Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ W ell, this has been positively impeccable, has it not?” Ambrose stated gaily, looking happily around the room.

Helena turned her well-practiced smile from her new fiancé to her brother. No one would know how numb she felt.

“It truly has been, brother,” she agreed cordially, then turned back to the man Ambrose had chosen for her.

Luke Ayles, Viscount of Ashfield, smiled charmingly back at her. He was, to her brother’s credit, a classically handsome man with a flattering jaw line, short, sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes. His teeth were white and straight, and judging by the way his jacket fit, he took exceptionally diligent care of his health.

He had an air of aristocratic authority about him; strong but distant. Even from their brief meeting, it was clear that he was no pushover when it came to women, which was what Ambrose wanted for her.

He was also pretty and polite, and as she did not have any further say in the matter, that was all Helena cared about. Sign the dowry, buy the dress. What did it matter? Her wedding was not going to matter to her anyway.

“Thank you for letting me ramble on about my love of books,” Helena said cordially, “It is nice to know that my future husband will not have an issue with my reading habits.”

“Oh, certainly not,” Luke replied jovially. “I am much like your brother in thinking that women should be welcome to explore the world of literature. You never know what one might learn.”

From her seat, Barbara suddenly chortled, then coughed when Ambrose shot a glare at her.

“How sweet of you,” Barbara praised.

Luke gave her a smiling nod, as if pleased with himself, then turned back to Helena.

“Though I will be choosing your genres from now on,” he went on, his smiling twisting into a slightly condescending smirk. “I have heard there has been an increase in the sales of books of a more salacious nature. No wife of mine will be permitted to read such filth.”

Barbrara’s smile dropped a little as Luke reached for Helena’s hand and gave her patronizing smile.

“Not that a woman like you would ever be drawn to such words, Lady Helena. I know you are far too ladylike for such nonsense.”

Helena felt a rebellious urge to smile sweetly and tell him that he had no idea what type of woman she actually was, but before she could even begin to form the words, Ambrose said, “of course she isn’t,” in a slightly defensive tone.

Helena then glanced at Barbara, who refused to meet her gaze. Anger suddenly flamed through her as she once again felt how trapped she was. There was no choice left for her.

“Very well, my lord,” she finally responded, forcing her voice to be sweet and teasing, “but if you are to choose my books, then I insist that I choose the colors of your walls.”

She forced a false glimmer into her eyes as she looked at him with a teasing smile, and was rewarded with a loud, haughty laugh that was common among men of the ton .

“Well, is that so?” he taunted back, looking pleased with the joke. “Very well then. In what color should our home be shrouded?”

“Pink, of course,” she replied.

This time Ambrose joined Luke in his laughter, both of their tones patronizing. They found her answer adorable. Harmless.

“Of course,” Luke replied earnestly, giving her another charming smile. “I should have known.”

Helena forced herself to go along with him. Ambrose and Barbara looked relieved that the conversation had taken a lighter turn. She was not comfortable with Luke’s presence, she realized then, but she accepted that Ambrose could have chosen worse.

The four of them chatted gaily for another half an hour before Ambrose drew the conversation to an end, and walked Luke out after a brief discussion about their next meeting which would involve planning the official announcement.

“Well that went well, did it not?” Barbara asked gaily. “In fact I found it all very lovely. Save for the reading bit.”

“Perfectly so,” Helena agreed, her smile distant. “It seems Ambrose was correct after all. I should never have fought him on taking over the decision.”

“What was that?” Ambrose asked, walking back into the room.

He gave Barbara a curious look before turning to Helena with an arched brow. Her distant smile stayed fixed to her face as she shrugged once more.

“I can admit when I am wrong, brother. To be honest, it is a relief that the search is finally behind us.”

Ambrose’s triumphant smile slowly faded as he cocked his head to the side and studied his sister.

“Are you well, sister?” he asked cautiously.

“Perfectly so,” she assured him. “But if we are finished here, I must be on my way. I promised Teresa I would stroll with her if there was sun left once we were done. There appears to be an hour of daylight remaining, and I would like the air.”

“We could join you,” Barbara offered quickly, walking to Ambrose’s side. He quickly nodded in agreement.

“That is kind, but I wish to have a private moment with my friend. Agnes will be with me, as will the footmen. We shall be perfectly safe and I will return before dinner is set.”

They both studied her curiously, but the numbness that had been creeping in on her all day had now fully taken hold, and she could only stare blankly ahead.

“Very well, then,” Ambrose said slowly.

Helena curtsied to them both and quickly left the room without another word. In the foyer, she met Agnes holding her cloak. Tucked inside its pocket was another red envelope. A kaleidoscope of emotions breached the walls of numbness that surrounded her and she felt her heart begin to sing.

Desire, arousal and need thrummed through her veins as she wrapped her fingers around the red envelope and slipped it back into her cloak pocket. Her wedding day would soon be here. How many lessons did she have left before they ran out of time?

“Helena, whatever is wrong?” Teresa asked worriedly, clinging to her side the moment she approached her in front of her gate. “You look as if you are about to faint! Should we take you inside?”

“No,” Helena breathed, suddenly feeling nauseous. “But I need to confess something, and I need you to promise me on your life that you will not breath a word of it to anyone.”

Teresa’s eyes widened, but she quickly nodded and clung more tightly to Helena’s arm as they began to walk.

“Of course,” she whispered. “I will not tell a soul.”

With that, Helena began to confess, starting with what had happened the night the two of them had visited the Devil’s Masquerade and ending with her last visit with Morgan. She left out the more graphic details, the secrets she promised to keep for Morgan, and the bit about his sketching her in the nude, but Teresa still blushed a dozen shades of red from the rest.

Before Teresa could formulate a response, Helena shared the results of the day’s events, and that she was now the fiancée of the Viscount of Ashfield.

“Do you now find me awful? Helena asked breathlessly once she had finished.

Teresa looked her sympathetically and shook her head.

“Am I surprised at how far you have taken your little excursion? Yes, darling, I am afraid that I am, but I do not judge you for it. Perhaps I am even a tad envious of it. But, Helena, darling, now that you are engaged, you must stop. A line has been drawn, and it must not be crossed.”

Helena’s heart ached as she nodded in agreement. It was the wedding ceremony that truly mattered, but the act of engagement had a barrier all of its own. She drew in a shaky breath of chilly air and felt a fever spread under her skin as her world became very suffocating and colorless. As the reality of her engagement assaulted her senses, Helena ceased walking and froze in shock.

“Oh, dear God, I am engaged ,” she rasped, pressing a hand to her roiling stomach. No, a voice inside her screamed. No! No! No!

“Yes, you are,” Teresa agreed sadly. There was no feeling of elation at the news.

She suddenly revolted against the idea of discontinuing her lessons with Morgan. No longer being able to see him, touch him, taste him or smell him was infinitely more frightening than the engagement. A wave of nausea struck her again and she let out a low moan as she felt the acid bubble in her throat.

“It is time to get you home,” Teresa commanded, taking the upper hand and steering them to turn around.

“You have had your fun and I am happy you have had it,” Teresa murmured quietly. “You now have the memories you wanted. Far more than I will ever have, to be sure, and you should be grateful for that. But you are engaged. And it is now time to give him up.”

Teresa’s words hit Helena hard in the chest, but she forced herself to nod and quickened her steps. The red envelope in her cloak was now burning a hole in her pocket, calling her to take comfort in it, and she wanted to be home alone to open it.

“Ah, there you two lovely ladies are!” Ambrose exclaimed loudly as he appeared at the front gate.

“Ambrose, were you waiting for me?” Helena asked, her cheeks suddenly burning.

Once again, she was thankful her brother could not read her thoughts.

“I was actually waiting for Teresa,” he corrected, throwing her friend a charming wink. “Barbara wanted to extend an invitation to dinner, but you walked away from us before she could tell you.”

“I would love to,” Teresa answered quickly.

Though she did not know why, Helena felt betrayed by her friend’s acceptance, as though she, like her brother and Barbara, also felt a need to keep a close eye on her.

“Should you not first ask your mama?” Helena asked sweetly.

Teresa gave her a challenging look, as though she knew best, and replied, “Mama will be overjoyed to know that I will be late to return home because of such a gracious invitation.”

“It is settled, then,” Ambrose said merrily, coaxing them both inside.

“You two go on,” Helena urged as she walked towards the stairs. “I just want to freshen up in my room for a moment. I shall be right down. Agatha assist me, would you please?”

She hurried up the stairs, ignoring her brother’s requests to wait and headed to her room.

“Lock the door, Agnes, and if anyone knocks tell them I will be out momentarily,” she commanded as Agnes shut the door behind them.

“Yes, my lady,” Agnes replied eagerly, already sliding the lock into place.

Helena scurried from her sitting room to her bedroom, shut the inner door and pulled out Morgan’s letter as she stood before the roaring fireplace. She opened it with trembling hands, and as she read the page, her mouth fell open and her stomach clenched with desire.

He had not sent a letter this time, but a sketch. Of them. Of Morgan from the throat down, elegantly dressed and seated on a couch, his shirt unbuttoned halfway and his jacket spread open, revealing the contours of his muscles. She lay in his lap, completely naked, her back arched, her eyes full of lust and need, and her lips parted and willing.

Morgan had sketched one hand around her throat, no doubt evoking the look of absolute pleasure drawn into her face, and she could practically feel his firm grip around it as she studied the sketch. It was beautiful. Erotic. Possessive. It was the most emotional piece of art she had ever seen.

“Mistress,” Agnes whispered from behind her bedroom door, “Your friend is insisting that she be let in.”

“Tell her I am coming,” Helena replied hollowly, not taking her eyes away from the sketch as she stretched it out above the fire.

She had destroyed every other letter Morgan had sent her, but now, as she stood before the flames, she could not bear the thought of tossing the sketch into the fire. As much as she could not bear to stop her lessons.

Pulling the paper away from the flames, Helena walked it over to her bed and tucked it into her pillow. She would find a better hiding place for it later, but for now it would have to do. After she was sure it was tucked away safely, Helena wiped the silent tears that had started to trickle down her cheeks, drew in a steadying breath, and went to join her friend and family for dinner.