The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (31 page)

She attempted to tidy her hopeless cap, then gave up the battle.

“If you would prefer me to leave Lord Wroxton, I will, but - ” she said stiffly.

“Don’t be absurd,” he interrupted. “Of course I wish you to be here. I was merely trying to say that I wished to spare you the heavy work to which the servants would be better suited, but you seem hell bent on misconstruing my intentions.” He paused and continued, heedless of Mrs. Macomber’s eager ears. “Not for the first time, I might add.”

“Very well,” Helena said, rather meaninglessly, as she desperately tried to think of a way to change the subject. Rescue arrived in the form of a parade of workmen, hauling handcarts laden with potted trees and plants, ornamental trellises, barrows filled with cut flowers, and all manner of other decorative stuffs into the room. Helena’s face brightened and she turned toward them, relieved. She stopped when she felt Malcolm’s hand on her shoulder, his skin warm even through the material of her gown. She looked up, startled.

Malcolm opened his mouth, and then shot Mrs. Macomber another glance. “I will speak to you later,” he said, before turning on his heel and leaving. Helena stared after him.

After a moment she refocused her thoughts on the task at hand, pulling a bundle of papers out of the deep pockets of her old dress and shuffling through them until she found the floor plan. She waved Mrs. Macomber toward her, and they fell to directing the disposition of the decorations.

Much later Helena and Mrs. Macomber were able to dismiss the last of the workers and view the completed tableau. At one end of the room, a veritable forest of flowering trees flanked a cascade of vines and flowers that streamed down the back wall. Little islands of flowers and trees created paths, with chairs and benches situated along them. At the opposite end of the salon more floral arrangements surrounded the space designated for the musicians, and along the walls, wreaths and floral cascades ornamented the sconces, while pots of blooms stood at intervals on the floor. The cut green velvet papering the walls made it seem almost as though the room had no walls, and the garden-like space extended indefinitely.

“It’s lovely, Miss Keighley,” the housekeeper said. “It looks as though you have brought the gardens inside. Even in London you couldn’t have a finer setting.”

“I hope Wroxton thinks so,” Helena laughed. “This all cost him a pretty penny, but I think it will impress on the visitors from London that he is entirely serious about taking his rightful place in Society.”

“Even if Wroxton does not agree, his sister feels you could not have done better by him,” a musical voice interrupted.

Helena spun around, a grin covering her face, and saw Lady Brayleigh. “Rowena! You gave me quite a surprise. I’m very glad you like the decorations. Of course people won’t talk of it as they would a grand ball in London, but I do hope it will make an impression.”

“Oh, it most certainly will. That cascade of blooms, and the one in the entrance hall, will have everyone talking. It’s almost like a waterfall of flowers.” Rowena paused for a moment, and appeared to look at Helena for the first time. “Whatever are you wearing?” she asked in a puzzled tone. “Don’t I recall that dress from the days before you were out? You wore it when we wished to go for a ramble in the woods. Why on earth do you still have it?”

“You sound exactly like your brother. And my brother.” Exasperation crept into her voice. “I am not a lady of fashion, and I supervise any number of inelegant activities at Keighley Manor. Do you expect me to wear my good dresses for such things?”

“I suppose not, but surely a serviceable newer gown in a sensible color would be better than that washed out rag, my dear.”

“Oh, never mind my clothes, I vow I’m sick of the subject. Mrs. Macomber,” she continued, “would you come with Lady Brayeigh and me to the morning room please? We can go through the rest of the list, and then I will return to Keighley Manor.”

The three women reviewed the remainder of the tasks that must be finished before that evening, with Mrs. Macomber assuring Helena that all would be well. The cook joined them to go over the menus one last time, and eventually all was in order. When the servants departed, Helena, who was beginning to feel weary, sat back in her chair with a sigh. Rowena looked at her with concern.

“My dear, when did you last have anything to eat or drink?” she asked.

“I had some tea in bed this morning before I came here.”

“No wonder you look ready to drop,” Rowena said in a shocked tone.

“I must return to Keighley Manor now, so I can dress for the evening and arrive for dinner with Arthur; I’ll eat when I get there.”

“You will do nothing of the kind! Mrs. Macomber will take you upstairs to a room, and have a tray sent to you there, and then you will have a rest! We’ll send a groom to Keighley Manor, and have him bring your maid back with your dress for tonight. After your nap, they will bring a bath up to you, and you will be refreshed instead of burnt to the socket when the ball starts tonight,” Rowena declared.

“That sounds a great deal more restful than my plan,” Helena admitted ruefully.

Rowena rang for a maid, and Helena soon found herself swept away by the housekeeper to a room in the West Wing with floral wallpaper, a thick Aubusson carpet, chairs upholstered in straw colored silk, and a bed with hangings of the same, piled high with pillows trimmed in lace. One of the upstairs maids undressed her and ensconced her in its feathery comfort, and promised faithfully to have Sherburne awake her as soon as she arrived.

As Helena was climbing into bed, a second maid arrived with the promised tray. When she saw the peaches and grapes from Wroxton’s succession houses, along with fresh bread, butter, and some slices of the excellent cheese made in the estate dairy, Helena suddenly remembered how very hungry she was and allowed the maid to settle it over her legs. After enjoying her repast, she kept her eyes open just long enough to ring to have the tray removed before falling soundly asleep.

Helena woke to late afternoon sun streaming into the room and Sherburne’s familiar voice. For an instant, her surroundings were disorienting, but she rapidly found her bearings. “Sherburne, how glad I am you have arrived,” she said sleepily. “Rowena would have it that I must stay here and rest, but I was worried about you and my dress arriving in time.”

“That’s nothing to fret about Miss Keighley,” the maid said. “I’ve been here quite some time, and have even had a chance to take your dress downstairs and ask Mrs. Macomber to see that it is pressed fresh for you, it having taken a bit of wrinkle on the way here.”

“Thank you Sherburne,” Helena replied. “Did you also ask them to send a bath up?”

“Indeed I did, miss. I expect it to arrive at any moment.” Sherburne turned away for a moment, to lift Helena’s wrapper out of a portmanteau on the floor. She held it up and Helena climbed out of bed, wrapping it around herself. She had barely had time to sit down when there was a rap on the door, and a maid and two sturdy men appeared with a hip bath and water cans. When they had set it up on the hearth and finished pouring the water and correcting the temperature, they departed, and Helena slipped gratefully into the pleasantly hot water.

“Oh, how delightful,” she breathed. “The room looks beautiful, but there was a great deal of dirt and dust getting it all in place, and I have been longing to wash ever since we finished with it late this morning.”

“Relax and enjoy it for a bit,” Sherburne suggested. “I need to brush your hair, it having been under that cap all day, before I can dress it for the evening. You may as well enjoy your soak while I do it.”

Helena had no objections to this plan, and relaxed in the tub under Sherburne’s soothing ministrations.

“You’ll look so lovely tonight, not even Lady Brayleigh will be more elegant,” murmured the maid as she took the pins out of Helena’s hairs, letting it down gently and then brushing out the tangles. “I’m sure his lordship will be that pleased with you.”

“Lord Wroxton’s opinion matters to me not at all,” said Helena firmly.

“I have no doubt you will find him very elegant as well,” continued Sherburne, as though she had not heard her. “A very fine gentleman he is, to be sure.”

Helena sank deeper into the tub, not sure of how to answer. His lordship was indeed a fine gentleman. Far too fine for her, with her country ways and unfashionable dresses. Banishing thoughts of Malcolm, Helena felt the last of her tiredness dissipating, and relaxation stealing across her stiff shoulders as the moments passed. When Sherburne was done, and announced that she was going to go downstairs to fetch her ball gown, Helena murmured her assent and settled into the water until only her head could be seen.

There came a tap at the door, and she turned her head. “Come in,” she called, assuming it was Rowena, or Sherburne returning.

The door opened, and Malcolm filled the opening, smiling at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Keighley. I trust you are comfortable. What a very good idea it was of Rowena’s to have you stay here this afternoon.”

She gasped, and reached for one of the towels resting next to the bath. “What are you doing here?” she squeaked, attempting ineffectively to use the towel as a shield.

“Appreciating a work of natural beauty?” he asked in a good-natured tone as he entered the room.

“You must go, we can’t have the servants see you in here with me,” said Helena frantically.

“The servants know what we are to each other, my dear.” Malcolm walked over to the tub and stood gazing down at her thoughtfully.

“Then they are the only ones,” retorted Helena.

“I must own some confusion on that front,” he admitted. He reached out one arm and picked up a spindle legged chair covered in pale silk and placed it next to the tub. Seating himself, he looked at her, his expression grave.

“What are you doing here?” repeated Helena. “If anyone were to find us—“

“You would have to marry me,” concluded Malcolm. “But no, that is not why I came to your room, as delightful as the thought is. I have wanted to speak to you all day, and you keep running from me. I knew they’d sent up a bath to your room, and it occurred to me that you’d not be able to escape under the circumstances.”

“Your plan is imperfect; Sherburne will be back at any moment,” countered Helena defiantly.

“I don’t think so. I saw her in the hall, and, though we did not speak I think we understood one another. She will not return until I leave.”

“She would not abandon me so!”

“I think the servants know our minds better than we do,” said Malcolm unhurriedly. He reached out and traced a finger idly along her collarbone. “Or at least better than you do.”

Helena swatted his hand away. “What did you want to say to me? I need to get ready for the ball.”

“There are hours before dinner, and more than enough time to dress,” he observed. “I need to talk to you about the smugglers.”

Helena refused to acknowledge the sense of disappointment that came over her. “Of course, the smugglers. Is the trap ready to be sprung?”

“The local excisemen will meet us on the London Road. Del, Brayleigh, your brother and I shall leave the ball and meet with Lieutenant Smithton. Macklin will join us; he knows the land around here better than anyone, even Arthur. We mean to lie in wait and trail the Gentlemen to wherever it is they mean to load the casks into wagon. It is our fervent hope that Denby will be there.”

“I must come with you,” said Helena.

“You cannot ride a horse in a ball gown. And you would be missed. A gentleman can be in the card room, or strolling outside, but a lady cannot absent herself without comment.”

“I will not miss the adventure, after all this time,” protested Helena. “I instructed Sherburne to bring a riding habit, so that I could accompany you. I must be there when Denby is captured!”

“I wish you could be. But it would be neither safe nor proper.”

“When did you become so concerned with the proprieties?”

“Helena, be reasonable. I know you to be as good a rider as any man, and that you have a great deal of courage. But I cannot take you along on this venture.”

Helena glared at him, but subsided, realizing she would not be able to convince him. He might forbid her to accompany him, she thought, but he could not stop her from following. “You must tell me all about it afterward,” she said meekly.

“Of course I will.”

“And you must make sure Arthur comes to no harm.”

“Arthur will be fine.” Malcolm smiled slightly. “What of me?”

Helena looked up at him, surprised.

“Do you wish harm to come to me?”

“Of course I don’t,” she sputtered. “But you can take care of yourself.”

“I wonder if I can,” he murmured. He looked at her speculatively. “You look very lovely, with your cheeks all flushed from the warm water, and your hair trailing down. As many times as I’ve seen you with your hair disarranged, I’ve never yet seen it loose. It’s beautiful.”

Helena closed her eyes for a moment, willing her body not to respond to his seductive voice. “You needn’t pretend any longer that you have an interest in me, my lord. Now that Mrs. Lacey, who is quite a cozy armful, is at Wroxton Hall, you need no longer bother with a Friday-faced creature such as me.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that? I vow Rowena would not say anything to you. If it was one of the servants—“

“It was not,” said Helena hastily, not wanting to cost someone his livelihood. “I was in the hall two days ago and I overheard you. But I don’t regret it; indeed, I’m glad to know the truth.”

Malcolm’s expression lightened and he laughed. “You little fool. It doesn’t pay to eavesdrop. I admit I have been annoyed with you, and your behavior, of late, but you cannot imagine after these past weeks that I meant it.”

Helena glared up at him. “Then why did you say it?”

“My sister, as you well know, may look as though she is made of gossamer, but she has a will of iron. If she thought for one moment that I had an interest in you, we would not have a moment of peace. To be truthful, I thought of telling her you had refused me, but it seemed unkind. She would harry you until you agreed to wed me. I prefer to fight my own battles.”

“Oh.” Helena mulled this over. “You are right. She is very determined.”

“She is indeed. Estella, my dear, cannot hold a candle to you, as I’ve told you countless times before. I think you the most beautiful, and most clever, woman I have ever met. Do I need to prove it to you again?”

Malcolm stood and placed a hand on each side of the bath. Bending down, he kissed her gently and then, as she responded, more firmly, and finally ruthlessly, in a hard, heated manner that stole her breath.

“It’s been days,” she murmured when he finally released her.

“Five,” he said.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “It seems longer.”

Malcolm moved one arm to allow a finger to slide down the wet slope of one of her breasts, and circle her nipple. Helena sighed, and made as if to lift her hands to embrace him. He moved away from her touch.

“Your hands are wet, so you cannot touch me, or everyone will know,” he said softly. “But I can touch you.”

Helena made a noise of protest that turned into one of contentment as he knelt by the tub and cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs teasing her nipples into taut crests. She squirmed slightly and arched her back, so that they rose above the water, the water beading and rolling down the sides, the pink tips tantalizingly firm. He leaned down and suckled at one, his tongue teasing it until it ached, and Helena cried out as a bolt of excitement shot through her body. She wondered dimly how she had become so dependent on his attentions.

“Damn it,” muttered Malcolm, raising his head. Helena looked up, startled, as he stood and then lifted her effortlessly out of the tub. She gave a gasp as the air hit her wet body, and she shivered. Malcolm gazed at her for a moment, watching the water course down her trim waist and thighs, before he drew her to him and kissed her until the heat inside her built to such a fever that she clung to him, no longer aware of anything but her need for him.

“Your clothing is all wet,” she said.

“I don’t care, I must have you,” muttered Malcolm, his hand cupping her bottom. She could feel his hard length against her stomach, and she moved against him, reaching between them to cup him, her hand moving teasingly. He grunted.

“Witch,” he said.

Helena glanced at the door. “Lock it,” she said.

“I’ll do better,” said Malcolm. He took a few strides, bearing her forward with him, until her back was against the silk-covered door and his face was inches from hers, his forearms on each side of her head. “Now no one can come in.”

Helena looked up at him, stunned by his sudden movement, and he leaned into her, raising her chin with one hand, the other gliding down her ribcage, to her hip and then over the curve of her belly. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then worked his way down the column of her neck. Quivering, Helena clung to him, feeling the friction of his coat against her breasts, the cold sting of metal buttons on her heated skin. The familiar warmth flared inside her, and when Malcolm pressed a leg against her thighs she opened them willingly.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” she said, without conviction.

“I’ve gone mad these past days thinking of you,” muttered Malcolm. “Here and now is exactly when we will do this.” One hand closed over the peak of her breast, rolling the distended nipple between thumb and forefinger, while his other hand skimmed over the curls between her legs and then his fingers slid inside her. Helena gasped and sagged against the door, the spiraling pleasure almost overcoming her, the silk soft against her back as Malcolm touched her to the quick.

“You’re drenched,” he murmured against her lips. “Do you want me?” His fingers moved inside her, seeming to know exactly how to touch her, how quickly, how deep, to bring the spiking pleasure.

Helena groaned deep in her throat. “Please, Malcolm,” she gasped.

Malcolm captured her lips in a bruising kiss as he unbuttoned his breeches and his erection sprang free. Pausing one moment to wrap an arm around her waist and lift her, he shifted his weight, bending his knees slightly, and entered her, gliding into her honeyed cleft without hesitation. Helena moaned as he filled her, holding her with the weight of his body as he thrust in even deeper and then, as the rapturous sensations bombarding her began to peak, withdrawing. He paused a moment, adjusting her hips minutely, and then pushed in again, forcing himself deeper, before settling into a rhythm, bringing her to the verge of climax with each stroke, only to pull out, denying her the ultimate prize.

Her silken flesh opened to him, welcoming the salacious delight he promised, and he lifted her off her feet, pinning her to the door as he strove to go deeper. Helena, feverish with need, instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and he cupped her bottom, his hands sliding over her tender skin.

She whimpered, feeling the odd sensation of his fully clothed body against her nakedness, canting her hips up until the heated friction was unbearable. With a low cry she responded to the all-consuming throbbing in every part of her body and gave way, clenching around him, urging him to come with her. The climaxed together, Malcolm pumping into her body as his body responded to her sweetness and warmth.