Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

M rs. Agnes Dawlish of Carting Corners was relieved.

In fact, she was delighted. Matters could not have resolved themselves in a more satisfactory manner for the young lady she had assisted just over a month before.

When the wedding invitation arrived from Addersley Manor, there was no question of whether she would accept. Mr. Dawlish had made a token protest over the inconvenience but, as was so often the case, his objections were immediately over-ruled. The entire family had taken themselves to the inn at Haynesdale Hollow, in order to attend the wedding of Lord Addersley and Miss Helena Emerson on the second Saturday in May.

To be sure, Mrs. D. – as she was known to her friends and close acquaintances – was initially inclined to fear that Miss Emerson had embroiled herself in some mischief. The girl was not wicked, but she was exuberant, and Mrs. D. had witnessed that she could be willful. Had Miss Emerson beguiled an elderly viscount into marrying her?

But no, the widowed Viscount Addersley who Mrs. D. recalled had recently passed away. She had been able to ascertain that in Carting Corners, no less that his son and heir was said to be both young and handsome, if reserved in his nature.

Such a man, cool and composed, perhaps so devoid of emotion as to have ice in his veins as she heard by one account, seemed unlikely to have captured the attention of the lively lady Mrs. D. had met. Had Miss Emerson overwhelmed that man's restraint with her charms? To what purpose? Mrs. D. could not imagine Miss Emerson as one to wed a man for his fortune alone.

It was a puzzle. Mrs. D. had arrived at the church in Addersley village, husband and children in tow, with considerable reservations.

The day of the wedding was sunny and clear, and it seemed they were not the only ones making their way to the chapel in Addersley village. She recognized Captain Emerson immediately and that man's satisfaction with the situation could not be feigned.

He had greeted them heartily, introducing his wife – the sister of the Duke of Haynesdale! Goodness! – and his aunt, Lady Dalhousie. They were introduced to the groom, a man of impeccable manners and grace. He seemed to be a man of composure, but not an emotionless one.

The Dawlish family found themselves in quite exalted company, for the duke himself soon arrived, along with his mother and his ward, a very beautiful French girl. All of the village was in attendance, their joy in the match unmistakable.

Mrs. D. awaited the appearance of the bride to be certain.

Captain Emerson had departed to fetch his sister and all the guests were ushered into the church. It was a lovely small country church, with old stone walls. The air was cool inside and the whispers fell silent at the sound of the horses' hooves. They all turned to watch the door as the bride entered with her brother. Helena looked even prettier than Mrs. D. recalled her to be. She was, in fact, radiant with happiness, and not with the joy of having secured her ambition. No, she was a lady in love and the sight made Mrs. D. heave a sigh of relief.

Even better, the viscount beamed at her, his attention so rapt that she might have been the sun, the moon and the stars. Perhaps he was the one who saw his ambition achieved in the vows of this day. Mrs. D. could imagine him as a man who recognized his desire when he saw it. The quiet ones were often thus in her experience. Unswerving once their goal was viewed.

Captain Emerson escorted his sister to the altar, then placed his sister's hand upon that of the viscount. The pair appeared to be lost in each other's eyes, their mutual adoration so potent that Mrs. D. felt a lump rise to her throat. There was more than one damp eye in her vicinity and even Mr. Dawlish gave her a gruff nod. Flora, close by her side, was transfixed by the sight and Mrs. D. could only hope for similar happiness for her oldest daughter.

Who might have imagined that the betrayed maiden would find a worthy man so soon? Not Mrs. D., but then love was a mystery, appearing unannounced and making sudden conquest of the hearts of those unprepared for such sudden good fortune. She knew it had claimed these two hearts, and brought this couple together forever.

As a result, Mrs. D. found herself not just satisfied but very happy indeed.

Fairfax was determined that all should be prepared. He wanted nothing less than perfection for this day's event. Mrs. Baird had been baking with a vengeance. They had taken on half a dozen new servants in the house and that many more simply for the day. It was more than the event of the viscount finally taking a bride—Fairfax wanted all to be precisely as the new viscountess desired. He wanted her first event at Addersley House to be a complete triumph.

He liked the lady very much, though he would have done his best even if he hadn't liked her. But she was lively and cheerful, reminding him of the old viscountess in a satisfying way. He sensed that she would be good both for Addersley and for the viscount himself, and Mrs. Baird was already anticipating that the nursery would be needed within the year.

Best of all, the new viscountess had ideas. This day was a perfect example. Why not combine the strawberry social once held annually with the wedding breakfast? Why not invite everyone to celebrate the joy of the day together? That it had never been done did not mean it could not be done, and in fact, once the idea was expressed, Fairfax would have moved heaven and earth to make it happen.

Even the weather was perfect for the day. It was sunny, the skies clear, yet there was a light breeze. Awnings had been set up across the lawn, and there were clusters of chairs and tables, in either sun or shade. There were more chairs upon the terrace, by the viscountess' own artful arrangement. Fairfax admired how the casual dispersion of the chairs contrasted with the formality of the garden itself.

When Lady Haynesdale had buckets of cut roses delivered that morning, Fairfax had taken the liberty of ordering flower arrangements to be added to the tables. The blooms were all shades of pink and white, spilling from their vases with abundance.

In addition to the roses, he could smell strawberries, plucked from Addersley's own field. They had been prepared in dozens of ways, as tarts and sliced fruit, in fools and crumbles and atop cakes. There was strawberry jam or preserves, thick cream, scones and crumpets. There was tea and there was wine, as well as a veritable army of servants to pour and deliver such refreshments. He heard the carriages arriving from the church in the village and surveyed it all one last time, pronouncing himself content with arrangements.

His lord and lady were first to step onto the terrace, the eyes of the new viscountess lighting with pleasure. His lordship's ring was upon her finger and that man's contentment was clear. Fairfax bit back a smile himself.

"Fairfax!" the lady declared. "It is perfect. It is beautiful!" She took his hand and smiled up at him, her expression such that he thought she might grant him a kiss, of all things. "Thank you ever so much. Everyone will remember this day forever."

He rather wagered they would. "The planning was yours, my lady."

"But the details, Fairfax, are all yours. I never thought of the roses, but they are the perfect touch. Thank you."

"You might thank Lady Haynesdale. She had them cut and delivered from her own gardens this morning."

"How very thoughtful." The bride smiled with genuine pleasure. "I will thank her, as well."

The first of the guests arrived, their expressions a mix of awe and delight as they looked upon the preparations. The viscount offered his arm to his bride, sparing an intent glance for his butler. "I thank you, Fairfax, for ensuring all was prepared so well."

Fairfax gave a little bow. "I had to do all within my powers to ensure my lady's success," he said, watching the viscount smile. "May I offer my congratulations, sir?"

"Thank you, Fairfax. I trust you have arranged for punch in the hall tonight, as well as a fine supper."

"Of course, sir. We are all pleased to celebrate your nuptials."

"Mrs. D. came," the bride said to her husband. "I must welcome her." As the viscountess crossed the terrace, it seemed to Fairfax that joy emanated from her, infecting everyone she encountered. She laughed and embraced the lady in question, prompting both butler and viscount to smile.

"Your lady is a veritable breath of fresh air, my lord," Fairfax dared to say.

That man smiled as seldom he had in recent years. "She is, Fairfax. She is, indeed, and I knew the first moment I saw her."

Fairfax bowed as the viscount strode toward his lady wife. He had great anticipation for the future of Addersley and might have savored the sight of the new couple together in other circumstance. As it was, Lady Dalhousie was without a cup of tea and such a situation had to be addressed with haste.

Could she be any happier? Helena was quite certain it was not possible. The past fortnight had been a whirlwind of arrangements, each day ending with a long slow kiss from Joshua that left her simmering all night long. She had wished more than once that Eliza might yet have some of that book by Mrs. Oliver, but could not find a single page of it at Southpoint.

She had looked, repeatedly.

Although Helena had little doubt that Joshua would make their wedding night memorable. She spoke to their guests, sometimes by his side and sometimes on her own, moving across the lawn and terrace as if she had been hostess of such functions a hundred times before. It was quite satisfying to organize matters, and the servants at Addersley Manor had been both helpful and welcoming.

How could she have imagined a liaison with the duke? She looked at him, certain he was of an age and infirmity to be her grandfather. Then she looked at Joshua and her heart skipped with joy. There could be no comparison between them.

There was an older woman alone on the terrace, one who might have been the duke's grandmother. She leaned on her cane, a plethora of veils draped around her crooked figure, and Helena thought she had never seen such an unfortunate collection of fabrics and colors on one person at one time. Her voice carried over the company, rising and falling as she complained about the sunlight. Other guests moved away from her, which only encouraged her to increase her volume.

Who was she?

A footman brought a chair for the lady and placed as she instructed, then she fell into it like a sack of potatoes. Helena was both appalled and fascinated when the woman pointed at her, then beckoned. "You," she said in her hoarse voice. "You, girl. Come here."

Helena exchanged a glance with Joshua, then followed the older woman's bidding. She was looked up and down, then the woman harrumphed and thumped her cane on the terrace. It was difficult to discern her features through the layers of veils, but what Helena could see confirmed her sense that she spoke to an ancient crone.

"Do you know who I am?" the woman demanded, her voice so deep that she croaked like a toad.

"I fear I do not. Perhaps you accompany one of our guests, or are visiting in the village."

"Ha! I am a guest of the Duke of Haynesdale," the woman said, almost crowing in her triumph. "What do you make of that?"

"Only that you are welcome, as the duke's guest."

The older woman laughed. She leaned closer. "And would you not even ask my name, my lady?" Her question might have been a dare. Of what import was this woman's name?

"It seems you wish to confide it in me."

The older woman fixed her with a surprisingly intent look. "I am Mrs. Delilah Oliver."

"Oh!" Surely this could not be the same Mrs. Oliver who had written those pages of amorous advice that had been in Eliza's possession?

"Oh!" Mrs. Oliver mimicked, then chuckled. She poked her cane at Helena. "I believe you recognize my name," she said.

Helena glanced toward Joshua, who spoke with the duke, then Eliza, who conferred with Nicholas and Aunt Fanny. "I did hear of a Mrs. Oliver who had written a book," she said carefully. "Might you be that same Mrs. Oliver?"

"What do you know of this Mrs. Oliver's book?"

Helena found herself as crimson as a strawberry herself, but she could not lie. "My brother's wife had some pages of advice from it." She took a fortifying breath and glanced about to ensure that no one was watching. " Upon the merit of a forthright touch ," she whispered, quoting the pages in question as her cheeks heated yet more.

Mrs. Oliver cackled. "How unsuitable a choice of reading for an unwed lady." She seemed to be more inclined to be amused than scandalized. "I am indeed the author of a volume about the amorous arts. It is as yet in the writing."

"I found it fascinating," Helena confessed. "I do not suppose there are any copies of your book available for interested individuals to read?"

The older woman cackled, thumping her cane so that people turned to look. "I knew it," she said in a gleeful whisper. "I knew you would want to see it." She dropped her voice. "They say you are a bold one, my lady, and I see no cause to dissuade audacity in a young wife." Her voice dropped yet lower. "You received a parcel in the post here this very morning, though you may not be aware of it as yet. It is of a goodly size." She marked the dimensions with her hands. "It contains copies of some of the newest pages. I should appreciate your comments upon the contents when you return those pages to me, shall we say in a fortnight or so?"

"Then it is not a wedding gift."

"The opportunity to read it is the gift, my lady, and it is not a small one. How scandalous it would be for you to own such a volume." She tut-tutted, her eyes glinting. Then she leaned back to survey Helena. "I believe you might appreciate it a good deal."

Helena smiled, having a very good idea of what to expect. "I believe I might, if the pages I read earlier were any indication. Thank you, Mrs. Oliver." The older woman inclined her head. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I would prefer a glass of wine, if you are not saving it all for the christening," Mrs. Oliver retorted. "And do not make it a small one. There is no cause for compelling the footman to appear at my elbow every few moments."

Helena beckoned to Fairfax and passed along the instruction, then dropped her voice. "Was a large parcel delivered by post today, Fairfax?" she asked, marking the dimensions as Mrs. Oliver had done.

"It was, my lady. I placed it in your bedchamber as we have not yet resolved where you will open your letters."

"That will be fine, Fairfax. Thank you."

Helena could barely restrain her delight. She had a copy of the book, or some part of it, for a fortnight. She intended to make use of every page, every day and night.

Finally.

They had chatted and eaten strawberries, gossiped and drunk wine, accepted congratulations and dined quietly. Joshua had enjoyed the day and its festivities, particularly Helena's triumph as a hostess, but he was not sorry to climb the stairs that night to his chamber. Helena had sparkled beside him all day, flitting from guest to guest like a butterfly, enchanting him with her laughter and her smile.

Tonight, there would be more.

She was a madness he could not deny and one from which he had no desire of recovery. She kindled impulses within Joshua that should have never been stirred to life again. She tempted and provoked him. She teased and tested him.

He opened the door to his own bedroom and was not truly surprised to find her already in his bed. Her hair was unbound and she wore only a silken dressing gown, her feet bare and her smile welcoming. "I dismissed Reed," she confessed. "I said I would assist you."

Joshua sighed in mock disappointment as he closed the door and leaned back against it. Several candles burned, filling the room with their golden glow, and the heavy velvet drapes were closed against the night. The room had been decorated in hues of midnight blue and gold, a combination that might have been specifically chosen to favor this lady. "And I had so hoped to assist you."

"Perhaps on the morrow, sir." She rose from the bed, opening the robe and letting it slide from her shoulders as she approached him. He could not help but survey her, so smooth and rosy, so delightfully curved and soft. He reached out to cup her breast in one hand and felt her catch her breath as he slid his thumb slowly across the nipple, watching it tighten at his caress. Her hand landed on his chest and she whispered his name, even as he bent and captured her lips beneath his own. He slid his hand into the loose ebony tresses of her hair, feeling it engulf his fingers like a silken web, and lifted her to her toes to deepen his kiss.

Of course, his bold bride was undaunted by his hunger for her touch. She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, twining them in his hair as she opened her mouth to him, surrendering to his embrace with a trust that humbled and thrilled him. She was in his arms in an instant and he carried her toward the bed without breaking his kiss. En route, he reconsidered his choice, knowing she would welcome a less conventional choice. He took a seat before the fire on the settee there, holding her in his lap. She laid back in his arms, the firelight gilding her, and smiled. He kept one hand beneath her nape and slid the other up her thigh, returning to tease that nipple again.

"And what do you know of what will happen this night?" he asked, watching her smile broaden.

"That it will be wondrous," she said. Her own hand swept down his chest to touch him through his breeches. "That your greatest sensitivity is here." She moved her hand and he caught his breath, a reaction that seemed to please her. "That the darkness of your eyes and the intensity of your attention can only be a good portent."

He eased his hand between her thighs and claimed a kiss even as his fingertips moved ever higher. She felt like a goddess in his arms, so trusting, so soft and so willing, and yet she was his wife for this night and all others. There was only his bride and her delight in his touch, only this lady and the cultivation of her pleasure. He kissed her slowly, caressing her breast, mouthing the nipple to a turgid peak as she writhed beneath him. He eased his fingers up her silken thighs. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise when he touched her, the dampness he found there casting his own reservations to the winds.

This was right.

This was true.

This was what he had been seeking, unaware of what he needed.

With Helena was where he belonged.

Joshua eased her to the settee, slipped between her thighs and closed his mouth over her sweet heat. She moaned as he teased her with his tongue and his teeth, and he felt the storm gathering within her. He kissed her and caressed her, building the storm and letting it ebb again, wanting her pleasure to be greater. He felt her skin heat and watched her flush. Her pulse leapt beneath his hands, she arched her back and moved with a vigor that fired his own desire.

But the lady would find her satisfaction first, even if the delay nigh killed him.

She was his lady and would be thus forever.

Joshua touched her with a reverence that Helena found irresistible. He was both strong and gentle, protective of even her pleasure, that she trusted him completely. His fingers swept across her like an invitation to sensation, one she could not decline any more readily than his kiss. He kissed her lips, her ear, her throat, his mouth conjuring a response beyond anything she had ever felt—and Helena wanted only more.

She was startled when he moved to kiss her there, but then the sensation was so splendid that she did not want him to stop. His hands roved over her, the warmth and crackle of the fire made her feel that they two were alone in all the world. They had a haven in this chamber, one where they could explore each other and do whatsoever they desired. She trusted him completely to guide her on this journey, and loved the sound of her own unwilling moans.

She felt a tide rising within herself as Joshua caressed her, his touch so sure that she followed him willingly. Her body knew more of this dance than she, but Helena already found it enticing beyond all. His mouth moved against her and she felt her body respond to each stroke. Her fingers were in his hair, his touch making her melt with need. The spark awakened by him was stoked to a flame, then coaxed to a blaze that threatened to consume her. She found herself entreating him for a release, desperate for whatever pleasure he meant to give, though she did not know what it might be.

And when the tumult came, she was astonished by its power. It swept through her from head to toe in a majestic torrent, an unstoppable tempest that left her both trembling with satisfaction and wanting more.

She opened her eyes to find Joshua watching her, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them, his fixation upon her complete.

"Oh, Joshua," she whispered in awe. "Tell me there is more."

And he laughed aloud for the first time she had ever heard him do as much. He stood and unfastened his cravat, casting it aside with impatience. The waistcoat she would always associate with him as a highwayman was next, followed by his boots and his breeches. He unfastened his shirt, his gaze fixed upon her, and Helena rose to her knees, no longer content with just the sight of him.

"I must touch you," she whispered.

"You are incorrigible," he murmured, but he let her lift his hands away. He smiled down at her as she unfastened his shirt then opened it wide. She bit her lip as she surveyed his broad chest, then ran her hand through the thicket of hair she found there. She looked up to meet his gaze, letting her hand slide ever lower, watching as he grew taut with need. She explored him gently, closing her hand around him, noting how he caught his breath and what caresses he appeared to favor.

"Helena," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I am yours, my lord," she replied and he caught her face in his hands, framing it as he kissed her with a hunger that set her very soul afire. She kissed him back, feeling the heat rise between them, and she found herself caught up against his chest again. She kicked her feet and he gripped her closer, then lowered her to the settee again. This time, he followed her, bracing his weight atop her, staring into her eyes as he moved between her thighs. She gasped at the first feel of him then arched her back as she welcomed him within her.

He whispered her name again, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then met her gaze once more, a question in his own.

Helena smiled. "I am full of you," she whispered, then rolled her hips. She laughed at the way he caught his breath, then he moved deeper and she was the one who gasped in wonder. At his gesture, she wrapped her knees around his waist, feeling cossetted and cherished. And when he moved, she felt her lips part in awe, for the storm was conjured again, mustering with every stroke and every caress. It built within her steadily, as natural as a rising tide, as unstoppable as a great wave. She gripped his shoulders and reached to kiss him, loving the sense that they two became one, that this was but the first of many such unions, that an exile from what she thought she loved best had brought her precisely where she was meant to be.

With Joshua.

Forever.

He moved more quickly then, the tumult rising with greater and greater urgency, until Helena was certain she could stand it no longer. Suddenly the tide cascaded over her in torrents and she laughed aloud as he held her close and roared in his own release.

"Again," she said into his shoulder. "Again and again and again." And the breath of his laugher swept over her skin, his eyes filled with stars as he pulled back to survey her.

"You are a marvel, Mrs. Hargood." He pushed a hand through her hair and kissed her roughly, his mouth open and his need undisguised. She kissed him back with equal passion to his own. "I love you, Helena," he murmured in her ear, his confession making her heart leap.

"And I love you, sir, with all my heart." It was a long while before she had the opportunity to say so much again.

Joshua awakened on his first day as a married man with a contented smile. He had not slept overmuch the night before, but he had no regrets.

There was much to be said for an audacious wife.

He eased his hand across the sheets without opening his eyes, glad yet again that Helena had shown no inclination to retreat to her own chamber to sleep. He liked having her soft heat beside him, her scent filling his dreams.

His eyes flew open at the realization that she was no longer in the bed beside him. He sat up, wincing a little at the sunlight shining into his chamber, and smiled at the sight of his lady seated by the window. She wore his shirt from the day before, the front open, the crisp white fabric contrasting beautifully with the soft rosiness of her skin. Her hair hung in dark curls down her back and she bit the fullness of her bottom lip as she read some volume with great concentration. He rose from the bed and strolled toward her, choosing where he would kiss her first.

She glanced up at him with a contented smile and lowered the book to her lap. Joshua bent to kiss her sweetly, then tilted his head to read the title of the book. "What so fascinates you this morning?" he said, then felt his eyes widen.

The Ladies' Essential Guide to the Art of Seduction.

He blinked but Helena only smiled. "It is most instructive. I had read some of it earlier, which was how I knew to be encouraged by the hue of your eyes."

He scooped her up and took her seat, with her in his lap, then kissed her again. "How did you come to read any of such a scandalous volume?"

"I wasn't intended to, of course, but I was curious. And it was useful to know." She opened the book to the frontispiece and displayed it to him.

Joshua read.

It cannot be denied that in matters of intimacy between husband and wife, a gently-bred lady has no recourse to information, save her spouse's counsel. Many men decline to provide any tutelage, leaving their wives dissatisfied or discontent though they cannot clearly identify the cause. Such is the result of a lack of education in matters of intimacy. This volume intends to fill the deficit by ensuring that ladies of merit know not only what to expect in the marital bed, but also how to induce their husbands to join them there frequently and with enthusiasm.

"One can scarce argue with such good sense," Helena said.

Joshua could find no cause to protest frequent and enthusiastic unions himself.

Helena turned the pages, evidently seeking the one she had been reading. "I found this most apt," she said, turning the book for his consideration.

Upon the matter of gentlemanly restraint…

There is a notion commonly held that women are fragile and delicate, that we fear passion and cannot be expected to enjoy the sensual pleasures of the bedroom. Those who hold this view believe that women endure intimate relations—while, in my experience, ladies may not only savor such intervals, but welcome them and incite them.

Consider the merit of surprising one's husband, lover, or partner. If the man in question believes that he must initiate all sensual encounters, his ardor may be stirred by an unexpected seduction. I encourage you to embrace the unexpected—in both timing, location, and posture. Challenge his expectations by your willingness for congress at times other than those which have become your custom. Does he come to you in darkness at night? Go to him in sunlight, in the morning. There is much to be said for surprising a man in his bath, and no opportunity for him to disguise any enthusiasm for the interruption.

There are men, as well, inclined to hide their emotions and passions from view, presenting the world with an austere countenance and a rigid upholding of expectations. I assure you that there is a delicious pleasure to be found in conquering the reticence of such a man. Those hidden desires may be tumultuous and, when coaxed forth, may overwhelm his restraint with such abandon that the resulting encounter becomes most memorable.

Indeed, releasing the passion of a man who appears to have none is among the most rewarding of all sensory pleasures, and one that will forever change the balance of a relationship. To hold such a man in thrall to the satisfaction that only you can offer is a power that is to be welcomed, yet one that should be wielded with grace…

Joshua was well aware that Helena was watching him closely. He looked up to find her eyes sparkling with mischief. "A delicious pleasure?" he repeated and she laughed.

"A most satisfying one," she said, stealing a kiss he was only too willing to surrender.

He sighed with mock forbearance. "And now I suppose you mean to hold me in thrall." In truth, he suspected she already did.

"I take it as a challenge," she said, fanning the pages. "After all, I have this incomparable resource, though only a fortnight to take advantage of its counsel."

"How so?"

"It was lent to me, though I will not confess by who."

He might have argued that point, but she turned the pages again. "Does this not bring you and I to mind?"

Upon the matter of feminine capitulation…

It is the expectation of many men, and indeed of society at large, that women should be biddable and docile, always taking the counsel of men with regards to their behavior. I would suggest to you, gentle reader, that there is a delight to be found in challenging such expectations, particularly in matters of intimacy.

In the bedroom, in privacy with one's lover, a lady can reveal her own urges as nowhere else in the world. Be bold in your caresses, and forthright in your demands. Instead of lying back and accepting whatsoever your partner deigns to offer, tell him what you wish of him. Make the first address. Touch him as you wish—or touch yourself as he watches. I have written of boldness before, but the combined power of audacity and surprise cannot be underestimated, nor can its ability to change the foundation of a relationship be overlooked…

Joshua found himself grinning. "I have never expected you to be biddable, Helena, and certainly not docile."

Her pleasure in his approval was most clear, for she rewarded him with a kiss. He deepened it slowly, ensuring that it would be a memorable one. She was flushed when he raised his head but turned again to the wretched book. "I read this part this morning and could only wonder, Joshua, just how wicked you were inclined to be for me?"

Upon the merit of secret pleasures…

Joshua lifted the book from her hands and dropped it to the floor without needing to read more. "I vow to be as wicked as you desire me to be, my Helena."

"I think you will find, sir, that might be very wicked indeed," she managed to say before he kissed her to silence. He was prepared to take the better part of the morning to show her that he had no need of a book to discover ways to please her—much less of how to be wicked.

A lady's desire should always be fulfilled, after all.

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