Chapter Twenty-One A Night of Passion Leads to a Promise

Meanwhile

"What sort of jewelry would you like your gemstones to be made into?" Michael asked as he escorted Helena to the Fenwick town coach.

"Surprise me," Helena replied. Ever since their stroll in the Reading gardens, she felt light. Unfettered.

Happy.

He chuckled as he held her hand while she climbed into the equipage.

Bounding in once her skirts had cleared the opening, Michael joined her on the seat facing the direction of travel. "A parure, perhaps?" he suggested, settling in so he could wrap an arm around the back of her shoulders.

"It will be rather sparsely bejeweled," she teased. "There weren't that many gems in that treasure box."

"There will be far more after I'm done choosing additional jewels for it," he argued.

Helena grinned and settled into his hold. "Tell me about your son."

"Philip?"

"You have others?" she asked in a playful voice.

He guffawed. "No. Of that I'm quite sure," he said, his brows suddenly wrinkling at the realization she might think him so different from when they were younger. "I was merely surprised by the change of subject is all."

"How long has he been secretly courting my daughter?" The query held a hint of suspicion and mayhap some anger. Michael's brows furrowed even more.

"That's a very good question, but I'm afraid I don't know the answer," he admitted. "I can tell you he fell in love with her last Season."

Helena gave a start. "That long?" she asked in surprise.

He nodded. "‘Love at first sight', he said. I don't think he did more than dance with her a couple of times at some early balls before…" He broke off.

"Weston died," Helena finished for him.

"Yes. So that's why I'm not sure when they actually started courting."

She gave him a pointed glance.

"In secret," he acknowledged on a sigh. "I can assure you, he will make an honorable husband for Lady Amelia, and I think she knows that, too." He chuckled softly at remembering their conversation earlier that day when he had paid a call at Weston Hall. "Now that I have met her, I can certainly understand what Philip sees in her. I believe she is perfect for him."

Helena's expression conveyed her doubt. "Will he take a mistress?"

"Philip?" he said in disbelief.

"You have others?" she asked again, sighing softly at his expense.

He scoffed and squeezed her hand. "I taught him marriage vows are to be honored, no matter the other conditions," he replied.

"Did you?"

He nodded. "I did. Well... except in thought," he admitted, dipping his head.

Helena inhaled softly. "Michael," she whispered. Despite wanting it to sound like an admonishment, her gentle rebuke was instead an acknowledgement of his regard for her.

"I have always loved you, Helena, and I always will," he said.

They stared at one another in the darkness of the coach for a moment. About to pull her onto his lap so he could kiss her senseless, Michael was prevented from doing so when the coach stuttered to a halt.

From the way it suddenly swayed as the driver stepped down, it was apparent they had already made it to Weston Hall.

"Head back to Reading House," Michael instructed his driver when they had both stepped out. "You'll be taking the Duchess of Pendleton and my son and daughter home when they've finally had enough of the ball."

"Very good, my lord. Have a good night."

Michael gave his driver a nod. "Don't be cheeky, Parker." When the driver's eyes rounded, he realized the man hadn't meant his words to sound as if he was teasing. "Uh... good night, Parker."

"I think your butler is rather suspicious of me," Michael said as Helena led him up the stairs to the second floor.

"Pritchard is a stuffed shirt," she replied. "Besides, he's paid to be suspicious."

Michael chuckled. "I take it I am the first to have come home with you after an evening's entertainment? Since Weston's death?"

She gave him a quelling glance. "Tonight was my first evening's entertainment since he died."

"You didn't take a... a lover?" he asked in a whisper.

Anger showed on her face and then was gone in an instant. "Of course not," she replied, opening the door to her apartments. "I am a duchess, and I have two children I would like to keep free from scandal."

Feeling profound relief, Michael followed her into the elegant sitting room and turned to close the door. Glad to discover there was a lock, he was about to throw the bolt but asked, "Did you intend to ring for your maid?"

Helena turned and regarded him with an expression of disbelief. "Hardly. But you do know what that means?" She kicked off her slippers and seemed to inaudibly sigh with relief as she scrunched her toes into the Aubusson carpeting.

Michael blinked. "I have the honor of undressing you?"

She angled her head to one side. "And?"

He had to think a moment—rather difficult given his cock had realized what it would be doing soon—before his eyes widened. "Hair pins," he stated. He threw the bolt.

"Lots of them," she affirmed.

"Well, then have a seat, and I'll see if I can't extract all of them."

"You had better. Whatever you don't find may end up stabbing you in your sleep," she warned. "Or me."

"I am aware," he replied, chuckling softly when he noticed her expression—was that jealousy?—in the mirror.

When she was seated at her dressing table, he regarded her reflection in the mirror a moment. "You really are gorgeous. And your coronet makes you appear rather regal." Under the gas lights of the room's chandelier, the tiara she wore glittered even more than it had in the ballroom.

"I'm happy to hear you say it, but I'm going to be turning out the gas lamps before I allow you to undress me," she stated.

"Why?" He began plucking the pins from her coiffure, silently counting them in the event she knew exactly how many had been used by her lady's maid.

"I am not the same as I was, Michael. My body is not the same as you remember. I have ugly lines on my stomach—"

"From having been with child," he remarked, carefully removing the tiara from her coiffure and setting it on the dressing table.

"From Amelia, yes," she said, startled by his comment. "I didn't get them with Alfred."

"Do you hold it against her?" Michael asked, spearing his fingers through her hair in search of more pins. His fingernails scraped her scalp, and he reveled at seeing her reaction in the mirror. He hoped she might display the same expression again later that night when they were in her bed.

"Of course not," she replied, a bit too forcefully. When he reached for her hairbrush and began pulling it slowly through her wavy hair, she added, "Well, maybe."

"I intend to kiss every one of them," he warned, a brow rising with his words. "From one end to the other."

Helena inhaled softly and swallowed. "She was a beautiful baby," she whispered.

"Alfred was not?" he guessed.

She locked eyes with him in the mirror. "I know I shouldn't have thought so, but he was the ugliest little thing. All wrinkled, and he had far more hair than he should have had for something so tiny."

Michael chuckled and continued to brush her hair. "Sounds like Philip."

"Amelia was bald when she was born," she went on. Her eyes were half closed. Either she was deep in thought or she was enjoying what he was doing with her hair.

"Violet's was translucent. More fuzz than it was hair," he countered, grinning at the memory.

"She's a lovely girl," Helena remarked. "I am glad Amelia befriended her."

"As am I," he replied, setting aside the hairbrush in favor of undoing the fastenings at the back of her gown. "Does thirty-two sound about right?"

"Thirty-two?" she repeated in confusion.

He reached for a hairpin and held it up.

"Oh, I... I wasn't paying attention when Johnson did my hair," she replied. Upon seeing his quelling glance, she added, "In my defense, I was thinking about what it was going to be like when I saw you at the ball this evening."

Michael allowed a grin. "Good thoughts, I hope," he murmured, undoing the knot of his cravat.

"Mostly," she hedged. At seeing his look of hurt, she added, "My thoughts of you are never bad."

The length of white silk unfurled from around his neck in a few quick moves, and he sent it fluttering to the floor. "If not me, then... pray tell, what would have you vexed?"

The reflection of her gaze in the mirror left his as she dipped her head. "When you loosen my corset, I'm going to visibly droop," she said on a sigh.

"Do you mean to tell me your rigid backbone is due to your corset?" he teased. He knew she would aim a scolding glance in his direction, so he was ready with a kiss to her temple when she did.

"No. I'm referring to my rising moons setting quite quickly," she countered, a watery grin suggesting she might cry. "Despite my rigid backbone. I wouldn't blame you if preferred to leave it on me."

Michael couldn't keep a grin from forming, and when she noticed in the mirror, he struggled not to laugh. "If you think for one minute I'm going to leave you even partially dressed this evening, you haven't been listening," he remarked. "I don't care if you have striae or if your breasts are saggy," he said, unbuttoning his top coat. He pulled it off his shoulders and tossed it aside. "I wouldn't care if your skin had pock marks—"

"There might be some of those," she whispered, her eyes rounding at seeing how he undid his waistcoat buttons more quickly than she had ever seen Weston's valet do it.

"—or if it was bright green," he continued, the waistcoat dropping to the floor. "I love you, dammit." Two thunks followed his proclamation as his shoes sailed against the molding near the door to her bedchamber. His reflection disappeared when he bent to strip his stockings from his feet.

Helena blinked when he suddenly reappeared and she stared as she watched him undo the fastening of his pantaloons and push them down. "Oh!" was all she could think to say when he was free of everything but his shirt.

He slid his hands beneath her arms and lifted her from the tufted seat, ignoring her gasp of surprise. A moment later, and he had her poppy ball gown down around her ankles, the petticoats soon following. Left in only a chemise, corsets, and stockings, she was about to cross her arms in front of her body when he said, "Don't you dare."

"What?"

"Try to hide from me," he muttered.

"Then you finish undressing first," she countered, her chin lifting. She stepped out of the mound of fabric at her feet and rescued her gown from the heap to drape it over the back of a chair.

He blinked and stared at her a moment before his gaze swept the bedchamber. "How do you turn off the blasted lights?"

For a moment, the room was silent. A bubble of laughter suddenly escaped Helena, despite her attempt to cover her mouth with one hand.

Michael chuckled. "I love it when you laugh."

She quickly sobered. "I'll see to the chandelier," she said, moving to pull one of the chains that hung from a central light.

Leaving only one candle lamp lit on a nightstand, Michael joined Helena at the end of the bed to continue what he had started. He tossed the corset onto the pile of petticoats and was about to lift the chemise from her torso when she stayed his hands.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Please."

Michael stilled his movements and finally nodded. "All right." He pulled her hard against the front of his body, and when her mouth opened in shock, his lips claimed hers.

He tried hard to keep his kiss soft—he didn't wish to bruise her lips or to frighten her with his need of her—but thirty years of wanting made it hard to control his desire. He deepened the kiss when he felt one of her hands move to his shoulder. He pulled away for a moment when he felt her rigid spine give way. "I have missed you," he whispered before he trailed his lips along her jawline and reveled in how she gave into his hold.

When he moved one arm to the back of her waist, her soft body seemed to mold against his, her curves filling his voids. Hard and impatient, his manhood pressed into her soft belly.

Moving one of his hands to mold a globe of her bottom, he lifted it and slid his hand along the back of her thigh until her bent knee was at his thigh. Sliding his hand between their bodies, his middle finger speared the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

She jerked in his hold when his questing finger was replaced with the palm of his hand. She mewled when he pressed his palm harder against her swollen womanhood. She clung to him as he moved his hand in a circular motion, rubbing her until her ambrosia coated his palm. When she tightened her hold on him, he knew she was close to her release.

He thought about stopping. Thought about leaving her on the precipice. Thought about how much better it might be if she experienced her orgasm when he was buried deep inside her.

Instead, he increased the pressure on her womanhood and whispered, "Come for me," as he tightened his hold on her.

Her breath hitched as her entire body seemed to spasm against his. Her quiet cry filled the room until she pressed her mouth to his shoulder.

He gave her no chance to recover. No chance to catch her breath before he had her on the bed. He followed on his hands and knees, stripping his shirt from his body and the chemise from hers. Sliding his hands beneath the globes of her bottom, he lifted and had her legs spread for him in an instant. A second later, and he had his cock nudging at her entrance.

There was a moment when he thought he should slow down. Take a breath. Kiss her body as he had promised. In the golden light from the single candle lamp, he marveled at how young she appeared, her skin rosy from his ministrations and her dark wavy hair spilling over her pillow

"Hurry," she whispered, one of her hands clutching his bicep.

His body knew what to do before he did, for before he had a chance to form a coherent response, he was buried deep inside her. Deeper when her knees lifted higher to cradle his thighs, and her hands gripped the sides of his torso.

He had thought to kiss her nipples. Suckle them for a time and kiss his way down the front of her body before he gave into his carnal cravings. He supposed there would be time for that later. There would have to be, for his body had already begun the rhythmic thrusting and retreating that would soon have him experiencing a pleasure so intense, he would nearly pass out.

Beneath him, he felt her chest rise, her nipples grazing his heated skin as he thrust into her over and over. When he saw how she looked at him, her eyes dark with desire and a barely-there smile touching her lips, it was nearly his undoing.

When she moved her hands down his torso to grip his buttocks and pull him harder into her, it was his undoing. He ceased his thrusting, cursed softly, and struggled to keep his upper body from crushing hers as a spasm of pure pleasure took him from the here and now.