Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

“ Y ou did so well during your first lesson,” he praised as he gently pulled his lips away from hers.

Helena relived the memory of the way his hands had tenderly untangled her arms from around his neck; the way he had helped her, while dazed and mystified, to rise to her feet.

Helena swayed and stumbled as she swept into a low curtsy before Lord Crawley.

To her relief he had completely missed her blunder, so consumed was he with sweeping into his own low bow while rambling off his introduction. Helena had no idea what he had said, her mind too engrossed in her thoughts, and prayed he had said no more than what Ambrose had already told her.

“It is a great pleasure to see you again, Lord Crawley,” she replied as they both rose to a standing position.

Lord Crawley’s pale blonde brows flew up in surprise.

“Apologies, my lady. Did you say again ?” he asked, appearing genuinely confused.

Helena felt a twinge of disappointment, followed by a rustle of annoyance as she stood a little straighter.

“Yes,” she replied, forcing a smile. “We spoke at Lord and Lady Beaufort’s garden party, although it was admittedly brief.”

Lord Crawley’s mouth formed into a forced smile as his brows creased with the effort of recollection and forced his slightly handsome face into a distorted and unattractive caricature.

“You will have to forgive me, my lady,” he stammered awkwardly, bowing again. “I am unable to recall. Though, to be fair, my thirst at such parties has been known to steal my memory.”

He chuckled loudly and Helena’s disappointment grew.

“I beg your pardon, Crawley, but you will be more careful in how you share your truths with my sister,” Ambrose stated, stepping up beside Helena.

She groaned inwardly. How had she forgotten that both he and Barbara were present to chaperone her many appointments today? Morgan. That was how. After two days of being consumed with how he made her body feel, she was acting as witlessly as a simpleton. Her concentration was poor, and her manners scant at best.

Since the night she had kissed Morgan, a constant deep, warm and heavy ache had taken up residence in her lower abdomen and coursed throughout her body.

She had kissed Morgan. He had initiated it, but had let her keep a tight hold upon the reins of her own desire and had allowed her to explore the pleasure it had created within her at her leisure. Time had come to a stop, and without even realizing it, her undulating body had melted into Morgan’s, her breaths coming out in whimpers, until he had stopped her by pulling his lips away from hers.

He had carefully unwound her body from his and had sent her home in one of his unmarked carriages, as though he was completely blind to the fact that he had set her entire body on fire.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Crawley stammered as Helena blinked herself back to the present.

Before he could continue, Gerald, one of the footmen, appeared in the doorway.

“Forgive me, Your Graces, but Lord Raventhorn has arrived,” he stated politely.

“Perfect timing,” Ambrose snapped, sweeping an arm towards the door. “Off you go, Crawley. You and I will discuss this later.”

Crawley scurried off without so much as a bow or another apology.

“Give us one minute, Gerald,” Ambrose said, and the footman nodded obediently before disappearing.

“Helena, I am truly sorry,” he apologized, speaking tenderly as he went to her and put her hands upon her shoulders.

Helena frowned up at him, pushed his hands away and took a step back.

“This was a sign, brother. I told you I did not want to do this today. Send the others home.”

Ambrose’s apologetic expression dissolved into a frown. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Helena, please, not this again,” he pleaded curtly. “It is time. I am sorry, but it is time to find you a husband.”

“She is not denying that,” Barbara stated, stepping up to them. “She is simply saying today is not a good day, and I think perhaps she is right. If Lord Crawley is any indication of what today will bring, why risk it? It was awful from start to finish.”

“It will always be the wrong day for her,” Ambrose insisted, looking at Helena. “Will it not, little sister? There is no good day for this because you do not wish to be married.”

“I never said that!” Helena burst out, her rage breaking through the daze of heated memories. “I never stated that I was against marriage, brother, but I want time to make my own choices!”

“You have had three years of time to make your choices,” he boomed back. “You are aging out of the proper…”

“If you finish that sentence you will not be sleeping in our bed tonight, Ambrose,” Barbara warned, her tone as cold as ice.

Tension rose in Helena’s spine as she watched Barbara and Ambrose glower at one another. Barbara had been a spinster once, and happily so, until some unfortunate debts had affected her father. Now, she and Ambrose were united in marriage and madly in love, even if they sometimes argued like fire clashing with ice.

Normally Helena loved watching a good row occur between them, but not today. Not because of her.

“Enough of this,” she sighed, stepping between them. “I will do this. Come, bring Raventhorn in.”

“Absolutely right you will,” Ambrose stated, breaking his glare from Barbara only to turn it on Helena. “And one more thing,” he warned. “You will take this day seriously. If you do not, Helena, my next step will be to make your selection for you.”

Anger swept through Helena as she once again felt her brother’s will being foisted upon her, and she twisted her fingers behind her back in an effort to stay her tongue. If he was going to push her so mightily, it meant she was running out of time.

Many hours later, Helena sank wearily into her bathtub, her mind and body a mess of scattered nerves and constantly pinging thoughts. Ambrose’s threat had rattled her to her bones, and it was all she had heard in her mind for the rest of the day as she desperately did her best to find something intriguing or desirable in her suitors.

Ambrose had been right. Crawley’s visit had been a fluke. The other four had all been filled with the proper politeness and niceties required during such a call. Yet, despite that, none of them appealed to her. Not that some were not handsome. One had been particularly attractive, but she could not recall his name.

A knock at the door paused Helena’s thoughts, and her body tensed at the fear of another impending argument with Ambrose.

“Who is it?” she called.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, it is Agatha,” her handmaid answered softly from the other side.

Helena’s shoulders released their tension as she invited Agatha to enter.

“A rider just delivered this to the rear kitchen door, my lady,” Agatha explained, scurrying over. In her hands lay another small, red envelope.

A tremble passed over Helena and her heart skipped a beat. She sat up once more, quickly dried her hands and held them out for the letter.

“Thank you,” Agatha,” she said quickly. “That will be all.”

Agatha curtsied quickly and left without another word as Helena opened Morgan’s second letter. As before, a riddle was scrawled in artistic penmanship, the bold black letters igniting the deep red of the paper.

Persephone,

You first had two days,

But now you have none.

Knock twice on the gate,

When the eleven singers have sung.

Last time you were snow,

But tonight you are ash.

Though either will melt at the touch of my brush.

X

Hades

Helena read it over again, both her smile and excitement growing as her mind worked to solve the riddle. The first time she had received his letter she had been forced to wait two nights to see Morgan. Now she had none, which meant she was to arrive at his back gate later that evening. Eleven singers, eleven tolls of the bell. She had to be there by eleven.

She reread the last three lines. Snow. Ash. Snow. Ash. She had been snow? Suddenly it clicked. Her gown. It was white. Like snow. He wanted her to wear black tonight. And the last lines were obvious. She would be posing for him. Nude. Just as she had promised.

Forgetting completely about her awful day, Helena slowly towed the letter and its envelope beneath the surface of her steaming bathwater. The brilliant crimson dye leeched slowly from the paper and moved outward in little ripples until it turned the entire bath a brilliant red. Helena watched, transfixed, as the dye reached her flesh and seeped into it.

Remarkably similar to how I seeped into Morgan’s lap the other night .

Helena stood up and watched the scarlet water run in little drops down her breasts, tickling her nipples that had hardened from the cool brush of air. She tilted her head curiously as she watched the droplets continue their path, sultrily making their way over her navel and her taut abdomen.

Helena pulled her eyes away and stepped out of the tub just as the multiple droplets converged and flowed down into her pulsing sex. She reached over and retrieved the sodden letter from the tub and tossed it onto the fire. It hit the logs with a resounding hiss that made her tremble.

Glancing at the clock, she was alarmed to see that she had only an hour left to get ready. After toweling off she unpinned her dark blonde curls from the top of her head and let them cascade downwards until they came to a rest beside the two dimples on her lower back.

She had no other black gown, but she did have a black gauzy shift she could not deny herself last summer at the modiste’s. It had an empire fit, but the neckline dipped down into a low V that nearly reached her navel. It had come with a wide, shimmering, watermelon pink ribbon to tie around the waist, but she ignored it and pulled on her most conservative, pale pink dressing gown.

In a sudden burst of creativity, Helena returned to her bath with a clean linen cloth and dipped it into the crimson water until the white fabric was saturated with color. Taking it back to her dressing table, she then reached for a small brush and added some salve to the cloth, swirling it with the brush until it also adopted the crimson shade. She carefully applied it to her cheeks and lips until she had created a warm, soft pink glow on her clear, creamy face.

Her heart began to hammer as she studied her reflection. Her blue eyes were shining and dilated, her lips dewy and full as they drew in an excited breath. She could not deny that she was somewhat terrified, but every fiber of her being willed her to overcome her reservations about being seen naked by a man. By Morgan.

In the aftermath of such an awful day, she had needed this more than she had realized. She wanted him to do everything in his power to mesmerize her the way he had the other night, and chase away her reality. Helena dripped a few drops of honeysuckle oil behind her ears, and retrieved her cloak. She had ten minutes to get to the gate but she would only need three.