The Highlander’s Accidental Wife (Queen’s Edict #3)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Helena shoved at him, even as she fought laughter and outrage, and Damien let her go but caught her hand. She gasped as he kissed her knuckles.

“Go on, then,” he said, and his voice seemed deeper. “Undo me with yer clever English ways, me bride. I confess I am lookin’ forward to it.”

“Damien,” she got out, her breathless voice nearly unrecognizable to her ears.

“D’ye ken what ye do to me, Helena? Dressed in this pretty gown, with hints of white underneath, and yer two braids? Ye look so luscious that I find meself wantin’ to ruin ye—even as I suspect it might go the other way ‘round.” He pulled her closer, and his voice became hoarse. “I have never, since me faither died, been able to be distracted from a storm, and yet ye…”

“That’s right,” she got out as he turned her hand over and kissed her wrist, nearly sending her to her knees. “I meant to distract you. And now you are trying to seduce me again, Sir. As though it’s your job.”

“Perhaps it is,” Damien murmured. “I think I’d excel.” He let go of her hand, and she snatched it back against her chest. “Go on—or do ye want me to make ye reconsider yer year?”

“I want to make sure you are all right,” Helena retorted, even though she knew she should’ve run for the door.

Why wasn’t she running?

“Ye ken,” Damien said as he took a step forward, and Helena took a step back. “A year is a verra long time. And we seem to spark, lass. I agreed to nay bairns for a year, but what if there were other… distractions that we might take part in that would bring us as much pleasure?”

Helena’s face flamed. How dare he use that word in such a context? Or tease her with carnal pleasure?

“You are insufferable,” she huffed as her back hit the wall. “A-A proper rogue.”

“I ken that,” Damien said and stepped closer, but he did not hem her in. Not as he had when they were near the tree.

Again, Helena remembered the way she’d been pressed against it, with him looming over her. And then she remembered how he’d teased her, pulled at her, and then twisted her around so that her back was pressed against his front, his lips on her neck.

“I also ken what ye are thinkin’.”

Helena’s hands flattened against the wall as he loomed over her. “Oh?” she gasped as he delicately moved her braid and stroked his thumb over the spot on her neck where he’d kissed her. His eyebrow rose as he did it again, and she couldn’t help it—she nodded. “Please.”

“Aye, beg for mercy, Sassenach ,” Damien murmured, moving closer and cupping her face in his big hands. “Beg for me.”

“Never, you insufferable arse,” Helena blurted out, before she grabbed his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss, surging up on her tiptoes at the same time.

Damien laughed against her lips, then kissed her hard.

This kiss smoldered between them, burning hotter and hotter. Helena savored the pressure of his lips against hers, the delicious roll of nerves in her belly, and the skittering of sparks across her skin.

Then, Damien slid his hands down her neck, down her back, and yanked her close. The wall was gone, and Helena fell against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Now, the kiss began to burn and catch, and Helena gasped when Damien nipped her lip. It sent a blaze through her, and then he stroked his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her, dominating her, as he pulled her closer. Helena arched into him, holding on and tugging on his hair.

She smiled when he snarled into her mouth, and she tasted him now, the two of them teasing and battling as they did with their words.

Finally, when Helena dragged her nails down the side of Damien’s neck and through his beard, he went rigid. His hips jerked against hers, and she went hot all over when she felt a massive ridge brush against her sex.

“Helena,” Damien gasped and held her at arm’s length. His chest rose and fell with great gasps, his face flushed, his blue eye electric. “Christ, I?—”

He kissed her again, harder, and then her back hit the wall as he lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she made a high-pitched sound in her throat as he rocked his hard manhood against her again.

Was it supposed to feel so big? Her head fell back against the wall as he kissed her jaw and neck, and she murmured his name.

“Say it again,” Damien said and lifted his head, staring at her.

She smiled at him. “What?”

“Lena,” he mumbled, even as a smile lit up his face. He kissed her again, his fingers curling into her waist, his other hand stroking her face. “I cannae?—”

A loud boom of thunder cracked overhead, and both started, then stared at each other. They were both panting harder than ever now, and then Damien let out a rueful laugh.

“I should put ye down,” he said and slowly did so.

Standing felt strange, and gravity felt stranger as Damien let her go, still pressed against the wall. He had a hand splayed by her head, as though he needed the wall to stay upright. His hair was mussed, and his shirt seemed to gape wider, and when she looked down, she saw an enormous bulge in his breeches.

“Ye look almost properly ravished,” he mused and went to touch her cheek, then stopped. “Ye must leave, Helena, if ye want yer year. Otherwise, I shall—” He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. “Nay, I am a gentleman. Or at least I try to be. I didnae expect a Sassenach to make it so hard. To make me so goddamn hard.”

A laugh escaped her. “At least we have something to look forward to?”

Damien shook his head, and a low growl escaped his throat as he glared down at her and then pointed at the door. “Get out, ye cheeky minx. Or I will flip yer skirts over yer head and then rut ye like every feckin’ one of yer countrymen expects me to—right on me desk, with ye beggin’ for more.”

Helena’s lips parted, and Damien had to wrench his gaze away. He walked to the sideboard and threw back the rest of his drink.

“Helena. Go. Please. I need… relief. Unless ye are joinin’ or want to watch, I suggest?—”

She fled, and his laughter followed her, even as she realized what he meant. His big hand on himself, mimicking the act of consummation. Another woodcut, one she had not understood, and now she knew all too well. The pulse between her legs demanded… something.

Damien could offer you that. Mercy and more.

She all but fell against her door as she burst into her room and locked the door. Not that a lock seemed like it would keep her husband-to-be out if he really wanted to get in. But perhaps she was locking herself in.

In the quiet of her room, dim and shapeless, Helena found that what had happened felt less and less like an exciting adventure and more like a dangerous interlude.

What was I thinking? Why did I go to him?

She began to pace and nearly broke her shins on a low stool. Kicking at it, she pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead and bit back a scream of frustration. The pressure of tears suddenly overwhelmed her, and she fell in a heap before the fireplace.

It was all too much, with no mother to guide her, because her mother had probably fallen for the same foolishness. Was not her mother’s work proof that intelligent women could be swayed by men’s wiles? Did not the Church warn of it?

Somewhere, Helena knew that she was overwrought and tired and that none of this was logical—that Damien had promised her the year and would hold to it.

But as she caught her breath in her dark room, hands pressed against the cold stone floor, none of that logic mattered.

All that mattered was her work.

I cannot be so foolish again. I cannot let myself fall for his words and charm. He means to seduce me. Every time I let my guard down, we end up kissing.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, and a sob tore out of her. Never in her life, even during the dreariest and most monotonous days in her father’s house, had she felt so alone .

How she hated how much she wanted to rush back to Damien and find comfort in his arms again. More the fool she was. They’d gone from hugging to kissing to nearly making a baby. And now, too many nerves and feelings were running riot through her veins. She felt she barely knew herself.

Fear seized her.

Is that what happened to Mother?

And so she clung to one thing. She could not give in to Damien’s touch or words or looks, or else her dream would die. And she knew—she knew— she would perish with it.

That cannot happen. I refuse to end up like my mother.

Though, alone in the dark, and crying bitter tears, Helena had never felt more like Lady Lovell.

“Ye must have tossed and turned somethin’ fierce, Milady.”

Shona’s innocent comment on the mussed state of Helena’s braids followed Helena all the way down to breakfast. She knew that she was late. According to her maids, she had slept in. They were loath to wake her, but apparently, the Laird had insisted.

However, the disarray of her braids and her sleepiness meant that when she arrived in Edenhall—as the great room was called—nearly everyone was gone. Except for Lady Merie, who was gossiping with two women in lively Gaelic, and Damien, who was scowling at the far end. His eye immediately flicked to her, and she noted that his eye patch was back in place. It gave her a strange feeling, as though he was half-hidden from her. It was rather dashing, though. Besides, wasn’t it right that only she, his wife, should see his true face in their boudoir?—

Have I lost my mind?

“Helena.”

She started at the barked command, realizing that she’d stopped dead as that thought had crossed her mind. Damien glared at her, and she hastened to come forward, bowing to Lady Merie and her friends, who were watching her with bewildered looks.

“Good morning,” she said as she got closer, the words seeming to stick in her throat.

She hated how formal she sounded, and then she hesitated, glancing at the table, unsure where to sit.

“Here,” Damien said and shoved out a chair next to him with his boot.

Helena bristled at the command. She met his glare with one of her own, and he gave her a sharp smile.

“Please. I am so grateful that ye could finally join us. Did ye perhaps nae sleep well?”

“Fine,” Helena said breezily as she sat down.

Further conversation was interrupted by efficient servants. A plate was set in front of her, the food heaped upon it, and a cup of tea appeared at her elbow. Lady Merie smiled at her and introduced her companions—another lady of the clan and a cousin of hers. Their names did not stick in Helena’s head, not when she could feel Damien’s gaze scorching the side of her face.

All too soon, Lady Merie and the others left, leaving Helena and Damien alone. Sipping her tea, Helena feigned calm, but her dress felt too tight, her neck too bare, and she had no idea what to say.

Whatever ease had been between them on the road and in his study last night seemed to have vanished in the storm-washed morning. When she chanced a glance at him, Damien had on his brooding face as he gazed out the windows to his right, beyond her.

Not a direct gaze but still in his sight, and she shivered.

She also wished she’d sat on the other side so she could look outside as well, to at least have something to do. Her hand shook as she slowly set down her teacup, then picked up her fork, and hoped against hope that he did not notice.

The plate in front of her was piled high with delicious food, yet her stomach churned, and her thoughts turned wry.

What a pity to have no appetite for a fine meal like this one.

And then Damien spoke, firing a sharp question at her, ironic on the surface and barbed underneath.

“Second thoughts, Sassenach ?”