Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (32 page)

He lifted his eyes and scanned the ballroom, his gaze passing near the spot she was standing. The hair on her arms rose, as if she’d seen a ghost. But he wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t a dream. He was real. And he was
here
.

Helen forced her ragged breaths to be even. She needed to get a hold of herself. He couldn’t possibly see her, hidden within the crowd. But he started walking toward her, straight toward her, and her every nerve rang with alarm. She was touched everywhere by him, by his presence, across every inch of her skin.

She watched him approach, her heart breaking with each step. He was devastatingly handsome in his formal black-and-white attire. His face was clean-shaven, and his eyes sought hers.

Their gazes clashed. Waves of heat washed over her, leaving her pulsing and trembling.

Still, he came toward her. She did not move.

Let him come.

She lifted her chin, determined to laugh into the storm.

“Lady Helen.” He was bowing over her hand. She was numb. “May I have this dance?”

“Roane.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smiled, but his eyes were tight, and she realized he was nervous as well. He led her onto the dance floor. “My brother-in-law has requested a waltz.”

“I see.” She couldn’t stop staring at his face. She had missed him like one misses the sun.

Then, they were moving. Indeed, it was a waltz. And there was the Earl of Radford and his wife, swooping past them.

Roane didn’t say anything. His silence had the force of a thousand horses.

“You are in London?” She glanced at him, then away. How long had he been in town? Was he even going to contact her? “And in a ballroom, no less.”

“I’ve come to see you, buttercup. Why else would I be in a ballroom?” He winked, and her heart tumbled. She hardened her spine, trying not to crumble at his feet and confess how much she’d missed him. How much she loved him.

At least not yet.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” she dared. “I’ve missed you.”

He smiled, a real smile. One that brought out his dimple. “I’ve come to court you properly, Lady Helen, as you deserve.”

“You have?” The idea was so absurd she couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

“I’ve come to ask…to request you…” He cleared his throat. “I missed the land auction, but I still managed to purchase the property. And I’ve drawn up plans for a house. I have a picture to show you, but the house needs moss. It will never be a home without you in it. I love you with all my being, buttercup. I love you so I cannot breathe without you near.” He took a deep breath, as if to prove his point. A smile played at the corners of his lips. “My family is here with me tonight, in support of my quest for your hand. I want you to know I am a man you can be proud of, even if I am a bas—”

She lifted her hand from his shoulder and placed it over his lips. “You didn’t need to do all that, Roane. You don’t need to court me. You already have me.” Her smile took root in her heart and bloomed over her face. “I love you, Roane Grantham. And I am so sorry.” She let her hand slip to his heart, not caring who saw. “I’ve gone back over that awful scene at the inn so many times. I wish I—”

“I am sorry as well. But I want you to know I didn’t leave you. I stayed in the hidden corridor and listened to it all. And I followed you to London.”

“I knew it.” She swatted his arm. “I knew you were riding along. Why didn’t you come to me? I was waving a handkerchief out the window like a loon.”

“I was…I wasn’t prepared for you.” He studied her face, his gaze serious. “You were nothing I could have expected.”

She was dying to kiss him. “And I wasn’t prepared for you. You stole my heart and I won’t let you give it back.”

He tugged her tighter against him. “Will you marry me, Helen? Make me the happiest man alive?”

“Of course, Roane. Yes.”

Suddenly Harry was there beside them, barging in. “What is going on here, Helen? What are you doing with
this man
?”

Helen drew back and smiled at her brother. “
This man
is Roane Grantham. And we are to be wed.”

Dancers bumped into each other around them, gawking at the scene they were making.

“I know Roane Grantham.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “And no way in hell are you marrying him.”

“Harry…” Helen put her hand on her brother’s sleeve. His muscles were taut, ready to fight. “Harry trust me, I know what I’m doing. I’ve…I’ve had time to think this over.”

“I cannot allow this, Helen.” Harry’s blue eyes, so like her own, flashed with anger.

“It’s not your choice. I love you, Harry, but I love Roane, too.”

Her brother said nothing for a long minute, just stared at her, as if he could see through her to the truth. She smiled at him, let him see her joy. “And this…will you be happy now?” he asked reluctantly.

“Yes.” Helen nodded, then laughed. “Roane makes me happier than I knew I could be.”

“I’ll do everything I can to ensure Lady Helen’s happiness,” Roane said, all seriousness.

Harry turned to him with a frown. “You’re supposed to ask me first, you know, Grantham.”

Roane smiled, but shook his head. “In my world, Helen always comes first.”

Her brother must have accepted that answer, for dipped his head to Roane. “Now, will one of you please tell me exactly what happened in Nottinghamshire?”

“Someday, brother. If you are nice,” she teased.

Roane took her hand and placed it on his arm. He addressed her brother, but smiled into her eyes. “Come meet my family, Gladstone. I must introduce them to my bride.”

“Oh, I’ve met them. They are very nice. Truly lovely people.” Helen squeezed his arm and leaned forward so her brother wouldn’t hear. “But I have no desire to see them at this moment.”

She inhaled his spicy scent and yearning shot through her like lightening. She wanted to taste him. Touch him.
Love
him. When she finally pulled back, Roane’s eyes were dark, half lidded.

“You two be good,” Harry mumbled, forgotten. “I’m going to see someone about a special license.”

Arm in arm, they practically ran out of the ballroom to the entrance hall. Roane tugged her down a corridor, through a darkened drawing room, and out into the pulsing night.

“I love you, Roane,” Helen sighed as he finally pulled her into his embrace. “I love
all
of you. And I promise never again to say goodbye.”

He looked down at her, his heart in his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you a second time.”

“You never lost me.” She pressed up on her tiptoes and planted a long, hot kiss on his soft lips. “But I must warn you, I am going to make mistakes sometimes.”

“No, not you.” He squeezed her, teasing.

“And we’re going to squabble over silly things, like what color to paper the dining room and—”

“What to name our children.” He captured her lips in another searing kiss.

She had to catch her breath before she could speak again. “But let us promise to listen to each other.”

“And trust each other, even if we don’t understand.”

“Yes. That is it exactly.”

Somehow, he’d loosened the ties of her gown and was tugging it down off her shoulders. “Let me start. Trust me, princess, when I say you should wear red more often.”

He lowered his mouth to the exposed tops of her breasts and she threw her head back. His mouth seared her skin and brought tears to her eyes.

He was no dream.

He was no rogue.

He was Roane, a man of flesh and bone.

He was hers.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, straightening so he could see her face. “Anything. I will give it to you.”

A nightingale sang from deep in the gardens, calling for his lover. His song trilled through the darkness. Helen smiled up at Roane, up at the wild moon that shone over them.

“You, Roane. I only want you.”

Two Years Later

Helen rested back on her hands, her gaze focused on the lone rider in the training ring. After days of patient coaxing, Roane was finally seated atop his newest gelding, Sir James. Horse and rider trotted around the ring, moving in unity, their motions as graceful as any waltz. Behind them, the setting sun cast a cacophony of blazing color across the sky.

It was Heaven. Or a form of Heaven, anyway, where love and peace reigned supreme.

In such a scene, one couldn’t be bothered by such trifles as dressing for dinner or mixing the perfect shade of orange paint. Indeed, Helen had abandoned her paints some time ago, content to just drink it all in. And Cook would hardly be surprised when they arrived late to the house, sun kissed and bedraggled.

Happiness had a way of doing that, of making one content to break the rules and do…nothing much at all.

From his position atop the young horse, Roane tossed Helen a kiss then disappeared into the barn. An army of stable hands would be working, even now, caring for their growing herd of horseflesh. Of late, Roane had stayed to brush down Sir James himself, but tonight he came striding out of the barn toward her, his long legs tucked into muddy Hessians, his amber gaze warm.

“Thank you for waiting, princess.” He leaned down and pecked her lips with a quick kiss. “I tell you, Sir James is going to be an excellent hunter. I might not be able to let him go when Cat and Forster come to collect him.”

Helen pursed her lips, wanting another kiss, but Roane stepped back. “You are too beautiful to touch. I need to bathe.”

She dragged her gaze over his loose linen shirt, and the tanned swath of skin visible beneath his open collar. “Do you require assistance?” she asked in a playfully husky tone.

“From you? Always.” He waggled his brows and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s hurry.”

Helen stole another kiss, loving the feel of Roane’s whiskers. He groaned and pulled away, then gathered her paints and canvas, mindful of her wet painting. “You did this just now?” he asked, looking from her to the canvas and back again, “’Tis lovely. Truly. I am suitably impressed.”

She shrugged, though she
was
rather proud of her small landscape depicting the distant hills encompassing the border of their estate. “I thought to give it to Mazie and Trent when we see them in London next week.”

“They are certain to love it. Mazie has been angling for a painting since her visit at Michaelmas. And I don’t mind flaunting my talented wife and beautiful lands before my enemy, er,
brother-in-law
.” Roane chuckled at his own joke. It had taken time, but he and Trent had formed a solid friendship built around their mutual love for Mazie.

Helen opened the gate and they turned toward the main house. Birds circled and called overhead, settling down for the night in the tall oaks.

“Just think,” Roane continued. “If my stables should fail, we could make our fortune from your paintings.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“I hope so.” He flashed her a grin. The one that made his dimple appear. “What did I tell you? Never kiss a man who doesn’t compliment you first.”

“Do go on, then, for I have much more than kissing in mind.” Helen swished her skirts at him, showing a glimpse of her ankle and lower leg, then darted down the path.

Roane hurried after her. “I’ll never let you get away, buttercup.” He juggled the basket of paints and the damp canvas in one hand, and patted her bottom with the other. “You are my sunshine and my starlit sky. My blazing fire and my endless well.”

“Very nice.” Helen purred. “For a rogue.” She spun on her heel and, walking backward to face him, plucked the pins from her hair. Roane watched, his eyes dark, his expression fierce, as she came undone one curl at a time.

Breathless and flushed, they stumbled into the side door, pausing only so Roane could deposit the basket and painting on a small table.

Then, in one quick motion, he swept her into his arms and carried her toward the main stairs. Knowing their routine, the servants would have a bath ready straightaway. Helen hoped they would hurry—she wanted to get Roane undressed as soon as possible.

“You are my heart,” he murmured, looking into her eyes as he effortlessly climbed the stairs. “My breath. The reason I wake in the morning, and the reason I return at night.”

She touched his jaw, blinking back tears. “I give you my everything. I love you.”

“And I love you, buttercup. Always.”

She placed her hand on his heart, feeling it beat strong and steady beneath her palm. “Always.”

Thank You!

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The Rogue Returns.
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