Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (21 page)

“It’s been quite an adventure, hasn’t it?” he said. “I can’t believe I’m alive.”

“Neither can I. You must be made of steel.”

“I’m too tough to kill.”

After seeing him run through with a sword, she had to concur. She couldn’t figure out why he’d survived, but she credited his robust constitution, a lucky star, and divine intervention. Clearly, it wasn’t his time to go.

“What will become of us?” she asked.

“I don’t have any idea. I’m too drained to worry about it now.”

“Do you suppose we’ll ever be found? Tell me the truth.”

“We can only hope.”

She gazed at him over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so grumpy.”

“You haven’t been.” He paused, then grinned. “Well, maybe a
little
grumpy.”

“I’m not normally such a dour person.”

“Ha!”

“I was terrified. I thought you were about to die on me.”

“Die on
you
? I told you: I’ll never go anywhere without you, so stop being such a grouch.”

“I don’t mean to be. It’s just that these past weeks have been...a bit much.”

“That would be putting it mildly.”

“And I haven’t been angry with you. I’m angry at God. I don’t know why He has to make everything so difficult for me.”

“Are you feeling that He’s specifically singled you out?”

“Yes, and I don’t care for the attention. I wish He’d switch to someone else.”

He snorted with amusement, and he leaned nearer and kissed her on the lips. He held himself just there, lingering, consoling, and she eased into the embrace, accepting the comfort he needed to give and she needed to receive.

Down below, his hardening phallus was pressed to her thigh, evidence that his health was much improved, his prior vigor returning with a vengeance.

“You’re obviously feeling much better,” she pointed out.

“I certainly am.” He shifted his weight, coming over her.

“What are you doing?” she inquired, though she knew the answer.

“I’m finishing what we started on my ship.” He glowered at her. “And don’t even think about protesting.”

She stared at him, transfixed by the magnetic blue of his beautiful eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good, because I’m not about to argue with you.”

“Are you sure you’re...ah...fit enough for this? I wouldn’t want to cause a relapse.”

He scoffed and flexed against her, his phallus growing even larger. “Do I feel debilitated to you?”

“No.”

He began kissing her again, his movements slow and deliberate, but exhilarating all the same. Much of the force and power he’d displayed in their previous carnal forays was tamped down, but he was definitely hale and able.

He didn’t have the patience for any delay, and since she was clothed only in her chemise, it didn’t take long to have her naked. He stripped the garment over her head and dipped to her breasts, nibbling and sucking on the aroused tips.

In the back of her mind, she understood that she should stop him, that their coupling would bring even more calamity down the road. But for now, she felt so physically and spiritually linked to him that she couldn’t deny him the smallest request.

If he wanted to mate, she was more than willing.

He kept on and on, titillating her until her hips were pushing into his, until her woman’s sheath was wet and relaxed, then he tugged at his drawers so he could wedge his rod into her.

“Spread your legs,” he urged, “just a tad more.”

She realized that he was trembling, his strength not as fully restored as he liked to pretend, plus they’d had a very busy day. No doubt he was exhausted, but doing his best to hide it.

She widened her thighs, her knees falling away, a signal that she wanted to proceed as much as he. Perhaps more so. She was frantic to be connected to him in everyway.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, and she did. “Now, let it out.”

She did that too, and with very little effort, he slid into her.

To her surprise, it was very easy to give herself to him, and none of the horror stories she’d heard about the sexual act seemed accurate. There was some pressure, some minor discomfort, but it passed quickly, and they were united as she would likely never be with another man.

He thrust into her, weaker than he should have been, his vitality diminished but hardly gone. Shortly, his desire crested, his body stiffening, as he spilled himself. Then he collapsed onto her, his lovely face nestled at her bosom.

She held him for a long while, and when he finally drew away, he was smiling so tenderly that her heart raced. If she wasn’t cautious, she could get swept up in that smile, could read too much into it and want too much because of it.

“My darling, Harriet, what did you think of that?”

“It was different than I expected, but very, very grand.”

“It will get better the more we do it.”

“It was quite marvelous this time.”

He chuckled. “If I have to be stranded on a deserted island, I’m glad I’m stranded with you.”

“I have to agree. The present company is not all bad.”

“See? I told you I’d grow on you. It’s happening already.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Close your eyes and rest,” he murmured, and it was a simple command to follow.

She snuggled down, and in seconds, she was asleep, content and safe in the circle of his arms.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Helen ran into her bedchamber, slammed the door, and began to pace.

She felt as if her world was collapsing, as if she was drowning in a sea of bad decisions.

Without reservation or restraint, she had given herself to James Harcourt. She’d gleefully sought ruination, while asking for nothing in exchange but a bit of assistance in finding her sister—assistance that had failed to materialize.

He’d agreed to help her, but after what she’d witnessed down in the parlor with Miranda Wilson, she had to accept that he’d probably been lying. About Harriet. About everything.

Helen was no better than the lowest scullery maid who spread her legs for a few pennies, except that in Helen’s case, she hadn’t even tried to get what she’d bargained for up front.

Why was she so gullible? Why had her common sense flown out the window?

He was a man who allowed high-stakes gambling in his home, and she kept conveniently forgetting that the first time she met him, he’d believed she was a prostitute.

He had a relationship with Miranda that Helen didn’t understand, but obviously, it was much more involved than he would ever admit. And if he would seduce Helen, while carrying on with his ward, of what other perfidy might he be capable?

What had she done? What was she thinking?

She pulled out her portmanteau and tossed it on the bed, ready to pack it and depart. But to where? Where could she go? Who—in the entire kingdom—would take her in?

She stared into the wardrobe, at the pretty dresses that had been delivered. They provided stark evidence that she’d sold her soul for a cupboard of frills and trinkets. She could have demanded so much more for herself. Why had she settled for so little?

Suddenly, she could hear him marching down the hall, and his confident approach only underscored her precarious situation. She couldn’t deny or refuse him, her sole option being to participate in their affair for as long as he insisted it continue.

When they had started in, it had seemed so right, so natural. Now, it merely seemed idiotic and dangerous.

He barged in without knocking, and as she whipped around to face him, she wondered if there were servants in the hall, if anyone had seen him enter.

How many minutes would pass before gossip filtered out that he was in her bedchamber? Once their liaison became common knowledge, what other disasters would it bring?

“Get out of here!” she said, more furious than she’d ever been.

“No.”

He looked over at the bed, saw her bag, and his own fury spiked. He stomped over, grabbed it, and pitched it on the floor.

“I have not given you permission to leave.”

“I’m an adult, and I can go whenever I want. You don’t own me.”

“No, I don’t, but you’ll do as I say, and you’ll do it gladly.”

She was trembling so violently that if she’d been holding a pistol, she might have shot him.

“I am not loose,” she declared, “and I am not a whore.”

“Have I ever so much as hinted that I thought you were?”

“For pity’s sake, you have a paramour around every corner. What am I? Your fancy of the month? Or is it just the week?”

He stalked to her, and he towered over her, vividly reminding her—with his size and stature—that he was omnipotent, that he could do whatever he wished.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Why are you so upset?”

“What is wrong with
me
? I walk into the parlor and see you embracing your ward, and you want to know why I’m upset?”

There was a possessive, shrewish tone to her voice that she loathed, but she couldn’t temper her remarks. She was jealous and envious and very, very hurt.

He frowned. “You think I was embracing Miranda?”

“I have two eyes in my head. Don’t you dare try to pretend that I’m mistaken or I’ll...I’ll...” She spun away, sick at how she sounded, at how she was acting. “Just go. Please.”

With her infatuation blossoming to outlandish heights, she’d forgotten a cardinal rule between lord and servant: It was none of her business what he did. If he wanted to fornicate with a dozen women—with a thousand women!—it was none of her concern.

Like the most naive fool, she’d assumed he was growing fond of her, but it was ludicrous to suppose that she had a lock on his affection.

While she’d been finding threads of romantic drivel sewn through the fabric of their relationship, he’d merely found an easy method of assuaging his lust.

Her anger was ridiculous, and she was greatly embarrassed to have him observe it, to have him realize he could drive her to such a pitiful level.

“Miranda is my ward,” he stupidly said. “I’ve known her since she was a baby.”

“She wants to marry you! Are you deaf? Are you blind?”

“Marry me!”

“Yes, you! Not your brother. You! Why can’t you see what she’s doing?”

“She’s a child. She’s like a little sister to me.”

“A child! She’s only two years younger than I am, and from the moment I arrived, she’s been throwing herself at you.”

“She has not. I was comforting her. We’ve had some bad news, and we—”

“Comforting!” She shouted the word. “Is that what you call it? You’re so obtuse that you don’t notice what’s happening. Or maybe you
do
notice, and you don’t care. Maybe you’re flattered.”

“You’re being absurd.”

“Am I?” She clasped a fist over the center of her chest. “My heart is broken. Can you even begin to understand? I don’t know what I’m doing with you. What is going to become of me?”

“Nothing has changed between us.”

“Really? Tell me this: What am I to you?”

He narrowed his gaze as if trying to bring her into clearer focus. “What in bloody hell do you mean?”

“Am I mistress? Am I whore? Am I brief dalliance? Tell me!”

“You’re...you’re...Helen.”

“And...?”

“You’re just...you.”

His inability to describe his view of her position only made her more irate, only made her choices more farcical. Why had she involved herself with him?

“I will not sit by,” she seethed, “and watch while you seduce your brother’s fiancée!”

“Have you any idea how silly you’re being?
I
suggested the match to him.
I
arranged the marriage contracts.”

“Well, it appears you’re having second thoughts. Have you no honor? No shame? When he returns and discovers that you’ve ruined her, what will be your excuse? You were swept away by passion?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Do not speak to me of my brother.”

“Someone needs to. You act as if you’re—”

“Be silent!” he roared.

His color was very high, and she cringed, worried that he might strike her. Instead, he shoved her away and went to the window to stare out. She scurried to the other side of the bed, using it as a barrier between them.

An awkward impasse ensued, where she wondered what he was thinking, but she couldn’t guess.

Had she pushed him too far? Would he finally fire her?

At the notion that he might, she was unbearably sad. She’d sacrificed everything to be with him, while he’d given up nothing at all.

She should have been wiser, should have protected herself, but she hadn’t been able to resist the excitement he brought to her life. Yet if there was to be joy at one end of the spectrum, there would be anguish at the other, and though she’d recognized there would be consequences, it had never occurred to her that they would be so wrenching.

He glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes glittering with emotion.

“My brother has been lost at sea.”

She gasped. “What?”

“I just received the news. His ship was attacked by pirates; he was set adrift.”

“Is he...he...?”

Gad, she couldn’t say it. She’d been accusing him of flirtation and seduction, while he was staggering under the weight of the worst tidings he would likely ever hear.

“He is presumed to be deceased,” he tersely replied.

She collapsed against the wall, not certain her legs would support her.

She’d been struggling with the same type of devastating information: a missing sibling, an unknown fate. It was an impossible burden that levied incalculable guilt.

Could she have prevented Harriet’s disappearance? Should she have realized sooner that something nefarious had transpired? If she had known, would it have made any difference?

“So you see, Helen”—rage wafted off him—“as opposed to how you assume I was scheming with my brother’s fiancée, I was actually telling her that he was dead.”

“Oh, James...”

“Dead, Helen. Dead and gone—like that.” He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing off the high ceiling.

“I am so sorry.” She stumbled over to him. “I am
so, so
sorry.”