When Helena awoke she had no idea where she was. Very early sunlight was just touching the undraped windows and outside the birds were singing. She was in bed, warm under the covers, but she was not alone.
Someone else was breathing beside her, their breath rising and falling on the faintest of snores. Helena turned her head and saw Portia’s tumbled curls on the pillow beside her. ‘More damson preserve,’ Portia remarked in her sleep, ‘more…’ her voice trailed off and she sighed and turned over.
Cautiously Helena levered herself up against the pillows. She felt light-headed and, seeing the covered glass of lemonade beside the bed, took a grateful drink. It was sharp and refreshing in her mouth and she found she could think clearly.
She was obviously still in Adam’s house. Somewhere, presumably, her uncle had been given a room for what had remained of the night. And what a night! A tinge of remembered fear stole over her as she recalled the events, the duel, the blood…. Then she remembered Adam’s words.
He loved her. He had said so in front of witnesses when he had no need to. She remembered the scorching look of longing and recognised now that it truly was love she had seen there.
But he had set her free, and the last thing she wanted to be was free of Adam. Yet if she told him that, in his pride and honour he would assume she was only trying to repay him for his defence of her. How could he believe otherwise after the cruel, wounding words she had thrown at him, after her defiant declaration that she would rather marry her blackmailer than him?
Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She swung her legs carefully out of the bed, and tiptoed to the door. Helena was out in the corridor before she realised just how flimsy the nightgown she was wearing really was. It was another of the diaphanous muslin slips that she had found on the Moonspinner, fastened loosely at the neck with silk ribbons. The house was silent, but surely the servants would soon be about their duties.
Casting swiftly round her, Helena guessed that the master bedroom would be at the front of the house, commanding a fine view of the park. She ran lightly down the corridor to the heavy panelled door and pushed it cautiously open. Yes, it was Adam’s room.
Despite the gloom his dark blond hair showed clearly on the pillow. He was lying on his stomach, deep in sleep, one bare leg thrust out from under the covers which extended to his waist. His torso was bare, its only covering a light bandage on his left forearm.
Helena tiptoed forward, and stood gazing down at him, a wave of love and longing coursing through her. She put out one hand and smoothed back the hair from his brow, thankful to feel the cool skin under her fingertips. Thank God, his wound had not given him a fever.
Adam stirred and murmured, ‘Helena…’ but he was still asleep. Without letting herself think what she was doing, Helena pulled back the covers and slipped into the big bed next to the man she loved. Her slight weight hardly disturbed the mattress as she snuggled up against his long flank, placing one arm over his broad back.
Greatly daring, she curled her ankle round his bent leg, only realising when she met the warmth of his skin how cold her feet were. Adam turned his head on the pillow, and with his face towards her she could see him frown as the surprise of her cold feet penetrated his consciousness.
His eyes opened slowly until he was regarding her, his eyes almost black under their heavy fringe of lashes. To Helena’s amazement he did not speak, only half turned to take her in his arms.
With a soft groan he kissed her like a parched man at a spring, his mouth wide and tender on her softness, drinking her in with an intensity he had never shown before. The kiss went on and on, Helena in her turn investing in it all the love she had never been able to show him.
Her hands moved as if of their own volition, trailing down the strong planes of his back to the tautness of his buttocks. He froze and his eyes opened blue and intense on her face.
‘Bloody hell! You are not a dream!’
‘No, of course I am not,’ Helena murmured, her hands still exploring his hard flanks. Against the filmy muslin of her nightgown she was overwhelmingly aware of the heat of him, of the burning desire of him.
‘What are you doing here?’ With a superhuman effort Adam forced himself away from her, rolled onto his back and sat up against the pillows. ‘No, do not touch me!’ he warned as Helena twisted round to wrap her arms around him again. ‘You are making this very difficult for me, you have no idea how much I want you.’
‘And I want you, Adam,’ Helena confessed softly, staring deep into his eyes. ‘I love you, I want you. Please—do not start being noble again.’
There was a quivering silence then Adam said slowly, ‘Are you sure you are not being the noble one, Helena? Are you doing this because you think you owe me a debt of honour? Well, I do not want a willing sacrifice.’
Furious, Helena jumped off the bed, hands on hips. ‘Will you listen to what I am saying to you, you…provoking man?’
Little did she realise that her hands stretched the fine fabric taut over her slender hips, rendering it virtually transparent. Adam clenched his fingers on the sheet and tried to ignore the thrust of rosy nipples, the dark shadow between her thighs. ‘Helena, it is you who are provoking—I warn you, I cannot contain myself much longer.’
Helena sighed. She had thought Adam would sweep her up in his arms, make passionate love to her and all would be right. But the man had a will of iron! Very well, then, this called for desperate measures. Her fingers went to the silken ribbons at her neck.
Adam watched her in fascination, unable to do all the things he knew he ought: get out of bed now, wrap her in his dressing gown, march her back to Portia’s chaperonage. But he loved her so much and he had waited so long…The diaphanous robe whispered as it met the floorboards and she was naked, blushing under the heat of his eyes in the classic pose of every naked nymph, one arm across her creamy breasts, one hand creeping to hide the tangle of dark curls.
His resolve shattered into a thousand pieces and he held out his arms to her. Helena came to him trustingly, her eyes full of love for him. How had he ever been so blind, missed the message that innocent gaze was sending him so clearly?
Adam laid her against the pillows and looked at her. Helena blushed a rosy pink but held his gaze. Her fingers reached up to him, fastening in his hair, pulling his head down to her breast.
At the first touch of his warm mouth on her agonisingly taut nipple Helena arched against him, her whole body filled with an aching, longing to be part of him.
‘Helena,’ he ground out, his mouth buried in the soft swell of her breast, ‘are you quite sure about this? Because if you are not, you had better say so now.’
‘I am sure, my love, but that does not mean I am not…’
‘Do not be afraid.’ Adam rolled her over, shifting his weight to cover her. ‘I am going to make love to you.’
And so he did, at first with infinite tenderness and then, as she answered his passion with her own, with a surging intensity that took her beyond all barriers to a plane of pleasure she had never imagined existed.
Afterwards they lay sated and at rest in each others’ arms. The sun began to fall across the bed in a golden bar and Adam reached out and pulled the tangled sheets up and over their still-entwined bodies.
At length Helena murmured, ‘What time is it?’
As if in answer there was a tap at the door which began to open. ‘Not now!’ Adam called, and the door swiftly shut to. ‘Seven o’clock—that would have been my valet.’
Helena stirred and sat up against the pillows, stretching like a satisfied cat. She was so happy that she felt almost overwhelmed by it. Adam had twisted round and was regarding her very seriously.
‘Helena, I must know. Will you marry me?’
‘I have little choice, my lord,’ she responded primly. ‘After all, I am now completely ruined. You are honour bound to marry me, I’m afraid.’
She saw the doubt in his eyes, and realised with a surge of amazement that this strong
, hard man was vulnerable, was in her power. Instantly she regretted her levity. ‘Of course I will marry you, Adam. I love you, more than life itself. I cannot believe you truly love me—why did not tell me before?’
‘When I made that first declaration I could not imagine that any lady in your circumstances would have rejected me: I could only assume your dislike for me outweighed the overwhelming necessity to protect your reputation. And my pride was hurt—badly.’ He looked rueful. ‘As you yourself observed, I have never had to try very hard to secure feminine companionship.’
‘Hmm.’ Helen regarded him between narrowed lids. ‘Portia told me about your lady-friends. She seemed to think that the fact that you only had one at a time made it all right.’
‘There were hardly dozens of them,’ Adam defended himself with a smile. ‘And I never dallied with any innocents. They all knew exactly what they were doing—and all of them were very well able to look after themselves.’
‘Yes, I heard about the Meissen.’
Adam looked startled. ‘Good God, is that widely known? Georgiana was always crashingly indiscreet, and extremely expensive.’
Looking at the shuttered expression on her face, he cursed himself for a fool. It was so easy to talk to her—she had led him into talking about other women minutes after she had given him everything and with a passion and love he had never found before.
‘Helena, I am sorry, I should never have spoken so. They were diversions, doing harm to no one, and are over forever since I met you. I love you and I want nobody else. I may be a rake, Helena, but I vow, from this moment on, I am a reformed one.’
Helena glanced up at him from under her lashes, warmed and secure in his love. ‘Does that mean, Lord Darvell, that you will not expect me to be taking a lover after I have done my duty by you and presented you with an heir?’
‘Helena, you are teasing me. But I promise you this—any man who touches you will answer for it with his life. I love you, I have made you mine. If you are not convinced, Miss Wyatt, I had better show you all over again.’
And he did.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6238-9
THE ADMIRAL’S DAUGHTER
First North American Publication 2001.
Copyright © 1999 by Francesca Shaw.
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