by Lauren Smith
She paused to cup flowers in her hands and breathe their scent in. But she never forgot for a moment that she should be working up the courage to speak to Gareth and break off their agreement.
He must be up and about somewhere on the estate, if Mary’s words were any evidence. Helen still felt unprepared to see him again. It would be too easy to get lost in the memory of his mouth on hers, his hand stroking between her thighs in that dark, hot place. As though she’d summoned her own demon of passion, the spot between her legs throbbed steadily—insistently—for Gareth’s expert touch.
She finally located the garden’s exit, deciding it might be better to get further away from the house for a while and hoping the fresh air would clear her head.
The exit was a stone archway with a wooden door covered in climbing ivy. Helen dug around the slick ivy leaves to find the handle and cracked the door open. Beyond it, she found a sprawling scene of beautiful land, trees dotting the edges of the rolling meadows, and azure skies stretching to the heavens themselves. As she passed through the archway, she had the strangest sense that she was free of Gareth and the binding of their devil’s bargain. Behind her was the house and his control, ahead of her was only open land. She could go where she wished…
I’m a fool to think he won’t come after me. He would find her, she had no doubt, but the illusion of freedom was something she wouldn’t take for granted, even for so short a time.
Fluffy white shapes dotted a distant sloping hill. They must be sheep. Her heart skipped a beat at the beauty. It reminded her so much of her childhood home, a small cottage, far away from here, which had abutted an estate as grand as this. Surely she had taken a wrong turn outside the garden gate. This had to be paradise, not Gareth’s lands.
Damn Martin and his gambling. If only he’d controlled himself. I’d never have ended up here, seen this place, or kissed Gareth.
Helen was halfway through the meadow when it occurred to her that she ought to seek shelter in the trees where he could not see her, if she wished to have her moment alone to clear her head. Given that Gareth had locked her in her room last night, he might think she intended to escape if he saw her in the meadow.
She changed direction, walking parallel to the house as she headed toward the nearest copse of trees. She turned back once more, pausing to see the house one last time before she left. The soft snap of twigs and the brush of cloth made her spin back around. Gareth was lounging against a tree six feet away from her.
“Taking a walk, Helen?” The way he caressed her name made her shiver. He was dressed in tan breeches and a waistcoat of dark navy blue, so at odds with the greens and umber browns of the woods behind him.
“Good Morning, Mr. Fairfax.” She gave a nod of greeting but looked away from his openly admiring gaze. It was all too familiar to the way he’d looked upon her last night when he’d pinned her against the bedpost and… Heat infused her cheeks and flashed beneath the surface of her skin.
He shifted away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “Please, call me Gareth. You are looking well. Blushing suits you.”
“Er… Thank you.” She wasn’t sure if she ought to have thanked him for such a comment, but she did it anyway, trying to maintain a pretense of calm. Her eyes scanned the area on either side of him, trying to determine the best route to get around him. He was blocking her best path.
“I should like to continue my walk...Gareth. Would you let me pass?” She finally summoned the courage to look him in the eye.
It was a mistake.
His eyes burned her, invisible flames flicking over her skin, heating her from the inside out. The throbbing started between her thighs again and she clenched them together, but the pressure only made the throbbing worse.
“And let you run off and get lost? My darling Helen, I’d much rather you stay here so I don’t have to find you later.” The grin of devilish delight playing with his lips was far too charming and far too dangerous. He took a step closer.
Helen’s heartbeat increased. If she ran now, would he dare to grab her? It would be so uncivilized. Yet there was something distinctly uncivilized about him. The predatory way he stalked her and the primal way he’d taken control of her body earlier that morning in her chamber set her ablaze inside. Helen darted to the left, choosing the opening between Gareth and the tree. He lunged, catching her easily by wrapping one arm around her waist. She was too startled to scream as he backed her up against the rough bark. Her hands clenched at his chest, catching the smooth fabric of his waistcoat. He gripped her waist, holding her firm and preventing her from escaping him.
“Helen …” he whispered, his voice strangely soothing, calming. “I’m not going to hurt you. I made a promise, and I keep my promises.” A ghost of a smile hovered at his mouth. “But I am going to kiss you.”
Her traitorous body relaxed in his hold. Her eyes drifted shut, her head tilting upward for his kiss. But his lips never touched hers. Instead they trailed softly from her neck down to the swell of her breasts. Her breathing deepened, her chest rising to meet his exploring mouth. With each inhalation, she struggled to stay above the drowning sense of dizziness that his touch roused in her. He cupped one of the tender mounds, his thumb circling her hardened nipple through the fabric of her gown. He pinched the bud and Helen forgot breathing all together. His eyes were lowered, studying her reaction—the way her skin flushed as he continued to tease and torture the sensitive peak. Helen was fascinated by his intense expression, the way his lips were slightly parted, his breath rougher, his eyes half-lidded but their gleam sharp. When his fingers pinched her nipple again, she gasped, drawing his focus back up to her face.
“You are so responsive, so alive,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You don’t even know what that does to me, do you?”
Helen swallowed, her mouth dry and incapable of forming words.
Gareth’s hands wound around her waist, pulling her away from the tree and toward the edge of the meadow.
“Sit,” he urged gently.
Still entranced by the way he kept her spellbound with his soft, arousing words and touches, she allowed him to help her down onto the ground. He pressed her shoulders, urging her to lie back. The grass bent beneath her when he cradled one arm behind her head as a firm pillow.
“What are we doing?” she whispered, studying his face, the sunlight haloing him as he leaned over her.
“Getting acquainted,” he replied, as though what they were doing was the most normal thing in all the world.
“Wouldn’t that entail you courting me by bringing me flowers and sitting in the parlor under the watchful eyes of a chaperone?” She was half joking, trying to fight off the tingle of nervousness that made its way through her body with small tremors.
His rich laugh made her smile. He could be teasing and playful then. Knowing that eased more of the tension inside her and she relaxed.
“Do you want flowers? I can promise you a field of wildflowers, a garden, even a hothouse. Whatever you desire, it is yours. But no chaperones and no parlors. I want you, want to know your body and the way it responds to mine.” His earnestness surprised her. He seemed as baffled by his answering hunger for her.
She squirmed, trying to stop his hand from pushing up her skirts, but he gently pushed her hand away. Helen’s eyes widened as his other hand slid beneath her gown and up her left thigh. The dress’s fabric rose obligingly at his hand’s command, taking her petticoats with it. Helen’s mouth parted as she gasped in shock and her sudden fear of vulnerability. She was terrified of his hand on her bare thigh and even more scared by how she wanted him to keep moving his palm higher even though she guessed where it would lead. Did all women feel this way when first touched by a man, torn between desperation to escape and the need for more?
Gareth’s face blocked out the bright sky. Would he give her pleasure like last night?
“Do not fear me, Helen.” It almost sounded like a plea.
But if Helen knew an
ything about a man like Gareth Fairfax, she knew he was not the sort of man to beg. Rather, the hunger that flamed behind his dark brown eyes explained everything. He needed her body, needed to have her accept whatever it was he wished to do. What could a woman say to that? Yes, take me, take all of me? She wasn’t nearly ready for that sort of surrender to him. The thought was erased as Gareth’s head descended toward hers.
His lips found hers. She was lost to the pleasure of his tongue dancing with hers but still aware of his hand as it parted her legs and slid through the slit in her drawers. That first brush of his fingertips on her hot flesh burned them both, her with a hiss and him with a groan. Helen shifted restlessly as wetness pooled between her thighs. He moved deeper, finding the swollen flesh tender and yearning. He stroked her once, twice, opening her further to him. She shivered in pleasure as he continued. Her legs twisted and shifted as she adjusted to the strange sensation of his invading touch. It was as though he was caressing the innermost part of her. Each slow thrust of his fingers was a delicious teasing. Gareth’s mouth left hers again to lay kisses along the lines of her collarbone and down to the heavy swell of her breasts.
A pain grew deep within her, a hunger between her legs, the same desire that she’d felt this morning in her room. She clutched Gareth’s shoulders. As though he understood her body’s needs, his fingers sunk deeper into her, and she let out a small cry of pleasure mingled with fear. Pinpricks of tiny explosions burst forth, sending tremors outward along her limbs. She clung to him, her violent quaking subsiding against the strength of his embrace.
He withdrew his hand, pulling her petticoats and gown back down over her hips and legs. He kissed her again, the meeting of mouths softer than before, as though he sought to maintain the intimacy of that moment—their closeness and the isolation they found together in the meadow. He held her against him and Helen breathed in his scent. Sandalwood, leather, and something uniquely belonging to him, intoxicating as an opiate. The breeze moved the grass around them like waves of an emerald sea. For a brief moment, Helen thought they were the only two people in this paradise, and that no world existed outside.
“Do I still frighten you?” Gareth asked, his tone teasing as he stroked her cheek.
Helen, spellbound by the sensations he’d created in her moments ago, was speechless for a second. She leaned into his caress, unable to deny herself the pleasure of his touch. She could not escape him, and she was beginning to want to stay. But a part of her still feared him, the way he made her want things she knew she could never have, like happiness with a man like him. She remembered the fire in his eyes as he demanded the debt be paid. He would claim it—claim her—and that did frighten her. What would happen when he was done and she’d been foolish enough to let herself fall for him?
“I believe you will always frighten me,” she admitted. But it was a different sort of fear, not one of harm to the body, but devastation to the heart.
His laugh was low and rough. “You present me with a challenge then. I shall spend our time together wooing you into trusting me.” He fingered one of her loosened curls, wearing a boyish smile. “I rather like you, Helen.”
She bit her lip, the words I rather like you, too hung on the tip of her tongue, unspoken.
He got to his feet, brushing grass off his breeches. “Should we return to the house and see if Mary has breakfast ready?”
She wobbled for a few seconds as he pulled her to her feet. Her legs trembled, still reverberating with the memory of what he’d done to her and how her body had reacted. Echoes of pleasure still worked their way through her in little flushes and the twitching of her inner muscles. He held out an arm, which she leaned on, grateful for the support.
The house was abuzz with the flutter of servants when they returned. Maids were dusting shelves and polishing candlesticks. Footmen were stretching their legs by running errands at Mary’s bidding. She stood in the main hall, issuing orders better than a British General. Gareth nodded in greeting as they passed her on their way to the dining room. She smiled, brief but warm, before dashing off to chastise a clumsy footman who’d tripped on the edge of a carpet and spilled the basin of water he’d been carrying.
The table was decorated with plates of fruit, eggs, kippers, and various jams for spreading on a stack of warm toast. Helen’s stomach growled at the sight of food. Even though she’d stuffed herself on cookies an hour ago, the sight of these new dishes renewed her hunger. Over the last few months, she had survived on small portions of bread and water, just to be able to get by. She’d taken to giving her brother the larger share of whatever meals they could afford. Gareth pulled out a chair for her next to his own seat at the head of the table. Helen reached for the nearest piece of toast but froze, remembering her manners. Gareth had not yet made a move towards the food. His eyes were scanning a stack of letters brought in by a servant. He glanced up, noticing her stillness.
“Do not wait for me. Please eat.” He smiled warmly at her. She had to stop herself before she smiled back. He was a different person from early this morning. Then, he’d been a haunted, troubled man, burdened by anger and frustration. Now he seemed…kind. Even in the meadow, his touch had been soft, insistent, too, but not brutal…not like what she’d expected.
Helen filled a plate with a balance of fruits, eggs, and toast, enjoying the variety. There was a flare of excitement in her at being able to eat as much as she wanted. Their fortune had been so slight that meals had been meager of late, and she’d been forced to convince Martin that she wasn’t nearly as hungry as he was so that he might have a fuller belly. For the first time since her father died, she was able to worry only about herself, about what she needed. Her stomach grumbled again, and Helen eyed the stack of toast thoughtfully before quickly snatching another piece and adding it to her plate.
This strange sense of comfort and ease made her less and less willing to fight against Gareth and his desires. If she liked what happened in the meadow, she would probably like other things he might do to her. Well, if she was being truly honest, she hadn’t just liked it. She’d reveled in it. It might be worth it—his physical pleasure traded for food and clothing. A cold thought struck her. Was she no better than the type of women she’d feared she would become? Surely not. Gareth didn’t treat her like she was that sort of woman, but still… Helen shook her head slightly to rid herself of that unpleasant thought and turned her attention back to the food.
Gareth read his letters as he ate, seemingly oblivious to her study of him. She thought perhaps her mind had exaggerated the marble carved features of perfection on his face, but they were just as she had remembered. The sunlight played with his hair, revealing a hint of chocolate brown amidst the rich russet. His hands were large and strong, the fingers deftly breaking the seals of his letters. Those were the same hands that had brought unspeakable pleasure to her only a short while ago. A delicious little shiver ran through her at the memory.
When Gareth finished his breakfast, he bid her a good day with a genteel bow, lifting her hand to press his lips on the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped at the intimate contact.
She was fascinated by him, like a helpless minnow spying its first shiny lure in the stream. Helen wanted to follow him, to see where he would go and what he would do. Would he want to kiss her or pleasure her again? Gareth was halfway out the door when he paused and Helen bumped into his back. He looked over his shoulder at her as though surprised to find her so close.
“You mean to follow me, Helen? I do not expect you to. You are free to go about the house and gardens as you wish.”
Helen frowned. Was he dismissing her? Did he mean to leave her alone while he went about his day? The thought saddened her. Perhaps she was not a good companion and he would soon tire of her. As a twin, she craved companionship, and didn’t like too much time alone. She didn’t need to be speaking to someone every minute of the day, but she liked another person in her presence. Perhaps Gareth was the opposite and did not wish to have
her around.
Her unhappy silence affected him enough that he reached out for her arm and tilted his head to indicate she should accompany him.
“Come along then. I’m off to the stables. It is a fine day for riding.”
“You have horses?” She was all smiles again, memories of her youth flooding through her. They’d once owned a pair of stout draft horses, and she and Martin used to ride them in the summer.
“Of course I have horses, my darling. How do you think my coach brought you here?”
He was teasing her, she could see it in his eyes. She liked it when he was playful. He must feel something for her, however small, if he joked with her. One of Martin’s boyhood friends used to tug her hair, and her mother said that men often treated the women they liked in such a fashion.
“Do you know how to ride?”
“I do, but not sidesaddle, I’m afraid,” she admitted. Her father hadn’t bothered with teaching her the niceties expected of gentle bred ladies, at least when it came to riding. Since her mother died when she was a child, she’d been without the feminine guidance that would have taught her such things.
“That is well, for I got rid of the only sidesaddle I had years ago.”
“Because your wife passed away?” She regretted the words the moment they came out. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to…” she was flustered, her face warm with embarrassment.
“Do not worry. I have mourned Clarissa, my wife, and am at peace with her death. You may speak about her if you wish. It will not cause me pain, I assure you.” Despite the polite smile that curved his lips, there was a guarded wariness in his face that said there was still a twist in his heart at the mention of his late wife.
“You loved her very much.” Helen saw it in his eyes, the way the sadness there formed dark shadows. Losing someone you loved often left a stain upon the soul.