by Cheryl Bolen
Helen’s heartbeat increased. If she ran now, would he dare to grab her? It would be so uncivilized. Yet there was something distinctly uncivilized about him. The predatory way he stalked her and the primal way he’d taken control of her body earlier that morning in her chamber set her ablaze inside. Helen darted to the left, choosing the opening between Gareth and the tree. He lunged, catching her easily by wrapping one arm around her waist. She was too startled to scream as he backed her up against the rough bark. Her hands clenched at his chest, catching the smooth fabric of his waistcoat. He gripped her waist, holding her firm and preventing her from escaping him.
“Helen …” he whispered, his voice strangely soothing, calming. “I’m not going to hurt you. I made a promise, and I keep my promises.” A ghost of a smile hovered at his mouth. “But I am going to kiss you.”
Her traitorous body relaxed in his hold. Her eyes drifted shut, her head tilting upward for his kiss. But his lips never touched hers. Instead they trailed softly from her neck down to the swell of her breasts. Her breathing deepened, her chest rising to meet his exploring mouth. With each inhalation, she struggled to stay above the drowning sense of dizziness that his touch roused in her. He cupped one of the tender mounds, his thumb circling her hardened nipple through the fabric of her gown. He pinched the bud and Helen forgot breathing all together. His eyes were lowered, studying her reaction—the way her skin flushed as he continued to tease and torture the sensitive peak. Helen was fascinated by his intense expression, the way his lips were slightly parted, his breath rougher, his eyes half-lidded but their gleam sharp. When his fingers pinched her nipple again, she gasped, drawing his focus back up to her face.
“You are so responsive, so alive,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You don’t even know what that does to me, do you?”
Helen swallowed, her mouth dry and incapable of forming words.
Gareth’s hands wound around her waist, pulling her away from the tree and toward the edge of the meadow.
“Sit,” he urged gently.
Still entranced by the way he kept her spellbound with his soft, arousing words and touches, she allowed him to help her down onto the ground. He pressed her shoulders, urging her to lie back. The grass bent beneath her when he cradled one arm behind her head as a firm pillow.
“What are we doing?” she whispered, studying his face, the sunlight haloing him as he leaned over her.
“Getting acquainted,” he replied, as though what they were doing was the most normal thing in all the world.
“Wouldn’t that entail you courting me by bringing me flowers and sitting in the parlor under the watchful eyes of a chaperone?” She was half joking, trying to fight off the tingle of nervousness that made its way through her body with small tremors.
His rich laugh made her smile. He could be teasing and playful then. Knowing that eased more of the tension inside her and she relaxed.
“Do you want flowers? I can promise you a field of wildflowers, a garden, even a hothouse. Whatever you desire, it is yours. But no chaperones and no parlors. I want you, want to know your body and the way it responds to mine.” His earnestness surprised her. He seemed as baffled by his answering hunger for her.
She squirmed, trying to stop his hand from pushing up her skirts, but he gently pushed her hand away. Helen’s eyes widened as his other hand slid beneath her gown and up her left thigh. The dress’s fabric rose obligingly at his hand’s command, taking her petticoats with it. Helen’s mouth parted as she gasped in shock and her sudden fear of vulnerability. She was terrified of his hand on her bare thigh and even more scared by how she wanted him to keep moving his palm higher even though she guessed where it would lead. Did all women feel this way when first touched by a man, torn between desperation to escape and the need for more?
Gareth’s face blocked out the bright sky. Would he give her pleasure like last night?
“Do not fear me, Helen.” It almost sounded like a plea.
But if Helen knew anything about a man like Gareth Fairfax, she knew he was not the sort of man to beg. Rather, the hunger that flamed behind his dark brown eyes explained everything. He needed her body, needed to have her accept whatever it was he wished to do. What could a woman say to that? Yes, take me, take all of me? She wasn’t nearly ready for that sort of surrender to him. The thought was erased as Gareth’s head descended toward hers.
His lips found hers. She was lost to the pleasure of his tongue dancing with hers but still aware of his hand as it parted her legs and slid through the slit in her drawers. That first brush of his fingertips on her hot flesh burned them both, her with a hiss and him with a groan. Helen shifted restlessly as wetness pooled between her thighs. He moved deeper, finding the swollen flesh tender and yearning. He stroked her once, twice, opening her further to him. She shivered in pleasure as he continued. Her legs twisted and shifted as she adjusted to the strange sensation of his invading touch. It was as though he was caressing the innermost part of her. Each slow thrust of his fingers was a delicious teasing. Gareth’s mouth left hers again to lay kisses along the lines of her collarbone and down to the heavy swell of her breasts.
A pain grew deep within her, a hunger between her legs, the same desire that she’d felt this morning in her room. She clutched Gareth’s shoulders. As though he understood her body’s needs, his fingers sunk deeper into her, and she let out a small cry of pleasure mingled with fear. Pinpricks of tiny explosions burst forth, sending tremors outward along her limbs. She clung to him, her violent quaking subsiding against the strength of his embrace.
He withdrew his hand, pulling her petticoats and gown back down over her hips and legs. He kissed her again, the meeting of mouths softer than before, as though he sought to maintain the intimacy of that moment—their closeness and the isolation they found together in the meadow. He held her against him and Helen breathed in his scent. Sandalwood, leather, and something uniquely belonging to him, intoxicating as an opiate. The breeze moved the grass around them like waves of an emerald sea. For a brief moment, Helen thought they were the only two people in this paradise, and that no world existed outside.
“Do I still frighten you?” Gareth asked, his tone teasing as he stroked her cheek.
Helen, spellbound by the sensations he’d created in her moments ago, was speechless for a second. She leaned into his caress, unable to deny herself the pleasure of his touch. She could not escape him, and she was beginning to want to stay. But a part of her still feared him, the way he made her want things she knew she could never have, like happiness with a man like him. She remembered the fire in his eyes as he demanded the debt be paid. He would claim it—claim her—and that did frighten her. What would happen when he was done and she’d been foolish enough to let herself fall for him?
“I believe you will always frighten me,” she admitted. But it was a different sort of fear, not one of harm to the body, but devastation to the heart.
His laugh was low and rough. “You present me with a challenge then. I shall spend our time together wooing you into trusting me.” He fingered one of her loosened curls, wearing a boyish smile. “I rather like you, Helen.”
She bit her lip, the words I rather like you, too hung on the tip of her tongue, unspoken.
He got to his feet, brushing grass off his breeches. “Should we return to the house and see if Mary has breakfast ready?”
She wobbled for a few seconds as he pulled her to her feet. Her legs trembled, still reverberating with the memory of what he’d done to her and how her body had reacted. Echoes of pleasure still worked their way through her in little flushes and the twitching of her inner muscles. He held out an arm, which she leaned on, grateful for the support.
The house was abuzz with the flutter of servants when they returned. Maids were dusting shelves and polishing candlesticks. Footmen were stretching their legs by running errands at Mary’s bidding. She stood in the main hall, issuing orders better than a British General. Gareth nodded
in greeting as they passed her on their way to the dining room. She smiled, brief but warm, before dashing off to chastise a clumsy footman who’d tripped on the edge of a carpet and spilled the basin of water he’d been carrying.
The table was decorated with plates of fruit, eggs, kippers, and various jams for spreading on a stack of warm toast. Helen’s stomach growled at the sight of food. Even though she’d stuffed herself on cookies an hour ago, the sight of these new dishes renewed her hunger. Over the last few months, she had survived on small portions of bread and water, just to be able to get by. She’d taken to giving her brother the larger share of whatever meals they could afford. Gareth pulled out a chair for her next to his own seat at the head of the table. Helen reached for the nearest piece of toast but froze, remembering her manners. Gareth had not yet made a move towards the food. His eyes were scanning a stack of letters brought in by a servant. He glanced up, noticing her stillness.
“Do not wait for me. Please eat.” He smiled warmly at her. She had to stop herself before she smiled back. He was a different person from early this morning. Then, he’d been a haunted, troubled man, burdened by anger and frustration. Now he seemed…kind. Even in the meadow, his touch had been soft, insistent, too, but not brutal…not like what she’d expected.
Helen filled a plate with a balance of fruits, eggs, and toast, enjoying the variety. There was a flare of excitement in her at being able to eat as much as she wanted. Their fortune had been so slight that meals had been meager of late, and she’d been forced to convince Martin that she wasn’t nearly as hungry as he was so that he might have a fuller belly. For the first time since her father died, she was able to worry only about herself, about what she needed. Her stomach grumbled again, and Helen eyed the stack of toast thoughtfully before quickly snatching another piece and adding it to her plate.
This strange sense of comfort and ease made her less and less willing to fight against Gareth and his desires. If she liked what happened in the meadow, she would probably like other things he might do to her. Well, if she was being truly honest, she hadn’t just liked it. She’d reveled in it. It might be worth it—his physical pleasure traded for food and clothing. A cold thought struck her. Was she no better than the type of women she’d feared she would become? Surely not. Gareth didn’t treat her like she was that sort of woman, but still… Helen shook her head slightly to rid herself of that unpleasant thought and turned her attention back to the food.
Gareth read his letters as he ate, seemingly oblivious to her study of him. She thought perhaps her mind had exaggerated the marble carved features of perfection on his face, but they were just as she had remembered. The sunlight played with his hair, revealing a hint of chocolate brown amidst the rich russet. His hands were large and strong, the fingers deftly breaking the seals of his letters. Those were the same hands that had brought unspeakable pleasure to her only a short while ago. A delicious little shiver ran through her at the memory.
When Gareth finished his breakfast, he bid her a good day with a genteel bow, lifting her hand to press his lips on the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped at the intimate contact.
She was fascinated by him, like a helpless minnow spying its first shiny lure in the stream. Helen wanted to follow him, to see where he would go and what he would do. Would he want to kiss her or pleasure her again? Gareth was halfway out the door when he paused and Helen bumped into his back. He looked over his shoulder at her as though surprised to find her so close.
“You mean to follow me, Helen? I do not expect you to. You are free to go about the house and gardens as you wish.”
Helen frowned. Was he dismissing her? Did he mean to leave her alone while he went about his day? The thought saddened her. Perhaps she was not a good companion and he would soon tire of her. As a twin, she craved companionship, and didn’t like too much time alone. She didn’t need to be speaking to someone every minute of the day, but she liked another person in her presence. Perhaps Gareth was the opposite and did not wish to have her around.
Her unhappy silence affected him enough that he reached out for her arm and tilted his head to indicate she should accompany him.
“Come along then. I’m off to the stables. It is a fine day for riding.”
“You have horses?” She was all smiles again, memories of her youth flooding through her. They’d once owned a pair of stout draft horses, and she and Martin used to ride them in the summer.
“Of course I have horses, my darling. How do you think my coach brought you here?”
He was teasing her, she could see it in his eyes. She liked it when he was playful. He must feel something for her, however small, if he joked with her. One of Martin’s boyhood friends used to tug her hair, and her mother said that men often treated the women they liked in such a fashion.
“Do you know how to ride?”
“I do, but not sidesaddle, I’m afraid,” she admitted. Her father hadn’t bothered with teaching her the niceties expected of gentle bred ladies, at least when it came to riding. Since her mother died when she was a child, she’d been without the feminine guidance that would have taught her such things.
“That is well, for I got rid of the only sidesaddle I had years ago.”
“Because your wife passed away?” She regretted the words the moment they came out. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to…” she was flustered, her face warm with embarrassment.
“Do not worry. I have mourned Clarissa, my wife, and am at peace with her death. You may speak about her if you wish. It will not cause me pain, I assure you.” Despite the polite smile that curved his lips, there was a guarded wariness in his face that said there was still a twist in his heart at the mention of his late wife.
“You loved her very much.” Helen saw it in his eyes, the way the sadness there formed dark shadows. Losing someone you loved often left a stain upon the soul.
“She was my friend. Not many men are fortunate enough to have wives who lay claim to their hearts and their minds, not just as lovers but also as friends. It’s a loss not easy to recover from. I mourn the way we used to talk late into the night and ride together on lazy afternoons.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to dispel the creeping melancholy. “We were happy when many around us were not so fortunate. I’ll likely never know that sense of joy again.”
Helen bit her bottom lip, pain clamping its vice-like claws on her own heart, threatening to rip it asunder. Gareth was a wounded man still, no matter that he believed he’d moved on. Everything about him was becoming clearer, he was desperate to feel, to live again, and using her, even as a temporary companion, must be one way in which he was trying to find solace. She did not feel pity, but rather it filled her with compassion.
With false cheeriness, he gestured to the stairs. “Would you like to go and change into a riding habit?”
“Yes. I shall only be a moment,” she promised.
Once Helen was properly attired for riding, they left the house and approached the building next to it. It was a small but well-kept stable with four stalls for the four horses he owned. They were all matching bays with tall heads and long, lean legs, nothing like the draft horses she’d ridden as a child.
Even though she didn’t want to cause him distress, she still wanted to get to know him. If she were to stay here with him, she’d have to understand him better. “If you no longer miss your wife, why haven’t you remarried?”
How could this man, so blessed in looks and fortune, not find another wife, one who would delight in pleasing him? Gareth smiled, though it was little and pained. His eyes moved from the horse to her. She read the truth there. Clarissa couldn’t be replaced and he hadn’t wanted to try.
“I got used to Clarissa’s absence after a few years, but I’ve become restless. Nothing eases me anymore, nothing gives me peace.” He spoke softly, more to himself as though the revelation was one he’d never dared to voice aloud. His confession was like opening a book, the pages revealing a glimpse of his secrets
. She craved to read more of his soul, to come to know him the way he knew only himself.
Helen wished to comfort him, so she put a hand on his arm. “Try to love again. Love settle’s a person’s heart.”
He shook his head. “No. Love destroys. It rips you clean in two and devastates you. I would never go looking for that again.”
*
Gareth looked at her, her blue eyes gazing at him in pity. Did she not know what she was asking of him? Love was hard to find, hard to earn, and hard to keep. He reached up to tug one of her curls playfully, wanting to rid his mind of the thoughts she’d put there. His actions made her wrinkle her nose in disapproval. The urge to hold her was too strong to resist. He tugged her into his arms, relishing the feel of her body flush against his.
She was growing ever more receptive to his kisses. He let her mouth guide his, let her explore his chest, his arms, his back before she locked her hands around his neck. Her fingertips brushed the back of his neck and stroked his hair. He loved how quickly she opened up to him, how she let him instruct her in the ways of seduction.
The feeling of her touch on his skin made him shiver. She was a quick learner. Gareth wanted to part her legs again, like he’d done in the meadow, but the stables were no place for such an activity. Instead he teased her breasts through the fabric of her gown until he felt her grow breathless. He hardened, his groin aching with need, but he could not take her, not until she asked for him. He could have kissed and touched her for hours.
“My apologies, sir!” A groom, who’d walked into the stables, apologized profusely as he scrambled away, overturning a bucket of feed in his haste to depart.
Helen stifled an embarrassed giggle and buried her face in his chest as though to hide herself from the world. Gareth found himself laughing, too. It was a loud, rich laugh, one he hadn’t made in years. What was she doing to him? In a mere matter of a day, she had turned his world upside down. She was open and honest about herself and her life. And brave. He couldn’t forget that, either, the way she’d risked her life to save her brother’s knowing she would die. What woman of his acquaintance would have dared to risk her life? None that he knew. Helen was different. She was real and beautiful and so full of life. Each time he looked at her, something inside him seemed to shake off a century’s worth of dust and awaken. Being around her made him feel alive.