Chapter 8
Well, Uncle Thorne could still hold his whisky.
That meeting in the drawing room had been informal and helpful and—dare Hunter think it?
—fun. It had been fun to be snuggled up beside Helena, discussing her problems and possible solutions.
And yes, occasionally she seemed to be thinking about something else, her attention drifting away, but he just squeezed her shoulder and she came back to him.
Dinner was just as informal—he wasn’t even sure Aunt Kit had put on shoes for it—and since the lads had joined them, it had been raucous.
Helena had been quiet, but not in a shy way.
He remembered her stories of her childhood, her all alone for so much of it, and supposed she was just a little overwhelmed by the Cumming family.
Eventually Aunt Kit had excused herself and sent the twins straight off to bed—citing the fact that they hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before.
They had protested, to be sure, but one sharp look from their mother had them traipsing off—though Hunter had to admit, with far too much mischief sparkling in their eyes.
He wouldn’t be at all surprised if they weren’t actually in their beds within the hour.
Soon after, Helena had retired herself, and there’d been a look in her eyes which had intrigued him… But then Thorne was there, with a decanter of his favorite whisky, and Hunter had given in to the inevitable.
At least he’d convinced Thorne to instruct Titsworth to order a case of Bruadarach whisky, regardless of the outcome of the Best of Islay competition.
They’d also discussed the best way to protect Helena. Tomorrow, Thorne would be dispatching four of his grooms in various directions to find out what happened after the attack on the train. They’d already composed the telegrams to go to Fawkes, Demon, Griffin, and aye, Uncle Rourke.
It had taken the best part of two hours to agree on all the details, and every twenty minutes the man had topped up his glass.
Was it any wonder that Hunter’s steps were a little shambling as he made his way to his room?
Thorne’s whisky was potent, and it had been a rough few days.
Nice to relax a bit, and know he had help when it came to protecting Helena.
With a sigh, Hunter stumbled toward the dressing table in his room pulling off his borrowed tie.
He plopped into the chair to kick off his boots and noticed a pile of his possessions on the table.
Och, aye, everything which had been in the pockets of his jacket.
The maid must’ve dropped everything here when she’d taken it to be cleaned, after she’d delivered the suit he now wore.
His wallet, the forged papers, an apple, a few knickknacks…what was—? Oh.
Frowning thoughtfully, Hunter scooped up the small bundle as he stood to continue undressing. Och, aye, his magic rock!
It was the item—his inheritance—from Lady Mistree. Bull had delivered it right before they’d left, Hunter had shoved it in his pocket and mostly forgotten about it.
Now, standing barefoot in the guest room, his shirt half unbuttoned, he unwrapped the thing and leaned closer to the lamp to peer down at it.
His magical inheritance from Lady Mistree…
Was a spoon.
A nice spoon, aye, if tiny. He pinched the wee thing between a thumb and forefinger and twisted it this way and that. Silver, perhaps, but tarnished? It looked like the sort of thing one might give a baby.
Frowning thoughtfully, Hunter carefully placed the spoon atop his wallet and scooped up the paper it had been wrapped in. Perhaps there was—ah! Thank God, a note of explanation!
My Dear Hunter,
Despite my attempts to entice you to visit an elderly widow like myself, one who has claimed to be dying (cough cough), you have most disobligingly stayed away.
Do you, perhaps, dread receiving your surprise inheritance from me?
Well that is a shame, young man, because I successfully have guilted your uncle into delivering this for me.
Your inheritance, young Hunter, is this spoon.
A magic spoon, with the most mysterious pedigree.
As you know, all of the items in my collection come from mysterious and exciting sources, and this one is no different.
An actress gifted this to my dear husband as part of a debt repayment.
She said it was a family heirloom and held great power, but regretfully she passed out—there is a strong possibility of the presence of gin at that gaming table—before she could tell us more.
Whether you believe in the magic or not, you can see there is quite nice silver filigree around the handle which has always intrigued me, and I hope it does the same for you. Keep it with you at all times, dear boy, for you will never know when the magic will come in useful.
And keep in mind, in the future, that if you ignore the pleadings of sick old women (cough cough), you receive magic spoons, rather than the solid gold brick I also have in my collection. Enjoy your spoon.
Cough COUGH,
Eliza, Lady Mistree
Lips twitching at the thought of the elderly lady writing her cough—which Hunter wasn’t sure he believed, considering she’d always been most hale and hearty in his presence—he refolded the note to slide it into his wallet.
A magic spoon, eh? One he was supposed to keep on him at all times? A bit more guidance would’ve been nice, but Hunter recognized and respected vindictive gift-giving when he saw it. If nothing else, he’d hold onto the spoon to remember a delightful old schemer with a kind heart.
And a gold brick, apparently.
He had no idea what he was supposed to do with such a thing, but he knew enough not to sniff at the gift. Inheritance. Right. Lady Mistree’s little gifts to Marcia and Gabby had saved the day at various points, in ways no one could have predicted. Perhaps his magical spoon would as well.
Magical spoon?
Snorting wryly at the idea, Hunter shrugged out of his shirt as he padded toward the bathing room. It was only then that his apparently-dulled senses caught up with him and his feet halted.
Had he not had quite so much to drink, and not been distracted by his magical spoon, perhaps he would have noticed the lump in his bed.
A lump he would’ve recognized anywhere.
“Helena?” he blurted.
Not the smoothest response to finding a lady in his bed, but then again: whisky.
And lots of it.
The woman sat up, her expression a little sheepish, proving she hadn’t been asleep. “Ah, I was wondering if you would notice me.”
He’d changed course and now stood beside the bed. “I mean, I definitely would’ve when I climbed in beside ye.” He hungrily gazed at her curves beneath the sleeping gown, and the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders. “I’m no’ that dense.”
Probably not that dense.
Dare he ask her what she was doing here?
Helena took a deep breath and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then stood. Since he didn’t back up, they were now standing so close he could hold her. If she inhaled, her breasts would brush against his chest, and…
He probably had intended to finish that thought with something relevant, but Hunter’s mind had snagged on the idea of her breasts, and now all he could think was tits nipples lick breasts mouth and that was supremely unhelpful.
The good news, however, was that the whisky had not, in any way, impeded his cock’s ability to erect, because fook. He didn’t think there was any blood left in his brain.
Aye, that was likely the reason for his fixation on her tits. Right?
“Hunter?”
He blinked down at her. Had she said something and he’d missed it thanks to the whole nipple nipple nipple thing?
“Aye?” he managed carefully.
“Are you not curious as to why I’m here?”
“Aye,” he croaked, curling his scarred hands into fists at his side to keep from reaching for her.
Helena was chewing on her bottom lip as she peered up at him, and Christ Almighty, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more arousing sight. But then she took a deep breath, stepped back, lifted her chin as if she’d come to some decision…
And in one movement, pulled her sleeping gown up and over her head, leaving her completely naked and within arms reach.
Hunter’s brain gave up and shut down, while his cock did the exact opposite. He was fairly certain he made a noise like, “Mrrraaah?” and swayed toward her in delighted confusion.
Thank fook she cleared up everything by smiling hesitantly and reaching for him.
“I am here, Hunter, because I intend to seduce you.”
Aye.
Am I really doing this?
Helena stood beside the bed, heart pounding in her chest, body already aflame with anticipation. Hunter stood before her, inconveniently fully dressed, his eyes alight with desire as they roamed over her naked form. There was need in his blue eyes.
He wanted her.
And she wanted him.
So yes. Yes she was really doing this.
“Ye…ye’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Helena,” he murmured, his voice thick with want. He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cup not the most obvious parts of her, but her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek.
She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as he bent down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. Yes.
He tasted of whisky and desire, a heady mix that made her senses spin. His hands moved from her face down her neck, her shoulders, her arms, leaving a trail of teasing fire in their wake. She moaned into his mouth, her body arching into his touch, desperate for more.
“Hunter,” she gasped, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. She needed to feel his skin, needed to touch him, to feel him against her.
But the disobliging man stepped forward, forcing her to back up…one step, two…until her legs hit the bed.