Helen was being impossible but he led her inside. He would likely live to regret this but a small voice was whispering, But at least you are living.
“I have the basement because it comes with a small garden. I wanted it. I’ve never had any outdoor space that was my own.”
* * *
—
Helen remembered how important the key was to him, so wanting his own garden was no surprise. She loved the townhouse he’d selected to take accommodations in. It was a four-story building, which had been tastefully converted into private flats. The lovely iron fence running in front was painted white and at its base were a row of planter boxes filled with pink and white flowers.
He led her down steps to his private entrance, and she noted the pride in his stance as he took out his key and unlocked his front door and ushered her inside.
The flat’s entrance was almost an exact copy of Her Grace’s entrance foyer. It had a coat stand that took coats and umbrellas, and sideboard for hats and gloves. She moved forward through big double doors into a large reception room flooded with light from two doors leading out into the small walled garden. There was a door on her immediate right, which she supposed led to a kitchenette, and then she could see two doors on the right at the far end of the room. Bedrooms perhaps.
“It’s not much, but it’s mine. I bought the one hundred and twenty year lease to this flat last year off Her Grace.”
She moved farther into the room. The furniture looked expensive, plenty of Chippendale pieces and the luxurious Persian rug near the fire set off the pale gold stripes in the wallpaper.
“It’s beautifully decorated,” she stated.
“A man in my past made sure I knew everything about luxury and refinement.”
“Your past sounds intriguing,” but she did not press him and he said no more. “Let’s see to that wound. If you show me your kitchen, I’ll heat some hot water. Do you have more linen for bandages?”
“Yes. Mrs. Thorn gave me a huge pile of clean cloths. The kitchen is this way, the range should be lit as Mrs. Corby comes twice a day to clean and see to the fires.”
The tiny kitchen could barely fit them both but it had a small stove for heating and cooking. There was also a kettle and larder. “I’ll leave you to boil the kettle while I go and change.”
Helen promptly filled the kettle from the jug of water Mrs. Corby had left covered on the bench and placed it on the stove. She looked around for a large bowl to fill once the water boiled. She also grabbed a bottle of brandy sitting on the shelf.
The water would take a while to boil so she went in search of Clary to help him remove the bandages. She found him in the bedchamber at the far end. It too looked out over the private garden, and she loved how the sun streamed in. She stood in the bedchamber doorway for a moment and drunk in the warmth in the room. For a man who was very contained and austere this room sang with color, luxury, and—personality.
He’d hung large landscape paintings of rolling meadows and serene lakes on two of his bedchamber walls. The wallpaper was rich deep burgundy velvet. His bed was a huge four-poster with silken drapes on two sides. The end was open so he could see the view of the garden.
He had a deep mahogany chest of drawers with two beautiful vases full of flowers, and she spied the door to a closet/commode along the side of the room.
He was watching her as she moved around his room touching every surface.
“You have a beautiful room,” she whispered. “Not at all what I expected.”
He frowned. “How so?”
She bit her lip and thought about how to answer that. “It’s alive—alive with color, texture, vibrancy, and warmth. It’s full of emotion.” As his lips began to firm she added, “You must admit you’re the least likely person to display any emotion, yet this room—it screams…passion.”
She watched him swallow at her assessment. Once again he kept his emotions in check, refusing to comment on her observation. He merely said, “I suspect the water may have boiled by now.”
She sighed and left the room to fetch the water and a cloth to clean the wound. As she reentered his bedchamber she almost dropped the bowl filled with very hot water. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his shirt off, trying to unwind the bandages. Muscles rippled as he reached round his torso and in brilliant sunlight he looked bigger, more masculine, and devastatingly tempting.
She crossed and placed the bowl on the bedside dresser and moved to help him. He sat perfectly still as she leaned over him and slowly peeled the last of the bloodied linen from his stitches. “You have to loosen your breeches, the linen goes down to your left hip. I think that is where the damage is from your fall.”
She held his gaze as if it was a challenge. She was not going to look away. She almost held her breath as he undid the placket of his trousers and pushed his breeches and falls down so she could finish. He modestly kept a piece of the sheet over himself. She had to reach right around him, and she felt him stiffen at her touch.
At last she could see the damage he’d done in the fall. It had torn the very bottom two stitches, the ones in the thin skin on his hip, not completely out though. “There seems to be more blood than damage. I don’t think we need to send for Blake.” She waved the brandy bottle. “Would you like some before I start cleaning the wound with it?” She pressed hard against the broken skin and soon the bleeding stopped. It just needed a tight bandage round it.
“No brandy. I need to keep a clear head. I must get back to my work and I have a meeting with Richard too.”
“About Glover?”
“Yes. And no, you cannot come.”
She didn’t respond, the contours of the muscles near his hip and the teasing of crisp black hair consumed her as she slowly bandaged his side. She loved how his stomach clenched each time her fingers met his skin. As the cloth rolled lower he let out a hiss. She stopped and looked into his eyes.
Time stood still. All she could hear were both of them breathing in uneven breaths. She finished tightening the dressings near where his stitches had come loose and yet her fingers stayed on his skin.
Without thinking she bent and placed a kiss on his bare shoulder and ran her hands through his hair. When he did not stop her, she ran her tongue along his collarbone before looking into his face. This time his eyes could not hide his emotions. For once he did not seem to be hiding behind his cold austere exterior. She sunk onto the bed beside him and his hand sought hers. He linked their fingers and brought her hand to his lips. He pressed an ardent kiss to her palm and her body shivered.
She understood the mix of fear and heat in his eyes as they sat on his bed, hands linked together. If they gave in to the passion pulsating around them nothing would ever be the same again. They both risked everything.
Their hearts, their reputations, his employ, her social standing—but desire overruled all. They both bent their heads at the same time.
Their lips touched and they were lost. It was if he wanted to consume her.
Every instinct in her body reacted. Triumph mixed with heady delight. She’d finally breached his walls and set free his emotions. She gloried in the fact that he wanted her too.
The realization streaked through her, he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She understood his need, as it was her own. This was meant to be. The rightfulness of their joining was something she felt in her skin, and her blood, and the knowledge that he was willing to take a risk on them just as she was, sank into her marrow.
It scared and delighted her in equal measure.
She could feel their kiss ignite a flame, for he drew her into a tight embrace. His hands began to roam, his caresses building the fires of desire. He eased back onto the bed taking her with him, allowing her to luxuriate in the feel of his hard body. Her arms about his neck, she locked him to her as the kiss went on and on.
As they fell deeper under the sensual spell they both wove, she knew that fate had paired them. This was the other half of her, the person
she was supposed to find. She didn’t care what the world around them thought, not in this moment, not at this time. Regrets might come later, but her heart sang with the possibilities.
All she understood was it felt right.
His hands speared into her hair and sent pins flying. The glorious mass tumbled down and he closed his hand in it, held it, savoring the feeling of the silken strands sliding through his fingers.
Eventually leaving her hair, his hands trailed down, fingers tickling the sensitive skin of her throat. Then his lips left hers to follow the trail. She felt a tug and one breast popped free of her gown. He laid a hand on her bare breast; she pressed her flesh into his palm, sighing with contentment.
His lips returned to hers, appeasing their hunger while between them his hand closed, kneading gently at first, then more deliberately, until her breast was swollen, aching, pulsating.
His wandering hands grew bolder. She made a wish. She wished she could feel the heat of his hands over every inch of her body.
It was as if he read her mind. His fingers began to unhook the fastenings at the front of her gown. She froze, scared that if she made one movement he would stop.
He stripped her of her gown slowly, freeing first one shoulder, then the other, murmuring instructions that she obeyed. She glanced at his face, marveled at the sharp edges his desire carved. Then he jerked the ribbon ties of her chemise undone, and pushed her gown and chemise down, baring her to the waist.
The expression on his face sent joy winging through her. He looked stunned, mesmerized, utterly enthralled. She ignored the cool air washing over her skin; the heat from his eyes alone warmed her. Finally her wish came true. His hands rose, closed almost worshipfully about each breast, then his fingers firmed. He pulled gently on one taut nipple. She gasped, closed her eyes, heat rising, concentrating, caught by a rush of seductive delight.
This was all so new to her, and for one brief moment she thought about all the women he’d probably done this with before. Was it as special for him?
“I will treasure this moment,” he whispered against her ear as his fingers continued to stroke her breasts. “You are my first taste of innocence.”
She immediately understood what that meant. While he was her first taste of anything, he was letting her know, that in some way, she was also his first.
She moved restlessly against him, felt the erection rigid against her stomach. His hot mouth trailed down her neck, over her chin, and caught her lips with his, drawing her senses once more into the heated depth of a kiss.
Slowly the kiss ended and he pulled back. His eyes never left her face, but his touched drifted, fingers stroking languidly, soothingly. Each touch filled with reverence, as if he were stroking the richest velvet, the most costly satin.
Watching him watching her, caused heat to blossom and spread throughout Helen’s body. Desire gripped her and she wanted more.
Her gaze still trapped by his, he slowly leaned forward and ran his tongue down the line of her throat to where her pulse throbbed. He closed his mouth over the spot; heat slid beneath her skin as he sucked lightly. She wanted his mouth on her forever. Sadly he drew back and licked instead, but she wasn’t disappointed for long.
His head dipped lower, lips skating over the upper curves of one breast. Her nerves leapt, tensed, sparked—she caught her breath, wanting his mouth on her nipple…A gasp escaped her mouth as she got her wish. His lips closed hotly around the ruched peak of one nipple; she melted when he suckled lightly, then he suckled again—harder and her world spun out of orbit.
He didn’t let her catch her breath, didn’t let her senses stop spinning. She pressed up from the bed trying to get closer, willing him to consume her. Every nerve was alive, every sense she possessed focused on his touch, his injury forgotten. Her hands swept over his body, learning, memorizing every curve.
When he finally eased back on the bed beside her, he reached for her, spearing his hands once more through her hair and drawing her lips to his.
“I will not ruin you,” he whispered reverently in her ear. Disappointment cascaded through the pleasure. “But I will be the first man to introduce you to passion.”
She had no idea what he meant. All she knew was that he was not putting an end to this magical moment.
* * *
—
Clary knew he would go to hell for what he was doing but he could not seem to care. He could almost believe in a God once more, for why else would such a gorgeous creature offer herself to him.
He reveled in her eagerness, and her innocence, but she captured him with her worldly sensuality, a sensuality that spoke so directly to his. For most of his life pleasure had been demanded from him, but this time he’d freely sell his soul to ensure that the woman beneath him knew such pleasure she would never forget him.
This time he wanted to draw out the moments, savoring each step along the road he knew well. With her the experience was fresh and new, something he never thought he’d experience again.
Helen thought that he was giving her a special experience but in reality it was he who would cherish this moment. He was as humbled by the gift she was giving him. To be her first was an honor, and it thrilled him beyond measure.
So much was different about this moment. She was different than anyone he’d been with before. He was enthralled, intrigued. To his surprise it was as if they were novices together, learning together, experienced in some ways but so much was new.
It was as if his past had fallen away and only the future beckoned.
It was as if she was his salvation.
He could worship her forever. As he touched her, he imprinted everything about her in his mind so that he would never forget. Being able to simply let his fingers, his palms, roam over her lush curves, over her perfect, pale skin was a privilege. Never had he wanted to worship a woman more. He needed to satisfy his and her increasingly clamorous senses, to touch more, explore more, give her everything her body was crying out for. He tried to temper his galloping desire for her, but she boldly pressed into him, demanding more.
Chapter 11
Never in his life had giving pleasure mattered so much. As he reached to remove her gown fully he saw that he was shaking. He tried to ignore her tiny hand traveling down over his bandaged chest. He wished he could rip them off so he could press his heated skin to hers. His trousers hung undone and he knew the destination of her hand but could not for the life of him stop her.
Just as Helen’s fingers reached the open placket he grasped the crushed fabric of her gown and drew it completely off, letting it slide to the floor beside his bed. His heart pounded deep in his chest. She was so beautiful it hurt looking at her.
A flush raced over her face but she didn’t try to cover herself. “You’re the first man to ever see me naked.”
“Beautiful. You are so beautiful.”
Something primal wound through him. He wanted to be the only man to ever see her naked. It was a dream, he knew it, but the woman lying in his arms still held on to the illusion that anything in this world was possible. Hence why he would never take her virginity. That would ruin her beyond saving in the ton’s eyes.
Helen’s skin sparkled in the sunlight like lustrous pearls. He drew in a long, deep breath conscious of the emotions shining in her eyes. A part of him would cherish this moment for the rest of his life while another part warned him he would never get over her.
He wanted to chase those warnings away so he let his gaze trace the gentle curves of her thighs, stopping on the thatch of fair curls at their apex. He bent and placed a soft kiss just there. Just where he knew he would never be able to slide home.
Chest tight, he gently parted her thighs so he could fit between them. She let him move her and place one leg over his shoulder. He could feel the shivers running through her.
Lifting his eyes, he drunk in her beauty. She lay stretched out before him, totally naked except for her silk stockings and slippers. He could feel the silk against
his shoulder—decadent, shocking…the curves, the silken feel of her skin, and the golden mass of curls surrounding her shoulders overwhelmed his senses. He wanted her in the most primal ways of man. She was a prize—no, a jewel—a treasure beyond price.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to dampen the need to devour, seize, stake a claim. This moment was not about him. It was for her. He opened his eyes to find her studying hm. He noted the wonder in her eyes and her shallow breathing. Desire hit hard and fast and he swore beneath his breath. More than anything in his sorry life he wanted to teach her about passion, to steep her in pleasure and ensure she would remember him for the rest of their lives—even if they could not have their happily ever after.
Sharing this bed with her would be more than enough.
It had to be enough.
Would never be enough.
But he could live with that.
On that thought he let his finger slide up the inside of one silky thigh. Her breath hitched at his light touch. He inwardly smiled, and followed his finger with his lips. She quivered, then her womanly instincts took over as her leg opened farther to give him access to her womanhood.
He drew out the anticipation by pressing his lips to her curls and simply breathing in her essence. A small gasp slipped from her luscious lips, and he carefully set his tongue to her nub. He could almost feel the heat speeding through her veins and hopefully his touch drew her deeper into the furnace of their shared heated desire.
* * *
—
Helen’s nerves wound tight, so taut every cell ached with longing—she didn’t know what she longed for exactly but the feel of his hot mouth upon her made her want to lift her hips and draw him closer. She should be shocked at what he was doing but the wanton in her reveled in his worship of her body.
Her hands delved into the thick curls on his head as he lay pleasuring her. She clutched tightly as his clever tongue drew through her folds. She squirmed beneath his skilled mouth and his grip on the leg over his shoulder tightened, keeping her splayed on the bed, and open to his sensual onslaught.
A Dream of Redemption Page 11