Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

H elena knocked twice on the back gate of Morgan’s garden as he had instructed. Getting away from her home at such a late hour had been more stressful than she had initially thought. She had no idea that her brother worked so late and would still be awake when she was ready to leave. She felt foolish for presuming that he would already be asleep with Barbara by his side.

Her original plan to exit through the library’s patio doors next to Ambrose’s office had been thwarted, for she feared he would spot her through his window. Instead, she had chosen to leave through the back door of the kitchens, which were situated below the estate.

To her relief, she saw that only one servant was still present; a young girl, perhaps a scullery maid, who was dozing on a stool, her head resting comically on one of the large pots she had likely finished drying before she fell asleep.

The garden gate swung open, making her jump, and Helena felt a spark of excitement as Morgan’s frame filled the empty space.

“Ah, there is my little sister,” Morgan teased, a grin spreading across his face.

Helena felt her cheeks grow warm as she pushed past him into the garden.

“Do not call me that,” she hissed. “You are my brother’s friend. Do not make this taboo.”

“I believe me being one of your brother’s best friends already makes this taboo,” he retorted, closing the gate.

“Not right now,” she said icily, enunciating each word. “In this setting, you are my… guide. Nothing more. You are not my brother’s best friend, and I am not your sister.” She sneered the word as if it was offensive; in such circumstances she gathered that it was.

The smirk on his face slowly transformed into a look of intense intrigue. A quiet, powerful energy emitted from him as his green eyes raked down her cloaked figure, making her feel exposed and vulnerable. Helena felt excitement and danger infuse her veins with energy as the joker transformed into a hungry beast.

He was looking so closely at her. Helena thought briefly of asking him to stop looking at her so intensely, but then a small voice in her mind whispered this is what you wanted…is it not?

Once he had finished looking her over and had lifted his green eyes up to meet her blue ones, he wordlessly held a hand out to her and waited. Swallowing her nerves, Helena slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her into the gardens.

“You are sure about this?” he asked as he shut the gate behind them.

His deep voice, devoid of cheer or warmth, complemented the night, and she shivered as though it was as cold as the evening’s air.

“Why would I not be?” she managed to muster as they began to walk.

Although Morgan’s head remained pointed in the direction of the house, in the dim light she saw his eyes turn to her.

“You are about to see a side of me that our families do not know exists. It will forever alter how you see me.”

Helena’s brows lowered into a frown as she released his hand and took a step away.

“You think me so weak that I cannot understand what this is?” she asked defiantly. “It is a fantasy. I know that. And when we are done, you will still be the family jester, and I shall be the newly married lady I am destined to be.”

“I feel you still do not comprehend just how much you are asking of me,” he stated. “I would not have blamed you if you had not come.”

Drawing in a breath for courage, Helena stepped in front of Morgan and placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

“I know what I want, Morgan,” she stated. “And I want passion. Even if it is just a fleeting taste. I…” she paused, gathering the courage for her next statement, “I deserve it. My body deserves it. To know, if only once, what it feels like to be consumed.”

Morgan studied her for a moment before a devilish smirk bloomed on his lips. He let out a low, dark chuckle, as if impressed by her boldness, and placed his hand over hers. The heat from his touch was a shock to her numb fingers but she did not pull away. He then pulled her hand to his lips and she felt her entire body tingle as he breathed warm air into her palm before placing a sensual kiss in its middle.

“Very well, little Persephone,” he teased, slipping momentarily into the Morgan she had known all of her life. He then tugged at her hand, leading her once more. “Now come along, we do not want dinner to get cold.”

Helena’s brows drew up in surprise. Dinner? What did a meal have to do with her request? Morgan ignored her quizzical expression as he led her into his estate through the library. Inside, she felt her taut muscles relax as the heat from the fire chased away the chill of the night air.

She immediately noticed that the usual lamps were unlit, and the only light in the room came from the flames that jumped in the large, dark wood hearth. In front of the fireplace was a small, cloth-covered table with two covered dishes, two wine glasses and a dark green bottle. Two chairs sat opposite one another, but the table was so small that anyone sitting there would brush their knees against the opposite person.

From behind her, Morgan reached around to the front of her cloak and unfastened it. He pulled it slowly from her shoulders, revealing the simple, long-sleeved white dress she had chosen, and she felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead as his hand slowly traced down the curve of her spine. She shivered with pleasure and surprise, unaware that such a small touch could make her feel so much.

“An interesting choice of color for such a task,” he mused.

“Not pink enough?” She managed to tease.

Morgan came around her, his brow cocked in amusement.

“Not black enough,” he corrected, and Helena smiled as she thought of the gown she had worn the night they had discovered each other’s secret.

“Sit,” he commanded, then pulled out a chair for her with one hand as he led her with the other.

As she obeyed him she felt her nerves beginning to unravel, her trembling now evident. Morgan took immediate notice and lifted the bottle of wine to pour her a glass. With one hand he captured the back of her neck, guiding her to tilt her head back, and with the other he held her glass, pressing it softly to her lips.

Their eyes met as the wine trickled onto her tongue, and she obediently sipped until he pulled the glass away. When he finished, she felt her nerves beginning to calm and released a soft sigh.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed, her own hand fluttering to her throat as he took the seat opposite hers. “Thank you.”

He gave her a solemn nod, then removed the covers from the dishes. She could not help offering a small smile when she saw her favorite foods set out before her.

On her plate was a small pot of heavy, sweet cream drizzled with caramel and adorned with a small, silver spoon. Beside it lay a piece of aromatic, tender beef and a small portion of roasted beets. The beef and beets had already been cut into small bites, ready to be enjoyed using the silver fork that lay beside it. Upon closer inspection, Helena noted that Morgan’s plate was different from hers, and that a glinting knife rested beside his fork.

Although she was not hungry, Helena felt her stomach grumble greedily at the sight of the small meal, and she picked up her fork to begin. A peaceful silence settled over the table as they both began to eat, and for the briefest of moments, Helena forgot why she was there. This moment, this meal, felt intimate. Natural. Even though they had never once shared a meal alone.

“Tell me of your desires,” Morgan said, breaking the silence.

Helena paused, forcefully swallowing her last bite of food as she was reminded of her purpose.

“I told you,” she whispered, setting her fork down to reach for her wine. “I want a kiss.”

Morgan shook his head as he continued to eat.

“Well, yes, there are other things I also want,” she ventured, her mind going to the tamest of items. “I want to learn how to gamble. Not in a lady’s salon or party, but in an actual pub of some sorts. I want to drink and play cards and gamble coin.”

Morgan remained silent, his one brow raising as if amused.

“And I want to swim,” she pushed on, feeling emboldened. “ Naked.”

“In front of others?” he asked.

“That is not a necessity,” she clarified, “but there are other moments during which I would prefer to have an audience.”

Helena’s cheeks were suffused with heat as she thought about what she had seen at the Devil’s Masquerade. She was not sure if she had gone there to watch other people or to be watched, but she wanted to find out.

“You promised me you would explain, Helena,” Morgan sighed, leaning forward with an almost bored look. “A kiss, yes, that is obvious, gambling and nude swimming, sure. I agree that those pursuits are all a bit taboo and exciting, but there is more. I know there is. You would not have pushed me so vehemently if that was all you wanted. Tell me exactly what you want.”

For a moment, Helena grew angry and self-conscious at being called out so boldly.

Damn him and his ability to see through me!

Helena drew heavily upon her courage. She had come this far and would not back out now. Not when Ambrose could inform her of her new husband at any time. Yes, there was more.

“I want to feel fire in my veins as I submit to someone who is worthy of submission,” she whispered softly, letting the words fly free.” I want to be so sensitive to someone’s presence that I shiver in excitement before he even touches me; to be so wrapped up in him that I want to obey his every word. I want to lose my breath and my ability to speak as I watch him walk towards me.

I want to desire their commands and their dominance. I want to need them to lay their hands, their mouth, and all manner of things upon me. I want to fantasize about them all day because I know what will happen to me at night, and it is a sensation we both long for so readily that when the time comes to be together, we nearly burn one another with our passion.”

Helena was surprised at the evenness of her own tone and the clarity with which she spoke of her desires. It had all tumbled from her so easily, so readily, that she did not even have time to consider how it made her sound. She lifted her eyes from her plate to find Morgan studying her with an expression she could not read.

It was neither anger nor disgust that glistered in his eyes. Instead, a golden light had begun to shine through his forest green irises as he gently stroked the goblet of his wine glass and remained silent and contemplative. She had expected him to laugh at her or tease her for wanting such things, but there was no hint of humor on his face. Seeing him so pensive and serious unnerved her in a strange way, and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat from the intensity of his stare.

“What makes you believe that you cannot feel such things once you are married?” he asked finally. “You are a beautiful woman, Helena, and I know nary a man that would refuse to fulfill your wishes if you spoke of them.”

“It is not simply about what I want him to make me feel,” Helena countered, surprising herself at the rapidity of her response. “It is about how I want to make him feel. I want him to worship me for wanting to worship him. I do not believe that I can find that in a marriage.”

“You are wrong.” Morgan stated calmly.

“How would you know?” Helena shot back, offended by his immediate denial. “You are not even married.”

“Seduction does not require a marriage, nor does it require a lack thereof,” he went on, unbothered by her tone. “I may not be married but there is a reason that I am able to bed whomever I want, however I want, whenever I want.”

Helena’s breath hitched as she stared at Morgan in wonder. Where had the jester gone with whom she had grown up? Who was this master of seduction now sitting before her?

Morgan smirked, as if reading her thoughts.

“What is the matter? Too serious for you? Shall I tell some jokes to put you at ease?”

“I do not understand,” she confessed, “how you can be positively one way in front of us, in front of the ton , but then be someone completely different when you are… ‘participating’ in other activities.”

“I am a complicated soul,” Morgan replied with a careless shrug. “I do not try to understand, I simply accept and coordinate properly.”

Helena was not sure what to say to that, but his words left her deeply intrigued. She had known Morgan almost her entire life, and suddenly realized that she did not know him at all.

But I want to . I want to know what other secrets he is hiding.

“I believe I can help you experience what you want,” he went on, going back to their original subject, “if that is still what you wish.”

“Why would it not be?” she asked, and was rewarded with another intense stare.

“You have known me all of your life, Helena, and I have played a very specific role during that time. Both the jester and Lothario exist within me, though one never overlaps the other.”

“I suppose I can understand,” she replied after a moment of contemplation, meeting his hard gaze. “It exists within me as well, I believe. If you can accept that about me, then I will accept that about you.”

As Morgan looked at her, she could see no trace of his charming smile. Instead, the look of a starving, wary wolf met her gaze, and it was watching her very closely.

“You must be willing to follow my rules,” he said finally, his voice strained.

“Rules?” she rasped.

“You and I will meet at night. Here, in the privacy of my home unless I decide otherwise. And you will tell no one,” he began.

At this, she braved a small smile.

“You truly do not want the others to know this side of you exists, do you?” she teased.

“That,” he agreed, smiling wickedly, “and I think you will find that the things I intend to make you experience will be very hard to describe to a person that will not make them worry or believe you have gone mad.”

Helena’s smile vanished as her mind filled with visions of what Morgan’s lessons would entail. She blinked several times to push them away and nodded solemnly.

“Very well,” she whispered in agreement. “What else?”

“Stand,” he commanded, his voice firm but husky.

Helena rose up from her chair to obey him before any thought could enter her mind, feeling slightly dazed and confused once she had gotten to her feet.

Morgan also rose from his chair and stepped before her, coming so close that her nose would have touched the center of his broad chest if she had moved half a step closer to him. She felt the his fingertips caress up the line of her throat, coaxing her to look up at him. It was barely a touch; a movement of air, and yet she felt it throughout her entire body.

“Breathe,” he rasped, trailing his fingers just below her chin.

Helena obediently drew a breath into her lungs, unaware that she had stopped a natural process just by being so close to him.

“There are things I will ask you to do,” he continued, his eyes taking a slow inventory of her face. “Things that will make you want to stop and feel shame. Your instinct will be to tell me no, and that is natural. If you can, though, I want you trust me, and push past that instinct.”

He walked back to his chair and lowered himself into his seat.

“With each request, I want you to ask yourself why you want to say no,” he went on, keeping his eyes on her. “If, in the event, you ever feel that it is absolutely right to refuse me, you must tell me.

“Seduction only needs a modicum of willingness to begin, but if there is absolute refusal, there is no pleasure to be found. You will tell me if something I do or request makes you feel such refusal, and I will stop. I must know when you want to stop, Helena. Always. Do you understand?”

Helena nodded, his words and voice mesmerizing her into complete stillness.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“I understand,” she breathed, her response immediate.

“I understand, sir ” , he corrected her, his tone gruff.

A rush of arousal poured through her as she felt the exchange of power flow through them. She was doing it.

I am actually going to give myself over to his dominance.

“I understand,” she replied, then licked her lips as she added, “ sir.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest as a smile of satisfaction slowly spread across his chiseled lips. How could obeying such a simple command cause such an intense rush of happiness?

“ Very good, little Persephone,” he praised, and Helena felt a gush of moisture spread across her thighs as her lower belly tightened.

“Did you like that?” he rasped, his gaze locked on hers. Helena nodded slowly as she felt a tremble pass through her.

“Yes... sir,” she replied.

He relaxed further in his chair, smiling in approval at her response, then spread his legs in a wide stance as he raised two fingers to beckon her.

“Now come. Sit on my lap.”

Helena felt a rush of excitement so intense that her legs felt numb as she moved towards him. As if sensing this, Morgan reached for her waist, his large hands easily engulfing her, and he guided her until she was sitting on his right knee, her legs dangling in the space between his legs and her left shoulder tucked into his chest.

She almost laughed at how small she felt, never realizing how massive of a man Morgan was, but the sound never made it from her lips as she watched him reach for the small pot of dessert that had yet to be eaten. With care, he slid the bottom of the small spoon against the lip of the pot, cleaning its underside, and then raised it to her mouth.

Helena almost said no, unable to imagine eating with her nerves so frazzled, but then she remembered his rules, searched within herself for what she actually wanted to do, and found herself opening her mouth. With care, Morgan slid the small spoon between her lips and over her tongue. He gave her a subtle nod and she closed her mouth around the utensil, letting him move the spoon in such a way that she did not need do anything.

The sweetness of the dessert exploded on her tongue as he pulled the spoon from her lips, and she let out a small whimper as she let it melt there.

“Now swallow,” he mused, the lightest smile touching his lips.

With effort, she did, and — without needing his command — she then opened her mouth once more for another bite.

“I have decided that this is not a gift,” he explained as he took his time feeding her. “I want something from you in return.”