by Lauren Smith
“Well, if you think you’re well enough…” She was still eyeing the wound with worry. “I think I’ll send for the doctor tomorrow and have him look it over in any case. Goodnight, sir.” Mary curtsied, the corners of her mouth twitching so slightly he wondered if he’d imagined it before she left him to his thoughts and he readied for bed.
He stripped off his bloodied shirt and poured some water into his basin. The wound was superficial. The bullet had barely grazed him. He chuckled softly as he recalled Helen’s wide, horrified eyes as she ran to help him in the field. Her first time to fire a pistol and she had managed to graze him—not bad for a woman.
And what a woman she was. She was truly beautiful with her soft, yielding lips of a green girl, the swell of perfect breasts, and the curve of a slender waist out to her wider hips. Just made for his hands.
God…it has been too long since I’ve had a woman. Gareth almost moaned. Among the many vices he’d acquired since his wife’s death, seduction of other women hadn’t been one of them. He hadn’t the will or desire to bed any woman he’d come across in the last seven years. Yet, the mere thought of Helen beneath him in his bed, golden waves of hair rippling out around her in rays of condensed sunlight, made him shake with desire. What pleasure he would have when he took her that first time. Her sheath would squeeze him tight as a fist, and he knew the pleasure would be beyond compare. It had taken every bit of restraint he possessed to do no more than bring her to climax with his hand. His cock tightened in his breeches, shoving hard against the buttons.
He would have to control himself. She was a virgin. He had no doubt of that, not after he’d kissed her in the drawing room. She had been dewy-eyed with the innocent desire of an untouched maiden, yet she’d responded with a sensual hunger that marked her for a future as a great lover to a lucky man. She would learn just how good it felt to have him deep inside her while his lips drank from the sweetness of her mouth. Perhaps, he might at last find the pleasure he sought, after having had it torn from him seven years ago.
Gareth finished cleaning his shoulder and dressed the wound with a light bandage. As he settled into his own bed, he expected to dream of Helen and how he would seduce her come morning.
Instead, his dreams were haunted by the caged thrush and its fight for freedom, trilling a sad song into the murky depths of his unconsciousness.
Helen woke well rested and refreshed, so much so that she almost forgot the troubles from earlier that morning. But the moment her eyes took in the foreign bed lit by sunlight, she remembered where she was. Helen slid out from under the covers to stand, the wood floor cool beneath her bare feet. She washed her face in the water basin and went to the armoire to see what clothes she might find. As much as she had enjoyed the freedom of her brother’s attire, it was not wise to put it on again.
She needed a clear mind to deal with Gareth. She faced this truth with the light of day heavy upon her. The bargain they’d struck early in the morning had to be undone. Surely he would realize that after his temper had cooled and he’d rested. There was no need to keep her here, not when he could have his pick of the ladies of Bath.
Pressing her fingers to her lips, she could swear she still felt his kiss. Her memories of the early morning were merely exaggerated dreams. What they’d done together, the way they’d embraced, touched…it hadn’t been that deliciously wonderful had it? Yes, that was a dream, no doubt spurred on by her anxiety of the situation.
The only thing left for her to do was decide how to tell Gareth she meant to break the bargain they’d struck and convince him to let her return home. Excuses would have to be made in order to hide where she’d been. Perhaps she could say she was ill and stayed at a friend’s house… But what friend did she have who would reinforce the lie? It was unlikely that would happen, and that wasn’t her only problem. She would have to find a reputable means of repaying Martin’s debts. In order to do that, she must return to Bath immediately, and she would not do it garbed in men’s clothing. Her family’s name was already shamed enough by Martin’s gambling debts, she could not add to it.
The armoire was full of dresses, each lovely yet simple. The cuts and styles were a few years out of date, but the stitching and fabrics were far finer than she was used to. She chose a pale cerulean gown that had van-dyked sleeves and a modest neckline. It was too short in the skirts, but Helen didn’t mind. She dressed in a light white chemise, petticoats, and stays and was in the act of donning the gown when her door was unlocked and Mary entered.
“Good morning, Miss Banks. I trust you slept well?” Mary came over to help her dress.
“I did, thank you,” she replied shyly. She’d had to let her ladies’ maid, Olivia, go a few months ago. Servants were far too costly to maintain without money when she and her brother could barely afford to eat. Mary made quick work of letting out the hem of the dress with a small pair of sewing scissors.
“The master has permitted me to send for gowns more suitable to your height and coloring. They’ll be here later today,” Mary said as she gestured for Helen to sit in front of the vanity table.
“I do not wish to inconvenience him,” Helen said, distressed to hear that this might in some way further the great debt between them. Mary shushed her as she brushed Helen’s hair and began to style it.
Mary seemed able to read her thoughts. “It was at my request. He thinks little of the expense, and it is no inconvenience.”
Can I allow him to do this for me? The thought of lovely gowns, a whole pile of them just for her…it was almost too much. And she hated herself for wanting them, even just to look at.
“There now, a vision of loveliness. Do not let the master muss it up,” she warned with a secretive smile. Helen blushed, her skin radiating with the implications of Mary’s warning.
When Helen turned and stared at herself in the mirror, she marveled at the style the housekeeper had chosen. Mary had pulled her locks back loosely into a rippling coil much in the Grecian style. Several loose curls fell against the back of her neck, and a matching cerulean ribbon threaded about her hair held it all in place.
“I did not think anyone save the master woke at such an early hour. The breakfast will not be ready for another hour. Perhaps you would care to see the gardens?” Mary suggested as she ushered Helen out of the bedchamber.
“I’m sure the gardens will be lovely,” she said, but when her stomach rumbled, she blushed in shame.
“Oh dear, come to the kitchens with me and I’ll see you get something into that belly of yours before you go out.” The housekeeper tugged one of her curls playfully, the gesture so warm and fond that Helen blinked back tears. Her mother used to do that—tug a curl and kiss her cheek.
Helen started to protest, but the hunger pains only grew and she didn’t see a point in fighting. Mary ushered her out of the bedchamber and led her towards the kitchens.
Gareth’s house, so haunting and dark at night, was a different creature altogether in the light of day. Sun broke through the many windows, lighting up paintings of pastoral scenes and gardens which decorated the walls. It was as though the house’s inhabitants had wanted to feel they were forever in the gardens, even while inside the walls. And yet, despite its beauty, something felt hollow here. Helen thought of when she’d been a child and she’d found an abandoned nest in the late fall. This house had that same feel…as though it, too, had lost those who’d once dwelt within its walls.
“Mary, has this house always been so lonely?” She knew it was impertinent to ask, but her curiosity demanded an answer.
“The master lost his wife and child seven years ago. He was only a lad then, barely twenty. The house has been quiet since my lady’s passing.” Mary sighed heavily as though it pained her to speak of the loss.
“Mr. Fairfax is only twenty-seven?” She was astounded by this. He did not look old, but his voice, his gaze, his physical presence seemed to her to be so worldly, so experienced. To think, he was only six years her senior. Helen repressed
the sudden flare of irritation at his treating her as though she were a mere babe at times. Then her irritation faded in the wake of a tremor at how he’d kissed her in her chamber. Maybe he didn’t think of her as being so young after all.
The kitchens were bustling with busy servants, and Helen lingered in the doorway, afraid to intrude. Mary gathered a couple of cookies and ushered her back into the hallway. Helen took the treats and nibbled on them as she followed the housekeeper to a door at the rear of the house.
“Ah, here we are. The gardens are just beyond. Should you fancy a longer walk, there is a nice meadow outside. But do not stray far. It is easy to get lost. We are quite far from any village.” Mary shoved her gently out the door.
The second Mary was gone, Helen started walking, keeping her pace slow as she finished the last of the cookies and put a hand to her stomach, relishing the satisfied feeling. She had the strangest urge to run, to escape. Knowing Gareth was somewhere close made her feel…vulnerable, exposed. Early that morning, she’d been certain she could handle him and be happy to share his bed. But sleeping had returned her good sense. She wasn’t prepared for a joining with a man, especially not one like Gareth. He’d barge into her heart, steal it away, and leave her body restless for him and his kisses for the rest of her life. A woman simply could not afford that sort of problem, not when she’d likely have to beg on the streets to save what remained of her family.
She paused to cup flowers in her hands and breathe their scent in. But she never forgot for a moment that she should be working up the courage to speak to Gareth and break off their agreement.
He must be up and about somewhere on the estate, if Mary’s words were any evidence. Helen still felt unprepared to see him again. It would be too easy to get lost in the memory of his mouth on hers, his hand stroking between her thighs in that dark, hot place. As though she’d summoned her own demon of passion, the spot between her legs throbbed steadily—insistently—for Gareth’s expert touch.
She finally located the garden’s exit, deciding it might be better to get further away from the house for a while and hoping the fresh air would clear her head.
The exit was a stone archway with a wooden door covered in climbing ivy. Helen dug around the slick ivy leaves to find the handle and cracked the door open. Beyond it, she found a sprawling scene of beautiful land, trees dotting the edges of the rolling meadows, and azure skies stretching to the heavens themselves. As she passed through the archway, she had the strangest sense that she was free of Gareth and the binding of their devil’s bargain. Behind her was the house and his control, ahead of her was only open land. She could go where she wished…
I’m a fool to think he won’t come after me. He would find her, she had no doubt, but the illusion of freedom was something she wouldn’t take for granted, even for so short a time.
Fluffy white shapes dotted a distant sloping hill. They must be sheep. Her heart skipped a beat at the beauty. It reminded her so much of her childhood home, a small cottage, far away from here, which had abutted an estate as grand as this. Surely she had taken a wrong turn outside the garden gate. This had to be paradise, not Gareth’s lands.
Damn Martin and his gambling. If only he’d controlled himself. I’d never have ended up here, seen this place, or kissed Gareth.
Helen was halfway through the meadow when it occurred to her that she ought to seek shelter in the trees where he could not see her, if she wished to have her moment alone to clear her head. Given that Gareth had locked her in her room last night, he might think she intended to escape if he saw her in the meadow.
She changed direction, walking parallel to the house as she headed toward the nearest copse of trees. She turned back once more, pausing to see the house one last time before she left. The soft snap of twigs and the brush of cloth made her spin back around. Gareth was lounging against a tree six feet away from her.
“Taking a walk, Helen?” The way he caressed her name made her shiver. He was dressed in tan breeches and a waistcoat of dark navy blue, so at odds with the greens and umber browns of the woods behind him.
“Good Morning, Mr. Fairfax.” She gave a nod of greeting but looked away from his openly admiring gaze. It was all too familiar to the way he’d looked upon her last night when he’d pinned her against the bedpost and… Heat infused her cheeks and flashed beneath the surface of her skin.
He shifted away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “Please, call me Gareth. You are looking well. Blushing suits you.”
“Er… Thank you.” She wasn’t sure if she ought to have thanked him for such a comment, but she did it anyway, trying to maintain a pretense of calm. Her eyes scanned the area on either side of him, trying to determine the best route to get around him. He was blocking her best path.
“I should like to continue my walk...Gareth. Would you let me pass?” She finally summoned the courage to look him in the eye.
It was a mistake.
His eyes burned her, invisible flames flicking over her skin, heating her from the inside out. The throbbing started between her thighs again and she clenched them together, but the pressure only made the throbbing worse.
“And let you run off and get lost? My darling Helen, I’d much rather you stay here so I don’t have to find you later.” The grin of devilish delight playing with his lips was far too charming and far too dangerous. He took a step closer.
Helen’s heartbeat increased. If she ran now, would he dare to grab her? It would be so uncivilized. Yet there was something distinctly uncivilized about him. The predatory way he stalked her and the primal way he’d taken control of her body earlier that morning in her chamber set her ablaze inside. Helen darted to the left, choosing the opening between Gareth and the tree. He lunged, catching her easily by wrapping one arm around her waist. She was too startled to scream as he backed her up against the rough bark. Her hands clenched at his chest, catching the smooth fabric of his waistcoat. He gripped her waist, holding her firm and preventing her from escaping him.
“Helen …” he whispered, his voice strangely soothing, calming. “I’m not going to hurt you. I made a promise, and I keep my promises.” A ghost of a smile hovered at his mouth. “But I am going to kiss you.”
Her traitorous body relaxed in his hold. Her eyes drifted shut, her head tilting upward for his kiss. But his lips never touched hers. Instead they trailed softly from her neck down to the swell of her breasts. Her breathing deepened, her chest rising to meet his exploring mouth. With each inhalation, she struggled to stay above the drowning sense of dizziness that his touch roused in her. He cupped one of the tender mounds, his thumb circling her hardened nipple through the fabric of her gown. He pinched the bud and Helen forgot breathing all together. His eyes were lowered, studying her reaction—the way her skin flushed as he continued to tease and torture the sensitive peak. Helen was fascinated by his intense expression, the way his lips were slightly parted, his breath rougher, his eyes half-lidded but their gleam sharp. When his fingers pinched her nipple again, she gasped, drawing his focus back up to her face.
“You are so responsive, so alive,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You don’t even know what that does to me, do you?”
Helen swallowed, her mouth dry and incapable of forming words.
Gareth’s hands wound around her waist, pulling her away from the tree and toward the edge of the meadow.
“Sit,” he urged gently.
Still entranced by the way he kept her spellbound with his soft, arousing words and touches, she allowed him to help her down onto the ground. He pressed her shoulders, urging her to lie back. The grass bent beneath her when he cradled one arm behind her head as a firm pillow.
“What are we doing?” she whispered, studying his face, the sunlight haloing him as he leaned over her.
“Getting acquainted,” he replied, as though what they were doing was the most normal thing in all the world.
“Wouldn’t that entail you courting me by bring
ing me flowers and sitting in the parlor under the watchful eyes of a chaperone?” She was half joking, trying to fight off the tingle of nervousness that made its way through her body with small tremors.
His rich laugh made her smile. He could be teasing and playful then. Knowing that eased more of the tension inside her and she relaxed.
“Do you want flowers? I can promise you a field of wildflowers, a garden, even a hothouse. Whatever you desire, it is yours. But no chaperones and no parlors. I want you, want to know your body and the way it responds to mine.” His earnestness surprised her. He seemed as baffled by his answering hunger for her.
She squirmed, trying to stop his hand from pushing up her skirts, but he gently pushed her hand away. Helen’s eyes widened as his other hand slid beneath her gown and up her left thigh. The dress’s fabric rose obligingly at his hand’s command, taking her petticoats with it. Helen’s mouth parted as she gasped in shock and her sudden fear of vulnerability. She was terrified of his hand on her bare thigh and even more scared by how she wanted him to keep moving his palm higher even though she guessed where it would lead. Did all women feel this way when first touched by a man, torn between desperation to escape and the need for more?
Gareth’s face blocked out the bright sky. Would he give her pleasure like last night?
“Do not fear me, Helen.” It almost sounded like a plea.
But if Helen knew anything about a man like Gareth Fairfax, she knew he was not the sort of man to beg. Rather, the hunger that flamed behind his dark brown eyes explained everything. He needed her body, needed to have her accept whatever it was he wished to do. What could a woman say to that? Yes, take me, take all of me? She wasn’t nearly ready for that sort of surrender to him. The thought was erased as Gareth’s head descended toward hers.
His lips found hers. She was lost to the pleasure of his tongue dancing with hers but still aware of his hand as it parted her legs and slid through the slit in her drawers. That first brush of his fingertips on her hot flesh burned them both, her with a hiss and him with a groan. Helen shifted restlessly as wetness pooled between her thighs. He moved deeper, finding the swollen flesh tender and yearning. He stroked her once, twice, opening her further to him. She shivered in pleasure as he continued. Her legs twisted and shifted as she adjusted to the strange sensation of his invading touch. It was as though he was caressing the innermost part of her. Each slow thrust of his fingers was a delicious teasing. Gareth’s mouth left hers again to lay kisses along the lines of her collarbone and down to the heavy swell of her breasts.
