Her Husband's Harlot

by Grace Callaway

  She would not weaken now, for his sake. For Nicholas. For all of them. Gordon's man might return at any moment, and she had to act while there was yet an advantage. Footsteps sounded within the office; she pressed herself more tightly to the wall. Nicholas would emerge first, if Gordon meant to have a pistol pointed at him. The footfalls grew closer, the floor boards vibrating beneath her feet. She held her reticule-bludger over her head.

  Nicholas stepped into the hallway. She had no time to see his expression for Gordon followed next. She swung her arms with all her might. There was a shout as her weapon connected, not with the top of his head as she'd planned, but with his arm. The pistol skidded onto the floor and into the shadows. Gordon appeared stunned, but unharmed. For a moment, all seemed to be happening in slowed time. She tried to move, but found her feet turned to stone. In the next instant, everything roared to life. Gordon fell upon her, his hands closing over her throat.

  "You little bitch," he hissed.

  She clawed at his hands, but he held firm, choking her of air. Her vision clouded, her arms weakening in their struggle. She felt herself falling into lightness ... but when she landed, it was with painful impact against the floor. Gasping for breath, she came to her knees in time to see Nicholas, arms still bound, charging into Gordon like an enraged bull. The two men bounced off the walls of the corridor and crashed through the doorway into the office. She tried to follow, but tripped over something. The book, escaped from her reticule. Hauling herself up off the floor, she scooped it up and raced into the office.

  She stopped short at the sight of overturned chairs and scattered papers. The men were in the center of the room, circling each other. Nicholas, she saw, had a cut above his right eye, which was beginning to swell purple as a grape. Though his arms were immobilized, his stance was aggressive, ferocious even. Gordon gestured at her husband with his fists, a cocky grin on his face.

  She swallowed when she saw the glint of a blade in the villain's hand.

  How dare he take such unscrupulous advantage!

  She let the book fly from her hands. The heavy volume sailed through the air, just as Gordon began to advance upon Nicholas. As if on instinct, Gordon's head turned. A look of surprise flashed across his face. But it was too late. The leather corner caught him in the forehead; with a grunt, he lost his balance, stumbling backward. Nicholas pounced upon him immediately, kicking out at the other man's arm. The knife arced through the air and clattered out of sight. Gordon cursed as he warded off Nicholas' barrage of kicks and body blows. Helena bit her lip; how long could Nicholas persist at such a disadvantage?

  She must assist him to unleash his full power. What she needed was ... the knife.

  She scanned the room with desperate eyes.

  "The desk, Helena, the bottom drawer!"

  Nicholas' shouted words galvanized her into action.

  She raced toward the desk, her hand wrenching open the drawer. There, nestled in a velvet-lined box, was not a knife, but a pistol. The weapon was shiny and black. Menacing. With trembling hands, she grasped it, the metal icy in her palms. She gripped the pistol more firmly and raised her arms. Inhaling deeply, she took aim.

  "That will not be necessary, Lady Harteford."

  The voice from the doorway stilled her finger, which twitched against the trigger.

  "Step away from the suspect, if you please Lord Harteford."

  Mr. Kent crossed the room, his pistol pointed at Gordon, who stood panting and cornered. The police man whistled, and two of his men appeared. One withdrew a blade; in a swift motion, the ropes slithered loose from Nicholas' arms. Dropping the pistol, Helena stumbled toward her husband, his arms crushing her in a fierce embrace.

  "My men have captured your vessel and rounded up your men, Gordon," Mr. Kent said as his other man placed Gordon in chains. "Your evil doings are at an end."

  Gordon smiled even as the lock clicked and his fate was secured. "Oh, but evil does not end with me," he said. Though his youthful face was relaxed into good-natured lines, his blue eyes glowed with a sinister light. They narrowed upon Nicholas. "I'd watch my back if I was you, my lord. You never know when the past might come knocking at your door."

  From the safety of her husband's arms, Helena shivered.

  But Nicholas said quietly, "Let it come. I no longer have anything to fear."

  The villain was marched away to meet his fate. A hangman's noose, no doubt. Helena could not bring herself to feel pity.

  "It has been quite a night for the two of you," Mr. Kent said. "I am sorry I did not arrive sooner."

  "I am glad you knew to come at all," Nicholas said.

  "Gordon's whore gave it away. We were keeping an eye on her, on account of your hunch that Gordon might still be alive. She had her bags packed, ready for a long trip. We tailed her back to the docks, where she boarded a ship we could find no record of. Apparently Gordon had an official in his pocket; he floated his boat in and out of the docks as he pleased, carrying out stolen goods and returning for more."

  "How is Will?" Helena asked, a quiver in her voice.

  "Your groom is a bit worse for the wear, but he will survive. Dr. Farraday is attending to him as we speak."

  Helena sagged with relief against her husband.

  "I am sure my lady is exhausted," Mr. Kent said. "We can continue our explanations at a later time. Shall I have my men escort you home?"

  "There are some things I wish to discuss first with my wife. Will you ensure our privacy and safety?"

  "Of course." Mr. Kent paused, spotting something on the floor. He bent to retrieve it. As he examined the book, a smile rippled across his thin features. "Yours, my lady?"

  "A loan from a friend," Helena replied. With a shudder, she saw the brown stain marring the edge of the pages. "Though I don't suppose I will be returning it now."

  To her surprise, Mr. Kent bowed and kissed her hand. "You have married a most remarkable woman, Lord Harteford."

  As he left, the investigator could be heard chuckling to himself, "A vindication, indeed!"

  Then the door closed behind him, and it was just the two of them.

  Helena looked at Nicholas. He was turning a chair back on its legs, his expression grim. Her heart throbbed to see the injuries he had sustained: his eye had swelled even larger, the size of an egg now, and patches of dried blood had crusted along his jaw and throat. He looked paler than usual, the spreading bruises a dark contrast against his skin.

  "Dr. Farraday should examine your injuries," she said as she approached him. He continued to straighten the furniture. "Do not concern yourself with this now, my love. We must have you attended to first."

  She placed a staying hand on his arm. To her surprise, he flinched at her touch and pulled away. He walked to the fireplace and stood there, his back to her.

  "Is ... is your arm hurt?" she stammered.

  "My arm is fine."

  Taken aback by the venom darkening his words, she asked in an uncertain voice, "What is the matter then?"

  "The matter? You have to ask me what the matter is?"

  He turned to look at her. Glare, more the like. Restrained emotion glittered in his obsidian eyes.

  "Nicholas, you are overwrought." She tried for a placating tone, though her head was beginning to spin. "The after-effects of this night's violence, no doubt. Why don't you sit, my love, and I will see about making us some tea. Do you have a kettle perchance, or—"

  "I do not want any bloody tea." Nicholas came toward her, and she took an instinctive step backward at the aggression of his advance. He stopped close enough so that she could feel the power of him towering over her, a full six feet of furious, bridling male. He did not touch her. "What I want to know is what the hell you were thinking coming to the docks in the middle of the bloody night!"

  "Really, Nicholas, there is no need to shout—"

  "I will shout if I damned well please! When my wife decides to risk her neck, coming alone—"

  "But I was not alone," Helena
said hastily. "Will accompanied me."

  "If the man was not injured at the moment, I would be beating him to a pulp." Nicholas ran his hands through his hair, further disarraying the wild ebony tufts. "He will still have to answer to me when all this is done."

  "Well, in the end, it was a good thing I came, was it not? After all, had I not arrived when I did ..." Helena stopped, seeing the stark rage on her husband's face. "After all," she continued with more caution, "I was able to be of some assistance."

  Her husband had his hands fisted on his hips.

  "Not that you needed any help, of course," she added.

  He said nothing, his lips tightening.

  "Obviously, you had everything well in hand when I arrived. I could see you had everything perfectly well under control. I am sure you had a plan all along to defeat that nefarious man—"

  "Goddamnit, Helena, I had no such plan!" His bellow echoed through the chamber and shook the walls. "Do you know the danger you put yourself in, you reckless fool? By God, seeing you run headlong into peril, seeing his hands wrapped around your neck, I almost—" He choked off, his chest heaving.

  In the next moment, she reached him and threw her arms around his waist. His strong, lean frame was quivering from head to toe. Her voice emerged muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry I frightened you."

  His arms wrapped with violent force around her. "Don't ever do it again." Burying his face in her hair, he rasped, "Tonight I discovered that the past no longer has power over me. It cannot hurt me. You showed me that. But if I lost you—I do not know what I would do," he said between serrated breaths. "You are everything to me, Helena. My heart and my soul."

  "I love you, too," she sniffled.

  They stayed that way for a long while, holding each other.

  Then Nicholas's embrace eased. He tipped up her chin, and the hungry adoration she saw in his dark eyes made her pulse leap with excitement. A squeak startled from her lips when he quite literally swept her off her feet.

  She retained sufficient wit to whisper, "What about Mr. Kent's men? They're just outside the door."

  "Now she worries about propriety." He grinned at her blushing face. "Come, my prudish one, there's something I want to show you."

  Nicholas carried her toward what appeared to be a door to a wardrobe. She cocked her head. Then he pushed open the door. To her amazement, Helena found herself looking into an anteroom, fashioned as an exercise salon of sorts. In the center of the chamber was a rectangular area demarcated by poles at the four corners and cordoned off by two lines of thick rope. The floor was lined with mats. A sparring ring. Percy had mentioned that Nicholas enjoyed the sport.

  Her husband clearly had another sport in mind when he set her inside the ring and closed the door behind. Then he fell upon her like a man starved, unbuttoning, unfastening, his mouth consuming hers in a greedy kiss. As the layers fell away, she experienced a freedom she had never before known, had never known to be possible. For the rest of her life, she would not forget this moment when their love burned so brightly, so fiercely that it chased away all the shadows—of his past, her insecurities.

  Her chemise followed the rest, and soon she stood naked in front of her husband. She felt nothing but sheer feminine pride. She held her shoulders higher, giving her full breasts a generous wiggle, loving the way Nicholas' nostrils flared in response. Then she tugged at his shirt, eager to have nothing left between them, not even a scrap of clothing. She heard his wicked chuckle as he caught her in his arms. Her legs slid around his hips as he maneuvered her backward. After a few steps, she felt the bite of rope against her bare back. Sandwiched between her husband's iron strength and the rough cord, she trembled with arousal.

  "Tell me, my lady," Nicholas murmured, his tongue doing magical things to her ear, "are you also my harlot?"

  Helena sighed as he discovered a particularly sublime spot. "Mmm, yes."

  "Then I want you to tell me what a harlot likes," her husband continued in the dark, seductive voice that she loved. "I want to hear those lovely, naughty lips of yours ask for what you desire."

  He released her and took a step back. He stood shirtless before her, unabashed in his bold virility. Although he still wore his pantaloons, she could see the bulging wedge of his erection. His gaze roved over her nakedness, and the possessiveness of the look brought a tingle to her belly. Aroused, but shy, she mumbled, "I like it when you touch me. Here." Her hand fluttered near her breast.

  Nicholas shook his head sternly. "Any self-respecting doxy knows that she must use specific and proper language in her requests. I seem to recall teaching you the correct words during our lessons. Apt student that you are, you cannot have forgotten so quickly. Again, where do you want me to touch you, Helena?"

  "My tits," she whispered, excitement flaring at her own boldness. "Please touch my tits."

  "Like this?" Nicholas cupped her full breasts firmly. As he played with her, his eyes remained on her face. He gently squeezed her nipple, and her lips parted on a whimper of delight. "I asked you a question, Helena. Is this what you want?"

  "Your mouth," Helena gasped, leaning back against the ropes as he obliged her. "Oh sweet heavens, Nicholas, your mouth ..."

  He rolled a nipple into his mouth, his tongue dancing playful patterns over the engorged bud. "How does it feel, sweet?"

  "It feels so good," she panted. "Your tongue, oh Nicholas, it makes me feel so ... so ..."

  "Yes? How does it make you feel?" Nicholas murmured against her other nipple.

  "Tingly and hot. . . between my legs," Helena confessed with a breathy sigh as he rewarded her with more licks, more nips against her swollen tits.

  Giving her a playful swat on the buttocks, he stepped away. "Show me."

  Helena blinked. "How do you mean?"

  Nicholas' voice was rough velvet and dark as midnight. "Touch yourself, Helena. I want you to show me exactly where it aches, where you burn for me."

  Helena's knees wobbled slightly at his request. Could she be as bold as he asked?

  "Come now, you did say you were a harlot," Nicholas chided, his eyes gleaming with wicked laughter. "Or perhaps you are not quite as wanton as you would have me believe?"

  The playful challenge emboldened her. Slowly, Helena ran her hands down the sides of her waist and over the curves of her hips. The subtle quiver of Nicholas' broad shoulders and rippled chest fanned her excitement. It appeared her husband enjoyed watching her explore herself. She moved her hands inward toward the curly thatch of hair. She ran a finger along the moist crevice.

  At Nicholas' sharp inhale, her lips curved into a siren's smile.

  "It aches here, my lord," she murmured, parting her curls to expose the delicate pink flesh to his rapacious gaze. Dew lubricated her fingers as she lightly stroked the swollen folds. She teased the opening of her pussy, before sliding her fingers up to the hard nub which magnified her pleasure. With a soft moan, she rubbed the knot of sensation. Sparks skipped along her legs. Her eyes joined his.

  "Yes, that's it," Nicholas encouraged in a hoarse voice. "Rub your sweet pearl for me."

  Helena sighed, leaning back against the ropes so she could spread her legs further apart. Her hair fell from its remaining pins, becoming fully undone. Silken strands spilled over her shoulders and tangled with the ropes.

  "Tell me what you are thinking, love, when you are playing with your delectable pussy."

  Helena's pussy grew wetter at his command.

  "I am thinking of how good it feels when you do this," she admitted obediently. "When you touch my pussy."

  "What else, love?" Passion made his voice deep and gravelly. "What else makes your cunny so wet and glistening for me?"

  Helena's eyes closed as her breath puffed faster. The sparks were blending now into one blazing line of fire that travelled from limb to limb. The touching felt good, but she needed more. "I am thinking of when you kiss me here. When you ... use your tongue, taste my cunny ..."

  His strong hands clam
ped on her thighs as he knelt before her. Relief mixed with lust as she watched his dark head nudge between her legs. He kept his gaze trained upward, drinking in her every reaction as he began to eat her. Slowly. Voraciously.

  "Oh, yes, oh please ..." Wild with need, Helena felt herself sinking toward the floor.

  "Hold onto the ropes, sweet," Nicholas ordered thickly. "I want to feast while you stand spread and open for me."

  Wordlessly, Helena gripped the rope. The prickly texture of the hemp abraded her palms as Nicholas pleasured her. His tongue invaded her folds and slicked over her pearl repeatedly as his fingers pumped her with firm, upward thrusts. She could not get enough of the friction and ground herself against him. He groaned out endearments, hot words of lust and love that released her from earthly moorings. She flew free in an explosive, mind-blanking climax.

  When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the mats. Nicholas lay on his side next to her. He grinned, pressing a soft kiss on her nose.

  "You are lovely, wife," he said.

  Helena sighed, soaked to the bones in bliss. She trailed her fingers idly along the hard contours of his chest. She smiled when the flat nipples hardened under her touch. Nicholas caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

  "Your turn," she said, wriggling provocatively against him.

  He rolled on top of her, his weight bearing her down deliciously into the mats. His turgid sex brushed her damp curls, and a fresh wave of lust washed over her. "Are you sure you are ready so soon, my love?"

  In answer, she wrapped her legs around his hips and impelled herself against his cock. She heard Nicholas' strangled groan as the tip of his rod stretched her as his fingers had, only more so. Thicker. Harder. Making her want more. She wiggled further, frustrated when the weight of his hips prevented her from deepening the penetration.