Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EVELINE/HELENA

M iss Fernsby-Webb stumbled bleary-eyed into Helena's dining room the next morning. "Did the newspaper report on the Duke of Lennox's successful exorcism?"

"They did not." Miss Webb snatched the paper away before Helena or her sister could read it and shoved the page under her plate.

"What about the story Miss Sinclair intended to run about Miss Rowe?" Miss Fernsby-Webb plopped down in an empty chair, drawing a teacup toward herself.

"That didn't appear, either."

"Then what did?" she snapped.

Miss Webb glanced down at her plate, pushing around her eggs with a fork. "Nothing interesting."

"Liar!" Miss Fernsby-Webb reached across the table, ripped the newspaper away from her sister, unfurled the page, and gasped.

"That's why I didn't read it aloud," Miss Webb grumbled, shooting her sister a dark glower.

"What does it say?" Helena asked softly, dread settling in her stomach.

What had Miss Drummond printed now?

Miss Fernsby-Webb exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Miss Webb, then read the passage in a clear tone.

"Virtuous no more? While most of the ton attended the Creasey's annual masquerade last night, Miss Rowe and several others descended upon the Duke of Lennox's house for a supernatural adventure. However, Miss Rowe had a different type of escapade in mind, for last night's visit ended with her alone in the bedchamber of one of the town's most notorious bachelors."

"Did it name the man?" Helena asked, craning her neck to read the page.

"It did not," Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, her eyes scanning over the paper, then her mouth popped open. "Is it true?"

Helena ducked her head, unable to hide the blush crawling into her skin.

"Did you…" Miss Fernsby-Webb's face scrunched up as though she were searching for a less offensive question. "That is, is your reputation intact?"

The ghostly sensation of the Duke of Lennox's mouth moved across her skin, and her blush deepened.

"Mainly." Helena glanced at Miss Webb, hoping for assistance. "He kissed me."

And drew his fingers across the most intimate part of her body, eliciting a foreign response that left her trembling.

"Who was the man?" Miss Webb asked, her voice giving no indication of her thoughts.

"The Duke of Lennox," Helena said, suspecting they already guessed his name.

"Excellent!" Miss Webb clapped her hands together, bouncing up and down in her chair. "After his attentive behavior the past few weeks, we believed he nurtured a fondness for you."

Helena swiped her hand at the newspaper. "If these articles continue, not even his heart will prevent him from walking away."

Miss Webb glanced at her sister, who replied with a subtle shake of her head.

They were concerned about the same outcome.

Handing the newspaper to Helena, Miss Fernsby-Webb said, "The rumor had to originate from someone at the Duke of Lennox's house last evening."

Silence fell across the table. Miss Webb fiddled with her teacup.

"None of the men would do this," she said after several minutes.

Helena and Miss Fernsby-Webb nodded their agreement.

"Nor I," Helena added, then shrugged when both ladies stared open-mouthed at her. "We should be thorough."

"I wouldn't," Miss Webb said, a tiny grin appearing on her face. "It's detrimental to my scheme to marry off Merritt's friends if I ruin the connection between you and the Duke of Lennox."

"I wouldn't either," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, stabbing her fork into a sausage. "That leaves Miss Venning, her cousin, and Mrs. and Miss Wilmington."

Miss Webb threw down her napkin and rose. "Before we accuse any of those ladies of besmirching Miss Rowe's name, we need to speak with Miss Sinclair to learn why our story wasn't printed."

Helena and Miss Fernsby-Webb, who dropped her fork with a clatter, shoved their chairs back and stood as well. Single file, they marched to the door, each lady grabbing her pelisse. Then, Miss Webb yanked open the front door and screamed.

"Your Grace," she said, curtseying as she moved aside. "I apologize for yelling. I didn't expect to find you standing on the doorstep."

"Forgiven." The Duke of Lennox's warm timbre rolled into the foyer, causing Helena's stomach to flip over. "However, it is I who should apologize for arriving so early without any warning."

He held up a beleaguered newspaper, crushing the page in his fist. "I'd like a few moments to speak with Miss Rowe."

"Of course." Miss Fernsby-Webb sidled around Helena and pushed her sister toward the open door. "We have an errand to attend. I trust Miss Rowe will be safe in your company."

Before the Duke of Lennox could respond, she shoved Miss Webb through the doorway and slammed the door.

"I-I'm sorry," Helena whispered, backing away from him. "I didn't know that story would be printed."

A wounded expression flashed through his eyes. "I've never given you cause to fear me, Miss Rowe."

"I know," she replied, forcing herself to stop moving.

"But someone has," he said, sliding his greatcoat from his shoulders.

She flinched, then nodded.

"May I take your coat?" He held out his hand.

"Why have you come?" she asked, her voice wobbling as she peeled off her pelisse.

"This situation is entirely my fault," he said, draping their coats on the rack. "I should have been more careful."

"You didn't know someone would report the incident," Helena replied, taking a tiny step toward him.

"I should have." He grimaced and hung his head. "However, I'm going to remedy this situation with four words."

Winding her fingers together, she forced herself to take a second step forward. "Which are?"

He dropped to his knees. "Will you marry me?"

She froze, the feeling draining from her legs. "You can't marry me."

"Why?" Darkness clouded his face as he rose. "Are you already married?"

"No, Your Grace," she said, recoiling from the anger rolling toward her. "Nor am I with child if that was your concern."

"It wasn't," he bit off.

His comment threw her.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Forgetting her fear, she strode across the foyer, closing the distance between them. "Do you think me incapable of seducing a man?"

"I think you quite capable," he rumbled, his disarming scent wafting over her. "However, my time with you last evening proved it's the experience you lack, not the ability."

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing her palm between his fingers. "Tell me why I can't marry you."

Because when Miss Drummond learns of the engagement, four hundred pounds won't be enough to satisfy her hunger for revenge. Because I stole from you and your friends to keep my secrets hidden. Because I love you…

She licked her lips, her eyes flicking to the staircase. "I need to give you something first. Then, if you are still interested in my hand, propose again."

"Dear Lord, what do you intend to offer me?" He glanced around as though ensuring they were alone.

"Would you remain here for a few moments?" she asked, pointing at the foyer floor.

She didn't wait for his reply. Instead, she turned and hastened toward the staircase. Her hand hovering over the banister, she rushed up the stairs, heading toward her chamber and the Duke of Lennox's ruby ring.

He wouldn't stay, not after she returned his father's ring. He'd think her no more deserving of his attention than a common thief, and truly, her actions warranted the title.

Opening her bedchamber door, Helena hurried across the floor to the vase of holly branches. She maneuvered her fingers around the spiky leaves but couldn't push her hand deep enough into the vase to retrieve the ring.

She muttered a soft curse and angled the vase toward her, scratching her fingernails along the inside of the porcelain. The tips of her fingers brushed over the ring's cold metal. Wincing as a branch skewered the back of her hand, Helena stretched her bones, willing them to reach the ring.

"What are you doing?"

Screaming, Helena spun around and released the vase, which fell from her hands and shattered the moment it struck the floor. A large chunk slid across the floor, crashing into the Duke of Lennox's boot. Her eyes dropped to the floor, sorting through the porcelain shards.

Where had the ring gone?

"I…" Her gaze scanned the room again. "I can't find the item I wished to give you."

"I don't need a favor," he replied, gesturing to the room as though asking permission to enter.

When she nodded, he stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

"What I need," he said, keeping a large space between them, "is for the woman I've fallen in love with to admit she feels the same and agree to marry me."

"Even with the rumors in the newspaper?" she asked, crouching and picking up a broken vase piece.

The corner of his mouth pulled. "This morning's article brushed against the truth."

"There may be more stories printed about me," Helena said, stacking pieces into a little pile.

"Concern for my reputation?" He chuckled, knelt beside her, and grabbed a large chunk. "How can I convince you there's nothing I could learn that would sway my affection for you?"

"Murder?"

"Are you confiding to it or considering committing it?" he asked, tossing the piece onto her pile.

Helena burst out laughing. "The latter one."

"Depending on your target, I might offer my assistance." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Even without actually possessing the ring, this would be the perfect moment to confess to the theft, but Helena wavered, unwilling to witness the passion fade from his eyes.

He placed his hand on top of hers. "Tell me you'll be my wife."

"I'll be your wife." The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

With a whoop, he leaned forward and smashed his mouth against hers, causing Helena to lose her balance, and they toppled over, laughing.

"Perhaps," the Duke of Lennox said, sitting up, "my enthusiasm would be best applied in a different location."

"Such as the bed?" Helena said, instantly blushing.

She shifted her attention to a broken holly branch, feigning interest in the stem, but the Duke of Lennox hooked his finger under her chin and dragged her head back toward him.

"Exactly like the bed." Eyes blazing, he rose, then held out his hand to her. "I won't hurt you. I swear."

"I believe you," she said, placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her to her feet.

The Duke of Lennox slid his arms around her waist and drew her close.

"Nothing needs to happen between us," he murmured against her ear, sending seductive vibrations zipping through her body. "I'm content just kissing you until our wedding night."

"Like you did in your bedchamber?" she asked, the memory of his wicked fingers drawing the most earth-shattering sensations from her body crashing over her.

He nuzzled her neck, brushing his lips across her throat. "I can do that again."

"Do you enjoy it?" she gasped and arched her neck.

"Watching you fall apart at my hand?"

She nodded.

"Immensely." His tongue wrapped around the word.

"But not as much as if you were to…" Her face flaming, she pulled back, dropping her eyes.

"Use a different part of my body?" he said gently.

Keeping her gaze on his shoes, she nodded again.

"It's more enjoyable for both of us if I use that part." He waited until she lifted her head before adding, "However, the first time may cause a bit of pain."

"You swore you wouldn't hurt me," she replied, arching her eyebrows. "Were you untruthful?"

"I was not."

"Then show me why Miss Rowe keeps sneaking the Duke of Roxburghe into her bedchamber," Helena said, her heart hammering.

"As my fiancée commands," he said, tightening his embrace and crushing her body against him.

His mouth claimed hers, his tongue diving past her parted lips. She moaned and wound her arms around his neck. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and blindly walked to her bed.

When his legs hit the frame, he turned around, sank onto the mattress, and laid back. Then he rolled them over, settling between Helena's thighs. Palming her breast, he increased the pressure of his mouth, his tongue swirling around hers.

Longing to touch him in the same intimate manner, her hands skimmed up his torso, tentatively brushing over his body. Leaning forward, he took her hand and slid it down the front of his shirt. Her fingers stroked his heated skin, drawing a guttural groan from the Duke of Lennox.

Reaching between them, he unfastened his trousers, then, balancing on his knees, he yanked his waistcoat from his shoulders. After flinging the waistcoat toward the floor, he yanked his long shirt over his head, exposing his bare torso, and tossed the material over his shoulder.

"Again," he rasped, placing her fingers on his chest.

She drew her fingertips across his skin, swirling little circles across the muscles. His body hardened, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"You," he panted, grazing his lips across hers, "have entirely too many clothes on."

Grabbing hold of her hips, he rolled onto his back, seating her on top of him. Within seconds, he loosened her dress. His hands curled around the hem, and he yanked, pulling her dress upward and off her body.

The dress unceremoniously joined his clothing on the floor.

He flipped them again, his mouth reclaiming hers. One hand dipped beneath her petticoat and chemise, pushing the material higher on her legs. His knuckle skated across her thigh, and she arched her back, encouraging his fingers.

His mouth curved against her lips.

"Is this what you'd like?" he asked as his hand brushed against her center.

She moaned, tipping her head back, and tightened her hold around his neck.

He slid his fingers across her again, adopting a slow rhythm. Her hips undulated with his hand, her body craving release. However, before she reached the plateau, he stopped and removed his fingers.

She growled at him.

"Wait a moment," he panted, shoving his trousers over his hips and exposing his erection.

Her eyes dropped, and she paled. "That isn't going to fit."

"It will," he said, leaning forward again. "Take a breath."

She did as he instructed, inhaling a deep breath and squeezing her eyes shut. Every muscle tensed.

The Duke of Lennox didn't move. "Open your eyes."

"Yes, Your Grace." She winced as her voice cracked.

"Keep your gaze on me," he said, reaching between them.

Rotating in a slow circle, his fingers stroked her center, causing her to cry out. Increasing the pressure, he drew her to the edge of release. Then his fingers disappeared, replaced by something both harder and softer than his hand. He eased forward, inching himself slowly into her.

She jerked when a sharp pinch zipped through her body, and his fingers returned to her nub, caressing her center until she vibrated with need.

"Please," she begged, her fingers digging in his arms.

"Levi," he murmured as he drew his hips back.

"Levi," she repeated.

He surged forward, burying himself completely, then he paused, balancing on his arms and ground out, "Do you wish me to continue?"

"Would you stop if I wanted you to?" she asked, her heart squeezing.

Humphrey wouldn't have given any option. He would have taken what he wanted and delighted in the pain he caused.

Despite the faint grimace that appeared on his face, the Duke of Lennox nodded. "I'm not a monster. I prefer you enjoy participating in the activity with me."

She wiggled her hips. "It doesn't hurt that much."

"Don't move." He grabbed her, stilling her body. "You're making it difficult for me to keep my word."

"Am I?" She squirmed again.

"Helena," he groaned, a passion-filled haze crawling into his eyes. "I need a decision."

"Continue."

No sooner did the word leave her mouth than he recaptured her lips with his. His hips retracted, reducing the curious stretching sensation in her body, and then he slammed forward again, driving himself deeper into her.

She clung to him as he rocked into her again and again, each thrust pushing her closer to release. Her stomach clenched, winding tighter, and her head tilted back as her breath came in short gasps. She lifted her hips, encouraging him to increase his speed as he drove into her.

His name ripped from her lips as the orgasm ricocheted through her body. He plunged into her, drawing out her release until she vibrated beneath him. Jerking backward, he twisted around and spilled his release on the floor, then he fell back, his harsh breathing matching hers.

His hand slid across the bed, wrapped around hers, and squeezed. "I've dreamed about doing that for weeks."

"Was it what you hoped?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Better." He grinned and rolled onto his side, gathering her in his arms. "And once I catch my breath, we're going to do it again and again and again."

Helena gasped. "Miss Webb and her sister will return soon."

"Then, we shouldn't waste any time," he replied, his eyes darkening.

A knock echoed from downstairs.

"Are you expecting anyone?" the Duke of Lennox asked, pulling away.

She shook her head.

"I'll investigate." Popping up, the Duke of Lennox snatched his shirt and trousers from the floor.

He yanked the shirt over his head, jerked the trousers up his legs, then, hand on the door handle, glanced back at Helena.

"I expect to find you in the same state of undress when I return."

However, the Duke of Lennox didn't return. Instead, two male voices, each increasing in volume as the seconds passed, whipped under her chamber door.

What was going on?

She scooted off the bed, grabbed her dress, and pulled the material over her head. However, before she could make herself presentable, the din from the foyer exploded into curse words.

Ripping open the door, Helena darted into the hallway and ran downstairs, skidding to a halt beside the Duke of Lennox, who was blocking a man with familiar blond hair from entering the house.

"Ernest!" Helena's chest constricted. "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me." Ernest held up a crumpled missive, his eyes widening as his gaze drank in her disheveled state. "What did you do to your hair? It's red!"

"You know this man?" The Duke of Lennox pointed at Ernest.

Helena swallowed, then nodded. "He's my brother."

The Duke of Lennox frowned. "He said his name was Ernest Braddock."

"It is." Ernest shoved past the Duke of Lennox. "And I haven't seen my sister since she disappeared three months ago."