Chapter 5 #2
“Wood,” she managed, a simple thought coming to her mind and grasping at it with all she could muster. “There is wood that needs chopping, outside. Wood.”
It was all she could do not to hate herself and her folly, but thankfully Pierre did not appear to notice her ability to speak coherently.
“Wood,” he repeated, and he smiled a dazzling smile that threatened to overwhelm her. “That I can do, mademoiselle. Just lead the way.”
When Helena took a step towards the back door of the little cottage, she was amazed to find that her feet were not made of water after all.
It felt impossible, but she was able to move and more with tolerable ease, and within two minutes, Pierre was chopping wood.
Badly, it must be said, Helena smiled to herself, but then she supposed a wealthy noble like Pierre had never come across manual labour in his life.
“And will you watch me, my lady?” Pierre leaned back as he spoke, and grinned at her. “To ensure that the work is done to your precise caractéristiques?”
Helena’s cheeks burned, and she turned back into the house.
She had intended to take the time to prepare some food for dinner, and yet the moment that she walked past the window and glanced through it, her steps were arrested.
Pierre d'épilucon had removed the shirt she had lent him and was throwing the axe over his head, bringing it crashing down onto the wood he had placed before him.
Muscles contorted and wrenched with the effort, and beads of sweat had gathered across his forehead, around his shoulders, and down his chest, despite his healing leg.
Helena felt a tug of heat and longing between her legs, and almost gasped aloud at the sight of him. Desire she had read about, heard some of the rougher sailors joke about, but nothing had prepared her for the sweet desperation that she felt when she looked at Pierre in that moment.
It was almost like a hunger: an insatiable thirst, a thirst that would only be quenched by his lips.
“Enjoying the view?”
Helena’s cheeks went scarlet. Lost in her own thoughts, Pierre had paused his work, and was mopping his brow with the back of his hand as he chuckled at her.
“I…” Helena started instinctively, but had no comprehension of what words were supposed to come next. “I…”
“Well, if you are then I am afraid to tell you, mademoiselle, that the wood is all quite chopped, and your entertainment is at an end,” said the striking gentleman who had collapsed outside her house and was now sparking feelings in her that had to be repressed.
“If you will permit me, I will return to my sofa.”
Helena had hoped that her ability to speak would have returned by the time he had re-entered the house, but he decided to do so whilst carrying the shirt, rather than wearing it, and she found herself so utterly transfixed that it was several minutes later, and thankfully when his shirt had been returned to its rightful place, that she was able to enter the parlour once more.
“I must admit to feeling a little restless,” he was saying as she walked in. “Back to full health, as I am. I must compliment you on your nursing.”
Helena smiled weakly, and dropped into the chair furthest away from him. She couldn’t be too careful. “I wanted to get you back to fighting fit, and I am pleased that I have been able to do so.”
Pierre returned her smile, but there was far more heat in it. “Ah, Helena. Your touch is revitalising more than you could possibly know.”
There was that blush again: there was nothing she could do to stop it, and still it would come!
“My father will be pleased to make your acquaintance, when he returns,” she managed, twisting her fingers in her lap to remind herself that she needed to keep talking. “He has gone to Marshurst, the nearest market town, for…for a few days.”
“And will he be back this evening?”
Helena started, and glared up at him, but nothing but innocence suffused across Pierre’s face – if you could call it innocence.
There was a sparkle of some mischief in his eye that was incredibly becoming, lighting up his face and dazzling it, illuminating the handsomeness that it already possessed.
As if it needed improving.
“Sadly not,” Helena finally said. “Which means that the same bed – the sofa here – is still available for you tonight, should you wish it.”
Pierre’s smile broadened. “I would rather have yours.”
She had not thought it possible for her cheeks to burn any deeper, but it was.
For a moment, the image of Pierre d'épilucon lying beside her in her bed, flashed across her mind – but the imagined Pierre did not stay still for long.
He was moving closer to her, closer than he had ever been, and though she knew she should move away from him, there did not seem to be any point: she wanted to be close to him, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, she –
She started, and jerked out of the vision. Pierre was looking at her curiously, and if she was not mistaken, he had a rather too clear idea of what was just running through her mind.
“Rest yourself easy, mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “I would never make you do something that you are uncomfortable with. Having said that…the offer is there.”
Helena tried to swallow, but her throat seemed to have been dried out like a mackerel. “I…I would recommend separate beds, monsieur.”
Pierre threw up his hands in that French way of his that she was starting to find endearing, and rose. “So be it, mademoiselle Helena. Lead the way.”
For the first time in her life, Helena was heartily conscious of a man’s gaze on her body.
She found his eyes staring at her as she moved around the room, trimming the lamps and candles.
He could not stop watching her, it seemed, as they stepped up the narrow staircase – and when they reached the tiny landing where the two bedrooms led from, he paused, and those eyes raked over her body once again.
“This is goodnight, then,” he said in a low voice, his eyes transfixed on hers.
Helena nodded, rather than trusting her own voice.
In a swift movement, Pierre took her right hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly and honourably. “I have never felt this indebted,” he murmured, “nor more happily indebted to another person. Thank you. For saving my life.”
She could feel the heat of his hand on hers, and the spot where his lips had brushed it, but now there was a gentle tug on that hand and she had taken a step towards him.
Pierre was close, very close, too close, and yet Helena felt deep in her heart that he was not close enough – and now he was leaning, tilting ever so gently, giving her plenty of time to lean away if that was her desire.
But it was not. She wanted him, wanted to allow him to do what he was about to do, and her eyelashes fluttered shut as his lips touched hers.
The kiss was light at first; like a butterfly landing on a flower, unwilling to disturb its natural peace.
And then it deepened: Pierre had dropped her hand but his own were now around her waist, and he was kissing her, kissing her like his life depended on it, kissing her like she was air and he a drowning man.
Her lips had parted to allow him in, and he was tendering kissing her and her whole body now seemed to be alive, and her hands were resting on his chest and she could feel his heart beating quickly and it was matching the beat of her own.
“Oh, Helena,” he murmured for a moment, breaking the connection, but she raised her lips to his once more and kissed him, for the first time.
He had not been expected it, but his passionate return of her exploratory kiss was enough to tell her that it was wanted. He moaned slightly in her mouth, and it made her clutch him all the more, and then one of his hands moved down from her waist and cupped her bottom.
Helena broke away from him and stepped back, breathing heavily.
She looked with lust dripping eyes at Pierre, who was panting.
“G-Good night,” she managed, before she escaped to the sanctuary of her own room, and lay on the bed, fully clothed, heart pounding, and body aching.