Helena sat at the breakfast table and beamed at her family. The last two weeks had been the most glorious of her life. She’d met her lover several times more in the house, and she’d seen him once in the theater and been forced to take no notice of him. Her cheeks had burned the whole time. Her mother had commented that perhaps London was too much for her, and she was going down with a cold. She had replied that Sharman had tightened her stays far too much, and that had given her the excuse to dispose of her mother’s spy and ask Julius to find her a replacement.
That was until today. She found her appetite healthy, made even more so because she had an appointment at the mantua-makers in Change later today. She would have two hours to love and talk with Tom. Although Tom still refused to take their intimacy any further, buoyancy still filled Helena.
Her mother jarred her out of her daydream. “Helena, pay attention!”
Not willing to admit she had not heard a word her mother had said, Helena lowered the strength of her smile and did as she was bid. “Of course, ma’am.”
“Then you agree?”
Cautiously, she said, “Could we go over the details again, please, Mother?”
The duchess’s already thin lips tightened, making a harsh slit in her face. “Why do you never listen? I was talking of Sir George Seward, who is finally out of mourning. If you marry him before April, you would not even have to go through another season.”
It took Helena a moment to process her mother’s calm statement. Sir George Seward was their neighbor in Derbyshire, a middle-aged man who’d lost his wife to smallpox a year ago. He’d come to town a few days ago and paid them a duty visit, but Helena had done no more than greet him and smile. He was built on comfortable lines, had a fondness for sweet things, which meant he had few of his own teeth, and assumed women only had two functions in life—to bear children and to make him happy.
He spoke to her parents but not to her? For Sir George had never said a peep to Helena about his ambitions.
A marriage between them could not happen. Must not. “I do not agree, Mother.”
Her mother shrugged, her lace shawl dropping off her shoulders. “We will discuss the settlement before we go home. That should not be too long.”
“I do not agree.” That was all she could say. Sir George was not love’s young dream.
Horror built quietly but surely in Helena’s breast. Her mother was a woman of determination and guile. She would make Helena’s life miserable if she set her heart on her daughter marrying Sir George. She could accomplish it in myriad ways, from removing the books Helena preferred to read to refusing to allow her out of the house.
Helena could oppose her all she wanted to, but her mother held most of the cards in this hand. And if Helena refused outright, the duchess would take it in her head to compel her, so that Helena’s life would be not worth living. Her new maid would be dismissed and another spy put in her place, one that would turn Helena into a marionette for every ball, would do her best to ensure Helena never appeared to advantage.
Rather than suffer that fate, Helena would seek employment as a governess or a kitchen maid. A romantical notion, to be sure, and one that was unlikely to come to fruition. What did she know about service, and how could she possibly expect to remain hidden? In her world, everybody knew everybody else or was related to them. Networks fed in to other networks, a room full of spiders’ webs that nobody could negotiate without making a disturbance.
But what else could she do?
Julius. He had enough power to stand up to their mother, and while Helena could be as stubborn as the next person, she needed more armor to effectively fight back.
Except—was it fair to expect Julius to help her? He was busy with his wife, and soon he’d be busy with his heir. Caroline had become more volatile than ever with her advancing pregnancy, and Julius was forced to dance attendance on her to assure she did not do anything reprehensible. She had tried to take his phaeton out last week, and Julius’s house was still reverberating from his furious displeasure.
She would do as much as possible to dodge her fate until she could obtain Julius’s help. With Augustus planning to leave soon, she could only count on his help for a few weeks. He was not here this morning, but she’d tell him as soon as she had the opportunity. Together they might contrive a scheme to keep their mother busy until Julius could attend to the matter.
She picked up her spoon and stirred her tea. Round and round, turning the tan-colored liquid into a small maelstrom. Her mind raced, while she forced her face to calm tranquility.
“Helena, I do wish you would pay attention!” Her mother’s voice rang around her head.
Helena jerked up her head. “Of course, Mother.” Her face was as perfect as she could make it, smooth and calm. “I beg your pardon.”
She listened as closely as she could, because she might need the details. “You may tell Sir George that you accept his kind proposal on certain conditions. I want you in our house, of course. His is too small to contain a duke’s daughter—”
Would her life always be one of service and obedience? She firmed her resolve. It would not.
The door opened to admit a footman with a silver salver. On it rested a letter which, whatever it was, bore Helena’s salvation.
The duchess snatched up the note. It bore no seal, so must be hand delivered.
“My goodness,” the duchess said, groping for her magnifying glass. “This writing is almost incomprehensible. Dear me, what does it say?” Knowing she had everyone’s attention, she trained her glass on the note and peered again, taking her time adjusting it.
“Oh, I see.” She glanced around the table. “Caroline is currently giving birth.”
The metaphorical stone dropped into the imaginary pool, but the effect was far more dynamic. The duke leaped to his feet. “Good God, I will call the carriage immediately!”
The duchess gave him an indulgent smile, or as much as her face-paint would allow without cracking. She wore a skim of the stuff today, but Helena could not remember a time when she had faced London bare. “My dear, it could take Caroline days to deliver. Truly, there is no hurry.”
“Nevertheless,” the duke said. “I will pay a visit to Brook Street.” He glanced at Helena. “You will come too, my dear.”
With relief surging through her, Helena recognized her father’s tactic to get her out of the firing line and rose from her chair to curtsey to her mother. “Indeed, sir.”
* * * *
The baby was born within four hours, a shockingly fast time for a first child. As Caroline strained and swore, Julius paced downstairs, and Helena had little time to think of anything except making sure Julius had company and Caroline did not work too hard trying to get the baby out.
As soon as he was allowed into the bedchamber Julius strode in, only to reappear an hour later, beaming. “Caro is asleep,” he said to his family. “Exhausted. The baby is beautiful, everything I could wish for.”
“Except it’s a girl,” their mother pointed out.
Julius waved her concerns away. Helena thought she saw relief on his features and understood. If the baby was Lord William’s child, Julius might have been forced to reject it if it was a boy. But a girl couldn’t inherit the dukedom. “Caroline and daughter are well and recovering. We will have others, no doubt.” He paused. “Caroline wants the baby named for her. I have no objection.”
Typical of Caroline to insist on that, however much confusion it would cause everyone else.
Her mother got to her feet and dusted crumbs of cake from her lap. “We will leave you now.”
Helena wanted to see the baby, but how could she ask that?
Julius must have seen her disappointment and caught her hand in his. “Come and see,” he said softly.
The baby was in the powder room next to her mother’s. “Her ladyship complained that the child cried too much,” the nurse said. “I would like to take her to the nursery.”
Julius glanced at the closed door. “I thought Caroline was feeding the baby herself.”
“She’s changed her mind.” The nurse’s mouth tightened and she smoothed her neat skirts, although they did not need it. “We have a wet nurse, my lord, and with your permission, I’ll put her to work when the baby wakes.”
“Do that.” Julius did not seem surprised. Carefully, he lifted the baby and put her in Helena’s arms.
Such a tiny weight! The sweet creature’s lips pursed, as if seeking the nipple, but she would find nothing with Helena. Her breath caught. This child was so beautiful, so precious.
“I love her,” Julius said softly, his voice packed with emotion.
“Of course you do.” How could anyone not love her?
* * * *
Unfortunately, someone failed to love the baby. Her mother. Since she had given birth, Caroline had refused to see her daughter. Complaining that her figure was ruined and her love life nonexistent, Caroline had concentrated on her own recovery. Julius bore his wife’s temperament patiently, but unlike her, he visited his daughter every day. As did Helena, when she could, except for tonight, when her mother had commanded her presence at the theatre.
The play wasn’t holding Helena’s attention. Not surprising, really, because sitting next to her was Sir George Seward. He was firmly attached to her and driving her mad. He opened every door for her, seated her carefully, and behaved as if she were already his. Not as in “his wife” but “his possession.” And his constant toadying to the duchess put Helena’s teeth on edge. He’d try to kiss Helena soon, and that would be the end.
But her mother was determined she should have him. George was young enough, handsome enough, well born enough, but nowhere near enough for Helena. She knew what she wanted. If anything was needed to compel her further toward the unthinkable, Sir George Seward was it.
Currently, he was sitting so close to her that his breath gusted against her cheek, and the odor of a man who loved sweets and cleaned his teeth infrequently made her long to turn her head away. If she had, her mother would have accused her of being rude, and indeed she would have been. So she kept her face clear and her posture rigid, and mildly complained of a headache, preparing for her speedy exit once they went home. She could excuse herself after the play. Accordingly, she spread her fan and closed her eyes, as if in pain. When she opened them, her attention landed on Tom. He was sitting in his family’s box, opposite her family’s. Her mother always claimed they’d hired that box deliberately, and considering the nature of the Duke of Kirkburton, they may well have, but the box only held one occupant now.
The contrast between his lean, handsome features and Sir George’s softer ones was cruel and pointed up the difference between them. Why would she want one and not the other?
One answer came to her. Tom’s eyes gleamed with intelligence. By contrast, Sir George was a dull dog. He knew little about current affairs, only what interested him in his little part of Derbyshire, and then with a particular emphasis on land and rights.
“Antony was a fool,” he murmured, reminding her they were watching a version of Antony and Cleopatra. Not an enormously popular play, but this was far from the height of the season. “He should have kept Cleopatra as a lover. What man in his right mind gives up his possessions for a woman?”
“Who indeed?” she murmured, glancing over the top of her fan at her lover. Even though they had not shared the ultimate intimacy, he was still her lover and, she feared, the only one she would ever want. Their clandestine meetings had done nothing to ease the tension and excitement every time they met, the sheer hunger for him that invaded her every moment. If she had decided on the risky affair to get rid of the emotions, she was failing significantly.
She yearned to reach out to him, to call him.
Sir George was still talking, but she had lost the train of what he was saying. That was unforgivably rude, but she could get by with a few gentle agreements.
“So you would agree to a wedding in November, then, ma’am?”
That brought her back to earth. She opened her eyes wide, alarmed at what she had so nearly agreed to. “No indeed, sir!” Forgetting all attempts to mollify her mother or the man next to her, she got to her feet. “If you will excuse me, I will be but a moment.”
Gathering her skirts, ignoring her mother’s fierce glare, she left the box. The footman guarding the door, ostensibly there to see to their needs, stood before it, but she glared at him, and he gave in. At least she still had that power, even if the footman was a favorite of her mother’s. All the footmen were, and the maids.
She swept past him, head high, tears misting her vision. No doubt her mother would send someone after her, so to go into one of the retirement rooms set to one side would be to imprison herself. Even without Tom she could not marry Sir George. He had driven her demented over the last day. A lifetime of the droning sycophant would send her to an early grave.
Outside, the hallway was deserted. They were on the level where only the moneyed sectors of society had sway. Since this was not a popular time for visitors to London, very few of her sort had attended the play tonight. Perhaps she should risk ducking into one of the unoccupied boxes. But she could hardly climb over them to the others. No, she needed to get away.
Footsteps sounded behind her. “My lady!”
The footman’s voice was sharp, commanding. Helena took no notice, except to quicken her step. She would not stay, could not listen to any more. Whatever it cost her, she would leave now, even if she had to walk the streets on her own.
That prospect made her pause. Her heart beat hard, but she refused to go back.
“Helena!”
“No!” Wildly she glanced behind her. The footman was some way back, but gaining ground fast. She could not see Tom, but that was his voice.
“Turn left.”
She did so, and someone dragged her into a dark place.
A door closed quietly behind her and she was in his arms. He released her quickly. “Come.”
“What is this?” They were in a narrow corridor, with only a few oil lamps to guide their way.
“Theaters have servants’ quarters, too,” he said briefly and caught her hand. He pulled her along the passage and then turned into another. From the direction, she guessed they were moving to his side of the theater.
“Do you want me to go into your box?”
He gave a sharp, hard laugh. “No. Not yet. I want you to tell me what distressed you so much.”
She wanted that too. Concentrating on hurrying and listening for the sounds of pursuit, she went with him. They passed a startled manservant, who flattened himself against the wall.
Tom dropped a crown into his hand. “You saw nobody.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied, but they were well advanced by then.
He brought her out into a better lit corridor, the twin of the one they had left, but in reverse. Without pause, he led her into one of the rest rooms on this side of the theater. He closed the door and locked it before he turned and pulled her into his arms. “First,” he muttered, before he kissed her.
She leaned against his shoulder and relaxed into his arms. He didn’t linger over the kiss, although he separated their lips with lingering reluctance. “Now tell me why you ran out that way. What did that man say to you?”
“I thought you were watching the play.”
He shook his head. “Strategically placed mirrors. I never took my attention away from you. I know it’s wrong to watch someone so obsessively, but I can’t help it. When you’re near, you are all I think about.”
Typical of the Dankworths to have a theater box that was more about watching people than watching the entertainment. “He’s a neighbor from Derbyshire, Sir George Seward. My mother wants me to marry him.”
He didn’t let her go. “Do you want to marry him?”
“No!” She spoke the word with such vehemence she startled herself.
“Would you have considered it before you met me?”
That was unkind of him, because it was so perspicacious. “I can’t bear the thought of anyone close to me except you. But it’s not just that.” Tears came to her eyes unbidden, but she would not give into them. “He worships my mother. If I marry him, I will be expected to remain at home with my mother for the rest of my life. Sir George will move into the Abbey and we will dance attendance on her until she dies.” She closed her eyes. “And his breath smells.” A petulant addition, but if she had to spend a lifetime with a man, she would rather not spend it with a man who had rotting teeth.
Tom’s teeth were as sharp and white as a wolf’s.
He placed a kiss on each of her closed eyelids, soft as an angel’s wing brushing against her heart. “Then don’t marry him.”
“Easy for you to say.” She opened her eyes and met his, so understanding, but not in this case. “I can refuse, but Mother will go on and on. Then she will banish me and refuse to allow me my season next spring. I will never find anyone. I’m worth a fortune, but I can touch none of it. It’s for the aggrandizement of my future husband or my family.”
“I don’t care about your inheritance. I am not on speaking terms with your mother. Marry me, Helena.”
She blinked. “How can we?”
“Easily. We may do it tonight.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock. He could only mean one thing. “A Fleet wedding?”
“Why not?”
For any number of reasons. A Fleet wedding was legal but illicit, used often by the unscrupulous adventurers who seduced or abducted valuable heiresses. Public uproar, especially from the families of the heiresses who found themselves saddled with unsuitable sons-in-law, was rising, but for now such marriages were legal.
“We cannot.”
“It’s a matter of finding a cleric and paying him. Even at this time of night that won’t take much effort.”
He cupped her cheek, and she nestled into it. She loved the way his hand encompassed the side of her face.
“I love you, Helena. I will protect you in any way I can, however I can.”
“But what about after? What then?” They would hardly be welcome in either family. She couldn’t imagine taking Tom home and introducing him as her new husband. Julius and Augustus would fight for the right to kill him.
He frowned, but only for a moment. “I have money of my own. We may buy a house wherever we wish, call ourselves whatever we like. We can make Mr. and Mrs. Fisher come to life.”
Awed, she stared at him. “How do we do that?”
“We could go abroad and live there, or go into a remote part of the country.”
She choked a cynical laugh. “My family is everywhere. All my relatives are wealthy, and they all own numerous establishments. Besides, what happens when your father dies? You must inherit.”
“We don’t have to live in exile forever. We would write to our loved ones and tell them we are well and married. When they forgive us or allow us to be together, we may emerge once more.”
“It’s a fairy tale.” Dare she believe it? “I cannot touch any of my money, and I assume yours is tied up in your estate.”
He shook his head and moved around, cupped her face in both his hands and kissed her fiercely. “I have helped my father rebuild the estate, but I did not give him everything. I have a competence of my own. It’s nothing like the fortunes your family commands, nor the Northwich title, for that matter, but it is enough to ensure that we and our children may live in comfortable obscurity.”
She sighed. “That sounds blissful.”
Could they really do it? But no. “Our families will come in pursuit of us.”
“If they can find us. They will not do so, my love.” Snatching her close, he gripped her in an embrace that knocked the breath out of her, but for all that she would have stayed there forever. He groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I cannot let you go. All my life I have done what is right, what is expected of me. Only recently have I tried to break free. I want this for myself, the first time in my life I have been utterly selfish. I cannot see you married, not to a lout like Sir George or even to an exquisite who would know how to treat you. You are mine.”
“Yes.” In her heart she knew that was the absolute truth. Nothing else mattered but that they claimed each other. “Yes, I’m yours. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Whatever happened after that, she was his.
“Then come.”
Trusting him completely, she let him lead her from the room. Together they went downstairs, where, hatless and without her cloak, she let him help her into a common hackney cab. They rattled down the narrow street, down another and yet another until they reached Fleet Street.
Ladies of the evening and their clients jostled and laughed while respectable citizens looked on. Even they had more freedom than she did, but in this, she was finally herself. Braziers next to the boxes occupied by the night watchmen glowed, with urchins gathered around them. Inn doors lay open invitingly, light pouring out and people shouting and laughing, the sound passing like a wave as the carriage rocked past them.
Upper windows beamed light on to the street below, glimpses of people passing before them, or leaning out, elbows on the sill, to watch life teeming below them. All these people had their own lives, their own worries, but Helena felt none of them. Could she truly be doing this? After instructing the driver, Tom held her hand tightly but said nothing, staring out of the window for the short journey to the Fleet prison.
The Fleet took up a plot of land close to Ludgate Hill, adjacent to Doctor’s Commons, where marriage licenses could be had in the general way. The regular way. She was not fated to have one of those marriages.
They climbed out of the vehicle, and Tom threw the man double his fare and added a guinea for good measure. “You never saw us,” he said.
The driver touched his whip to the brim of his hat in salute. “Want me to wait, sir?”
“Yes.” Tom paused and glanced up at where the man perched nimbly on his precarious seat and then at the door of the prison. “I will get them up even if I have to knock the doors down.”
The Fleet was a debtor’s prison, notorious for the high charges it levied on its inmates. They owed when they went in and owed even more when they had been there a while. Some prisoners lived outside the jurisdiction of the building, and with the place locked up for the night, this was obviously the better course.
The huge doors under the arch were closed, but as they approached, a small door to the side opened.
A man stepped into the light, rubbing his nose and sniffing wetly. “’Ave you got business ’ere?”
“We have.” Tom handed over coins.
The man clutched them, rubbed them together but forbore to test them with his teeth. If he had any. “Who with?”
“A clergyman. The lady and I wish to be married.”
The man sniffed again. “At this hour?”
That was a cue for more money, which Tom handed over. “I’ll wager we’re not the first.”
“Nor you might be. Mr. Clegg is still up—I swear he barely sleeps two hours a night. Worries, you see, about his wife and fam’ly.”
He wore a strange collection of clothes. His coat appeared dirty and worn, its original color hard to determine, but underneath his stained waistcoat was silk, and embroidered, a costly item, or it would have been in its day. The fine buttons were gone, probably sold separately, the cheap horn ones incongruous against the once-fine background.
The man turned around and shuffled through the door. Tom guided Helena through, his hand around her waist.
Although Helena was not dressed for a ball, she appeared far too fine for this place. Her red-and-white striped gown was clean and crisp, her lace good, and her shoes fine brocade ones, not meant for the street. But they were all she had, and she would not be ashamed or afraid. Not on her wedding day.
The stink of overcooked cabbage, stale urine, and sour milk mingled with the yeasty aroma of beer wafted around her, but Helena had known worse, or so she told herself as she boldly stepped forward into the gloomy yard that lay beyond the lodge at the gates. A number of shadowy alcoves signified where doors to the lodgings were.
The man took them to the second on the left and rapped hard. “Mr. Clegg! Customers!”
Helena swallowed as the door opened.
A man in shabby clothing, but a decent appearance stood up. “I appreciate it, Mr. Jones.” A single candle glimmered inside, together with a bed covered with a rough blanket, a chair, and a rickety table.
The clergyman asked no questions, but took the money and opened the book they would sign when they had done.
They stood before him, and in a low voice, he began the ceremony.
In that room, Helena Vernon became Lady Alconbury, or more importantly, the wife of Tom Dankworth, the man she loved. She learned that his full name was Charles Thomas Maria Dankworth, which forced a smile to her face. She put her hand in his.
For a ring, she received his signet ring. Not the one with his family coat of arms on it, but a more personal one with an ancient carved ruby on the bezel. She had to crook her finger to keep it on.
The vows were as sacred here as they would have been in the family chapel at home or in a fashionable London church. They meant the same, and she meant every word. He repeated them in his turn, and to her shock added “obey” to his vows, too, giving her the crooked smile she loved as he did so.
The whole thing took less than ten minutes, start to finish. The warden and another man acted as witnesses, and they signed the book afterward. So many names lay before and after theirs she felt safe from discovery adding hers to the list.
“I will not go home tonight,” she told him. She could not bear to be separated from him on this, their wedding night.
She bought a piece of paper from the clergyman and wrote a quick note to her father, telling him that Julius had requested that she attend him and she would be home in the morning. It was a risk, but one she would willingly take.
They went outside, her hand resting on her husband’s arm.
“You’re mine now,” he said in a low, intimate voice that thrilled her to the core. “Nobody will take you away from me.”
The cab was still waiting. They stepped inside, Tom threw the man a coin, and they went to the house in Folgate Street. The house belonged to them, nobody else, and this was the only place they could be themselves.
The strangeness of entering a house that was not lit or with servants to greet them overwhelmed her for the second it took Tom to turn and take her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply, as if to take in her very essence. “My wife. My love. Nobody else can have you now.”
“No. And nobody can have you.”
They belonged to each other.
When he would have kissed her, she held him off. “No, wait. If you do that I will lose every sense I have left.” She glanced down at her gown, which had now collected some of the dirt of the prison on its hem. Her shoes would be ruined. “We cannot run off tomorrow morning, can we? You will need to make preparations.”
“You may stay here if you wish,” he said. “I will find everything we need.”
She shook her head. “I’m leaving people I love. I won’t do it hugger-mugger. My brother would never stop until he found us. He deserves an explanation.”
His mouth firmed, and two lines creased the space between his dark brows. “What would you do? Confess all to your parents?”
“No,” she said, although she would prefer to do that. “I have a friend, Mary Steed, in the country. She lives in Devonshire now. I can forge her handwriting well enough. I will have her send me a letter inviting me to stay with her. Then I may pack and bring my belongings with me.”
“Will it work?”
“If it does not, I will come anyway. I want to try.”
His mouth tightened, and he paused before he spoke. “Your mother will let you go?”
“She liked Mary and she was sorry when she moved away. Mary married a wealthy gentleman who owns a fleet of ships, so my father will be glad if I visit. He has urged me to do so. I will tell my mother I wish to speak to Mary before I agree to marry anyone, or I will beg her for this one last indulgence. At any rate, she will let me go.”
“I can hardly believe that sweet Lady Helena Vernon could be so devious.” Smiling, he touched her chin, grazing his fingers along her cheek. They were trembling. So he was not unaffected by this evening’s activities. After he’d taken her from the theater, Helena had wondered at his calm, but now she realized it was his way of coping with strong emotion. She had her serene face, the one she’d practiced in the mirror until she had it right. He decided on a course of action and then went ahead and did it.
Were they truly married? The possibility hardly seemed likely, but here they were. “I’ve not finished yet. I’ll send a note to my father’s house, telling him that Julius wished me to come and help with Caroline.”
“You’re taking too much of a chance,” he said. “Let me take you back home. You may say you were taken ill at the theater.”
That was not the way she intended this evening to end. “And miss my wedding night? No, indeed, I will not do it.” She shot him a laughing grin. “This isn’t the first time I’ve played my mother off against my brother. They rarely see eye to eye on anything, and they often quarrel.”
“Ah. I do not have that problem.”
“No, you do not.” His mother had died too long ago. Going up on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “But I will do everything I can to make it up to you. Will we have children?”
“Undoubtedly.” He smiled down at her, all the warmth in his eyes for her alone. “We should perhaps make a start.” He pressed his hand to the small of her back, urging her toward the stairs. “Up with you, my lady.”
Laughing, she ran up to their room.
Tom had arranged for a maid to come in to clean. The bed was made up with fresh sheets, and the sparse furniture gleamed with polish. Struck by a thought, she turned impulsively to him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
“It feels as if I’m coming home,” she said softly.
“Yes it does.” He kissed her, as if in welcome. It started as a gentle kiss, but soon progressed once she parted her lips and let him in.
Without hesitation he took what she offered and dived in. They devoured each other, touching and fumbling for fasteners, hooks, and buttons, going as fast as they could manage, undressing themselves and each other with a speed that defied the skills of even the most skilful body servant.
He had her down to her shift before he stepped back and looked at her. His eyes glowed. “Remember our pact? In here we are nobody. We mean nothing to anyone else except each other.” He caught her hands, pressing them against his bare chest. “My love, I want to take you tonight. I want this to be a true wedding night, but I don’t want you to give me anything you might come to regret.”
“I won’t.” Her conviction shook her. They were ending this life and starting a new one, so a child would only be welcome. But if she denied him, she would regret it forever. Never to have him inside her, loving her, was too painful to think about right now. “I want everything, Tom. Please.”
“Then you shall have it.” His heart thudded against their clasped hands. “Everything I have is yours, my love. I swear you will never lack for anything, as long as we are man and wife. Which will be forever.” Drawing closer, he kissed her again.
Her fever to have him rose, so she could no longer bear to be apart from him. When she tore frantically at the fall of his breeches, he clasped her hands and drew them away.
“Not like that. Get into bed, my sweet love.”
Swallowing, Helena drew her last remaining garment over her head and tossed it aside to join the rest of her finery on the floor. Watching her closely, Tom unfastened his breeches and drew them and his underwear away. Then he joined her. His cock was boldly erect, standing proudly against his belly, and as he slid his arms around her and drew her close, it burned against her flesh. He slid his hands into hers, came over her, and pressed their joined hands against the pillow on either side of her head. “Mine,” he said, with all the confidence of a man who knew he loved and was loved in return.
“Always,” she replied. She longed to have him, but she must allow him to do this his way, because she knew it would hurt. When he had touched her most intimate places, he’d been careful not to push her there, to disturb her virginity in any way. She’d respected his choice, but it had been his choice, not hers. She had given him everything else and been well rewarded for it in terms of sweet pleasure, so why not that, too?
Tonight they had taken a step they could not pull back, and they were headed for somewhere new. How appropriate, then, was this final act of possession?
In law it would be Tom possessing her. He could claim her fortune and stir up so much trouble that their families would be even more at odds than they were before. But she trusted him not to shake the beehive and force the families to take the action that could destroy them both.
But no. Here they were a reasonably prosperous merchant and his wife. Nothing more.
“Will we always be Mr. and Mrs. Fisher?”
Poised over her, he stopped and smiled. “Yes. Always. Nothing can take this away from us. I will always keep this house for us, and we may always retire to it when we feel the need.”
She had the key. She could come here whenever she wished. That knowledge had made her life more bearable and infinitely sweeter.
“Open your legs, my love. Let me in.”
With a laugh of sheer pleasure, she did as he bade her, raised her knees and slid her feet up the sheets until he was nestled inside her thighs, his cock grazing her cleft. He rubbed against her, nuzzling his member into her, collecting the wetness her body had made for him.
“You feel too good to be real,” he said.
She grinned. “I know what you mean. So make it real, Tom.”
He kissed her. “Your wish, as always, is my privilege to obey.”
He slid against her again. “You’re ready. There’s nothing I want more than to plunge in deep, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
She braced herself, pressing her feet down. She would not move, because the reward for a little pain would more than compensate. “Do it.”
With a grunt, he freed his right hand and brought it down between their bodies. When he touched her, she jerked up and turned her head, to be confronted by his sinewy bare arm. She swallowed and turned her face back to his. “What are you doing?”
“Easing my way.” He sounded breathless. “You feel wonderful, Helena, as wet as I’ve ever known you.” He slid a finger into her, right inside, and moved it. She forced a smile, but she’d lost her society face. She couldn’t have pasted on her quiet serenity if her life depended on it. Nor did he want it, she knew. She would not insult him by trying. The lack of any useful mask made her feel painfully vulnerable, but this was the man she had fallen deeply in love with. She needed to show him that, if only for her own sake.
“I can’t do any more.” He withdrew his finger and rested his hand next to hers on the pillow. Unhesitatingly she threaded her fingers between his. His forefinger was wet with her essence. “I’m as untried as you in this instance, Helena.”
She loved that this powerful man confessed he was in new country, that he opened himself enough to say that.
Their eyes met, and they watched each other as he made her his.
Helena couldn’t suppress her swallow when he eased in, stretching her in a way that alarmed her and then brought her pain. But she trusted this man, and she pressed closer to him, silently urging him to continue.
Tom set his jaw. “I’ve never known anything like this,” he said through his teeth.
He pushed until he was fully embedded, their bodies pressed together in unimaginable intimacy. Only then did he kiss her, and he kept the caress brief. “How do you feel?”
“Odd. Invaded—wonderful.”
He quirked a smile and his eyes danced. “Wonderful? Truly?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Is this the right time to tell you that I love you?”
“Any time is. I love you too, my darling.”
Helena had never felt so cherished and cared for. Tom had eyes for her alone. Until that moment she hadn’t been aware how much she’d needed that—for someone to concentrate on her only. Her world shifted a little. This whole mad plan could work.
“You’re my world.” She loosened her hand from his and curled it around his neck, tickling just below his hairline in the way he liked.
He purred. “Ready?”
He’d remained still inside her, allowing her body to accept him. On her nod, he slowly drew out, nearly to the tip, and then pushed back in again, keeping his movement firm and steady. He gave her the time to assimilate what he was doing.
She felt every inch as he slid deep inside, her body stretching to admit him and then clasping him as if it would never let him go.
She grazed his flanks with the sides of her feet, and he groaned. “Around my waist,” he murmured. “Please.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, resting her heels on his buttocks.
He moved again, and she gasped. The movement had opened her to him more fully, so when he drove in this time, the effect was deeper, and—
“Oh!”
He chuckled, a rumble low in his throat as he saw and felt her reaction. As he moved again, he dropped a kiss on her lips. With every stroke, his movements became easier, and deeper.
She had not been aware that she’d arched her back until he touched somewhere new, a place inside her she hadn’t known about before. “Tom!”
“There we are,” he said in a voice of deep satisfaction. “Don’t hold back, my love. Let me take you there.”
“Where?”
A few moments later she knew. He stroked in and out of her, his thrusts deepening, opening her up to take everything and welcome it. At first she tried to mark the sensations rioting through her, but with her whole body involved in learning and marveling, she could no longer use her mind.
“Your body knows what to do,” he murmured. Sweat gathered on his brow, and he levered his upper body up, placing his hands either side of her, leaving her free to touch him, to run her hands over the bunched muscles at his shoulders and arms, feeling the strain when he powered into her. Each of his breaths ended in a sharp grunt, and she watched him, pushed her body up to meet every thrust. She fell so deeply in love with him she would never get out.
Nor did she want to. She cried out, his name the only word she was capable of uttering as the ripples of sensation rioting through her coalesced and joined in one surge, washing over her, drowning her in pure emotion.
She opened her eyes, staring at him in wonder. He was waiting for her, a wicked grin curling his mouth, his gaze sparkling. Then he closed them, and his whole body shuddered. He released into her, jetting his seed deep inside her body, groaning as he came.
With a cry of triumph he rolled away, taking her with him. He helped her uncurl her legs, restoring one to drape over his thigh as they lay on their sides facing each other, entwined in each other.