She swallowed and tried to sound relaxed and amused. But the hand she curled around her glass trembled. “I hope you left a few flowers. There’s a wedding next week.”
West raised his glass to her, and while his tone was cheerful, something momentous swam in his eyes. “One or two. Caro won’t lack for a bouquet.”
“No lilies, though.” The champagne was cold and crisp on her tongue, and did nothing to combat her giddiness.
He pulled out a chair for her. “There’s plenty of other flowers.”
Helena sat, unfolded her damask napkin, and placed it across her lap. “One of the benefits of marrying a botanist is that Caro will never lack for floral tributes.”
West dropped a kiss on her shoulder, making her shiver with anticipation. So far, his caresses had remained circumspect, but the promise of pleasure hummed around them. This meeting in the temple would have a very different end from those clandestine encounters when she was sixteen.
“Nor should you.” He sat and caught the hand she’d laid on the table, bringing it to his lips. “Be happy, sweet Helena. Everything will work out one way or another.”
Chapter Ten
West leaned back from the table and raised a glass of excellent claret to his lips as he studied Helena. Right now, she didn’t look like the self-contained countess with the formidable brain, who had alternately awed and fascinated London society. Nor did she, thank God, look like the unhappy Lady Crewe who had held her head high through the shambles her repugnant husband had made of her life.
She didn’t even look like the adorably unsure beauty who had succumbed to his seduction.
Was that only two nights ago? He’d lived a lifetime since.
He smiled at her in delight. “My dear Lady Crewe, you’re foxed.”
Helena smiled back with bleary affability. “I fear, my lord, you are right.”
With impressive steadiness, she raised her claret and took a sip. Between them, the ruins of their meal spread across the table. Silas’s kitchens had done them proud, with oysters, chicken à la perse, salads—courtesy again of the greenhouses—exotic fruits, fresh and candied. All that remained in one piece was a meringue fancy molded in the shape of the summerhouse.
West wasn’t anywhere near tipsy, although an enjoyable warmth simmered in his blood. He had a strong head for liquor. The only man able to drink him under the table was Anthony Townsend, who had clearly led quite a life, running his shipping line.
The only man in England. In Russia, the locals and their vodka had trumped him.
Helena, on the other hand, was three sheets to the wind.
“Do you want to lie down?” He waved his glass toward the low divan under the window, where the servants had set out cushions and rugs.
Salacious anticipation broadened her smile. “Yes.”
When her foot curled over his knee in unmistakable invitation, he jumped like a virgin. During the meal, she must have kicked off her half-boots.
His cock reacted with predictable enthusiasm. Never had he been as desperate for a woman as he was for Helena. She merely had to look at him sideways, and he was upright as a ship’s mast. He’d long believed they’d prove a physical match, but the sizzling reality of holding her in his arms surpassed all his imaginings.
Still, a gentleman didn’t take advantage of a lady’s inebriation.
And he remained a gentleman. Just.
“You’ll feel better after a nap.”
She pursed her lips and lowered her eyelids until thick, black lashes shadowed her cheekbones. “I’m feeling rather fine right now.”
With unmistakable intent, her foot slid further up his thigh. His grip on the glass tightened as explosions set off behind his eyes. “Helena, you’re in no state to make decisions.”
He wished she’d stop smiling at him as though she meant to gobble him up for dessert, instead of the sugar and cream confection. “That charming bower screams sin. You can’t mean to waste it.”
“We’ll use it when you’ve got a clear head.”
With a soft laugh, she curled her toes against his leg. “I’m never clearheaded when I’m with you.”
Astonishment, as much as burgeoning arousal, had him sitting straight in his chair. From Helena, that was a major admission. Unfortunately, it also proved that she wasn’t herself.
He caught that brazen stockinged foot before it ventured higher. “We’ve got all afternoon. Silas and Caro are visiting the neighbors, and Fen and Anthony are looking at property in the area.”
“Then let’s not waste time.”
“I can’t seduce a woman who’s drunk,” he said tartly. Despite his tone, he couldn’t help caressing the long, elegant foot in his lap. He loved that she was built like a greyhound, all slim speed and grace.
In response to his touch, her lids lowered further. “Very well.”
Curiosity stilled his stroking hand. “Very well?”
“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Because I intend to seduce you.”
West’s heart crashed into his ribs, and the world went black. That low, husky voice should have a danger sign posted on it. He blinked to bring her back into focus. “Hel…”
With taunting languor, she untied the masculine cravat around her neck and dropped it to the tiled floor. Her index finger strayed down her throat to pause at the high collar of her white shirt. All the moisture dried from West’s mouth, as his gaze fastened on that teasing hand.
“I’m not drunk, West,” she murmured. “Just nicely merry.”
“Nonetheless…” The word emerged as a croak, while he watched her flick the top pearl button open to reveal a few inches of creamy skin. Every muscle tightened in expectation. Which was ridiculous when that very morning, he’d seen her stark naked.
But there was something so damned stirring about a woman proclaiming her desire in the middle of the day. At any time of the day, really.
Helena was the most imaginative person he knew. The prospect of her devoting all that creativity to his pleasure made him shake.
Another button. Another few inches of skin.
West licked parched lips, and assured himself that she knew what she was doing.
He had to touch her, or go mad. His hand reached up under her skirts to release her garter and slide the silk stocking down. The brush of his fingers on her bare instep made her gasp, but her tone stayed cool. “You’ve taught me a lot about persuasion. It’s time I put those lessons into practice.”
Two more buttons. The shirt parted to reveal a narrow line of smooth olive skin.
She toyed with a third. His hungry eyes fastened on the finger moving over the button in a fiendishly suggestive pattern.
And something struck him that should have struck him much earlier.
“You’re not wearing a corset,” he said in a strangled voice.
A faint smile lifted her lush lips. “Or a shift.”
He closed his eyes, but the image of Helena undressing little by little for his delectation remained burned on his vision. “God give me strength.”
“I’m not wearing drawers either.”
His eyes shot open. He should be used to the way she sent his heart hurtling around his chest. He wasn’t. “That’s why you rode sidesaddle.”
Those lips quirked. “Yes.”
Caught up in the pleasure of having her to himself, he hadn’t paid too much attention to how she’d arrived. In London, she followed the dictates of propriety, however reluctantly. Here at Woodley Park, she almost always rode astride.
“You’ll drive me out of my mind before you’ve finished,” he groaned, his hand clenching on her toes.
“That’s the general idea.”
To his regret, she lowered her foot. With dazed eyes, he watched her stand and step away from the table with a sway of the hips and a saucy backward glance. Now that he knew how few layers separated her skin from his greedy hands, his restraint frayed until it was threadbare.
With a theatrical slowness that threatened t
o send him up in flames, she shifted to the side, raised her foot to the chair, and hitched up her skirts. By the time she’d untied her second garter and rolled the stocking off, he vibrated with lust.
When she straightened and faced him, his attention fixed on her open shirt. Every movement offered shadowy glimpses of her breasts. Tantalizing because she remained covered. Mostly.
He licked his lips when her nipples hardened against the white cambric.
She sent him a direct look. “This morning when I dressed, I was perfectly sober. So your scruples, while admirable, are unnecessary.”
He was on his feet before he thought about it and stalking toward her. She raised her hand to his chest, stopping him.
“No.”
“What the devil?” His hands opened and closed at his sides. She’d played this tormenting game the first night. He wasn’t sure he’d survive another bout.
Her glittering gaze focused on his face. “I want to test my wiles.”
He closed his eyes, and his groan was pained. A different game, after all. But the same torture. “This is revenge for that time I pushed you in the horse trough, isn’t it?”
“Would I hold a grudge for something a young lout did twenty years ago?”
He opened wary eyes. “Absolutely.”
“You know me so well. Now take off your shirt.”
With shaking hands, he dragged the shirt over his head and dropped it to the tiled floor. He felt like he possessed ten thumbs, and not particularly deft ones at that. Thank God, he wasn’t wearing a neck cloth. The braziers warmed the air, but the sensual purpose in Helena’s eyes set him shivering in anticipation.
“Are you cold?” She moved around him like an art connoisseur admiring a statue. Except this connoisseur had bare feet and looked likely to fall out of her shirt any moment.
“Anything but.”
On the tiles, her feet were soundless. But he knew to the second when she padded close behind him, even before her breath warmed his nape. Every nerve went on alert, but she didn’t touch him. Instead he heard her inhale deeply.
“Why do you always smell so good? I believe I could live on the air around you.”
“Hel…” he bit out. “Stop teasing me.”
“I’ve only started,” she whispered in his ear and nipped his earlobe.
Need juddered through him. “For pity’s sake.”
“No pity.” She trailed one finger along his bare shoulder, and his cock swelled in immediate answer. “Sit down, and I’ll help with your boots.”
Giddy with rising desire, he let her lead him to the platform in the alcove. She pulled him round to face her, then pushed. When he collapsed among the pillows, she stood tall over him, a commanding, gorgeous mistress well worth the winning.
He adored her lack of shyness. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to surrender his accustomed mastery. “You know, it would be dashed easy for you to sit on me.”
Her laugh was sheer temptation. “Why the rush?”
His hips bumped up, his rod straining against the front of his breeches. “I’m a simple creature. Show me a brandy, and I want to drink it. Show me a chunk of roast beef, and I want to eat it. Show me a comely woman, and I want to—”
“I can imagine,” she hurried to say, before he reached the profane ending. “But you’re not getting your way.”
“Helena,” he growled in dismay, flopping back.
“Yet.”
Yet…
West could live with “yet.” He smiled up at the ceiling where fat amoretti circled a complacent Zeus. Above the window, a large swan eyed a fat blonde’s abundant charms with lascivious intent. Once such a woman might have roused his interest. These days, his taste was for domineering brunettes.
He couldn’t help thinking he had the advantage over the king of the gods. Even if his mistress meant to test him before welcoming him to paradise.
His attention turned to Helena as she dropped to her knees. The skirt preserved her modesty, but did nothing to rein in his unruly imagination. Fresh desire jolted him.
With characteristic competence, she tugged at his boots. Seeing her kneeling sparked inevitable fantasies of her mouth on his cock. As she moved to his other boot, he speculated on how long he’d need to banish her inhibitions. Today’s startling role reversal hinted that she might enjoy a daring variation or two.
Including that one.
He’d drifted off so thoroughly into a dream of Helena pleasuring him that her voice came as a shock. “Don’t go to sleep.”
His gaze fixed on Leda’s plump nakedness. Yes, he was definitely ahead of Zeus. At least today. “I’ve had two interrupted nights, you know.”
“You didn’t seem to mind at the time.” Those adept hands ripped at the buttons on his breeches. No shyness indeed. Praise every angel in heaven. “Lift your hips.”
He obeyed with alacrity. One long tug, and he lay naked before her, back resting on the divan, legs spread across the tiles on either side of her, cock hard against his belly.
“I like your body very much,” she murmured. With a few quick movements, she released her hair. That moment when it unfurled from contained elegance to lavish profusion always stole his breath. “Although someone needs to feed you up.”
West didn’t want to think about his illness. He didn’t want to think at all. “The only thing I want to eat right now is you.”
With a sinuous grace that had his heart performing a Highland reel, she slithered up his body. The glancing contact set off fireworks in his head until he couldn’t see anything else but her. If she meant to torture him all afternoon, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the experience.
“Later,” she said, but the rough note in her voice told him that she liked the idea.
He loved licking her to climax. Damn it, he loved every single thing they did together. If she stuck to her word and sent him away after her brother’s wedding, he’d be in a bad way indeed. When Silas had been sick with longing for Caro, West recalled feeling faintly superior. This time round, he had a horrible feeling the joke might be on him.
Helena rose over him, shirt gaping to reveal her perfect breasts at last. Unable to resist, he reached to cup them.
“No.” She jerked up, straddling him. She caught his wrists and pulled them away.
Air seemed in short supply. “I need to touch you.”
“First I’m going to touch you.”
“We can touch each other.”
“If we do, you’ll take over.”
“Don’t you like me to take over?”
“Don’t be a clod, West. Of course I do.” Her impatient affection pierced his heart. “I’m conducting an experiment, and I don’t want any interruptions.”
He laughed. “You and your experiments. Heaven help the man involved with a scholarly woman.”
“I’m not feeling too sorry for you.” She leaned down, still holding his hands, and kissed him thoroughly, using her tongue to stoke his craving.
Who needed air? He drowned in swirling heat. Her silky hair fell about them like a shining ebony curtain. By the time she raised her head, he was panting.
“I mean to be bold,” she said in the same tone young Helena had used when she’d boasted that she’d ride the wildest horse in her father’s stables. And by God, she’d done it, too.
“I hope so,” he said hoarsely.
Before he had a chance to calm his blood’s maniac rush, she stood and undid the last button. She freed the shirt from her waistband and shrugged it away.
For a moment, she stood proudly before him, bare-breasted and splendid. With her extravagant mane of black hair, she looked like some primitive deity.
Leda, you’re not even in the race.
Every time he saw Helena like this, it felt like a gift. His hands curled into the satin cushions piled beneath him. “You’re a beautiful creature.”
“For a woman plotting lechery, you’re a fine sight yourself.” She tugged at the tapes on her skirt and let it fall to the
floor.
West sighed with masculine appreciation as she sauntered naked toward him. Dear God, she was magnificent.
She came down over him on all fours. He groaned and lurched up to press closer.
That autocratic hand pushed him down. “Not yet.”
“That answer is rapidly losing its charm.”
“I still like it.” She dipped her head and nibbled an incendiary path down his neck to his shoulder, where she bit him. He grunted at the sting, but let her have her way. Then her hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere. His arms, his chest, his belly.
Those long fingers closed around his cock.
“Damn it, Hel…” Forgetting cooperation, he reared up.
In silent reproach, she lifted her hand away.
“Damn it,” he repeated in a lower voice, lying back.
“So nice to deal with a clever man,” she purred. She kissed him, but pulled away before the kiss found a life of its own.
“I’m not feeling clever,” he muttered, anchoring his hands in the cushions so he didn’t grab her.
He’d never been sure how far she meant to take her quest to conquer him. Now he had his answer. To the edge of endurance and beyond.
“Shall I touch you again?” she murmured.
If she didn’t, he’d bloody well explode. “Yes.”
Once more, her hand closed around his dick. She sounded as if she was making notes. “I find your body so fascinating. It’s so hard and hot.”
Before he could muster a response to that, she began to slide her hand up and down. Her clumsy caresses were astonishingly arousing. He gritted his teeth against spilling like an overenthusiastic schoolboy.
She stopped.
Why in Hades did she stop?
He forced his eyes open to find her observing him with a troubled expression. “Am I doing something wrong? You don’t look very comfortable.”
“Squeeze. Tighter.”
As if he’d given her the solution to a mathematical problem, she nodded.
Her touch became more confident. He found it impossible to look away. She concentrated so intently, it was like the future of the world relied on her success.
Winning Lord West Page 9
