Just his hands on her waist had him hot and worked up again. Without the padding of her skirts, the swell of her arse was right there beneath his fingertips. And, if he wanted, he could slide his palms up and cup her breasts. Such a plethora of choices. A man could think on it all day.
But thinking wasn’t what he wanted. He was going to have to do something about this ache, and soon. Maybe if he acted pained again, she would renew her offer to help.
And he had plenty of ideas of how she could help.
He smiled down at her, entertained by his own thoughts. She smiled back at him but moved out of his arms. Her knees wobbled as she took a few steps to alleviate the stiffness in her legs.
“We’ll have fine weather tonight and tomorrow.” Roane nodded toward the beginnings of a red sunset cresting the trees, needing to say something other than Ready for bed?
“What a beautiful valley.” She freed Mittens from his basket and arched her back. Ah, yes, those breasts. “I’ll collect wood for the fire.”
Roane forced his gaze back to her face. “Lady Helen, the intrepid adventurer.”
“I’ll hardly know what to do with myself back in London.”
She would spend her days in bed, remembering all the ways he had pleasured her. “You’ll live your life. Commission a wardrobe of pretty dresses and make every man mad with longing.” He threw the words at her casually, turning away so she wouldn’t see his face.
It was going to be hell to let her go.
Helen’s musical laughter followed him as he led the horses down to the stream.
***
Sometime later, after their meal of trout and watercress, and before the sky grew dark, they sat in a clearing by the river. Helen placed another dry stick on the small fire, pleased with the flames. She’d foraged the wood and built the fire herself, even lit the tinder. She’d also brushed down Starlight and felt not the slightest twinge of fear. The mare really was a sweetheart.
She wasn’t the same woman who had struck out from London a fortnight ago. She’d changed in ways she could never have anticipated. And she was proud of herself. She’d faced fear, danger, and the loss of her wardrobe.
She felt like she could face anything.
Across the clearing, her I-am-not-a-hero hero put down his pencil and journal and took up his pistol to clean it. His forearm was wrapped in a clean dressing, torn from her petticoats, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
She stared at the journal, wanting to ask him if she could look at his drawings again. Other than the few stories he’d shared with her about his past, she knew very little about him. Where was he from? Who was his family?
And where had he been?
People leave. I’ve learned to move on.
What people? Move on from where? The journal seemed an important clue, a large piece of the puzzle she was trying to fit together. He glanced up at her, smiled, then returned his attention to the pistol in his hands. Earlier today, he’d said his life didn’t allow him to miss people. What had happened to make him this way?
And, had be been drawing her? Would he think of her, after they parted? “May I see your journal again?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you are thinking about over there. You’ve been very quiet.”
“May I?”
“I’ve other plans for the evening.” She blushed, hoping his plans included more kissing. But then he stood and asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever shot a gun before?”
Helen poked the fire, disappointed. Guns were much less fun than kissing. “Of course not. Why ever would I do such a thing?”
“Hunting, perhaps?”
“Hunting is so…”
“Vulgar?”
She rolled her eyes, not that he could see. “I cannot understand the nature of men. I do not enjoy foolishness and violence.”
“We enjoy much more than that, princess,” he said, all warm and teasing. Then, “You will learn to shoot a gun.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms. “I was not aware you were given leave to order me about. Perhaps, if you’d asked nicely, I may have said yes.”
Roane offered her his hand. Out of habit, she took it and let him tug her up to standing. “Please, as a favor to me, let me teach you to shoot a gun. I want to know you can keep yourself safe.”
“What need have I of a weapon? Other than this journey, which will soon be over, I’ve never been in danger.”
He raised a brow at her words. “Never?”
“Not of the violent sort. I’ve no use for the violence—”
“Of men. Yes, yes. I am aware of this. But that does not mean violence will not find you.”
“I have footmen to protect me.”
He shook his head as if she were making him a little crazy. “You are a strong, capable woman, Helen. You should be able to protect yourself.”
“Very well.” She hated to admit it, but he was right. “Hand me the weapon.”
Roane smiled. His golden whiskers gave him a disreputable air. She should not like it. Polite men did not go about unshaven. But, then, Roane had never claimed to be polite. I am not a good man, Helen. I take what I want.
A shiver snaked up her spine, one that was entirely too excited and pleased.
What if she took what she wanted?
“Follow me.” He led her up the hill to an open meadow beyond the copse of trees. Roane looked over his right shoulder and assessed something she could not see. The shape of the clouds or the bend of the wheat in the distance. From this he would gather the temperature of the following day, or the birth of the next king, or some such undetectable thing. He turned back to her and motioned her closer. “First things first, buttercup. You must take the pistol gently in your hand. A man’s weapon likes to be treated kindly.”
“Oh, very clever,” she said, all sarcasm.
“A nice soft grip. You don’t want to squeeze too tight.” His eyes glittered with amusement and something darker. “Slow and steady, else things might explode—”
She couldn’t help it, she blushed profusely, and he laughed.
Roane came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, holding the weapon a few feet in front of her. “Wrap your fingers here, around the hilt.” He guided her hand into place. “Then your finger rests on the trigger. Nice and easy. Place your left hand beneath the pistol to keep everything stable.”
He felt warm behind her. Like a tree trunk lazing in the hot sun. He raised her arms so the pistol pointed across the meadow.
“Nice and steady.” He inched closer, until his hard chest pressed into her upper back. “The men are bearing down on you. Your nerves are ringing with the danger. Your hand is shaking. These are bad men. Dangerous.” His voice was warm and husky by her ear. “You only have one shot. You need to make certain it is accurate.”
She leaned back into him and relished the feel of his strong chest. “Why do I only have one shot?”
“It takes too long to reload.”
“Perhaps I have two pistols in this scenario.”
Roane coughed, or laughed, or something like it. “Let’s just start with one weapon, shall we?” He wrapped his fingers tighter around hers, warming her. Where the weapon was dead, violent, he was alive and radiating heat. “Now be sure to keep your eyes open as you shoot.”
“Of course. Now?”
“The lady is eager.”
Eager to be done with it.
“See if you can hit that tree across the way, princess. The oak.”
“I don’t want to shoot a tree.”
Roane sighed behind her. “You’ll hardly harm it.”
Helen set her eyes on the trunk and squeezed the trigger. The gun moved sharply in her hands, sending her back into Roane’s chest.
“You closed your eyes,” he said.
So she had. “Did I hit it?”
“No.”
Acrid smoke bit the inside of her nostrils
. She lowered the pistol to the earth and turned to face him. “Too bad. Now we might have dinner.”
He took the gun from her hand and stepped away, his eyes on her face. “I’d thought you might like the feel of the weapon in your hands. The power of it.”
“I would enjoy a bath much more.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “You didn’t enjoy it at all?”
She didn’t say I enjoyed you. She didn’t say I come alive in your arms. I feel powerful when you look at me. And she certainly didn’t say All day I wanted to touch you. She hid her blush, and the boom-boom-booming of her pulse.
She said, “No,” pretending she wasn’t waking up from years of slumber. That she wasn’t quaking in excitement and fear of what her life could be.
“Oh, Helen.” He ran a hand over his jaw. The stubble made a scratching sound. She wanted to touch it. “There is much I need to teach you.”
Roane made certain the pistol chamber was empty, then grabbed her hand and started back to their camp. And that was it, that was the end of the excitement for the evening. Disappointment dulled the edges of her being. She didn’t want to just lie down and go to sleep.
She was so accustomed to avoiding trouble, to staying safe, she’d never considered that she was avoiding life.
The question is do you allow yourself to get what you want? Roane had asked. And she was no longer certain of her answer.
She’d thought she had most everything she wanted. Before their financial state had been known to her, she’d had entrée to the finest dressmakers and milliners in London, a demanding social life, access to the greatest museums and artists in the world, and more freedom than most unmarried ladies enjoyed.
Still, something was missing. She was not happy. It was that longing for something else that had propelled her on this journey. She could see that, now. It wasn’t just fear for her family and the estate, it wasn’t just frustration with her brothers, she’d wanted to come.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Roane asked. “You look very serious.”
Helen gazed down at the path, considering her answer. This section of meadow was rife with bluebells. The flowers, a deep shade of indigo that bordered on purple, bent over and curled in toward themselves as if the weight of their wild beauty was too much to bear.
They inspired her.
“I was, well, I was thinking about what you said earlier, about knowing what I want.”
His hand tightened around hers. “And what do you want from your life, Helen?”
“I don’t know.” She glanced at him, then up at the darkening sky. “I mean, I want what everyone wants. Comfort. Safety. Happiness for myself and my family.”
“And what does that look like? What would a perfect day be for Lady Helen Gladstone?”
“Harry would be sober and the house would be calm, I suppose.”
“But that is about Harry, and you cannot control him. What about you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Very well, I will give you an example.” Roane swung her arm companionably as they walked. “A perfect day for me would be waking up and making love to my wife, eating a hearty breakfast, and going for a long ride on a young horse I am training. I would tour the edge of my property, enjoy being the king of my own domain, and then return home. I’d scoop up my children and give them kisses, and one more for my wife, then enter the bustling world of my famous and lucrative horse stables.”
She glanced over at him. He was looking off in the distance, as if he could see his future. “That is very descriptive. You have it all figured out.”
“I’ve had time to think on it.”
“Truthfully, I’ve been so busy worrying about my brothers, and cleaning up their various messes, I’ve not thought what I wanted. Other than my freedom from more men. I shudder to think what would happen if I married a man who was careless. It would be my nightmare.”
“What about a man who was kind?”
“Are there such men?” she teased. “And who would watch out for Harry? I cannot leave until he is settled.”
“You are not your brother’s keeper.”
“James died, Roane. Harry is all I have left. Someone has to watch over him.”
“Watch over him? How old is he, five? He is a grown man, he must learn his own lessons. Besides, you have more than just Harry, you have yourself, and your friends, and perhaps a man who loves you. What of children?” She opened her mouth but he interrupted her “and do not tell me Harry is like your child.” She closed her mouth.
He stopped walking and turned to face her. He tucked the pistol into its holster and took both her hands in his. “Let’s start with something easy. What do you want from me? Right now. And not for any other reason than you want it for yourself, everything else be damned.”
She bit her lip, doubting she had the courage to say it. But he didn’t push or prompt, simply waited. Crickets sang in the grasses and the first star of the evening twinkled overhead.
And he just watched her, his eyes never leaving her face. He was golden and gorgeous and so surprisingly gentle.
“I want to touch you.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Go on,” he rasped when she said nothing more.
“I want… I want you to teach me the ways between a man and a woman. I want…nobody talks about it, especially with an unmarried miss. But I am two-and-twenty and I want to understand.”
“Is that all?” His voice was close to a growl, and she realized his hands gripped hers.
Her heart was slamming in her chest, now, her pulse pounding in her ears. “I want to give you pleasure,” she whispered.
Roane tugged her into him as if he would kiss her, but he stopped himself and let go of her hands. He ran his fingers though his hair, leaving it on end. “Your husband should teach you these things.”
“If I marry, he will be an extraordinary man, and he will understand. Besides, I don’t want to wait.”
He was breathing fast, now. So was she.
“I am not going to seduce you, or tempt you, or make this easier for you. Understand, Helen? You are in charge. You start when you want. You stop when you want.”
She nodded, her voice lodged in her throat.
Hand in hand, they stumbled back to their campsite. Roane let go of her hand, put the pistol away, then lounged back against a rock by the low fire. He didn’t reach for her, just watched her with his half-lidded eyes. “I won’t move.”
But he was moving. His chest was rising and falling with his rapid breath. Just watching him made her feel breathless.
“I won’t move,” he repeated. “You come to me.”
She felt pulled toward him as surely as if there were a rope around her waist. Every part of her, every shadow, every corner, wanted him. Wanted to know him. His taste. His smell.
She inched closer.
His throat bobbed with a swallow.
She inched closer still.
His hands were fists on his legs, as if it were all he could do not to reach out for her.
One last scoot toward him and she could feel the warmth rolling off him into the wild night.
Everything about this moment was dangerous and unwise. She did not care.
She placed both her palms on his chest. His muscles bunched and jumped under her touch. Leaning into him, she dared to kiss the corner of his mouth. He tasted like wild herbs.
She pulled back and looked up at him. He said nothing, but his eyes, his brown eyes burned into her.
Pressing into him once more, she placed her mouth against his and kissed him. Really kissed him. Wrapped her hands around his shoulders, opened her mouth, and claimed his tongue.
“Amft.” She did not know what he said. It did not matter. He was sliding his arms around her. Pulling her tight against him.
And it was heaven, sheer heaven.
His scruff was rough against her lips. The calluses of his fingers sc
raped against the soft skin of her upper arms.
She shivered, licked his lower lip. “Kiss me.”
And he did. He slanted his head and pressed his lips to hers. His hand slid into her hair, anchoring her head as his mouth swept across hers again and again, little licks and bites making her moan.
His tasted like man. Like sin.
It was better than she could have imagined. All of it. Him. His taste. His smell. The thrill of his touch on her.
She was sinking. Drowning. And she did not care.
She slid her palms down his torso and cupped his hardness.
He caught her hand. “You don’t have to do this. You can focus on your own pleasure.”
“I want to touch you.”
“Be certain, Helen. Pleasure comes from honesty.”
“In all honesty, I know what I want. Take your shirt off.”
“As the lady wishes.” His voice was a low growl. He pulled his shirt over his head and stood before her bare to the waist.
She greedily explored his warm skin and taught muscle.
Her hands shook, but not from fear or apprehension. She was in control and she was honest. And she wanted him.
He was glorious. She caressed his bare chest, the smooth skin and wiry hair. Her fingers passed over his nipple, and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth as if she’d hurt him. She ran her hands up the sides of his ribs and felt the edge of a scar. The lash marks. “What happened?”
She thought he might stiffen or pull away. Instead, he kissed her jaw. “I found myself at the wrong end of a whip. You would probably say I was being a hero, or some such nonsense. I say I was a bloody fool, putting my nose where it didn’t belong.”
Helen bit the inside of her lip, wanting to ask more and fearing the answers. Everything in her wanted to know more about Roane, was hungry for the truth of him. He was the most interesting man she had ever met, and she would trade anything for his stories, for his pain, for his happiness. He made her feel like living, really living, and she wondered at the secret of him.
Later, she would ask again later.
Tonight was for pleasure. She lowered her hand to his falls and brushed his hardness. His hips jerked.
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