by Lauren Smith
“Remain here, at my beck and call, as a companion of sorts.” He caught her chin with his hand and gently turned her face towards his, his lips so close to hers she could almost feel them. She swallowed uncomfortably as her mouth grew dry. “When I tire of you, I shall return you to Bath, and your brother’s debt will be fully paid.” His hands slid down her shoulders, along the sides of her arms. For the first time in her life, she was torn, her mind and heart were warning her against him, but her body was enticed by the slightest touch of his hands, the brush of his lips. Her face flushed with heat as he kissed her softly below the ear.
“And if I refuse?” The room slowly spun, and her head filled with a strange buzzing. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. She ought to refuse. Staying here would ruin her respectability…the last thing she had left that couldn’t be bought or destroyed, except it seemed, by this dark, brooding man. Yet she’d chosen, as he’d reminded her, to come here voluntarily. She couldn’t lie to herself. She’d known of his intentions to bed her from the start, but she longed to test him, to see what he would say if she pretended to change her mind.
“Then I lock you in a room here and ride straight to Bath to find your brother.” Gareth’s words were sinister, but his voice was as smooth as honey. Helen’s eyelashes fluttered down against her cheeks as she fought to hide her emotions. It wouldn’t be wise for him to know his power over her…how easily he enthralled her with the carnal promise in his eyes. He came back around to stand in front of her.
“So, Miss Banks, will you accept?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking down at her imperiously.
Helen rose from her chair, glad for her height. She needed to be his equal if she was going to accept this bargain. He didn’t tower over her as much as he would have other women. For a long moment, she gazed back at him, weighing her options. Ruin herself and save her brother? Or save herself and sign her brother’s death sentence. Sadly, the choice was easier than it ought to have been. She would do anything to protect Martin. And she’d also not refuse herself this one chance to know passion.
“I accept, so long as you vow that my brother will not be harmed and his debt to you will be satisfied.” Her voice didn’t waver.
Gareth nodded slowly. “I will honor those terms.”
Helen held out a hand to shake upon it. “Then we have a bargain.”
Gareth looked down at her hand, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He took her hand and before she could protest, he tugged her into his arms. It was her first kiss, and not at all what she had expected. This was no innocent meeting of lovers’ lips. Gareth’s mouth caught hers, moving in deep, teasing motions that sent shivers down her spine. One of his hands coiled in her hair, twining his fingers in her silky strands. He clenched, just enough to cause her to open her mouth wider in a gasp born of pleasure at the slight pain. He plundered her mouth, his tongue diving to mate with hers.
A throbbing pulse burst into life between her legs and her knees gave way, knocking against his. He wound an arm about her waist, holding her to him. Like a limp ragdoll, she surrendered to his amorous attentions, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating. She wished she knew what to do—how to move her lips, where to place her hands—to please him in return.
His hand in her hair held her captive for his exploring mouth, which tasted her lips, her neck, her collarbone, and behind her ears. And then it was over. He spun her gently out of his grasp, grinning at her smugly.
“That is how we seal our bargain, my darling.”
The glare she sent him only made him smile.
He gestured for her to follow him. “I’m sure Mary has prepared your chamber by now.” Helen trailed behind him as they left the drawing room. An upstairs maid stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting.
“The lady’s room is ready, sir,” the ginger-haired maid bobbed in a shallow curtsey.
“Thank you, Mira. Which room is it?”
“The third guest room on the right, sir.” The maid looked expectantly to Gareth.
“That will be all, Mira. Run along to bed.”
Helen watched as the maid ducked back down the stairs and through a door that probably led to the servants’ quarters. It took every ounce of her will not to call out for the maid to stay and not leave them alone. She wasn’t afraid of him, but nerves made her shaky. There was so much about being with a man in bed that she didn’t know. Any woman with good sense would be nervous about her first time, even though he’d assured her she would enjoy it. Gareth tugged Helen’s hand, forcing her to follow him up the stairs and down the hall. He paused at the third room on the right, just as the maid had directed. The door stood open, the room ready for her.
It had a beautiful four-poster bed with velvet hangings and a ruby red coverlet. A thin white nightgown lay draped over the middle of the bed. Walking away from him, Helen picked the garment up, admiring its beautiful but simple design. She had never owned anything so fine in her life. Rather than bid her goodnight, Gareth came into the room and shut the door. The snick of the door settling into the frame held a frightening finality. They were alone again. Helen backed away in fear, her heart racing. Did he mean to take her so soon?
I am not ready. I want him, but I am not prepared.
Gareth walked over to the armoire that faced the bed and tapped it lightly.
“There are gowns in here. They may not fit properly, but I will have my housekeeper send for ones that will. You may rest a while if you wish. Mary will be here to help you dress later in the morning. It has been some time since you’ve eaten, I assume. The servants will prepare whatever you wish after you’ve rested.” He came back to her, cupping her chin, his voice gentler than it had been since they’d first met on the field for the duel.
“Th…thank you, Mr. Fairfax,” Helen stammered, her body shaking slightly with fear.
She’d had such courage in the field, ready to face death for her brother, but this was so different. She’d come here, agreeing to be his mistress, in a fashion. She had little knowledge of the ways of men. Would he prepare her for their joining? Or would he be ruthless, take her hard, and not think a moment about her pleasure? The second the thought passed her mind, she shoved it aside. Helen had made a study of Gareth over the last few months, seen him interact with men and women, and she knew enough of reading a person’s character to know he wouldn’t hurt her. But he also wouldn’t let her walk away from what she’d promised to give him.
“Mr. Fairfax—” she stammered.
“I give you leave to address me by my Christian name, Gareth.” He smiled again, his eyes shining with hidden laughter. “You’re afraid of me.” He teased.
Helen clasped her shaking hands together. “Of course I am. You were going to shoot me. And now I’m here…unchaperoned in your house with the agreement between us that I share your bed. I’ve never been with a man, and frankly, the prospect of it scares me a little. I would be a fool to not be a little afraid.”
“You certainly are no fool. Feisty, but not foolish. A unique trait in a woman. You’ve no reason to fear me. There will be only pleasure between us.” Gareth slowly reached out and captured her hips, his fingers digging for a better hold as he drew her against him. The smile that curved his lips heated her blood and sent her heart skittering. He rocked her into him, as though he meant to give her a gentle, teasing shake to cheer her up and relax her.
“Prepare yourself, Helen. I am going to kiss you again.” And he did. A feathery brush of lips on lips. Helen’s eyes drifted shut at the pleasurable sensation of his embrace.
The kiss changed, becoming slow and deep, his tongue easing between her lips. The sensation was strange, but Helen found herself kissing him back, her own tongue exploring him in turn. She was barely aware of him pushing her back against the bedpost until the wood dug between her shoulder blades. Gasping against him, she shuddered as he unbuttoned her breeches and slid his palm down her abdomen to part the thatch of pale curls between her legs. Gareth pinned her
body with his, trapping her against the bedpost while using his hand to cup her mound. She tensed, gasping as he rubbed her with the heel of his hand. The rough pad of his thumb brushed her sensitive bud while another figure probed at the throbbing folds. She bit her lip, whimpering at the powerful zing of pleasure from his touch, and her body bucked forward. Was this how it really felt to be with a man? To feel the riotous waves of building excitement? She wanted more, so much more.
“Please!” Helen could barely form a coherent thought. His thumb tweaked her again, stronger this time, and a second finger joined the first, pushing deep into her tight sheath.
“You like this?” Gareth growled against her neck, taking tiny tastes of her skin as he slid his fingers in and out, thrusting in a slow, deliberate pattern designed to drive her mad.
Her answer was a plaintive moan. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him for support.
“Soon, I will taste you here,” he pressed firmly on the bud, and the lightning flash of that touch exploded like a fire inside her.
“And I will take you here, hard and fast. Then so slow you will beg for mercy. And just when you drift off to sleep, I’ll cover you again and thrust my cock so deep into you that you’ll scream for more.” As he spoke, his words were rough against her neck, tickling her skin, which was still damp from his kisses.
Helen gasped in breathless wonder as a powerful sensation spread through her, tingles, fire, and sparks alternating beneath her skin. Her knees knocked together as her legs gave out. His arms around her were the only thing keeping her upright. Gareth cupped her mound hard, holding her up as he continued to kiss her. She barely responded, too relaxed from the pleasure weighting her body with lethargy, so she merely consented to his rich plundering tongue. The fingers in her sheath withdrew, leaving her feeling strangely empty. But he moved his hand to her bottom, patting it softly as though to reward her for her inability to walk or talk. She knew she ought to have been indignant at his treatment of her, but she was too elated and drunk on the aftershocks of the explosion of sated desire which flashed and burned between her thighs.
He broke away when she started to seek his lips for another kiss. With a smirk of satisfaction, he left her alone in her bedchamber. She heard a click as something turned in the door. He had locked her in! She had agreed to stay here, but the sound of that lock turning infuriated her. She stumbled on weak legs to the door, tugging fiercely at the handle, which did not budge.
“Please… Gareth, let me out!” she called. “I said I would stay! Please!”
Silence.
He wanted her locked away. Why? Did he lie to her? Was he going to return to Bath, kill her brother, and return to take her to his bed? Surely, he couldn’t be so cruel. Helen twisted at the knob again, hating that it didn’t open, didn’t budge an inch. She turned to look about the room. The thick paned windows weren’t the type to open, and she wouldn’t be able to break through it fast enough to escape without waking the entire house with the noise.
Helen choked down a panicked sob and abandoned the door. She prayed with every bit of her heart that Gareth hadn’t decided to return to Bath and kill Martin. Maybe he had another reason for locking her in, even if she couldn’t fathom why.
“Gareth, please…” she whispered into the wood of the door. Still silence. A wave of exhaustion swept her with such force that her head was too thick with a fog that made it hard to think. Gareth wouldn’t kill Martin. He’d made a promise to her. Tomorrow she would demand to know why he’d locked her away tonight, and she would not let him do it again.
She retrieved the nightgown and, after a moment, prepared for bed. When she climbed between the sheets, she buried her face in the soft mound of pillows. Hot tears leaked from the corner of her eyes, soaking the cloth. Helen fought off the drowning despair that swamped her, but she couldn’t hold long. Between this morning’s near disaster on the field and the way Gareth had so coldly abandoned her just now, she was completely confused, both mentally and physically, and her crying grew harsh and ragged.
What had she done? She was trapped here by her own foolishness. And Martin… Would he try to find her? Would Gareth kill him if he came here? It was a long while before Helen cried herself into a deep sleep, unaware of the shadow that lingered outsider her door, listening to her weep.
The Duelist’s Seduction
Chapter 2
Gareth listened to Helen tug on the locked door handle. He was on the verge of going to his own chambers when she began to cry. He froze mid-step. It was such a quiet, sweet, sad noise. It reminded him of a time when he’d captured and caged a wild thrush.
The little bird had been stunned at first, quiet and unsure, before it began to sing a sad little song, a plea of mercy. The thrush had only lasted a few weeks in a cage before its chirps lost their wild charms. Gareth knew that he had to release the bird if he ever wished to hear its song again, but the fear of letting go struck him deep. He had worked hard to make the bird his own, and he didn’t want to release his hard won prize. But he knew with certainty that the bird would lose its song. Finally, he’d had to set it free. The memory of letting it go was burned into his heart. As the cage latch sprang open and the bird shot out of its prison, it fluttered away, and Gareth’s heart fell. He would never hear it sing again.
But a minute later, he heard the distant trill slowly growing louder. The little thrush had returned. It perched on the edge of the garden wall, chattering away as though it had never been held prisoner. Perhaps Helen was like the thrush…needed to be kept caged for a time before he would release her, and maybe then she would return to him.
Gareth was twenty-seven and sole owner of a vast estate, but life had left him little to hope for. He’d lost his parents long ago, and his wife to childbirth when he was only twenty. He’d been a fool to marry so young, but he and Clarissa had been childhood sweethearts. After Clarissa and the babe had died, he sought ways to fill the bleak void in his heart that grew larger with each passing year. He gambled, drank—everything a man of leisure could afford—and still could not find peace. His restlessness had reared its ugly head when he had challenged Martin Banks to a duel.
Either he would lose the duel or be executed for killing Banks in an illegal duel. It should have ended tonight, but he’d been confounded by Helen. He’d been moved by her courage to take her brother’s place. Like the songbird, she affected him deeply…in ways he had not begun to fully understand. He had to have her, had to hear her song in the whisper of his name, the sighs full of ecstasy, and the laugh of triumph from his own lips as he claimed her. She was a creature of sunlight, spirit, and innocence, and he craved her like he’d never craved anything in his life. He was a bastard to use her for his pleasure because her brother owed him. But damned if he didn’t still desire her with a wild and unbridled hunger he hadn’t felt since he’d last held his wife in his arms. He would have been lucky to recapture just one bit of that feeling again, but with Helen, it flooded through him, a tidal wave he could not stop, nor did he wish to.
When her crying stopped, and Gareth could hear no more sounds from her room, he headed toward his own bedchamber. Mary appeared at his side. She was a wizened woman in her early fifties and had been with Gareth’s family since Gareth’s mother was a bride.
“Might I have a word, Master Gareth?” she asked gravely, her voice low and disapproving. While Gareth had no interest in being lectured like a naughty schoolboy, he did not dare refuse her the right to chastise him for his wrongdoing. He had practically abducted the poor girl, after all.
“Yes Mary,” he leaned heavily against the frame of the doorway to his own chambers.
“I know it has been awhile since you’ve had a woman in this house. Might I advise sending to Bath for gowns that suit her? It would not be proper for her to wear Mrs. Fairfax’s clothes.”
This remark astounded him. Did Mary think he’d brought home a bit of muslin? Not a woman worthy of compassion? He caught himself suddenly astonish
ed that he’d wished to defend Helen’s character. How had she wormed her way into his heart so quickly?
“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning,” he growled at Mary, daring her to make another remark against Helen. After everything that had happened to her—most of it his fault—he felt protective of her.
Mary blinked, then narrowed her eyes with annoyance. “I meant no offense to the young lady by saying she was not good enough to wear Mrs. Fairfax’s clothes, sir…rather I meant that she is a great deal taller than Lady Clarissa was, and her fairer hair and skin require a much different color in gowns, not to mention fashion has changed in the last seven years. If you would permit me, I will send for a better wardrobe for her tomorrow morning.” Mary lifted her chin, crossing her arms with an annoyed expression, as if expecting him to growl again.
Gareth relaxed considerably. “Yes, do what you see fit. I care not for fashion, but if it would make her happy…” He trailed off, surprised that he was thinking of what would please Helen when at first she’d only been an object brought here to please him. It seemed he’d been quite moved by her tears.
“Do you wish for me to take a look at your injury?” Mary’s eyes dropped to his bloodied arm.
He gave a short jerk of his head. “’Tis only a scratch. Miss Banks took it upon herself to shoot me.”
“Shoot you?” His housekeeper’s voice rose an octave. “And what, pray tell, were you doing to her that warranted such a reaction?”
He flashed her a weary, yet still charming grin. “Well, that’s the thing. I challenged her brother to a duel, and she showed up dressed like him and took his place. She shot me, accidentally, I think, before I realized she wasn’t a man.”