Marrying Winterborne (8 page)

Rhys motioned the footman to approach the desk. “George, take this list to my office and give it to Fernsby. Wait there while she collects the items I've requested, and bring it all here within the half-hour.”

“By your leave, sir.” The footman was gone in a flash.

Rhys grinned briefly at the young man's speed. It was no secret, both in his household and at his store, that he liked his orders to be carried out quickly and with enthusiasm.

By the time the requested items had been brought, all packed in cream-colored boxes, Rhys had drawn a bath for Helen and gathered up her scattered clothes and hair combs.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and reached down to caress Helen's cheek.

As he watched her struggle into consciousness, Rhys was caught off guard by a pang of tenderness, almost painful in its intensity. Helen opened her eyes, wondering for a bewildered instant where she was, and why he was there. Remembering, she looked up at him uncertainly. To his delight, one of her shy smiles emerged.

He pulled her up against him, his lips finding hers. As he caressed the naked length of her spine, he felt gooseflesh rise on her skin.

“Would you like a bath?” he whispered.

“Could I?”

“It's ready for you.” He reached for the dressing-robe he'd laid over the foot of the bed, a kimono style that wrapped across the front. Helen slipped out of bed and allowed him to help her into it, trying to conceal herself in the process. Charmed by her modesty, Rhys tied the
belt at her waist and proceeded to roll the sleeves back. His robe was twice her size, the hem pooling on the floor. “You shouldn't be shy,” he told her. “I'd give my soul for a glimpse of you without your clothes.”

“Don't joke about that.”

“About seeing you naked? I wasn't joking.”

“Your soul,” Helen said earnestly. “It's too important.”

Rhys smiled and stole another kiss from her.

Taking her hand, he led her to the bathroom, which was paved with white onyx tile, the upper half of the walls lined with mahogany paneling. The French double-ended tub was tapered at the base, the sides flared to allow the bather to lean back comfortably. Nearby, an inset cabinet with glass doors featured stacks of white toweling.

Gesturing to the small mahogany stand beside the tub, Rhys said, “I had a few things sent over from the store.”

Helen went to investigate the objects on the stand: a rack of hairpins, a set of black combs, an enamel-backed hairbrush, a collection of soaps wrapped in hand-painted paper, and a selection of perfumed oils.

“You usually have a maid to attend you,” Rhys remarked, watching as she twisted up her hair and anchored it in place.

“I can manage.” A touch of pink infused her cheeks as she glanced at the high rib of the tub. “But I may need help to step in and out of the bath.”

“I'm at your service,” Rhys said readily.

Still blushing, she turned away from him and let the robe slip from her shoulders. He pulled it from her, nearly dropping the garment as he saw the slim length of her back and the perfect heart shape of her bottom.
His fingers literally trembled with the urge to touch her. Draping the robe over one arm, he extended his free hand. Helen took it as she stepped into the tub, every movement graceful and careful, like a cat finding her way across uneven ground. She settled into the water, wincing as the heat of the bath soothed the intimate aches and stings from their earlier encounter.

“You're sore,” he said in concern, remembering how delicate she was, how tight.

“Only a little.” Her lashes lifted. “May I have the soap?”

After unwrapping a cake of honey soap, he handed it to her along with a sponge, mesmerized by the pink shimmer of her body beneath the surface of the water. She rubbed the soap over the sponge and began to wash her shoulders and throat.

“I feel relieved,” she commented, “now that our course has been set.”

Rhys went to occupy the mahogany chair next to the inset cabinet. “That leads to something I need to discuss,” he said casually. “While you were sleeping, I reflected on the situation, and I've reconsidered our agreement. You see—” He broke off as he saw her face turn bleach-white, her eyes huge and dark. Realizing that she had misunderstood, he went to her in two strides, lowering to his knees beside the tub. “No—no, it's not that—” He reached for her hastily, heedless of the water soaking his sleeves and waistcoat. “You belong to me,
cariad
. And I'm yours. I would never—Jesus, don't look like that.” Pulling her to the side of the tub, he spread kisses over her sweet, wet skin. “I was trying to say that I can't wait for you. We have to elope. I should have said so at the beginning, but I
wasn't thinking clearly.” He captured her tense mouth with his, kissing her until he felt her relax.

Drawing back, Helen looked at him in amazement, her cheeks dappled with water, her lashes spiked. “Today?”

“Aye. I'll take care of the arrangements. There's nothing you need worry about. I'll have Fernsby pack a valise for you. We'll travel to Glasgow by private train carriage. It has a sleeping compartment with a large bed—”

“Rhys.” Her fingers, scented of soap, came to rest on his lips. She took an extra breath to steady herself. “There's no need to alter our plans. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything's changed,” he said, a shade too aggressively. Swallowing hard, he moderated his tone. “We'll leave this afternoon. It's far more practical this way. It solves more than one potential problem.”

Helen shook her head. “I can't leave my sisters alone in London.”

“They're in a household full of servants. And Trenear will return soon.”

“Yes, tomorrow, but even so, the twins can't be left to their own devices until then. You know how they are!”

Pandora and Cassandra were a pair of little devils, there was no denying it. They were both full of mischief and imagination. After having been brought up on a quiet estate in Hampshire all their lives, they thought of London as a giant playground. Neither of them had any idea of the perils that might befall them in the city.

“We'll take them with us,” Rhys said reluctantly.

Her brows lifted. “And have Devon and Kathleen
return from Hampshire to discover that you've kidnapped all three Ravenel sisters?”

“Believe me, I intend to give the twins back at the first opportunity.”

“I don't understand the need for elopement. No one would deny us a wedding now.”

Steam rose from the water and clung to her fair skin in a glistening veil. Rhys was distracted by a cluster of soap bubbles that slid down the upper slope of her breast in a lazy path, finally coming to rest on the soft shell-pink tip. Unable to resist, he reached out to cup her breast, his thumb brushing away the bit of foam. He circled the nipple gently, watching it tighten into a perfect bud.

“There might be a baby,” he said.

Helen slipped from his grasp, as elusive as a mermaid. “Will there?” she asked, clutching the sponge until water streamed between her fingers.

“We'll know if you miss your monthly bleeding.”

She applied more soap to the sponge and continued to bathe. “If that happens, it may become necessary to elope. But until then—”

“We'll do it now,” Rhys said impatiently, “to avoid any hint of scandal if the child is born early.” The soaked waistcoat and shirt had turned clammy and cold. He stood and began to unfasten them. “I don't want to provide gossip fodder for wagging tongues. Not where my offspring is concerned.”

“An elopement would cause just as much of a scandal as a baby coming early. And it would give my family more cause to disapprove of you.”

Rhys gave her a speaking glance.

“I would rather not antagonize them,” Helen said.

He dropped the waistcoat to the floor, where it
landed with a wet smack. “Their feelings don't matter to me.”

“But mine do . . . don't they?”

“Aye,” he muttered, working on his wet cuffs.

“I would like to have a wedding. It would give everyone, including me, time to adjust to the situation.”

“I've already adjusted.”

There was a suspicious tension at her lips, as if she were trying to hold back a sudden smile. “Most of us don't live at the same pace as you. Even the Ravenels. Couldn't you try to be patient?”

“I would if there was a need. But there isn't.”

“I think there is. I think a large wedding is still something you desire, although you're not willing to admit it at the moment.”

“I wish I'd bloody well never said it,” Rhys said, exasperated. “I don't care if we're married in a church, the office of the Registrar General, or by a shaman wearing antlers in the wilds of North Wales. I want you to be mine as soon as possible.”

Helen's eyes widened with curiosity. She seemed on the verge of asking more about shamans and antlers, but instead she kept to the subject at hand. “I would prefer to be married at a church.”

Rhys was silent as he opened his collar and began on the front placket of his shirt. The situation was of his own making, he thought, damning himself. He couldn't believe he'd allowed his pride and ambition to stand in the way of marrying Helen as soon as possible. Now he would have to wait for her, when he could have had her in his bed every night.

Helen watched him solemnly. After a long moment, she said, “It's important that you keep your promises to me.”

Defeated and fuming, he stripped off his wet shirt. Apparently Helen wasn't quite as malleable as he'd assumed. “We'll be married in six weeks. Not a day more.”

“That's not nearly enough time,” she protested. “Even if I had unlimited resources, it would take much longer than that to make plans and place orders, and have things delivered—”

“I have unlimited resources. Anything you want will be delivered here faster than a rat up a drainpipe.”

“It's not just that. My brother Theo hasn't been gone a year. My family and I will be in mourning until the beginning of June. Out of respect for him, I would like to wait until then.”

Rhys stared at her. His brain staggered around the words.

Wait until then. Wait until . . .
June
?

“That's five months,” he said blankly.

Helen looked back at him, seeming to believe she had said something rational.

“
No
,” he said in outrage.

“Why not?”

It had been many years, and tens of millions of pounds ago, since anyone had asked Rhys to justify why he wanted something. The mere fact that he wanted it was always enough.

“It's what we originally planned,” Helen pointed out, “the first time we became engaged.”

Rhys didn't know why he'd agreed to that, or how it had even seemed tenable. Probably because he'd been so elated about marrying her that he hadn't been inclined to quibble over the wedding date. Now, however, it was painfully clear that five days was too long to wait for her. Five weeks would be torment.

Five months didn't even merit a discussion.

“Your brother won't know or care if you marry before the mourning period is over,” Rhys said. “He probably would have been glad that you'd found a husband.”

“Theo was my only brother. I would like to honor him with the traditional year of mourning if at all possible.”

“It's not possible. Not for me.”

She gave him a questioning glance.

Rhys leaned over her, gripping the sides of the tub. “Helen, there are times when a man has to—if his needs aren't satisfied—” The heat from the water wafted up to his darkening face. “I can't go without you that long. A man's natural urges—” He broke off uncomfortably. “
Damn it!
If he can't find relief with a woman, he's driven to self-abuse. Do you understand?”

She shook her head, mystified.

“Helen,” he said with growing impatience, “I haven't been chaste since the age of twelve. If I tried now, I would probably end up killing someone before the week was out.”

Perplexity wove across her forehead. “When we were engaged before . . . how were you planning to manage? I suppose . . . you were going to lie with other women until we were married?”

“I hadn't considered it.” At that point, it might not have been entirely out of the question. But now . . . he was appalled to realize that the thought of trying to substitute someone else for Helen was repellent. Bloody hell, what was happening to him? “It has to be you. We're bound to each other now.”

Helen's gaze slid bashfully over his bare torso, and by the time her eyes returned to his face, she looked
flushed and a little shaken. With a hot stab in the pit of his stomach, he realized she was aroused by him.

“You'll need it too,” he said huskily. “You'll remember the pleasure I gave you, and want more.”

Helen looked away from him as she replied. “I'm sorry. But I would rather not marry while I'm still in mourning.”

Gentle as her tone was, Rhys heard the underlying intractability in it. After a lifetime of bartering and bargaining, he had learned to recognize when the other party had reached the point at which they would not yield.

“I intend to marry you in six weeks,” he said, making his voice hard to mask his desperation, “whatever the cost. Tell me what you want. Tell me, and you'll have it.”

“I'm afraid there's nothing you can bribe me with.” Looking sincerely apologetic, Helen added, “You already promised me the piano.”

T
HE ELEGANT UNMARKED CARRIAGE
came to a halt at the porticoed side entrance of Ravenel House. An afternoon rain had descended from the January sky, swept along by brisk icy breezes that whistled through the streets of London. As Helen had peeked through the carriage's window blinds during the ride from Cork Street to South Audley, she had seen pedestrians clutching wool coats and capes more closely around their bodies, heading to covered shop doorways to stand in tight clusters. The shower of raindrops, heralding worse to come, had imparted a dark shimmer to the pavement.

But warm yellow light poured through the glass-paned doors that opened onto Ravenel House's spacious double library, filled with mahogany shelves and acres of books, and heavy well-cushioned furniture. A shiver of anticipation went through Helen at the thought of returning to her cozy house.

Rhys slid a hand over both her gloved ones, giving them a slight squeeze. “I'll call on Trenear tomorrow evening to tell him about the engagement.”

“He may not take the news well,” Helen said.

“He won't,” Rhys replied flatly. “But I can handle him.”

Helen was still concerned about Devon's reaction.
“Perhaps you should wait to call until the day after tomorrow,” she suggested. “He and Kathleen will be weary from traveling. I think they'll receive the news more easily if they've had a sound night's rest. And I could—” She paused as a footman began to open the carriage door.

Rhys glanced at the footman and said brusquely, “A few minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The door closed at once.

Turning in his seat, Rhys leaned over Helen, toying with the folds of her veil. “Go on.”

“I could explain things to Devon before you arrive,” she continued, “and try to pave the way.”

He shook his head. “If he loses his temper, I won't have you bear the brunt of it. Let me be the one to tell him.”

“But my cousin would never harm me in any way—”

“I know that. All the same, he'll be picking for a fight. It's for me to deal with him, not you.” Carefully he adjusted an edge of her collar that had folded over. “I want this settled by tomorrow night, for both our sakes. I can't bear to wait longer than that. Will you agree to say nothing until then? And let me take care of it?” His tone was not dictatorial, but rather concerned. Protective. He paused before saying with gruff unwillingness, as if the word threatened to choke him, “Please.”

Helen stared into his coffee-black eyes. This was new, this feeling of being looked after and wanted. It seemed to spread inside her like delicate tendrils.

Realizing that he was waiting for an answer, she replied with a touch of impishness, “Aye.”

After a blink of surprise, Rhys hauled her up into his lap. His eyes glinted with amusement. “Mocking my accent, are you?”

“No.” A breathless giggle escaped her. “I like it. Very much.”

“Do you, then?” His tone had deepened. “I'll have to send you inside, now soon. Give me a kiss,
cariad
. One to make up for all the kisses I would have had from you tonight.”

She pressed her mouth to his, and his lips parted, letting her explore him with little flirting tastes. Realizing that he was letting her take the lead, she nudged him more fully open, enjoying the firm silken texture of his mouth. Tentatively she changed the angle of the kiss, and the fit was so lush and delicious that she locked her mouth onto his. She wanted to stay like this forever, caught in his lap with the mass of her skirts bunched all around them, her bottom sinking into the space between his muscular thighs. Gripping his shoulders, she hugged herself closer to the hard contours of his body.

His chest moved in a forceful breath or two, like pumps from fireplace bellows, and he broke the kiss with a groan. A shaken laugh escaped him as her mouth continued to seek his. “No—Helen—ah, how you please me—we have to stop.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Before I take you here in this carriage.”

Befuddled, Helen asked, “It can be done in a carriage?”

His color heightened, and he closed his eyes briefly, as if he'd been pushed to the limit of his endurance. “Aye.”

“But how—”

“Don't ask me to explain, or I might end up showing you.” Clumsily he set her back on the seat beside him, and leaned forward to rap on the carriage door.

The footman came to help Helen descend, first plac
ing a movable step on the flagstone tiled ground, then extending his gloved hand for her to take. Before Helen reached the French doors, she could already see the twins through the paned glass, their slim forms practically vibrating with eagerness.

“Milady, shall I carry this inside?”

Helen glanced at the cream-colored box he held, approximately the size of a dinner plate, tied with a narrow matching satin ribbon. She realized it was the box containing a selection of stockings from the store. “I'll take it now,” she said. “Thank you”—she tried to remember what Rhys had called him—“George, isn't it?”

He smiled at her as he opened the door. “Yes, milady.”

Immediately upon entering the house Helen was beset by the twins, who danced around her in excitement.

She cast one last glance through the glass panes, watching the carriage depart.

“You're back!” Pandora shouted. “
Finally!
Whatever took you so long? You've been gone for most of the day!”

“It's almost teatime,” Cassandra chimed in.

Helen smiled, nonplussed by their wildness.

The twins were nineteen, soon to be twenty, but one could be excused for thinking they were younger than their actual age. Raised in an atmosphere largely devoid of authority, they had run free on a country estate with few diversions other than those they created for themselves. Their parents had spent much of their time in London society, leaving their daughters in the care of servants, governesses, and tutors. None of them had been able or willing to take a firm hand with them.

To be certain, Pandora and Cassandra were high-spirited but also affectionate, intelligent, and endearing. And they were as beautiful as a pair of pagan goddesses, both of them long-limbed and glowing with health. Pandora was perpetually disheveled and full of energy, her dark hair falling from its pins as if she'd just been running through the woods. Cassandra, the golden-haired twin, was more compliant and romantic in nature, more willing to abide by rules.

“What happened?” Cassandra demanded. “What did Mr. Winterborne say?”

Helen set aside the cream-colored box. After tugging off a black glove, she held out her left hand.

The twins crowded close, wide-eyed with wonder.

The moonstone seemed illuminated, glowing with shimmers of green, blue, and silver.

“A new ring,” Pandora said.

“A new engagement,” Helen told her.

“But the same fiancé,” Cassandra said with a questioning lilt.

Helen laughed. “One can't simply go shopping for one of those. Yes, it's the same fiancé.”

That set off a fresh burst of enthusiasm, both girls whooping and jumping without restraint.

Perceiving there was no use in trying to curb them, Helen stood back. Noticing movement at the doorway, she turned to find the housekeeper waiting at the threshold.

Mrs. Abbott tilted her head and regarded her expectantly, asking a silent question.

Helen beamed and nodded.

The housekeeper sighed with what appeared to be an equal measure of relief and worry. “May I take your things, Lady Helen?”

After giving her hat and gloves, Helen said quietly, “You and the other servants must not worry, even for a moment, about the consequences of my outing. I will take full responsibility. All I ask is that the staff refrain from saying anything to Lord or Lady Trenear when they arrive tomorrow.”

“They will hold their tongues and go about their work as usual.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively Helen touched the older woman's shoulder, patting it softly. “I've never been so happy.”

“There's no one who deserves happiness more,” Mrs. Abbott said gently. “I hope Mr. Winterborne will be half so deserving of you.”

The housekeeper departed through the main library room, while Helen went back to her sisters. They had settled onto a leather-upholstered settee, staring at her eagerly.

“Tell us everything,” Cassandra urged. “Was Mr. Winterborne upset when you approached him? Angry?”

“Was he confuming?” Pandora, who liked to invent words, asked.

Helen laughed. “As a matter of fact, he was terribly confuming. But after I convinced him that I sincerely wished to be his wife, he seemed much happier.”

“Did he kiss you?” Cassandra asked eagerly. “On the lips?”

Helen hesitated before replying, and both twins squealed, one from excitement and the other from aversion.

“Oh lucky, lucky Helen,” Cassandra exclaimed.

“I don't think she's lucky at all,” Pandora said frankly. “Fancy putting your mouth on someone else's—what if
his breath is nasty or there's a wad of dipping snuff in his cheek? What if there are crumbs in his beard?”

“Mr. Winterborne has no beard,” Cassandra said. “And he doesn't dip snuff.”

“Still, mouth kisses are revolting.”

Cassandra looked at Helen with great concern. “Was it revolting, Helen?”

“No,” she said, turning scarlet. “Not at all.”

“What was it like?”

“He held my cheeks in his hands,” Helen said, remembering the touch of Rhys's strong, gentle fingers, and the way he'd murmured
You belong to me, cariad
. . . “His mouth was warm and soft,” she continued dreamily, “and his breath was cool with peppermint. It was a lovely feeling. Kissing is the best thing lips do other than smiling.”

Cassandra drew up her knees and hugged them. “I want to be kissed someday,” she exclaimed.

“I don't,” Pandora said. “I can think of a hundred things better than kissing. Decorating for Christmas, petting the dogs, extra butter on the crumpets, having someone scratch the itch on your back that you can't quite reach—”

“You haven't tried kissing,” Cassandra told her. “You might like it. Helen does.”

“Helen likes Brussels sprouts. How can anyone trust her opinion?” Curling up in the corner of the settee, Pandora gave Helen a shrewd glance. “You needn't worry that we'll let anything slip to Devon or Kathleen. We're good at secrets. But all the servants know you went somewhere.”

“Mrs. Abbott promises they will hold their silence.”

Pandora grinned crookedly. “Why is everyone willing to keep Helen's secrets,” she asked Cassandra, “but not ours?”

“Because Helen's never naughty.”

“I rather was today,” Helen said before she thought better of it.

Pandora glanced at her with keen interest. “What do you mean?”

Deciding that a distraction was in order, Helen retrieved the ivory box and handed it to them. “Open this.” She sat in a nearby chair, smiling as the twins untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside, three rows of folded silk stockings had been arranged like bonbons . . . pink, yellow, white, lavender, cream, all of them with stretchy lace welts.

“There are twelve pair,” Helen said, enjoying her sisters' awestruck expressions. “The three of us will divide them evenly.”

“Oh they're so beautiful!!” Cassandra reached out with a single finger to touch the tiny embroidered forget-me-nots bordering a lace top. “May we wear them now, Helen?”

“Only take care that no one sees them.”

“I suppose these might be worth a kiss on the mouth,” Pandora conceded. After counting the stockings, she glanced quizzically at Helen. “There are only eleven.”

Unable to think of an evasive answer, Helen was compelled to admit, “I'm already wearing one pair.”

Pandora regarded her speculatively, and grinned. “I think you
have
been naughty.”