Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
It was a day of frustration for Pierre d'épilucon, as he sat on the sofa, not permitted to move or stir by his hostess, when he felt with every passing moment that his energy and vitality was returning to him.
The sun moved slowly and lazily across the room, adding to the atmosphere of futility. Pierre fidgeted, and received nothing but stern looks all the morning from Helena.
“Sit still,” she would say quietly. “You must regain your strength.”
And so he did. Nothing moved save his eyes, but they found more and more to be pleased with as the days progressed, for he found the bustle of Helena more than enough entertainment to keep his mind alive.
At first, he tried to ignore her as she pottered about the room: moving to the mending pile, quickly stitching together a shirt, moving then to the kitchen and bringing through some spring flowers in a vase, popping upstairs for a shawl.
It was as though she was unable to keep still, unwilling to stay in one place.
Unable to accept his gaze?
Pierre felt longing flow through him as he watched her.
True, he had noticed her quiet and still beauty the moment that he had taken a good look at her, but it was only now that he watched her that he noticed her elegance, her attention to detail, the way she cared for that little house as though it was a person.
The earrings that she always wore, diamonds they looked like, though he supposed now they were but glass, glimmering in the light.
And then three days after he had arrived, she broke into his thoughts. “Do you require anything?”
Pierre started, and his gaze focused on her, standing before him, hands on those flowing hips.
He swallowed. “Non, merci mademoiselle.”
She moved away again, but not before giving him an arch look that made parts of him stir that really should not be awakened, as a twinge from his leg reminded him of his recent injury.
Now she was moving through the room, dusting. It was incredible, Pierre mused as he watched the turn of her neck as she looked around at her work, just how elegantly and neatly she kept the place, considering their circumstances.
“You watch me, sir.” Her words were not sharp, but her look was. “Do I displease you?”
“Quite the contrary,” he responded without thinking, and almost laughed aloud at the blush that his words instigated. “My apologies, mademoiselle, I only meant that you are doing nothing to incite displeasure. Please, continue as though I am not here.”
And yet he could hardly forget that she was there. After lunch, she gave him a small book – the only book that he had noticed in the house – and he looked down with pleasure to see that it was Voltaire.
“Ah, Voltaire!” He smiled at her, and was glad to see a small smile in return. “I did not know that you were an aficionado of Voltaire!”
For a moment, she rested on the armchair beside him, and now there was a natural smile.
“Yes, he was my favourite author. When I was small, we had a library with his complete works, but…well, all the books had to be sold. That was the only one I was permitted to keep, and that only because we had a duplicate.”
Pierre looked at her gently, and reached out a hand to clasp hers. It jolted more desire in him than he knew what to do with. “Helene, I am sure that one day, you will have your own library.”
Helena looked up at him, and his jaw dropped at the longing he saw in her eyes. Yes, she felt the same pull, the same –
“I would love a library of my own,” she said wistfully, and all the hopes that had risen within him died away. “But I suppose I shall visit my sister’s, once she is married to the Duke of Caershire.”
And without another word, she pulled away and disappeared once more into the kitchen.
Pierre sank back into the sofa, trying to catch his breath.
Well, if he had hoped to convince himself that he felt nothing for her, then he was sadly mistaken!
Fire was flooding through his body like never before, and if he was not careful, he would be in some danger of regarding Miss – but then, he did not know her full name.
The afternoon dragged on with Pierre forbidden, continuously, from stirring an inch.
He watched her, and saw the truth in her that her family had once been wealthy.
He could see it in the way that she held herself, the excellent taste she displayed in books, music, and décor.
The way she glared at him when she caught his eye, and that smile that he was sure she was unaware she revealed.
Yes, he was attracted to her. Though it would be far too easy to press that point home, Pierre was forced to admit that as his strength gained apace, he found himself wanting to speak with her more.
“Tell me, Helene, how – ”
“Helena,” she corrected as she bustled past him, taking another shirt from the mending pile and dropping elegantly into a chair – and not, Pierre noticed, the chair beside him.
“Helena,” he said quietly, and with such feeling that she started and looked up. Smiling at having gained her attention, Pierre continued, “tell me how your sister and the Duke of…of…”
She smiled, and his stomach twisted as he saw it. “Caershire.”
“Yes, that,” he said hastily. “How did they meet? How came they to become engaged?”
Her smile faded slightly as she concentrated on the stitching, bringing it closer to her eyes in the fading afternoon sun. “Engaged?”
Pierre nodded, trying to ignore the dexterity of those light fingers.
Helena shrugged, and her smile returned, but it was a shy one. “How does anyone become engaged, I suppose. They met, they liked, they loved.”
He watched her cheeks tint a delightful shade of pink, and grinned. She was very conscious of him, that was true – did it stem from an attraction to him, or merely an awareness of his?
“And they are to be married soon?”
She glanced up at him with questioning eyes. “You are very curious. Do you know the Duke?”
Pierre shook his head nonchalantly, and shivered slightly in the cooling evening air. “No, I just wondered. Such different social circles, I thought, it does not seem likely that – ”
“You are cold,” Helena interrupted, laying aside her mending and reaching for a blanket.
Pierre bristled. “This has gone on long enough, mademoiselle, I am quite well now. A little confusion yesterday, perhaps, but I have fully recovered my strength and I do not need – ”
But his voice disappeared the moment that she touched him. Brushing aside his hair from his face in a movement that was intensely intimate, she whispered gently, “I decide when you are well again, Pierre. Now take this.”
Her hands now laid a blanket over him, and their fingers touched as he tried to free himself from it.
Their mutual gasp seemed to echo around the empty room.
Pierre stared into those sparkling blue eyes which were shimmering with unexpected emotion.
Surely she was feeling what he was: the heat of connection, the spark of passion, some sort of connection as if they had always known each other but only just met.
He watched her swallow.
“I will go and find you something to eat,” she muttered, and almost fled out of the room.
Helena tried to slow her breathing down as she entered the kitchen and leaned against the window.
What had just happened? What was that intensity of emotion that she had never felt before, but had felt so at home in her breast? Why had she been unable to look at Pierre any longer without fire erupting from her stomach and threatening to engulf her body?
Her fingers scraped the window pane, and she breathed out slowly at the coolness of the glass, so different from the quickening pace of her thundering pulse.
At least from here she could not see his handsome face, the prepossessed way that he sat on that sofa, the way his eyes had not left her for more than five minutes that day.
And what eyes. Burning with desire. She did not need to know the intricacies of courtship to see what he wanted from her.
The question was, why did her heart sing out that she wanted it too?
Well, there was nothing to do but pray that her father would return soon. It had been almost three days now, Helena thought looking through the window finally, and not at the glass itself. Surely he would be home soon; it could not be much longer that he would leave her here, alone.
Or worse, not alone.
She sighed, brushed down her hands on the apron she had placed over her gown when she had started the mending, and turned – to find Pierre standing directly behind her.
The shock of having him in such close proximity made her gasp, and her foot slipped. She may not have fallen, but she would never find out as Pierre’s hands grabbed hold of her and balanced her.
“Careful, Helena,” he said, and the sound of her name finally pronounced correctly caused a little shiver to move up her spine. “You do not want to fall.”
I am falling, she wanted to say, but she blushed at the very thought. She barely knew this man, though sickness had certainly revealed a deeper part of his character than one normally saw in an acquaintance of a few days.
And though she was no longer falling, she felt as though her head was still spinning. The strength of his hands, their warmth against her arms, the security of him, the nearness and headiness that it gave her own mind – why, it was enough to –
“No,” she said allowed, and with a shake, she dislodged his grip. “No, monsieur, you should be seated, you really must – ”
“Oh, merde,” Pierre said darkly, not moving an inch away from her and affixing her with a determined stare.
“You know as well as I do, mademoiselle, that I am quite returned to good health. I have no wish to be set aside like an invalid: I am a man, and I am full of the vigour of life. Put me to good use.”
Helena hesitated, and shyly looked at him once more. He certainly looked better; his colour had returned, and there was no sway in his stance as he stood before her.
My, but he was a handsome man.