by Julia Bennet
Only slowly did the old Will, the Will she knew, come back to her and notice that he’d almost crushed her. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you?” His obvious concern took the sting out of her disappointment.
“No, not at all.”
“I’m glad.” Not looking at her, he lowered her skirts until she was once again modestly covered. “Your nightgown is in the top drawer. I’ll keep my back turned while you dress.”
A ludicrous statement in the circumstances. He went to the bed and waited, and it dawned on her that he expected her to turn her back, too. She obliged; she didn’t know what to make of this sudden return to sexual puritanism, but at this point, she’d have done anything to have this awkward encounter over.
By the time she’d readied herself for bed, he was under the covers, his face turned to the wall. The bed was barely big enough for two, and it was far too early to think of sleep, even in the country. Did he expect more of the same, or would he take things slower this time?
For the first time in months, she approached him with caution, but he didn’t speak. His breaths came deep and slow. Either he slept or he pretended to sleep. Thoroughly confused, she lay down next to him and waited.
Helen still lay awake as the first weak glow of dawn peeped over the horizon. She’d never spent all night in bed with a man before, and sleep eluded her. Every time she began to drift off, she woke with a start, acutely aware of Will at her back.
Her husband. The only man she trusted. A man she hardly knew at all.
Turning toward him now, she watched the pallid gray light gradually illuminate his features. The weather-beaten face with its bold nose. Pale hair mussed with sleep. Shadows beneath his eyes reminded her that these last few days had been difficult for him, too.
Things between them were bound to be awkward at first. Last night didn’t mean anything. If his shyness had caused problems, it would soon fade. The dark had emboldened him because he could hide from her there. A shame, but at least she could look her fill this morning while he slept.
She sat up, deliberately causing the covers to slip down and reveal his upper chest with its smattering of sandy-colored hair. Thoughts of its surprising softness had lingered ever since her first disastrous attempt on his virtue. With the very tips of her fingers, she touched his chest again now. When he didn’t stir, she spread her hand flat. His heart thumped against her palm.
Why was he so excessively modest?
Strong arms, wide shoulders, firm chest, flat stomach—she tugged the blanket down a little farther and…ah, there it was. His cock, only half-erect this morning, but still an impressive sight. He shivered in the frigid February air. She didn’t dare lower the covers anymore, but a quick peek revealed no obvious scars or deformities, nothing anyone might wish to hide. Only long, lean legs covered with more sandy hair.
She eased the covers back up over his chest and settled beside him, her hand snaking underneath to the rhythmic thump-thump of his heart. It felt good to touch him. For so many years, her only physical contact had been Fletch’s rough handling. She longed to be closer to Will, but he didn’t seem to believe that.
“Will?”
He mumbled in his sleep.
As if of its own volition, her hand traveled lower to his stomach. Ha! No, she wouldn’t try to deceive herself. Hands didn’t move on their own; they did as they were bid.
“Will?” she said again.
He stirred sleepily. Good. She didn’t want him pretending to forget this later. Her own heart raced as she reached for his cock and stroked. Almost instantly, he grew hard as rock in her grasp, hips straining upward in instinctive encouragement. She leaned over and kissed his lips, then his face and neck, then his chest and stomach. All the time, she stroked him until he groaned and slid his arms around her shoulders.
“Helen.” His hand shifted, cupping the back of her head.
She gazed up at him from just south of his navel and found his eyes on her, bleary from sleep and something else. Something altogether more thrilling. He didn’t know whether to pull her away or push her closer, but they both knew which he wanted to do.
She decided to make things simple for him. “Do you want me to stop?”
He said nothing, only shook his head from side to side on the pillow, thrusting his erection against her hand. She straddled his knees and, leaning in, engulfed the smooth, velvety head of his cock with her mouth. As the shock of it jolted through him, his fingers tightened almost painfully in her hair, but he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he moaned and arched his back, feeding her more of him.
Her cunt clenched with need. It would take so little to bring her to crisis. Releasing him despite his weak protest, she rose up on her knees and drew her nightgown off over her head. His hungry gaze fell to her breasts. At last. At last he truly saw her. Her nipples puckered in response.
She crawled forward, then sank down onto his waiting erection. As she grabbed the headboard, he thrust up to meet her.
“Oh!” Her own cry sounded strange in her ears.
Will thrashed beneath her, but this time, she controlled the pace. She threw her head back and rode him, each stroke setting off sparks within her. They moved together, their bodies in perfect harmony. This time she wouldn’t let him finish without her.
“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth, his fingers digging hard into the ample flesh of her thighs.
That single, coarse expletive sent her spiraling into bliss. Will followed a moment later, his hands clenching and unclenching on her flesh as his hot seed flooded her.
“Oh, that’s exquisite,” she panted, collapsing against him. “My God, Will.”
His hand stroked her back, warm and soothing. “Helen,” he whispered.
But she didn’t answer. At last she felt sleep coming to claim her.
…
Will rose shortly afterward. Ordinarily, when he couldn’t sleep, he went down to the office and got some work done, but it seemed cowardly to slink away without speaking to Helen first. He felt…
In truth, he didn’t know what he felt. Did he owe her an apology? Last night had been—
He shuddered to think how Esther would have responded if he’d crawled all over her like that. Never in his life had he treated a woman with such roughness, such crudeness. A man didn’t behave like that with his wife.
He gazed down at Helen as he finished buttoning his shirt. She lay half on his side of the bed, one hand under his pillow, her brow as smooth and untroubled as a child’s. Whatever she’d felt about last night, she hadn’t held a grudge. The remembered image of her on top of him, head thrown back, breasts bouncing…
Part of him wanted to go down on his knees and beg her to do it all again as soon as possible—now, even. And he had a shrewd idea which part. His cock ached from the mere thought of what they’d done.
Helen rolled over and groaned, the sound of someone surfacing reluctantly from sleep. Stifling an absurd urge to turn away and pretend he hadn’t noticed her waking, he forced himself to stand his ground and meet her sleepy gaze with a smile.
“Morning,” she mumbled.
“Good morning.”
She sat up, her hair in beauteous disarray. “What time is it?”
“Still early. Six or thereabouts.”
“Then why aren’t you still in bed?” Her throaty morning voice did little to ease the tension coiled in his stomach.
“Helen, I ought to explain about last night.”
“And this morning?”
Heat crept up from his collar, which probably meant he was turning red. “Yes,” he said, but would talking about it make this worse? He had no idea, having never attempted a discussion like this with Esther.
“Oh, that,” she said and shifted slightly so the blanket slid down, revealing both shoulders and one rosy-tipped breast.
What blood remained in his brain fled south.
“You did that on purpose.” In his surprise, he’d blurted the words out without thinking.
>
She stretched both arms above her head, sending the blanket down to her waist in a crumpled heap. “Would that be so terrible?”
“No. God, no,” he groaned, and she smiled at his vehemence. “But I want you to know that you don’t have to,” he added without much conviction.
“Oh, Will,” she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Shut up and take your clothes off.”
Had he ever felt joy before? It seemed the only possible word for the ecstatic fullness in his heart as he did as he was told. He’d never been naked in front of a woman until this morning, but it was pointless to hide what she’d already seen. If he couldn’t quite believe his luck, it didn’t matter. He was hers for as long as she professed to want him. And it didn’t have to be like last night. He could control himself; he knew how to touch her, how to bring her pleasure. Hadn’t he studied female anatomy at the Royal College of Physicians? And if he lacked practical experience, he was certain Helen would make an excellent teacher.
As he approached the bed, she pushed the covers away and knelt completely naked on the crumpled sheets. “Hurry up. I’m freezing.”
He stroked the underside of her breast, almost shocked by the sight of his hand on her. With Esther, he’d always been aware of how big and plain he was. Bedding her in darkness had served to dull that awareness as well as preserve her modesty. But to see Helen, to witness his own touch in broad daylight, was better than anything he’d ever known.
She closed her eyes and arched her back. “I love the feel of your hands on me.”
His ability to string words together was fading rapidly, but he managed to mutter something about calluses.
“That’s what I love most. You have no idea how amazing they feel. Your hands are so big and warm.” She took one in hers and guided it down across the curve of her rib cage, then lower over the softness of her belly.
His breath caught when he saw his fingers meet the fiery curls at the juncture of her thighs. Though he’d seen this particular part of the female anatomy on numerous occasions in his career, never before had he been making love at the time.
“Lie back,” he told her.
She did so and gazed into his eyes as he stroked and teased. As he watched her color change, as her hips bucked and she clutched at his hand, he marveled at what a fool he’d been last night to put the lights out. Nothing had ever given him as much pleasure as watching Helen lose herself in his arms. She was so close already.
Her free hand groped for his cock, then slid round to grab his arse. “Will, I need you inside me.”
She didn’t, not really, but it would have taken a stronger man than him to refuse her when he wanted her so badly. He flipped her over and slid a hand beneath her until her buttocks cushioned his belly.
“Open your legs.”
She parted her thighs ever so slightly.
“Wider, Helen,” he said and nudged one of her ankles with his foot. He clenched his teeth as she wriggled under him. Positioning himself between her splayed legs, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “You want this?” he whispered.
“I…Yes.”
He pressed with his hand. Her clitoris throbbed against his palm. Then, with a single slow thrust, he entered her from behind. Like animals, he thought, but he didn’t care. The wet heat of her body welcomed him, obliterating every other concern.
“Helen, you—” He held still as she pushed back against him.
“Now,” she begged. “Hard, Will.”
Any thoughts he’d had about restraint vanished. Gripping her hips with both hands he drove into her wildly. Her exultant cry as she climaxed mingled with his muffled shout. Afterward, she trembled in his arms.
“Don’t move yet,” she said. “Stay where you are for a minute.”
He wanted nothing more than to do as she asked. “I don’t want to crush you.”
“I don’t care.”
After thirty seconds, he rolled to the side, despite her halfhearted protest, then pulled her tight into the crook of his arm. She sighed contentedly.
“You liked it,” he said, a note of wonder creeping into his voice.
“Are you mad? Of course I did.”
She really did. What motive had she to pretend? He reached down and brought the blankets up to cover them both. He loved the way she sank against his side, utterly trusting.
“I can’t go to sleep,” he said. “I need to work.”
“But tonight we’re doing that again. I don’t care what you say.”
He laughed softly. “I think I’m a very fortunate man.”
“High time you realized.”
“I’m a slow learner,” he admitted. “But I get there eventually.”
She curled against him, and soon her breathing told him that she slept. He’d hold her a little longer. He’d hold her as long as he could.
Chapter Fifteen
Helen woke to the sound of a commotion on the drive. Only one window in Will’s turret bedroom looked out onto the front lawn. With the topmost blanket from the bed around her shoulders like a cloak, she shuffled over to investigate the noise.
The snow and ice had melted almost completely away, and clumps of snowdrops dotted the lawn, a beautiful but incongruously cheerful sight against the mulch and drizzle of another winter day. Even though the circular tower jutted out almost perpendicular to the house front, she had to crane her neck to catch a glimpse of the carriage waiting at the main entrance. With no crest that she could see, the vehicle had the overused look of a hired conveyance.
The arrival of a hired hack was, in itself, a rare, but not unheard of, occurrence, so she almost stepped back. Then Dr. Sterling emerged from the house to greet the occupant. Helen waited, her breath misting the glass. The carriage obscured her view until the stranger had ascended the steps. Even then, she could discern little more than a black hat and coat, and the fact that he didn’t move like an old man.
Perhaps Will would know more.
A kettle stood near the fire, full of lukewarm water. A jug and empty washbowl waited on the chest of drawers. For the first time in a decade, she washed and dressed herself in complete privacy and in water that didn’t have ice floating on it. If she hadn’t been shivering with cold, she’d have taken her time, luxuriating in the novelty of being able to move at her own pace. Instead, she washed quickly before throwing on yesterday’s clothes.
Mrs. Braithwaite’s Sunday dress might be too short and too tight, but at least it was something a grown woman would wear. A nice change from Helen’s old pinafore. As she pinned her hair up and out of the way, the door opened.
Will halted on the threshold, his eyes widening as though he’d yet to grow accustomed to her presence in his rooms. He didn’t smile, and his face was ashen.
“Helen,” he said, and she knew instantly something was wrong. Surely, they hadn’t sent a replacement doctor already.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
“Someone’s here from the duke.”
“Oh.” What else was there to say? She’d hoped for another night of peace with Will before things began happening, but they’d known this was coming. Telegrams made communication swift; they shouldn’t be surprised.
Will still stood frozen in the doorway. He had more to tell.
“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me.”
He took a step toward her but came no farther. Clearly he didn’t know how to soften whatever was coming. “It’s his son, Helen,” he said, finally. “Lord Somerton, the duke’s son.”
At first, the words meant nothing. Why should she care that he’d sent his son? But then she started shaking. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.” Even her voice wavered.
This could be my brother.
“He’s with Sterling now. I’ve been summoned.”
But not her. Of course not. The men would gather and discuss her fate in her absence. Some things never changed.
“Well, you’d better go, then.”
“Will you be all right?�
��
“Of course. Thank you for letting me know what’s happening.”
How formal they sounded. Now that things in bed seemed to be looking up, they’d better work on everything else. Assuming they had the chance. He’d half turned toward the door when a sudden burst of panic hit her.
“Don’t let them… Whatever happens, you’ll come back here to me, won’t you? Don’t let them send you away without speaking to me.” She despised the hysterical note creeping into her voice, but what if this was it? What if last night’s brief interlude turned out to be all they ever had together?
Will didn’t laugh or shake his head as her conduct deserved. He gazed at her, his eyes serious. “I promise,” was all he said.
A promise from William Carter was worth more than the blood oath of any other man, yet there were powerful forces at work here, things he couldn’t control. Helen had to bite her lip to keep from calling him back again.
“I trust you,” she whispered, when it was too late for him to hear. “Always.”
…
“Come in.”
Dr. Sterling’s voice rang with something more than its usual authority. Before Will even opened the door, he knew the exact note the older man meant to take.
Sure enough, Sterling made no move to rise from the depths of his wingback. “You’re here,” he said and inclined his head in a brief nod usually reserved for the orderlies.
Before Will could return the acknowledgment, the room’s third occupant—Lord Somerton, Will presumed—rose from one of two chairs arranged in front of the desk.
“Ah, Dr. Carter,” he said, “we’ve been waiting for you. Do sit down.”
Will held in a smile as he took the remaining seat. Sterling would never have invited him to sit if the choice had been left in his hands. In one neat stroke, the Marquess of Somerton had made clear to everyone just who was in charge of this meeting. Sterling seethed with barely suppressed indignation.
As for Somerton, he appeared perfectly at ease, one arm resting on the back of his chair, while he used his free hand to toy with a fob watch. Instead of crossing his long legs as was proper, he’d stretched them out before him as though he were at home relaxing by the fire. Clearly, he regarded this entire interlude as a waste of his valuable time, or at least Will might have supposed so had he not also noticed the man’s eyes. Brown like Helen’s, they were shuttered and watchful. Otherwise he didn’t resemble her in any way. About thirty, he was dark where she was fair and angular where she was round and soft.
