The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  Helena swatted his hand away. “What did you want to say to me? I need to get ready for the ball.”

  “There are hours before dinner, and more than enough time to dress,” he observed. “I need to talk to you about the smugglers.”

  Helena refused to acknowledge the sense of disappointment that came over her. “Of course, the smugglers. Is the trap ready to be sprung?”

  “The local excisemen will meet us on the London Road. Del, Brayleigh, your brother and I shall leave the ball and meet with Lieutenant Smithton. Macklin will join us; he knows the land around here better than anyone, even Arthur. We mean to lie in wait and trail the Gentlemen to wherever it is they mean to load the casks into wagon. It is our fervent hope that Denby will be there.”

  “I must come with you,” said Helena.

  “You cannot ride a horse in a ball gown. And you would be missed. A gentleman can be in the card room, or strolling outside, but a lady cannot absent herself without comment.”

  “I will not miss the adventure, after all this time,” protested Helena. “I instructed Sherburne to bring a riding habit, so that I could accompany you. I must be there when Denby is captured!”

  “I wish you could be. But it would be neither safe nor proper.”

  “When did you become so concerned with the proprieties?”

  “Helena, be reasonable. I know you to be as good a rider as any man, and that you have a great deal of courage. But I cannot take you along on this venture.”

  Helena glared at him, but subsided, realizing she would not be able to convince him. He might forbid her to accompany him, she thought, but he could not stop her from following. “You must tell me all about it afterward,” she said meekly.

  “Of course I will.”

  “And you must make sure Arthur comes to no harm.”

  “Arthur will be fine.” Malcolm smiled slightly. “What of me?”

  Helena looked up at him, surprised.

  “Do you wish harm to come to me?”

  “Of course I don’t,” she sputtered. “But you can take care of yourself.”

  “I wonder if I can,” he murmured. He looked at her speculatively. “You look very lovely, with your cheeks all flushed from the warm water, and your hair trailing down. As many times as I’ve seen you with your hair disarranged, I’ve never yet seen it loose. It’s beautiful.”

  Helena closed her eyes for a moment, willing her body not to respond to his seductive voice. “You needn’t pretend any longer that you have an interest in me, my lord. Now that Mrs. Lacey, who is quite a cozy armful, is at Wroxton Hall, you need no longer bother with a Friday-faced creature such as me.”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that? I vow Rowena would not say anything to you. If it was one of the servants—“

  “It was not,” said Helena hastily, not wanting to cost someone his livelihood. “I was in the hall two days ago and I overheard you. But I don’t regret it; indeed, I’m glad to know the truth.”

  Malcolm’s expression lightened and he laughed. “You little fool. It doesn’t pay to eavesdrop. I admit I have been annoyed with you, and your behavior, of late, but you cannot imagine after these past weeks that I meant it.”

  Helena glared up at him. “Then why did you say it?”

  “My sister, as you well know, may look as though she is made of gossamer, but she has a will of iron. If she thought for one moment that I had an interest in you, we would not have a moment of peace. To be truthful, I thought of telling her you had refused me, but it seemed unkind. She would harry you until you agreed to wed me. I prefer to fight my own battles.”

  “Oh.” Helena mulled this over. “You are right. She is very determined.”

  “She is indeed. Estella, my dear, cannot hold a candle to you, as I’ve told you countless times before. I think you the most beautiful, and most clever, woman I have ever met. Do I need to prove it to you again?”

  Malcolm stood and placed a hand on each side of the bath. Bending down, he kissed her gently and then, as she responded, more firmly, and finally ruthlessly, in a hard, heated manner that stole her breath.

  “It’s been days,” she murmured when he finally released her.

  “Five,” he said.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. “It seems longer.”

  Malcolm moved one arm to allow a finger to slide down the wet slope of one of her breasts, and circle her nipple. Helena sighed, and made as if to lift her hands to embrace him. He moved away from her touch.

  “Your hands are wet, so you cannot touch me, or everyone will know,” he said softly. “But I can touch you.”

  Helena made a noise of protest that turned into one of contentment as he knelt by the tub and cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs teasing her nipples into taut crests. She squirmed slightly and arched her back, so that they rose above the water, the water beading and rolling down the sides, the pink tips tantalizingly firm. He leaned down and suckled at one, his tongue teasing it until it ached, and Helena cried out as a bolt of excitement shot through her body. She wondered dimly how she had become so dependent on his attentions.

  “Damn it,” muttered Malcolm, raising his head. Helena looked up, startled, as he stood and then lifted her effortlessly out of the tub. She gave a gasp as the air hit her wet body, and she shivered. Malcolm gazed at her for a moment, watching the water course down her trim waist and thighs, before he drew her to him and kissed her until the heat inside her built to such a fever that she clung to him, no longer aware of anything but her need for him.

  “Your clothing is all wet,” she said.

  “I don’t care, I must have you,” muttered Malcolm, his hand cupping her bottom. She could feel his hard length against her stomach, and she moved against him, reaching between them to cup him, her hand moving teasingly. He grunted.

  “Witch,” he said.

  Helena glanced at the door. “Lock it,” she said.

  “I’ll do better,” said Malcolm. He took a few strides, bearing her forward with him, until her back was against the silk-covered door and his face was inches from hers, his forearms on each side of her head. “Now no one can come in.”

  Helena looked up at him, stunned by his sudden movement, and he leaned into her, raising her chin with one hand, the other gliding down her ribcage, to her hip and then over the curve of her belly. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then worked his way down the column of her neck. Quivering, Helena clung to him, feeling the friction of his coat against her breasts, the cold sting of metal buttons on her heated skin. The familiar warmth flared inside her, and when Malcolm pressed a leg against her thighs she opened them willingly.

  “We shouldn’t do this here,” she said, without conviction.

  “I’ve gone mad these past days thinking of you,” muttered Malcolm. “Here and now is exactly when we will do this.” One hand closed over the peak of her breast, rolling the distended nipple between thumb and forefinger, while his other hand skimmed over the curls between her legs and then his fingers slid inside her. Helena gasped and sagged against the door, the spiraling pleasure almost overcoming her, the silk soft against her back as Malcolm touched her to the quick.

  “You’re drenched,” he murmured against her lips. “Do you want me?” His fingers moved inside her, seeming to know exactly how to touch her, how quickly, how deep, to bring the spiking pleasure.

  Helena groaned deep in her throat. “Please, Malcolm,” she gasped.

  Malcolm captured her lips in a bruising kiss as he unbuttoned his breeches and his erection sprang free. Pausing one moment to wrap an arm around her waist and lift her, he shifted his weight, bending his knees slightly, and entered her, gliding into her honeyed cleft without hesitation. Helena moaned as he filled her, holding her with the weight of his body as he thrust in even deeper and then, as the rapturous sensations bombarding her began to peak, withdrawing. He paused a moment, adjusting her hips minutely, and then pushed in again, forcing himself deeper, before settling into a rhyt
hm, bringing her to the verge of climax with each stroke, only to pull out, denying her the ultimate prize.

  Her silken flesh opened to him, welcoming the salacious delight he promised, and he lifted her off her feet, pinning her to the door as he strove to go deeper. Helena, feverish with need, instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and he cupped her bottom, his hands sliding over her tender skin.

  She whimpered, feeling the odd sensation of his fully clothed body against her nakedness, canting her hips up until the heated friction was unbearable. With a low cry she responded to the all-consuming throbbing in every part of her body and gave way, clenching around him, urging him to come with her. The climaxed together, Malcolm pumping into her body as his body responded to her sweetness and warmth.

  Minutes later they stood, panting, Malcolm’s forehead against the door, Helena wrapped in his arms. Helena made a small movement, and he slid out of her, stepping back, looking down at her tenderly.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said. “Not just that—though it was wonderful—but you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” Helena admitted. “I thought—“ she paused.

  “Whatever you thought, it was wrong,” said Malcolm gently. “I am always here for you—in this way, and in any other.”

  He buttoned his breeches, and then turned to her. “You need another bath, my girl,” he said teasingly. He picked up her weary body and carried it back to the hearth.

  “The water is not as warm as it might be, but it will do,” he said, lowering her into it again. He stripped off his coat and then, picking up a cloth and dipping it in the water, he ran it gently over her shoulders, then down to her breasts, and finally to the slick tissue between her legs, which he cleaned gently. At the slight pressure, she moved against his hand, and he smiled up at her.

  “Not now. Later,” he said, his voice lavish with promise.

  Helena subsided docilely and allowed him to finish his work. Finally, he drew her from the tub and dried her with one of the towels piled on a nearby chair, paying particular attention to her breasts and belly and the soft down between her legs. Helena sighed her delight.

  “I am very fond of Sherburne, but this is quite a different experience,” she murmured.

  “It will be a pleasure and a privilege to be your maid for the next few minutes,” Malcolm teased with an exaggerated leer. He swathed her in the towel, and then lifted her wrapper from the bed, helping her ease into it. When she was covered, he kissed her gently again and walked to the door, picking up a box that he had put down when he had entered. It was large, wrapped in printed paper with a blue satin ribbon tied around it, under which a card displaying the name Madame Celine was tucked. Malcolm handed it to Helena.

  “I took the liberty of ordering a dress for you from London,” he said. “I know you have few occasions to attend balls, and thought a dress that would be the match of any of the gowns being worn by ladies visiting from London would be an appropriate thank-you for all your efforts.”

  Helena looked down at the box, shocked. “Whatever we are, or are not, to each other, I cannot possibly accept clothing from you.”

  “No one except you, Sherburne, and I need ever know I gave it to you,” Malcolm pointed out. As she still hesitated, he continued, “At least open the box, my sweet.”

  It occurred to Helena that Estella would be wearing a gown of surpassing elegance that evening and she ought to at least look inside the box. She pulled on the bow and lifted the lid as the satin ribbon slithered to the floor. A sea of tissue paper covered the contents, and, placing the box on the bed, she pushed the layers aside to expose the skirt of a gown made up in eau de nile silk, its pale green shade, touched with blue, shimmering softly in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.

  Malcolm watched as Helena lifted the dress from the box, revealing the bodice, which was made of a fine organdy in the same shade, lined in white silk, and ornamented with criss-crossing ropes of pearl beads. The tiny puff sleeves were organdy, trimmed with more pearls. She gave a tiny gasp at its extravagance, but lifted dress and held it to herself, gazing in the mirror, taking in the elaborate trim at the hem made of layers and layers of dagged organdy, like so many fluttering pale blue-green petals. Even holding it over her wrapper, she could see that the gown was the perfect length for her

  She noticed Malcolm looking into the glass over her shoulder and surveying her reflection with pleasure. “A perfect fit, I think,” he said, pleasure in his voice. “I made a co-conspirator of Sherburne I fear, in my efforts to ensure it.”

  Helena opened her mouth to scold him for involving her maid, but the sheer beauty of the gown made her change her mind. She shook her head. “I cannot possibly accept so costly a gift, Wroxton. Surely you must see that.”

  “No expense is too great to show your beauty at its best, my dear,” Malcolm replied. “I think if you look a bit further, you will also find a head piece to match in the box. I hope very much to see you wearing them this evening.”

  Helena hesitated. “I cannot.”

  Malcolm turned her to face him, placing his hands on her shoulders and then running them down her arms to take her hands. He squeezed them softly.

  “I don’t know what I have to do to convince you that I am yours. Indeed, perhaps you know that already,” he said, a touch of sadness in his voice. “Perhaps you only need to realize that you are mine.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Either way, the dress is yours, to wear or not. I will leave you now, as Sherburne is doubtless tired of waiting for us.”

  “Malcolm—“ said Helena in a small voice.

  “It doesn’t matter, my dear. If you wear the dress I will be happy, if you do not, I will know only that I must spend more time convincing you that your life is tied to mine. Now, I must go and make myself beautiful as well.” Malcolm raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it, and then walked silently from the room.

  Chapter 39

  Helena gazed after him, feeling oddly bereft. Turning to the bed, where the gown lay, its pale green-blue sheen bright against the straw-colored coverlet, she ran a hand over it, admiring the fineness of the workmanship and the soft shimmer of the silk.

  “It’s lovely, miss. Shall I dress you in it now?”

  Helena turned to find Sherburne beaming at her. She withdrew her hand as though stung.

  “Oh, Sherburne. You should not have allowed Lord Wroxton to do this. I cannot possibly wear this dress tonight—or ever.”

  “As though I could stop him. That’s a gentleman who knows what he wants.” Sherburned bustled over to her and led her to the dressing table, where she urged Helena into a chair and began to comb her hair. “Such a tangle. It was neat when I left you, I can’t imagine what you have been doing.”

  Helena flushed and did not meet the maid’s eyes in the mirror. “I can’t wear the dress because it is utterly improper for his lordship to buy it for me.”

  “Who will ever know?” asked Sherburne sensibly. “It is not as though I will tell anyone, and he thought it would be a nice way to thank you for all your efforts these past weeks. Lord Wroxton is ever so gracious.”

  “Yes, he is,” agreed Helena. “But I cannot let him think that I—that I will—“

  Sherburne smiled at her. “It’s very silly you’re being, Miss Helena.” She stepped back. “There, I can put your hair up now. You think on it, and I hope you decide to wear that lovely dress. It would be a shame to waste it.”

  An hour later Helena stood in front of the mirror, surveying her reflection in the gown Madame Favreau had sewn for her. Her hair was dressed in a topknot, from which glossy ringlets fell to frame her face, while a silver diadem fashioned to resemble bay leaves curled around the coiffure. The dress of jade green silk had tiny sleeves, in which white and green silk entwined to wrap her upper arms in fabric, leaving her shoulders bare. The bodice was cut deep, but was not vulgarly low, highlighting her creamy skin, and more of the twisted white and green fabric adorned it.
The skirt fell straight from the high waist, the heavy silk draping in rich folds, while a simple band of the same material that trimmed the bodice and sleeves adorned the hem, adding weight that ensured that when she walked it clung to her, hinting at the excellence of her figure. The gown relied on its masterly cut to whisper of fashion, and became her tall frame and coloring admirably. Helena saw a woman, who if not a stranger, certainly bore little resemblance to the sensible, practical person who usually gazed back at her from the looking glass.

  Sherburne approached with her pearl necklace and earrings to complete the picture. “You look perfect, Miss Keighley. None of those fine London ladies will have any reason to sneer at you in that dress.”

  “I think you are quite right, Sherburne.” Helena turned slightly, admiring the way the soft drape of the fabric clung to her figure, not vulgarly, but certainly enticingly. “It is very reassuring to feel well dressed.”

  Sherburne cast a regretful glance at the eau de nile dress, but said nothing.

  Helena followed her gaze. “Put that back in the box, please. I will return it to Lord Wroxton sometime soon. It was very kind of him, but completely unnecessary.”

  Sherburne reluctantly moved to obey her, and Helena picked up her fan and walked to the door. “I will go down now, and see that all is ready before dinner. Thank you, Sherburne.”

  The maid gave her an encouraging smile as she packed the blue-green dress away in its tissue paper and placed the lid on the box. Refusing to feel regretful, Helena left the room and made her way through the corridors to the staircase, noting with pleasure the beauty of the floral cascade dropping from the gallery. As she crossed the main hall, the door of the drawing room opened and Estella emerged. Helena noted her elegant evening gown of red silk, carefully constructed to make the most of her voluptuous figure, and wondered if it had come from the same hand as the dress she had left upstairs in her room.

  She gave Mrs. Lacey a tight smile, and continued to walk. But, to her consternation, Estella spoke.