Her Husband's Harlot (17 page)

"Whatever
do you mean, my lord?" His wife's expression appeared as pure as freshly
fallen snow.

"Surely
that would be the only acceptable explanation for constructing the garment you
are wearing," Nicholas answered through clenched teeth. "For example,
an entire bolt of cloth seems to be missing from your chest."

"You
have the most exquisite sense of humor, my lord," Helena replied with a
little laugh.

There
she was with that word
exquisite
again. His Helena did not use flowery
words. Nor did her laugh resemble the floating, flirtatious sound that tickled
his ear like a caress, sending a bolt of lust straight to his loins. His balls
tightened. His cock twitched with interest.

"I
cannot approve of your attire," Nicholas persevered in a tight voice. "That
gown is scandalous."

"Nonsense,
this gown is the height of fashion. Madame Rousseau designed it, and she has
dressed everyone from Lady Jersey to Harriette Wilson," Helena answered
serenely.

At
the mention of the notorious courtesan, Nicholas felt heat rise along his neck.
What the bloody hell was Helena doing, modeling herself after a member of the
Fashionable Impure?

"What's
good for the likes of Harriette Wilson is not fit for you," he growled.

Helena
said nothing, merely smiled and turned her back to
him. She lifted her hair, the silken mass of it dripping through her fingers. "Don't
be silly, Harteford. Help me with the necklace, will you please?"

Nicholas
stared at the sight proffered to him. All thoughts of further argument flew
from his mind. The skin of her nape gleamed, so translucent and flawless that
it reminded him of porcelain shipped from the Orient. His gaze roamed lower,
narrowed as it took in how the dress clung to his wife's plush backside,
emphasizing generous hips and a full, voluptuous ass, the kind a man could hold
onto as he fucked a woman senseless ...

With
a snarl, he slung the necklace around Helena's neck. From his vantage point, he
could see the rubies sliding into the shadowed crevice between her tits, and Jesus,
he
could
see her nipples now. They
were
a deep rosy pink, they
were
shaped like the kind of summer berries that burst with sweetness on the tongue
... His hands were shaking as he struggled with the delicate gold clasp. A few strands
of her hair escaped and lashed his hands with gentle fire, tormenting him with
their softness and fresh, blossomy scent. He ached to spear his fingers into
her luxuriant mane, to pull her head back so he could taste her, drink in the
honey of her lips as his hands filled themselves with tit flesh ...

A
rush of violent want gripped him in its fist, tugging on his cock, easing down
its length and drawing his balls upward. If he leaned but an inch forward, he
could grab her by the hips. He could hold her luscious backside against him as
he slid his burning prick along the secret valley of her ass. He would hold her
tightly against him as he rocked up and down. He'd move his hand in front and
delve into her cream-soaked cunny. He'd find her beautiful, glistening little
pearl and stroke her over and again ...

So
vivid was his fantasy that his hand slackened. The glistening strand of platinum
and rubies slowly escaped his fingers. With lust and horror, Nicholas watched
as the necklace slid down the slopes of his wife's beautiful breasts, landing
in her cleavage before slithering further down into the flimsy bodice.

"Oh
dear," Helena said with a gurgling laugh. She dropped her hair and felt
along the outside of her bodice. Nicholas swallowed thickly as his wife ran
searching hands over her breasts. Did the Lord have no mercy? Apparently not,
as she went from touching her breasts on the outside of her dress to fishing
diligently
inside
her bodice. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the
sight of her tiny fingers prodding her tits, mayhap encountering those cheerful
pink nipples, mayhap brushing them with an accidental caress ...

"I
believe I have retrieved it," his wife announced triumphantly. She held
the necklace out to him. He had no choice but to take the jewelry in his hand
and feel its agonizing warmth, knowing from whence that heat came. Surely, his
hand would bear the brand of his wife's infernal necklace, the way it burned
against his skin.

"There
it is," he said, his voice cracking a little. Damn if that blasted clasp
hadn't given him more trouble than the team of thieves he'd once caught
ransacking one of the warehouses. As a matter of fact, at this moment he would
prefer an army of armed cutthroats to the sweet torture of Helena's closeness. He
gritted his teeth as she continued to debate the merits of the ruby versus the sapphire
necklace. The thought of having to assist her with another piece of jewelry
jolted him into action.

"The
ruby definitely is the better choice," he blurted. "It brings out
the. . . the. . ."—
the juicy redness of your lips,
his mind
whispered wickedly,
the delectable blush of your nipples
—"the color
of your eyes."

"My
eyes, sir? Are you implying my eyes are
red
?"

"No,
of course not," he answered crossly. A stroke of inspiration saved him. "They
merely shine like the brightest jewels."

"Oh,
Harteford, what a perfectly wonderful thing to say!"

Before
he could blink, his wife threw herself at him. Literally, wrapped her arms
around his neck and looked up at him with glowing eyes. He went instantly rigid
as the rest of her melted sensuously against him. He could feel the warmth of
her seeping through his jacket, his waistcoat, through the thin linen of his
shirt. His very skin felt scorched by her closeness. Was it possible to feel
the points of her nipples through all that material? Because he swore he
could
feel them, hardened buds rocking tantalizingly against the taut muscles of his
chest.

"It
has been so long since you have given me a compliment," she breathed.

Do
not lose control
, he warned himself.
Remember
you must protect her. Until you can figure out a permanent solution, keep your
bloody paws off her.

His good
sense had no effect, however, on his erection, which grew with every breath his
wife took. Each subtle movement of respiration shifted her body against his,
and every fiber of his body—most notably his rampant cock—responded by growing
harder, hotter, until he was fairly certain he might explode from her
inadvertently teasing touch.

"I
thought ... I thought perhaps you were disappointed. In my looks," she
confessed. Her eyelashes fluttered like dark butterflies against her creamy skin.

Her
words finally caught his attention.

What
in God's name was she talking about now?

Perplexed,
he gently removed her arms from around his neck and willed the thickened ridge
in his trousers to subside. "Why would I be disappointed?"

"I
know I am not a Diamond of the First Water. But I have a plan, you see, to improve
my looks. I have consulted Doctor Smythe on a promising slimming diet that—"

"Why
on earth would you need a slimming diet?" Nicholas interrupted.

"Because
... well, is it not obvious?" Helena appeared to study the folds of his
cravat.  Her next words emerged as mere whispers. "I am overly plump."

"Overly
plump
?" Nicholas echoed incredulously. "
You
?"

"There
is no need to emphasize the issue. I am aware of the problem," she
responded a bit crossly.

Nicholas
stared at his wife. Then he couldn't help himself. He threw back his head and
laughed.

"What,
pray tell, do you find so amusing?"

His
wife's icy tones cut through his chuckling. Her cheeks were stained with
crimson, and her mouth wobbled ever so slightly. Tenderness flooded his chest
even as another chuckle escaped his lips.

"For
God's sake, Helena, I am not laughing at you." Unable to resist, Nicholas caught
a tear that rolled down her cheek. "I am laughing because you would even
think that you are anything but the most beautiful creature in the world."

"Truly?
Truly you think I am ... beautiful? But my figure is abundantly ..."

"Beautiful
beyond words," Nicholas stated solemnly. "Perfect exactly as you are."

"Oh."
His wife looked at him with shining eyes, the expression in them so wondrous
that he had difficulty regaining his breath. Her head seemed to tilt slightly
backward, a shy invitation that he could not accept if he wished to refrain
from spreading his wife on his desk and having at her like a footman might a
housemaid in the linen closet.

Christ,
had he no scruples?

He
realized his wife was looking at him now in her distinctly perceptive manner. "If
what you say is true, that my appearance has not disappointed you ..."

He
had no choice but to nod, dreading where her all too logical mind was headed.

"Then
I wish to know why you think our marriage was a mistake," she whispered.

Of
course she would ask.

And
of course, he could not tell her.

Taking
her arms from his neck, he returned them firmly to her sides. "It has
nothing to do with you," he said. That much was true at least. "The
truth of the matter is, the fault is mine. I was too impetuous in offering for
you. We did not have sufficient time to ... understand our differences.
Differences that I have come to see will make marriage difficult."

Her
cheeks flushed, her lashes lowering. In a small voice, she said, "Are you
referring to what ... happened, on our wedding night? Because, you see, I think
with practice I could learn to be a ... a better wife."

God
Almighty
, he could not bear the sweet
sincerity of her plea. One more minute of this, and she'd find herself being
fucked within an inch of her life. By a man who was not fit to shine her boots,
let alone share her bed.

"That
is not it," he said, swallowing.

"Then
what is it?" his wife persisted.

Jaw
clenched, Nicholas retreated behind his desk. He shuffled some papers. "I—I
simply cannot be the husband you deserve."

"But
you are! You are everything I've ever wanted in—"

"
For
God's sake woman, that is enough. You do not know me, and you never will.
"
His roar seemed to shock both of them equally. Helena stood there, white-faced,
staring at him. Exhaling, he said more calmly, "Do not press me further on
this. Suffice it to say, I assume the blame for the situation we find ourselves
in. I will, therefore, find a solution. Until that time, I think it best that
we keep a cordial distance."

A
pause. In a quiet voice, Helena asked, "What sort of
solution
do
you mean, Harteford?"

The
nerve at his temple twitched. Despite the endless hours mulling over that
question, he had no answer. The chances of being granted a divorce were slim to
none. An annulment? His solicitor had told him the odds were no better. Apparently
there were only three acceptable grounds for annulment: fraud, incompetence, or
impotence. Though he hadn't been honest with her about his past, he couldn't
claim fraud in a legal sense. Nor could he prove he'd been insane at the time
of their marriage, though certainly he had been. Which left the third option.

God's
blood.
It was not one a hot-blooded
man could contemplate. Besides, if he was put to test, he'd fail for certain: he
walked around in a constant state of rut these days.

Still,
if an annulment was somehow possible, then Helena could get on with her life.
She could put this mistake of a marriage behind her. Claim her place in Society
as she was meant to. In time, she'd find a suitable man to marry, to give her
children ... Everything in him tensed in denial. He wanted to punch something.
To roar savagely at anyone who'd take her from him.

He
had to wait for the red haze to fade before saying, "I don't know as yet.
But for the time being, I am certain we will manage as others in your class do.
By having separate lives and not interfering with one another."

A
pause. "
Our
class, my lord."

"I
beg your pardon?"

His
wife was watching him, her eyes narrowed. "You said
your
class.
Last I looked, both of our families were listed in Debrett's."

"Of
course that is what I meant," he muttered, furious at his slip. "At
any rate, I have work to finish before supper. We have an understanding, do we
not?"

For
once, her hazel eyes were enigmatic. Veiled. "We are not to live in each
other's pockets. We are to have a distant but civil relationship. Am I missing
anything?" she asked tartly.

"That
about covers it."

She
went to the door, her hand pausing on the handle. When she turned to look back
at him, he jerked his gaze hastily from where it had latched onto her bottom.
Damn his soul.

"For
the record, since we hardly see one another as it is, I don't see how this
changes anything. As for what you said earlier, about
knowing
you."
Her chin lifted. "How could I, when you make it impossible?"