Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“ S top that,” Teresa whispered into Helena’s ear.

However, she could no longer hold it in. Using her fan as a cover, Helena let her pent-up yawn escape and blinked away the moisture in her eyes as they endured the numbing monotony of Mimi Courtley’s newest attempt at writing poetry. It was, on every level, the dullest event they had been invited to that winter.

“Helena,” Teresa chided as Mimi continued to read to the audience.

“Apologies,” Helena half-whispered, half-hissed as she wiggled in her seat, “But you cannot tell me that this is a stimulating read.”

Teresa frowned at her.

“Well, no,” she agreed begrudgingly, “But it is impolite to appear bored. You have been so…out of touch these last few days. Have you been sleeping well?”

Her question was a dangerous one, and Helena knew she had to be careful how she answered it. Although Teresa knew about her visit to the Devil’s Masquerade, she remained unaware of who Helena had met up with, and how that random interaction had led her to experience many of her deepest desires.

She thought back to her scintillating evening with Morgan two nights earlier. Images of the two of them entwined on his couch flooded her mind and filled her body with yearning. She again wiggled restlessly in her chair, her body suddenly oversensitive and annoyed at the enforced stillness.

“I am fine,” Helena insisted, forcing her body to stop moving. “Just a little fatigued by Ambrose’s parade of suitors.”

To her relief, Mimi finished the final line of her latest debacle. As the room filled with polite applause, Helena made a show of joining them as Teresa stared at her dubiously.

“That was part four of nine from my new sonnet, The Butterflies Are Our Friends,” Mimi announced with a smile. “We will now take a small break before I read the remainder. If you have enjoyed this piece, my father is having copies of it printed into booklets.”

“Part four?” Helena whispered as the small crowd began to murmur and stretch. “We are only on part four?!”

“It seems we shall never escape.” A familiar voice quipped from a seat behind them.

Helena felt her entire body begin to hum as she heard Morgan’s amused, dry tone and turned with a relieved smile to look at him. He was dressed in his usual finery; a smart, dark blue suit with a matching vest and white shirt, and he appeared both at ease as well as in command. Until that moment she had never noticed how easily Morgan could fill a room with his presence.

“Lord Grandhill, how wonderful to see you,” Teresa said excitedly, and offered him a quick curtsy as she blushed.

“Lady Teresa,” Morgan greeted her with a bow of his head, then turned back to Helena. He winked as he bowed his head towards her, and Helena felt her fingers twitch in excitement as he gave her a knowing smirk. “Lady Helena.”

“I was not aware that you are a fan of the oral arts.” Helena commented and gave him a cheeky smile in return.

Morgan’s smile momentarily turned wolfish, but he composed himself, twisted his mouth into a serious expression and nodded.

“Unfortunately, tonight I am,” Morgan admitted, motioning his head to Ambrose, who was conversing with Mimi’s older brother, Christopher.

“Your brother insisted I attend,” he went on, “as a favor to Chris. Admittedly, I am bored out of my mind.”

“You do not enjoy poetry, Your Grace?” Teresa asked politely.

“Quite the contrary,” Morgan stated, his gaze warming Helena’s bloodstream. “I believe well-written prose can be quite…invigorating.”

Helena blushed as she thought of the words they had exchanged the other night. Although they had not been poetic, she appreciated their innate art and beauty.

“Lady Teresa, would you mind if I stole Lady Helena away for a moment? Family business,” Morgan asked politely.

“Of course,” Teresa agreed. “I shall go and fetch us some drinks, Helena.”

Helena and Morgan remained silent as they watched Teresa walk to the nearby refreshments table. Morgan took a slow look around the room, as though ensuring his words would be safe from neighboring ears.

“I owe you an apology for the other night,” he murmured to Helena, taking a small step closer to her. “I fear I went too far with your lessons.”

Helena felt a sweep of indignation move through her as she heard the worry in his voice.

“I assure you, sir, you did no such thing,” she replied, her tone low and icy as she smiled at him sweetly. “I am quite aware of what I can and cannot manage, and I have no regrets. I apologize, however, if you do.”

Although she knew that Morgan was only looking out for her, she was offended by his statement. Morgan instantly noticed the change in her demeanor.

“I never said such a thing,” he replied coyly.

Unable to help herself, Helena asked the question that had been burning in her mind since the first night they had come together.

“So you are enjoying this then?” she asked. “Not too much of a chore for you?”

Morgan chortled as he swayed closer to her and ran the tip of his index finger up the back of her hand.

“You are no chore, Helena, and I have greatly enjoyed my time with you,” he whispered back, his tone infused with desire. “But it is imperative that I know you remain comfortable with what we do and that you are not feeling coerced.”

Anger doused Helena’s blooming arousal and she frowned at him.

“The only force I am feeling is from my brother and his idiotic insistence that I marry this year,” she answered testily. “If you do not wish to continue my lessons , that is fine, but if I?—”

“Easy, my little Persephone,” Morgan whispered soothingly. “I never said that. In fact I have found immense joy in conducting your lessons. Likely far too much for my own good.”

Despite her initial burst of irritation, Helena felt herself becoming calmer upon hearing not only her pet name, but also his admission.

“Apologies,” she whispered back, eyes darting around the room. “I have found myself ill-tempered of late. It is hard to relax when every man you see around your brother is your potential future husband; a husband you have no connection to, whatsoever.”

Compassion overshadowed Morgan’s smirking face.

“He only wants what is best for you, Helena,” he offered. “With everything that happened with George, the original suspect in their fathers’ murders, and how close Lydia and Ezra came to dying, he wants to be sure he has someone by your side to protect you.”

Helena sighed wearily.

“I know,” she whispered. “But his protection is starting to feel like a death sentence.”

“You should speak with him again,” Morgan insisted.

“And what, pray tell, do you think he would say?” She asked.

Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but then he raised his brows, sighed, and closed his mouth.

“Fair point,” he agreed.

“My fate is sealed,” Helena replied, her tone full of dismay.

Morgan briefly offered her a rare look of pure compassion before he restored his mouth into its usual smirk.

“Not yet,” he whispered in her ear just enough to make her tremble. “And until it is, you and I will simply continue checking off items on your list of debauchery.”

Helena cast a seductive smile his way as everyone began to return to their seats.

“You are still amenable?” she asked.

Golden sparks illuminated within Morgan’s vivid green eyes.

“ Very amenable,” he agreed, then bowed his head towards her and the approaching Teresa.

“Have a pleasant evening, ladies,” he said in farewell before returning to Ambrose. “May our poetess take an exciting turn in her works.”

Helena and Teresa both laughed lightly at his sarcasm and settled back into their seats.

“He is so handsome, is he not?” Teresa whispered to her as she handed Helena her drink.

“I suppose so,” Helena smirked as Mimi returned to her reading chair.

“And so funny, too. You share similar wit, you know. If only he was a part of the marriage mart,” Teresa sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “You two would work well together, I think.”

“Except that my brother would kill him,” Helena laughed softly.

Teresa giggled with her as they turned their attention back to Mimi’s performance.