Seven Wicked Nights

by Courtney Milan

  And if Helen had finally taken charge of her own life and happiness, there was nothing at all to stop Cleo from doing the same. She didn’t know where Wessex’s rooms were, but she found the butler and told him she must speak to the duke urgently. He directed her to the study at the back of the house, overlooking the gardens.

  At the door she took a deep breath and knocked. Just the sound of his muffled voice made her pulse jump. She let herself in, glancing quickly around to be certain there was no one else in the room.

  He was alone, standing in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back. Just the sight of him made her dizzy with yearning and hope. She unfolded Helen’s note. “I have something to tell you, Your Grace. It is about my sister.”

  His attention was fixed on her. “Oh?”

  “Yes.” She checked that the door was securely closed. “My sister left me a note, which I only discovered a few minutes ago. May I share it with you?” He inclined his head, and she wet her lips, then read Helen’s note. “Dearest Cleo: By the time you read this, I shall be gone from Kingstag Castle. I am writing to you because you are the only one who will understand why: James and I are eloping. We hope to make Gretna Green by the end of the week.”

  Her voice faltered. She swallowed, and read on. “I am very sorry to do such a thing to His Grace. He honored me greatly with his offer of marriage, and I did accept him honestly. But I feel it would be an even greater disservice to him if I were to go through with a marriage I no longer want, and could not be happy in, while I loved another man. Comfort him, Cleo, and tell him I am sorry. Your loving sister, Helen.”

  For a long moment there was silence. Cleo folded the note, unsure what to do next.

  He crossed the room to her. “May I see it?” She gave it to him, trembling a little as his fingers brushed hers. Wessex unfolded the note and read it before letting it fall to the ground. “So I’ve been jilted.”

  “I believe you have been.” Her heart beat so hard it hurt. He wasn’t going to marry Helen, sang the wicked voice inside her head. Some remnant of duty obliged her to add, “My parents are distraught that Helen would do such a thing.”

  “Yes, I imagine they are,” he murmured. “Are you?”

  “Well—I wish my sister had confided in someone before disappearing in the night and giving us a great fright….”

  “James Blair is the most capable man I know. If she’s with him, she is perfectly well.”

  She just nodded, overwhelmed by the jumble of hope and uncertainty inside her. He was taking the news very calmly, but also without any show of the relief she felt that now he—like Cleo—was free to follow his heart. Perhaps his heart had reconsidered; perhaps he couldn’t stomach the thought of anything to do with her family after Helen’s action. She was a common merchant, after all, hardly a likely duchess. Perhaps she had been all wrong….

  “And have you come to do as your sister asked?” He rested one hand against the door above her shoulder. “Have you come to console me, Cleo?”

  The way he said her name was almost a caress. “If there is any way I can.”

  A smile bent his mouth as his eyes darkened. “I think I may require excessive consolation after this most distressing fortnight.”

  “And being jilted,” she whispered.

  His smile grew darker, more intimate. “My darling,” he said, “being jilted has been the best part—thus far.”

  Cleo’s knees went weak. She hadn’t been wrong at all. She laid her hand on his chest. He was wonderfully big and warm beneath her palm, his heartbeat steady and strong. “Your heart doesn’t seem broken.”

  He laid his hand over hers, pressing it against his silk waistcoat. “On the contrary—I think it has only just begun to beat with purpose, now that you are here.”

  She listed toward him. “Why is that?”

  He smoothed a wisp of hair away from her temple, then curved his hand around her nape. “Because I can finally do this,” he said, and kissed her.

  She melted against him, opening her mouth and meeting his tongue with her own. She gripped his jacket, holding him to her, and then she forced the lapels wide, trying to peel it off him. With a harsh exclamation, he pulled his arms free of the jacket and let it fall to the floor behind him before gathering her close. She pressed against him, her cheek on his chest, listening to the rapid thump of his heart. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirtsleeves.

  “Cleo,” he murmured against her hair. “If there is any reason … any objection you have to me making love to you, tell me now.”

  “No,” she gasped, catching his shoulders as his hands slid down around her bottom, lifting her up onto her toes, dragging her against his rigid arousal.

  “No? I should stop?” He tugged her earlobe between his teeth.

  Cleo whimpered. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. “Don’t ever stop.”

  His hand slipped behind her back, pulling loose the tiny pearl buttons of her gown. The demure bodice slid down, and then he pulled it further down until her breasts were almost exposed. She shuddered at the cool air on her flesh, her head falling back against the door behind her. His hand cupped her breast, his mouth was hot on her neck. “Wessex,” she gasped, dimly thinking they ought to find a more comfortable location.

  “Gareth.” He pulled at her bodice again, and there was a sound of cloth ripping. “My God, you’re beautiful in every way.” He lowered his head to her breast and Cleo abandoned all thought of moving. She plowed her fingers into his thick dark hair and gave herself up to the pleasure of his lips on her skin, his teeth scraping over her taut nipple, his tongue playing along the delicate flesh of her bosom.

  He drew up the skirt of her gown, and she shifted her feet to allow him to press ever closer to her. He raised one eyebrow as his boot bumped against hers. Cleo blushed; in her hurry she’d run through the house wearing only one shoe. Gareth simply grinned as he fell to his knee, unlaced the boot, and tossed it aside, and then his hands were exploring the length of her legs. His fingers skimmed her silk stockings, plucked at her garters, and then roamed higher. She gasped aloud in pent-up desire when he finally touched the aching folds between her legs.

  Even she, who had eloped at seventeen, had never been so careless of propriety and restraint. With inarticulate words and sighs she urged him on, clasping his head to her bosom as he stroked her and teased her. When her legs threatened to give out beneath her, she managed to tug at his hair. “Gareth,” she gasped, her heart thundering and her breath ragged. “Gareth, please….”

  He shuddered. “When you say my name that way….” He lurched to his feet, tearing at his trousers. “Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, his voice rough. Cleo obeyed, glad he put his own arm around her waist. She might have stumbled and fallen if he hadn’t. “Now tell me….” He caught her knee and pulled, hooking it around his hip to hold her skirt out of the way. “Say you want me, Cleo…. Please, darling….”

  “I want you madly.” She strained against him. “I want you now.”

  “Thank God.” He cupped his hand around her bottom and held her as he fitted himself against her and pushed home. Cleo made a faint gasp of delight and surprise. It felt so good, so right, to have him inside her. She tightened her grip on his neck and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Every nerve felt alive as he held her so easily, so securely, so intimately. He seemed as moved as she was. His chest heaved and his arms trembled. “At last,” she thought he whispered, and then he began to move.

  Whatever making love against a door might lack in finesse and comfort, Cleo thought she might prefer it to any other kind. She curled herself around Gareth, meeting each hard thrust with a little arch of her back. He held her easily, he knew right where to touch her, and when it all culminated in a fierce climax, she almost burst into tears. Gareth caught his breath and rested his forehead against hers as his hips jerked a few more times in his own release, and then he kissed her, leisurely and thoroughly.

  An
d then there came a soft tap at the door. Cleo started in spite of the hazy contentment that enveloped her. She could feel the knock through the wood at her back, and the thought of what the person on the other side would think, if he knew what was just inches from him, made laughter bubble up in her throat. Lips pressed shut to hold it back, she looked up at Gareth, her eyes tearing.

  He grinned lazily down at her. “Yes?” he called.

  There was a pause, then the butler’s voice came through the door, low and rushed, as if he were whispering through the crack of the doorjamb. “Your Grace, Mr. Blair wishes to see you at once.”

  The laughter stuck in her throat died. Cleo didn’t move, her fingers clenching in the folds of Gareth’s shirt. Mr. Blair had returned, which meant Helen must have as well.

  Oh, Lord.

  Gareth just kept smiling down at her. “Does he? Excellent. Where is he waiting?”

  “In the stables, Your Grace. With Miss Grey.”

  “Ah. Tell them I shall be with them directly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Cleo could hear his footsteps faintly, going down the hall. Gareth still wore the slight grin of a cat who knew where the cream was hidden, and she didn’t know why. Part of her longed to run out to the stables and hug Helen close before shaking her and demanding an explanation, and part of her didn’t want to face her sister for years. She had just made love to her sister’s fiancé. Even though Helen hadn’t wanted to marry him, she might still be shocked and horrified to hear how quickly he had turned to Cleo.

  And now there wasn’t much time for her to talk to Gareth before facing Helen. What did he want from her? Making love was one thing, but there were no promises between them. Cleo wanted more. She didn’t want to give him up to anyone, ever again.

  She wet her lips. He was still inside her, his hand still curved around her hip. With a little wriggle, she unhooked her leg from around his, easing her weight back to the ground. With a soft sigh, he slid free of her, his hands steadying her waist as her knees wobbled. She smiled uneasily, smoothing down the skirts of her gown as Gareth repaired his own clothing. She wasn’t sure she could stand under her own power. Even now, aftershocks of pleasure left her muscles lax.

  “Cleo.” His hand cupped her face, making her look at him. Gareth smiled. “You look so grim, darling. Was I that rough?”

  Her mouth fell open. “No! You know you weren’t. It was wonderful. But Gareth—” He cut her off with a long kiss, and when he lifted his head Cleo had forgotten what she’d been saying.

  “All will be well,” he said. “Trust me.” She gazed up at him, afraid to ask. “You look as though a great problem troubles you,” he added.

  She was surprised into a weak laugh. “A great problem! This is a rather out-of-the-ordinary problem, I think….”

  “Yes, I might have ruined this gown beyond repair.” He gave it a frown. “Although it’s not my favorite.”

  She blushed. “My mother chose it.”

  “No wonder,” he muttered. “I won’t apologize for ripping it, then.” Still, he turned her around and fastened what buttons remained. “Will you come with me? I expect your sister will want to see you.”

  “What are you going to say to them?” she asked softly. His fingers moving so gently over her back had sapped her will to argue.

  “I think your sister and my cousin explained themselves very well in the notes they left. I can’t think what they might have to add to that.”

  Cleo blinked and whirled around. “Your cousin left you a note as well?”

  “He did.”

  “Then you knew before I told you that Helen had run off?”

  “I did.”

  “You might have told me,” she protested.

  He grinned. “But I desperately wanted comforting, darling.” He kissed her. “Let’s go see what they have to tell us, shall we?”

  Chapter Eleven

  GARETH FELT AT GREAT CHARITY WITH THE WORLD as he and Cleo walked toward the stables. He held her hand in his; she had looked a bit self-conscious at first, but she made no effort to pull away. There was a beautiful flush on her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled as they had the morning she first arrived at Kingstag, when lightning had seemed to strike him in the head.

  A servant lingering near the front gate ran forward to meet them and say that Mr. Blair was waiting in the rear tack room, where Jack Willoughby had established his gentlemen’s refuge earlier. As they headed there, they passed Jack’s shiny black phaeton, now covered with dust and being fussed over by a number of grooms. Cleo darted a curious look at him, but Gareth just shrugged. He had a feeling Hippolyta had helped the lovers in their escape and in their inexplicable return.

  The instant they stepped through the door, Helen Grey jumped up from the bench. She was wearing traveling clothes, her hair swung in a braid down her back, and her eyes were haunted. On the bench behind her, James Blair sat with his hands on his knees, his head hanging as if exhausted. Helen took a hesitant step forward, eyeing them almost fearfully.

  Without a word, Cleo opened her arms, and Helen fell into them, breaking into ragged weeping. The sisters held each other close. Blair’s expression twisted in anguish before he averted his face. Both were the picture of misery.

  “I’m sorry,” Helen sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Cleo. I didn’t mean to cause trouble, but I was so unhappy and it seemed like the best idea….”

  “Are you hurt?” Cleo pulled back to scrutinize her sister’s face, red and puffy and tear-stained. “Are you well?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine. We—James and I—we’re both well. It’s just—it’s just—”

  James Blair rose to his feet. “We both knew it to be wrong,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Wessex—Mrs. Barrows—I cannot apologize enough for what we’ve put you through. It was entirely my doing. I convinced Miss Grey—”

  “No! I convinced him!” Helen grasped her sister’s hands. “It was my idea, all mine! I couldn’t go through with it. Cleo, you told me my happiness was in my hands and you were right, you truly were. I found James yesterday and forced him to take me away last night—”

  “You did no such thing,” said Blair tenderly but wearily. “Helen….”

  “It seems to me,” Gareth said mildly, interrupting them, “that the more important question is why one of you had this idea, and why the other consented.”

  Helen raised her chin as she finally faced him, but he could see her hands shaking. “I am very sorry, Your Grace,” she said haltingly. “I … that is, I had a—a change of heart. I … fancied myself in love with Mr. Blair….”

  “It was the duel,” Blair interrupted. “Bruton was willing to let his cousin shoot him rather than give up the girl he loved. I was his second, Wessex, and it went to my head—seeing his joy and relief when Miss Lacy threw herself into his arms…. And when you said you would wish Bruton well, I lost my grip on reason.” He gave Helen another hopeless look. “I’ve been in agony since the Greys arrived. I tried to forget my feelings, and I never wanted to betray you, but after the duel…. I didn’t know how I could bear to see you marry Helen.”

  “And running off was much safer and preferable to a duel, don’t you see?” Helen pleaded. “I couldn’t let him risk being shot.”

  “Indeed not. Blair is a capital fellow, and I would hate to see him wounded,” agreed Gareth. “He’s quite the most decent man I know. I congratulate you on your excellent taste.”

  Helen glanced at Blair in bewilderment. He seemed equally dumbstruck. Gareth wanted to shout with laughter at the look on his cousin’s face.

  Helen wet her lips. “But it was an abominable thing to do to you….”

  “Not when weighed against the ills of marrying a man you could never love.” He paused. “You couldn’t, could you?” It was more a statement than a question, and Helen’s eyes welled up again as she slowly shook her head. “Then you’ve done us all a great favor,” he said gently. That had been his last trace of worry, that Helen might somehow have honestly regrette
d running off. If she had declared she was ready to carry on with the wedding, he would have had the very devil of a time.

  “You’re not angry?” asked Blair in disbelief. “Wessex, I….” Words seemed to fail him; he shook his head in stunned silence.

  Gareth smiled, darted a warm glance toward Cleo. “Angry? Not at all. In fact, I have rarely been happier. And it is all due to you, Miss Grey, for having the courage to defy propriety and follow your heart. And to you, James, for going with her. My only wonder is that you came back so soon. Are you married yet?”

  “No,” said Blair in a dazed voice.

  “Do you still wish to be?”

  “Yes!” burst out Helen, which seemed to break her beloved’s trance.

  “The marriage contract—”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll have any difficulty about that. Sir William, I am sure, can be made to see reason.” Especially if Gareth gave him no choice.

  “The guests,” said Helen hesitantly.

  “Oh yes, I suppose we’ll have to tell them. I’ll send my mother to the church.” Everyone stared at him in disbelief. “If she won’t go, I’ll have Sophronia step in,” he added. “She’d delight in calling off a wedding.”

  Cleo made a noise suspiciously like a smothered laugh. It made Gareth smile wider. He loved being able to make her laugh.

  The runaway lovers exchanged a glance, then Blair stepped forward.

  “Wessex,” he said humbly. “I must apologize. You would have been well within bounds to call me out over this.”

  “What good would that do?” he asked, surprised. “You’re my right arm, James. You might have told me earlier you had feelings for Helen, but—” he shot Cleo another glance “—in the end your timing was nothing less than perfect. Allow me to wish you great joy.” He shook hands with his cousin. Helen hurried to his side, and he raised her hand to his lips. “And of course, since you’re to be married,” Gareth went on, “I must make you a wedding gift. A manor house, I think, somewhere nearby. You must be able to visit often.”