by Cheryl Bolen
Gareth released her hand and stood up.
“Should we retire to the drawing room?”
Helen managed a nod and took his offered arm. There were no servants in the halls as they walked, but someone had come in and lit a fire in the fireplace. There were two chairs and a loveseat. Helen watched Gareth for a clue as to where she should sit. He sat down on the loveseat, removing his black waistcoat. His white shirt molded to his muscles as he moved. She watched, desperate to see the skin beneath the shirt and feel the muscles move beneath her palms. What would it be like to put her hands to his flesh? To touch the source of such pleasure, such erotic sin, that she could scarcely breathe or think?
Gareth caught her staring and put his hand on the empty part of the seat next to him, patting it once. His silent command was clear. Helen knew she should have chosen the nearest chair. But damn the man, she wanted to be near him, to touch him, to let him touch her. She was quite close to begging him to make love to her. The ache was stronger every minute she spent in his presence.
Helen sat down on the edge of the loveseat, her hands clinging to her shawl as though it would give her strength. As though sensing her use of the fabric as a shield, Gareth reached out to her shoulder, coiling his fingers into the silk shawl. He slowly pulled it away from her, and she felt every inch of the cloth as it slid over the bare skin of her upper back. He dropped the shawl to the floor, out of reach, and then slid a few inches closer, gazing deeply into her eyes.
“Ask me…” he breathed.
One of his hands drifted down her back while the other hand alighted upon her knee, sliding slowly up her leg. Gareth’s brown eyes were as warm as honey, yet they glinted with a dark lust that she had no power to resist.
“Ask me, Helen…” he urged. She knew what he wanted her to say.
“Please…” she whispered, not able to ask for more as she leaned in to kiss him. His fingers on her thigh slid higher as their lips met. His hand on her back pulled her closer, their knees touching. His lips caressed hers in the faintest echo of a kiss before he drew back.
“Not here… Come with me.” He pulled her off the loveseat and back into the hall.
They ascended the stairs together and Helen couldn’t help but sense the inevitability of her situation. Tonight Gareth would possess her, body and soul, and she would not resist. She had to know how deep her passion for him ran. It was a dangerous question, but one that needed an answer.
She slowed as they passed her bedchamber, but he kept walking. At the end of the hall, he opened a door to another bedroom. It had to be his. There was an expansive four-poster bed, much bigger than the one she’d slept in. The sunlight weakened as dusk came in through the gauzy white curtains outlining the large windows. Gareth locked the door and faced her.
As he came towards her, the trembling started somewhere in her chest and spread throughout her body. He took her hands, holding them for a few seconds and absorbing the trembling before guiding her hands to his waist. Tentatively, she helped him pull his shirt out from his pants and up over his head. The flex of muscles and the broad expanse of sun-kissed skin made her a little dizzy. She had never been this close to an unclothed man. She was in turn nervous and excited.
She felt better, being in control of him as he undressed. He raised her hands to his lips, kissing them before he put them on his chest. For a long moment, she let the heat of his chest warm her, feeling the steady beat of his heart. His fingers curled around her wrists, keeping her close and anchoring her to him. She grew braver, exploring the smooth masculine skin. His hands followed hers at first, as though silently guiding her, showing her where her touch pleased him the most. Every time she swept her fingers around his flat nipples, across his throat, or down the slope of his abdomen, his lashes would lower and his lips would part with a faint panting breath.
She was so consumed with stroking his chest and watching his muscles ripple that she barely noticed his hands unlacing the back of her gown until it dropped to the floor at her feet in a whisper of fabric against flesh. He tugged gently at the several layers of petticoats and lifted her out from the mass of undergarments.
She remained quiet, heart racing, as he loosened her stays and those, too, fell to her ankles. When she was down to nothing but a chemise, Gareth wrapped his hands around her waist, picked her up, and set her on the edge of the bed. His hands slid her stockings off and moved her chemise up inch by agonizing inch.
She started trembling again and found the courage to speak his name. “Gareth…”
He froze when she spoke, his bright eyes shining in the gloom. “Yes?” he whispered.
“I’m nervous…” she confessed as his hands started moving again, baring her legs completely.
“I would never harm you. How can I convince you?” He moved slowly between her legs so that he stood against the bed’s edge, their hips close but not quite touching.
“Kiss me. I forget everything else when you kiss me.”
“Your wish is my command,” he murmured, then delved deeply into her mouth with his tongue.
Her fear slowly receded in the wake of his consuming kisses. She didn’t notice that he had pushed her back and removed his breeches. His mouth never left hers. He eased himself down on top of her, and she wrapped her legs around him, molding herself to his shape. His kisses became feverous and distracting until his length started to slide into her wet, swollen flesh. Helen dug her nails into his back, the spasm of pain shocking her as something tore deep inside her. She wanted to cry, but Gareth’s kisses softened, and she relaxed. The pain lessened and finally faded. A tension replaced it, a desperate ache that she’d never felt before. He needed to move harder, faster, to ease the need.
“Are you all right?” he asked, holding still above her.
She nodded jerkily. “Yes. It doesn’t hurt as much now.”
Helen moved beneath him, raising her hips, completely wanton and crazed with desire. His hands slid the chemise up and off her body, barely missing a second of her kisses. Her breasts pressed against his smooth, hard chest, and a tremulous sigh escaped her lips as he settled deeper into her body. It felt right, this union in the darkness and the rushed thrill of their hips meeting and withdrawing, the touch of limbs, and the caress of lips in forbidden places.
Gareth grew tighter inside her, his movements harder, and she matched his pace, yearning to release the tension coiling in her own body. They came together, his eyes locking upon hers as their passion crested like a mighty wave. He relaxed into her as a flare of heat spread deep inside her. She kissed his lips and cheek, murmuring his name over and over again like a midnight prayer as pure joy shook her entire body. He opened his mouth as though to speak but seemed to change his mind and kissed her again. When he regained his strength, he eased off her but pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms. Even with the press of his warm body against hers, she shivered.
“Are you hurting?” He stroked her arm, trailing his fingertips down over one of her breasts. Her skin burned as he teased the soft curve of her hip and let his hand rest on her thigh.
“No… I’m just a little cold,” she whispered back.
He chuckled and moved away, pulling the covers back onto the bed so they could slide between the sheets. “Better?”
“Much better.” She rolled onto her side to face him. He was a dark silhouette against the moonlit windows behind him. Gareth brushed a lock of her hair back from her face, his thumb tracing her lower lip. She felt safe, content… Nothing in the world could ever harm her, not so long as he touched her, held her close. Helen drifted to sleep beneath his protective embrace.
*
Gareth watched her eyelids fall shut and listened to her soft steady breath as she drifted to sleep. She was so trusting, to give him her virginity, knowing it should have gone to the man she would have married. It was a gift, one he vowed to cherish. He smoothed a hand down the flair of her full hips, perfect for him to hold. It felt incredible to hold a woman in his arms,
and not just any woman, but Helen. There was something irresistible about her that kept drawing him in like a moth to a flame.
At last he had found the contentment he’d been robbed of. The years he’d wasted looking in all the wrong places. One simple night with Helen had cleansed his heart. In her little sighs, shivers, and kisses, he’d been reborn. It reminded him of his time with Clarissa. Theirs had been a love match—a powerful one. They had played and romped about as children, quarreled as lovers, and united as man and wife.
Apart from his best friend, Ambrose Worthing, there had been no other person in his life he had trusted himself to love. But with Helen, he could feel that giddy rush of first passion and knew it could all too easily strengthen into deep love. It was dangerous to care for her as he did, but there could be no denying his feelings.
Could he marry her? He’d believed it wasn’t possible, but he had ruined her, despite knowing he should not have touched her or kissed her. He’d gone and taken everything she could give and still wanted more. Gareth started to smile at the idea of marriage, but his smile wilted. He did not deserve Helen. She ought to have been courted properly by some strapping young lad who would write sonnets about her cornflower blue eyes and the tinkling bell of her laugh.
What could he offer her? An empty home, a wasted life, and a husband who was afraid to love? A woman often believed she loved the first man who showed her passion, but she might not love him. Could she come to love him in time? If he were to convince her to wed him? Would it be enough? If they married, would their union withstand being born as a ruthless transaction? Her virtue for his honor?
CHAPTER FOUR
Helen woke up to the light patter of rain against the windows. The bed was cold and empty beside her. She shivered, pulling the sheets tighter against her naked body. If only Gareth would come back to bed so she could wrap herself around his warm, hard body. She was deeply sore from the night before, but she still wanted to touch him, to share again the familiarity of his body in the way intimacy between lovers always came. A rush of heat flooded her as she remembered what Gareth had done to her, what she’d wanted him to do to her.
And now that she’d succumbed, the bed was empty. He had lost interest in her already. Helen bit her lip and tears welled up in her eyes. How could she go from crying over being stuck here to crying at the thought of having to leave? Men were disastrous to a woman’s thought process. She’d have to avoid them in the future if she meant to think logically.
As she was steeling her nerves and deciding what she must do, the bedroom door opened. Gareth came in, fully dressed and carrying a tray with tea and scones, looking the picture of a country gentleman at his leisure. The brooding rake from the night before was gone, and in his place was a man more suited to happiness. The frown lines about his face had turned to laugh lines. Was he happy to be rid of her? Was he delighted that he’d had his fun and now would send her on her way? Part of her thought her panicked reaction was foolish, but she couldn’t help it. She’d given herself to him and now she didn’t know where she stood with him. Where did they go from here? He saw her watching him, and set the tray down to rush over to her.
“What’s wrong, my darling?” He cupped her face and wiped her tears away.
He offered her comfort and sweetness, all the things she’d believed seconds before he was incapable of giving her. She really was a fool.
Helen tried to smile, looking at him through tear coated lashes. “I thought…oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“I brought you breakfast.” He fetched the tray and joined her on the bed.
At first, Helen thought she was too ill to eat, but her appetite crept back and she nibbled on a currant scone. He hadn’t abandoned her. Why the thought of him leaving her hurt, she wouldn’t admit.
“Is everything well, Helen? Do you…hurt much?”
No eyes had ever looked at her that way, as though she was the world and nothing beyond her existed. It made the budding warmth in her chest spread and deepen, erasing the chill of waking in his bed alone.
“It still hurts a little,” she said, surprised that she could be so frank with him about such an embarrassing matter. But after last night, he knew her as no other man had. Hiding anything at this point seemed silly.
“It should pass. The next time it will hurt less,” he promised.
She blushed at the idea of there being a next time. She was secretly glad to hear that. He would not send her away so soon then. Her gaze danced over his body…the way his breeches were snug on his muscular thighs and his silver waistcoat with embroidered thistle flowers made his eyes sparkle. He was the sort of man a woman would always want, in her bed, by her side. Handsome enough to make a woman’s heart skitter and charming enough to steal her breath. Despite her soreness, she would gladly have fallen back in bed and rumpled the sheets further.
He seemed to read her thoughts and winked at her. “I’ll leave you to eat. I have some letters to write. When you’re feeling better…well…we’ll find something to do.” He flashed a rakish grin, kissed her forehead, and left her alone in his big empty bed.
*
Gareth lounged back in his chair, watching Ambrose pace before him. After he’d left Helen, he’d answered his letters and then Mary had found him, telling him Ambrose had come. His friend was now wearing a path into the carpet in front of Gareth’s desk.
“What is it, Ambrose? I trust that Bennett fellow is well? I didn’t hit the man that hard.”
Ambrose’s fists clenched and unclenched, a habit Gareth recognized from their youth. Ambrose was disturbed.
“Mr. Bennett is fine, a nasty bruise or two, but fine. It is Miss Banks that concerns me. I have only just been able to track down her brother.”
Gareth felt the bottom of his stomach pitch out from under him. “You didn’t tell him where Helen is, did you?” She couldn’t leave now, he wasn’t ready to let her go.
“No, I was not so foolish. Besides, he didn’t even know me. He was on his way to Bennett’s chambers, hoping to find him. I don’t doubt that Bennett will tell Banks everything. You ought to be ready. Banks will either kill you or demand you marry his sister.”
“And if I marry her?” Gareth replied.
Ambrose laughed darkly. “Come now, Gareth. We both know you swore you would never marry again. No one could ever compare to Clarissa. She was your other half.”
He would have agreed with Ambrose years ago, but now that he’d met Helen, he knew a happy life with someone other than Clarissa was possible again. Salvation was within reach—actually, in his bed at this moment. The mental image of that was too hard to resist. He smiled.
“Why are you smiling?” Ambrose demanded.
“I suppose it’s because I’m happy,” he admitted, still grinning.
His friend stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at Gareth. “I know the proper course is marriage, but Gareth, you can’t marry her. Miss Banks deserves someone…”
“Better?”
Ambrose laughed. “I was going to say someone less jaded.”
“And you think I cannot give Helen what she needs?”
Gareth’s friend, looking troubled, leaned one elbow against the wall across from the desk. “I think it has been a long time since either of us has been in the position to offer a woman what she needs, aside from physical pleasure.”
“I can offer her a home, food, clothes… It’s more than she has the ability to get now. Her brother has lost the last of their money. I’ve compromised her, and she’ll never be able to gain a position as a governess. It’s the least I can do, and what’s more, I want to marry her.”
“Want or not, you cannot. She deserves a green lad who will adore her every word and bring her flowers every day. Not someone like you or me. We’re not made for marriage.”
Gareth’s heart turned over in his chest. He wanted to give Helen more than just pleasure. He wanted to care for her, protect her the way her brother had failed to do. But she
deserved better than him. The last seven years of his life had been absolutely horrible. It was his own fault, of course. He’d chosen that path of degradation. Could he bring her into that life, with his reputation for gaming and now dueling? What could he truly offer her besides a man jaded by life and ruined for love?
“As always, you are right, Ambrose. I cannot marry her.”
*
After breakfast, Helen returned to her chambers and bathed in a small tub. She washed herself, careful to be gentle on certain parts of her body. The tenderness was welcome, though, as was the change she felt deep inside her. She was privy to a secret understanding about herself as a woman and what mysteries her body held when in the arms of a man. There was something more, though…a deeper sense of wholeness she hadn’t felt before, like being loved… Was she loved by Gareth? Smiling, she walked over to the bed where a bright summer green gown with gold ribbons on the sleeves and hem was laid out. Mary helped her dress.
“Where is Mr. Fairfax?” Helen asked Mary.
Mary’s face darkened, her lips pursed into a thin line. “He’s in his study, down the hall past the library.” The way Mary said this made Helen’s stomach churn unpleasantly.
“Am I allowed to see him?” she asked quietly.
“I suppose. He gave me no instruction that he was not to be disturbed.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Helen kissed Mary’s cheek lightly and darted out of her room. She passed the tall grandfather clock in the hall on the way to Gareth’s study. It was nearly noon. Her slippered feet made no sound on the wood floor as she approached the open study door. A pair of masculine voices drifted down to her. Helen crept across the hallway to lean against the wall next to the door, eavesdropping.
