Chapter 6 #2
His thumb and forefinger had found her nipple, rolling it even as he knew he shouldn’t as she gyrated against him. Unable to help himself Hunter twisted toward her, his mouth going to her throat, kissing upward, tasting that heather honey sweet scent he so desperately craved.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin, before nipping gently. “That’s the way.”
He knew it the moment her breathing changed. She’d been half-asleep before, but now she was fully awake.
Hunter froze, expecting her to squirm away…but she didn’t even pause. Had she ever been asleep?
“Yes,” Helena breathed, wriggling against him. “Oh God, yes, Hunter.”
She was calling for him. Not her husband, not another man. Him.
Hunter wasn’t sure why that realization was so important, but something shot through him—pride, victory? Or was it just lust?
Did it matter?
In this position, his cock was pressed against her stomach and her cunny—Christ above, her warm, wet cunny—was straddling his leg. The wanton woman gyrated again, playing with the pressure against her clit, and he rocked slightly in a silent effort to give her what she wanted.
What she needed.
“Aye, Helena,” Hunter rasped against her skin as he moved his kisses up to her jaw, unable to help himself. “Ride me, lass. Use me.” His lips found the edge of her mouth, and he nibbled her there as his fingers tugged on her breast.
And her little mewl of need shot right to his throbbing cock.
Helena turned her head, capturing his mouth with hers, and that movement sent him right to the edge. She was a timid kisser, her tongue barely touching his…but the way she’d taken control of the kiss? The way she even now rolled closer, trying to take what she wanted from him?
Dinnae come in yer drawers, dinnae come in yer drawers—
He had no change of clothes, unlike her, and he did not want to arrive at Stroken with his trousers stained from the inside.
But God Almighty, did he need to.
“That’s it, Helena.” He rolled his hips—his hard cock—against her smoothness. “Fooking take what ye need, lass. Christ, ye feel exquisite.”
And then he couldn’t say anything else, for she’d taken control of the kiss again, sucking on his lower lip until he groaned. Hunter rolled her nipple between his fingers again, tugging slightly…and she stiffened.
He knew it was happening before she did, and found himself holding his breath.
When Helena bucked against him, a flood of desire soaking through her chemise to his trousers, she released his lips to arch back with a gasp of surprise and delight, and Hunter did everything possible to control the need to spill as well.
Think of cold waterfalls. Cold, cold water. Yer sister cuddling her pet snake. Auld Miss Weatherbottom’s two remaining teeth.
Still, he was barely able to hold himself in check.
Because Helena-the-haughty was beautiful. Oh yes, she caught the eye and would not let it go. But Helena, Helena in nothing but her chemise, cheeks flushed with release, lips swollen and eyes wide with surprise as she ground her climaxing cunny against his leg?
Fooking magnificent.
Her topaz gaze bore into him, felt like it was touching his very soul. He could read the confusion there, the wonder…but no regret.
And so, when her lips parted, Hunter grinned and decided to stop her before she said something she might regret. “Good lass,” he murmured, leaning forward just far enough to kiss her gently. “My good lass. I’m proud of ye.”
When he pulled back the confusion was still in her gaze, but now she was blushing, no longer meeting his eyes directly, and he hid his sigh.
Well, he’d been more than happy to help her toward that release, and at least now she knew she didn’t need to regret what had happened.
Hunter kissed her again, even gentler this time. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. All will be well, I swear.”
Helena blinked even as her eyes closed. He couldn’t tell if it was because she was ashamed, or just tired…but she didn’t open them again. After a while, her breathing evened, and he felt himself relax.
They would have to leave soon enough, but for now…
Very gently, Hunter extracted himself from underneath her, rolling softly from the bed and searching for his boots with the lamp still turned down. For now, he needed to go find a cold bath, a good fight, or a hand frigging.
Perhaps all three.
Because it was going to be a long time before he forgot the perfection that was Helena Lickfold coming apart in his arms.
Helena supposed she should feel embarrassed.
Was she embarrassed?
It was difficult to tell, what with all the other emotions and sensations jumbling through her this morning.
She awoke alone in a tangle of her chemise and the pillows, stretched face-down across the bed.
She’d never been a gentle sleeper—her father’s housekeeper used to tease her about the mess she’d made of her sheets and the mosquito netting.
But she was a long way from Jamaica, and if she hadn’t smelled Hunter on the pillow, she might have wondered if she slept alone. Except for that incredible dream…
It was only when she found the damp spot on her chemise that she realized it hadn’t been a dream.
Oh God.
Yes, embarrassment was likely in order.
Except…he’d called her a good lass. He’d said he was proud of her for—riding him. Using him. Hunter had urged her to do that, and by God, she had.
And it had felt magnificent.
Better than anything she could have imagined, and all she’d been doing was humping his leg like a bitch in heat.
Dear God.
He did not mind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it.
Yes, that was true. And wasn’t that…interesting?
So embarrassed? Perhaps. But Helena was definitely in a thoughtful frame of mind as she slid the last of her pins into her braid, anchoring it against her head, and headed downstairs to meet Mr. Hunter Lindsay downstairs for breakfast. If he’d made a lewd comment or wink, that embarrassment—and perhaps irritation—would have risen to the forefront.
But instead he’d bid her a good morning, offered her his arm, and led her to the breakfast table as if they hadn’t shared a bed last night and she hadn’t climaxed all over him.
Hmmm.
Hunter led the conversation which steered determinedly away from any topics involving arousal, desire, moistness in general, or clothing or lack thereof, thank goodness.
In fact his tone seemed a little louder, a little faster, than normal, as if he were also trying to avoid speaking of certain things.
Hmmm again.
Hunter had kissed her after, told her he was proud of her. That had to mean he didn’t regret what they’d shared, right? So why would he be avoiding—
Because he thinks you are married.
Oh.
Oh, dear.
He thought her experienced. He assumed she was used to such things, the marital act—Lord, even dalliances outside of marriage.
Well, why not? Plenty of married women do such things, and you have been supposedly parted from your husband for a long while, yes? And Hunter is pretending to be your husband. Perhaps he expects such a thing.
Perhaps he thought that was part of the assignment.
If she hummed thoughtfully again, she was going to have to explain herself.
So instead Helena pressed her lips together and sent him a soft smile as he lifted her valise and offered his arm.
The crooked smile he sent back was entirely worth it.
She didn’t regret what had passed between them, and it seemed as though he didn’t either.
So did that mean…was there a possibility for more?
“The grocer has a delivery to Stroken later this afternoon, lass. We could wait and ride with him, or I could hire a carriage for ye. Yer choice.”
“If I were not with you, how would you proceed?”
Hunter shrugged and turned them down a road toward the livery stables. “Swap my magic rock for a magic horse? Nae, I’m teasin’ ye. I would hire a horse, but ye said ye dinnae ride. So I—hold on.” He pulled her to a stop as he peered down the street. “I recognize…”
When he gave a whoop and a loud laugh, two youths lounging in front of the stables spun about, guilty looks on their faces. Then the first one nudged the second and they came galloping down the road.
“Hunter! Hunter, we didnae ken ye’d be in town!”
Hunter released Helena and her valise to meet the two lads with rowdy embraces, pounded shoulders, and more laughter. The two lads—they had to be only around fifteen—were identical, even down to their fine jackets and unruly auburn hair. When they turned grins her way, she couldn’t tell them apart.
“Helena, these are my cousins, Keenan and Lochlan. Keenan’s the taller one.”
“And I’m the handsomer one,” one of them smoothly finished with a courtly bow.
His brother snorted and slammed a hand into his shoulder, sending him stumbling. Neither was taller nor handsomer, with every freckle in precisely the same place, and Helena despaired of telling them apart.
“Lochlan takes after his father,” Hunter murmured to her, as if that would mean anything, “and Keenan is a tad more studious.”
“He means I’m smarter,” the not-really-taller-one said seriously. “While my brother will sneak us away to ogle barmaids at the drop of a hat.”
When the other lad snorted, Hunter shook his head. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning, lads. Dare I assume ye’ve been out all night? Does Uncle Thorne ken where ye are?”
“Nay,” chirped one unrepentantly, “but we’ve got to get home before Mother discovers we’ve been gone.”
Hunter turned to her with an exaggerated shudder. “I will admit, Aunt Kit is by far the scarier of their two parents. Lads, this is Mrs. Helena Lickfold, my client. I’m hoping to impose upon yer parents for some hospitality, to keep her safe from an assassin.”
“An assassin!” one lad exclaimed with an excited grin, while the other shouted, “You can count on us, Hunter!” and leapt toward the stable. “You two can ride my horse, I’ll ride pillion with Keenan.”
“We’ll get ye home in nae time!” they both chorused, in what should have been a supremely creepy manner and instead just seemed adorable.
Hunter sent Helena a wry shrug as he bent to lift her valise. “They’re enthusiastic.”
“You are certain your family will not mind the imposition?” she asked nervously as he tugged her toward the two horses his cousins were now leading through the doors. And why was she so disappointed that they were no longer alone? “And you remember I do not ride?”
“It’s aright, sweetheart.” He sent her another one of those crooked grins which somehow reassured her more than it should, and dropped a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Ye’ll ride on my lap, I’ll keep ye safe, and my aunt and uncle will be delighted to see us.
Here, Keenan, tie this up with ye,” he called, throwing one of the lads her valise.
And that was how Helena found herself wrapped in his arms as they thundered through the countryside, the two lads leading the way and occasionally whooping or taking a jump over a low hedge a little too enthusiastically.
The world moved far too quickly from atop a horse, and it was easier to just bury her face in Hunter’s shoulder and hope it soon slowed.
Eventually of course, it did, and she realized their steeds had eaten up the miles far faster than the cart or walking would have. She slowly straightened to frown up at him.
“If I had been willing to ride after we left the train, would we have arrived sooner?”
Hunter blinked, then his lips curled up on one side and he shrugged. “Aye, perhaps. But then I would’ve missed one of the best nights of my life, and I cannae wish for that.”
Her mouth dropped open, but before she could respond to that nonchalant murmur, the lout was swinging her down. She whirled about lost in the air and then he was beside her, steadying her, turning her toward…toward…
Helena’s head tipped back as she tried to take in the towering edifice. Good Lord, this was Stroken? “I thought we were going to a village,” she whispered. This wasn’t a village, this was a grand estate.
“Nay, Stroken is my uncle’s seat.” He lifted his arm. “And here’s its mistress. Good morning, Yer Grace.”
Stroken. Stroken, as in the Duke of Stroken? And the woman striding toward them in wool trousers, a riding jacket, and a scowl? That was the Duchess?
“Key! Lock! Where in the hell have you been all night?” Her American accent wasn’t quite hidden and when she tossed her head, her short auburn curls bounced just like…just like the twins’. “If your father finds out you’ve been gone…”
“Sorry, Mother,” the lads chorused, accompanied by completely unrepentant grins.
Mother. Helena’s eyes had gone wide, her heart pounding in her chest. If the twins—Hunter’s cousins—called her mother, then this woman, this duchess, was…
The woman’s lips curled into a grin as she turned to Hunter, arms out. “At least you had the sense to bring home the best kind of flotsam and jetsam. Welcome back, Hunter.”
As he stepped forward for a hug, Hunter sounded genuinely pleased. “Hello, Aunt Kit.”
Oh.
Helena had walked a million miles, been deprived of a real bath, not bothered with her hairstyle…only to be presented to the Duchess of Stroken? Oh dear.