.” Helena attempted to move on to the next portrait, but Malcolm’s fingers closed around her wrist, holding her still.
“I have behaved in a completely respectable manner for the better part of an hour,” he said softly. “Surely you cannot ask more of me than that. Earlier we discussed my very base desire for you. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it at bay.”
Helena gazed at him, flustered. “Here?”
Malcolm glanced around. “I can think of no better place. The servants never come in here except once a week to dust, and Del is not only in the village, but has made it quite clear he has no idea that this room exists. Also, the setting is lovely, though not as lovely as you.”
He pulled her close against him, and she could feel he was already growing hard. The warmth of his breath trailed along her neck, and she felt the now almost familiar molten heat of desire trail down her spine. He dropped his head to the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder, and bit gently at it. Helena shivered in pleasure, and unconsciously arched her neck to give him better access. Malcolm didn’t wait for more encouragement, but nipped and licked his way up the side of her throat, even as he allowed one hand to slip down her back and onto her bottom to press her against the now very firm bulge in his breeches.
Without thinking, she hitched herself up against him, as Malcolm’s wandering hand almost imperceptibly, but excitingly, traced the line between her buttocks. He laughed a little at her eager response.
“I think your desire for me may be just as base as mine for you, my darling,” he said. “It’s just far more difficult for you to admit it.”
Helena didn’t respond, except to raise her head and bite him, none too gently, on the chin.
“Do I get to take a bite out of you in return?” he asked. “This seems appropriate,” he continued, as he took her lower lip between his teeth and nipped it just hard enough to send a shot of desire through her, causing a pulse to start beating between her legs.
By now Malcolm’s skillful hands had wandered to her waist, and he was sliding them up her ribs so that his thumbs could press on the undersides of her breasts, making her nipples to rub against the fabric of her corset in a most distracting way, even as the warmth of his hands cupped them. He lowered his head and pushed her bodice and top of her corset down with one hand, exposing the firm pink tips of her breasts.
When he took one in his mouth to suck and bite gently at it, Helena moaned her pleasure. Her head fell back a little, and her eyes suddenly took in the Arlingby ancestors watching as their descendant disrobed her before the
m.
“Wait!” she exclaimed.
Malcolm lifted his head, and looked at her incredulously. “Wait for what? I’ve been waiting far too long already.”
“The portraits are watching us,” Helena said, gesturing at the rows of Arlingbys hanging above them, their eyes seemingly gazing down at the pair below. “Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Not at all, and I don’t think it bothers them either. Probably the most fun they have had in decades,” Malcolm answered insouciantly. His gaze returned to her, his desire evident in his eyes, and he pulled the tapes open at the back of her dress, letting her bodice fall altogether, and unlacing the corset below to let it slide down her ribs, leaving the moist tips of her breast to glisten in the sunbeams that slid through the windows.
“Indeed not,” he continued, clearly further aroused by the sight. He eyed a chair a few feet behind Helena and navigated her towards it, urging her to sit on its arm. He knelt before her and lifted her skirt, spreading her knees as he did so.
“Use your arms to brace yourself, my sweet,” he said, and slid his hands up her calves past her garters to the soft skin of her thighs. “Wider,” he whispered, as she hesitated, reluctant to expose herself to him so brazenly. He pressed gently, and she spread her thighs slowly; the cool air on her heated skin feeling strange to her.
“Beautiful,” Malcolm breathed, as he blew against the curls that nestled there, then used his fingers to part them, only to blow once again on the moist pink flesh he had revealed. Helena trembled, and then quivered as he tenderly slid a finger into her to rub a particularly sensitive spot. She heard Malcolm chuckle slightly, as a second digit joined the first. He spread his fingers slightly, and then slipped them out very slowly. Helena gasped, and tried to squirm, only to realize that on the narrow arm of the chair, she couldn’t move; Malcolm was in front of her, and if she moved backwards, she would lose her balance and fall into the chair. She stiffened her arms, and struggled to remain still under his sensual assault.
As she did, Malcolm leaned forward, and touched her tender folds with his tongue, causing Helena to once again nearly lose her balance as heated sensations shot through her body, and she pressed her thighs closer together.
“Open to me, sweetheart,” he quietly ordered, tenderly pressing her legs open again. When she slowly relaxed her thighs, he smiled up at her reassuringly, and then placed his mouth on her, licking skillfully over her slick folds, pausing to flick his tongue against the engorged bud he found there, wringing a muffled cry of astonishment from her. As he continued to lave her wet heat, he stroked her thighs, his hands moving slowly upwards, spreading her further, urging her onward. Eventually he reached his goal, and he pressed both thumbs inside her as he sucked and tongued her clitoris. Helena could take no more and she cried out as an ecstatic release gripped her. Malcolm raised his head to enjoy the sight of her in the hold of the shattering pleasure. When she slowly opened her eyes, gasping, she saw him still kneeling, watching her avidly.
She sighed and said, “That was, that was…” her voice trailed off a she failed to find a word to describe what she had just experienced.
Malcolm smiled at her a bit smugly. “So it seems, but there is more to come.”
He rose to his feet, and pulled her to hers, pausing to cup her tender breasts and lick and suck at her nipples, and then nip at her sensitive earlobes. Already overstimulated, Helena shivered, but she found the strength to pull at his coat with inexpert hands. Malcolm stopped her impatiently and hastily stripped it off, dropping it on the floor. His shirt followed after, and Helena splayed her hands across his chest, marveling at the warmth of his skin and the strength of the muscles under it.
“You’re altogether too beautiful,” she said, a shade petulantly. She leaned forward and licked one of his flat nipples, and he made an impatient sound. Hastily, he turned her to face the chair, and, standing close behind her so she could feel his erection pressing against her bottom, reached up to caress her breasts, rolling her already engorged and distended nipples between his fingers. Helena moaned deep in her throat.
Malcolm put his hands on her shoulders, and then ran them down her arms, guiding her hands forward. “Put them here, my darling,” he murmured as he indicated the arm of the chair on which she been sitting. Helena, in a daze, complied and leaned forward, and Malcolm lifted her skirts again, pushing them up onto her back. He paused a moment to enjoy the view of her round white bottom framed by foaming yellow muslin, while the dags of the vandyked hem made him think of wine colored arrows pointing to paradise. The sight of her gently swaying breasts, freed from the bodice of her dress and corset, made him grow still harder.
He stepped forward and passed a warm palm over her buttocks, allowing a finger to play lightly over the drenched folds hidden between her legs. Without his urging, she spread her legs wider and made a frustrated sound as he toyed with her gently, stroking and teasing, but not penetrating her.
“In a minute,” he said quietly. “I need to know you are ready for me.”
He went down on one knee, and bit one white cheek, hard enough to startle her, but not enough to hurt, and then slid one finger inside her as she gave a sob of relief. He nipped at the other side, and then slid in a second finger. Helena pushed back against him, even as she gasped at the slight pain of the bite. Malcolm slowly removed his fingers, reaching around her to caress her breasts, his fingers damp with her own essence.
“You’re drenched, my beauty,” he breathed. “You must want me very badly.”
Helena, overwhelmed by rapacious desire, moaned as rapture spiked through her sense.
“Tell me,” he urged, wondering at his sudden need to hear her say the words.
“You’re unkind,” she panted.
“I want nothing more than to be kind to you,” he promised. “Tell me.”
“I need you deep inside me,” she whispered, overcome by the arousal that coursed through her.
There was a pause as she heard him rise and unbutton his breeches, and then, fitting himself to her, he drove without resistance into her honeyed passage.
Helena, who had felt for some time as though all she wanted was to have the aching void his lovemaking had created in her filled, released a deep sigh of contentment, and pushed back hard against him, rising up on her toes and lifting her hips, wriggling as though seeking a special fit.
“Slowly, my sweet,” Malcolm said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “I am in no hurry to end this delicious anticipation.”
“I am,” she responded candidly. “I feel--I want--I need to be filled by you,” she said as though searching for the right words. “I want to feel like you are part of me.”
“I think I am reasonably well-endowed, my love, but that sounds a bit unreasonable,” Malcolm said with a gasp as she pushed against him again. “But it is always my wish to please a lady.”
He thrust into her hard, and withdrew as far as possible, only to ram into her strongly enough for the sound of his hips meeting her skin to sound like a slap. He reached around to take possession of her breasts, kneading them gently and squeezing her nipples, as he continued his measured strokes, seeking the perfect pitch and speed that would feed her passion. When he felt her start to clench around him, he removed one hand from her breasts, and reached between her thighs to find the little bud he had kissed so ardently earlier. He pressed his thumb against it as he moved in and out a few times more, and then as he felt the beginnings of her orgasm, he leaned forward to bite the top of her shoulder.
Helena screamed her pleasure and immediately spasmed around him, her muscles clenching his rod so tightly that he surrendered to pleasure as well, pumping into her forcefully. For a few minutes, silence reigned in the picture gallery, Malcolm trying to catch his breath as he leaned over Helena’s back. A beam of sunlight caught her fiery tresses, and he fancied for a moment that he heard a ghostly laugh, and thought that if he looked up at the portrait of the first Countess of Wroxton he might see a smile on her face
.
Malcolm stirred and rubbed his chest against Helena’s back, reveling in the feel of her body warm against his. He leaned over still further and kissed her temple lingeringly. He slowly slid out of her and turned her toward him, clasping her tightly against his chest
“You amaze me,” he said softly. “Each time is different—and better—than the time before.”
Helena refused to meet his eyes and said nothing.
“What, are you suddenly shy, my dear? You are not often at a loss for words.” He slipped a finger under her chin and turned her face up to his.
“I am not nearly as accustomed to this sort of thing as you are,” she said with a touch of temper. “Forgive me if I do not know the correct thing to say under the circumstances.”
He laughed gently, a happy sound deep in his throat. “There is no correct thing to say, Helena. You have shown me very passionately what you think of me, so I have no doubts on that front.”
Helena tried to move out of his embrace, but he retained his hold on her, and sank down in the chair, pulling her into his lap. “Must you always try to run away? Today there is no Arthur returning home, or butler to be concerned about. There is only you and me.”
“In the portrait gallery!” Helena protested. “Anyone might walk in.”
“That didn’t seem to concern you a few minutes ago,” said Malcolm, running a finger down the sensitive skin of her inner arm. “What if they had? You looked very enticing. I’m not sure I wish to share that with others.”
Helena flushed as she felt a quiver of desire at his words. “Malcolm, you must not say such things.”
“Do you find the thought exciting?” he murmured. “Next time I will have you in the gardens, where anyone might see us. Would you enjoy that?”
Helena bit her lip and looked away.
“Wanton,” teased Malcolm. “But I have no wish to share your delights with anyone else. It’s a big house; we will make love in every room of it.”
The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) Page 22
