Her Husband's Harlot (45 page)

She
must assist him to unleash his full power. What she needed was ... the knife.

She
scanned the room with desperate eyes.

"The
desk, Helena, the bottom drawer!"

Nicholas'
shouted words galvanized her into action.

She
raced toward the desk, her hand wrenching open the drawer. There, nestled in a
velvet-lined box, was not a knife, but a pistol. The weapon was shiny and black.
Menacing. With trembling hands, she grasped it, the metal icy in her palms. She
gripped the pistol more firmly and raised her arms. Inhaling deeply, she took
aim.

"That
will not be necessary, Lady Harteford."

The
voice from the doorway stilled her finger, which twitched against the trigger.

"Step
away from the suspect, if you please Lord Harteford."

Mr. Kent crossed the room, his pistol pointed at Gordon, who stood panting and cornered. The
police man whistled, and two of his men appeared. One withdrew a blade; in a
swift motion, the ropes slithered loose from Nicholas' arms. Dropping the
pistol, Helena stumbled toward her husband, his arms crushing her in a fierce
embrace.

"My
men have captured your vessel and rounded up your men, Gordon," Mr. Kent said as his other man placed Gordon in chains. "Your evil doings are at an end."

Gordon
smiled even as the lock clicked and his fate was secured.  "Oh, but evil
does not end with me," he said. Though his youthful face was relaxed into
good-natured lines, his blue eyes glowed with a sinister light. They narrowed
upon Nicholas. "I'd watch my back if I was you, my lord. You never know
when the past might come knocking at your door."

From
the safety of her husband's arms, Helena shivered.

But
Nicholas said quietly, "Let it come. I no longer have anything to fear."

The
villain was marched away to meet his fate. A hangman's noose, no doubt. Helena
could not bring herself to feel pity.

"It
has been quite a night for the two of you," Mr. Kent said. "I am
sorry I did not arrive sooner."

"I
am glad you knew to come at all," Nicholas said.

"Gordon's
whore gave it away. We were keeping an eye on her, on account of your hunch
that Gordon might still be alive. She had her bags packed, ready for a long
trip. We tailed her back to the docks, where she boarded a ship we could find
no record of. Apparently Gordon had an official in his pocket; he floated his
boat in and out of the docks as he pleased, carrying out stolen goods and
returning for more."

"How
is Will?" Helena asked, a quiver in her voice.

"Your
groom is a bit worse for the wear, but he will survive. Dr. Farraday is
attending to him as we speak."

Helena
sagged with relief against her husband.

"I
am sure my lady is exhausted," Mr. Kent said. "We can continue our
explanations at a later time. Shall I have my men escort you home?"

"There
are some things I wish to discuss first with my wife. Will you ensure our
privacy and safety?"

"Of
course." Mr. Kent paused, spotting something on the floor. He bent to
retrieve it. As he examined the book, a smile rippled across his thin features.
"Yours, my lady?"

"A
loan from a friend," Helena replied. With a shudder, she saw the brown
stain marring the edge of the pages. "Though I don't suppose I will be
returning it now."

To her
surprise, Mr. Kent bowed and kissed her hand. "You have married a most remarkable
woman, Lord Harteford."

As he
left, the investigator could be heard chuckling to himself, "A
vindication, indeed!"

Then the
door closed behind him, and it was just the two of them.

Helena
looked at Nicholas. He was turning a chair back on
its legs, his expression grim.  Her heart throbbed to see the injuries he had
sustained: his eye had swelled even larger, the size of an egg now, and patches
of dried blood had crusted along his jaw and throat. He looked paler than
usual, the spreading bruises a dark contrast against his skin.

"Dr.
Farraday should examine your injuries," she said as she approached him. He
continued to straighten the furniture. "Do not concern yourself with this
now, my love. We must have you attended to first."

She
placed a staying hand on his arm. To her surprise, he flinched at her touch and
pulled away. He walked to the fireplace and stood there, his back to her.

"Is
... is your arm hurt?" she stammered.

"My
arm is fine."

Taken
aback by the venom darkening his words, she asked in an uncertain voice, "What
is the matter then?"

"The
matter? You have to ask me what the
matter
is?"

He
turned to look at her. Glare, more the like. Restrained emotion glittered in
his obsidian eyes.

"Nicholas,
you are overwrought." She tried for a placating tone, though her head was
beginning to spin. "The after-effects of this night's violence, no doubt.
Why don't you sit, my love, and I will see about making us some tea. Do you
have a kettle perchance, or—"

"I
do not want any bloody tea." Nicholas came toward her, and she took an
instinctive step backward at the aggression of his advance. He stopped close
enough so that she could feel the power of him towering over her, a full six
feet of furious, bridling male. He did not touch her. "What I want to know
is what the hell you were thinking coming to the docks in the middle of the
bloody night!"

"Really,
Nicholas, there is no need to shout—"

"I
will shout if I damned well please! When my wife decides to risk her neck, coming
alone—"

"But
I was not alone," Helena said hastily. "Will accompanied me."

"If
the man was not injured at the moment, I would be beating him to a pulp."
Nicholas ran his hands through his hair, further disarraying the wild ebony
tufts. "He will still have to answer to me when all this is done."

"Well,
in the end, it was a good thing I came, was it not? After all, had I not
arrived when I did ..." Helena stopped, seeing the stark rage on her
husband's face. "After all," she continued with more caution, "I
was able to be of some assistance."

Her
husband had his hands fisted on his hips.

"Not
that you needed any help, of course," she added.

He
said nothing, his lips tightening.

"Obviously,
you had everything well in hand when I arrived. I could see you had everything
perfectly well under control. I am sure you had a plan all along to defeat that
nefarious man—"

"Goddamnit,
Helena, I had no such plan!" His bellow echoed through the chamber and
shook the walls. "Do you know the danger you put yourself in, you reckless
fool? By God, seeing you run headlong into peril, seeing his hands wrapped
around your neck, I almost—" He choked off, his chest heaving.

In
the next moment, she reached him and threw her arms around his waist. His strong,
lean frame was quivering from head to toe. Her voice emerged muffled against
his chest. "I'm sorry I frightened you."

His
arms wrapped with violent force around her. "Don't ever do it again."
Burying his face in her hair, he rasped, "Tonight I discovered that the
past no longer has power over me. It cannot hurt me. You showed me that. But if
I lost you—I do not know what I would do," he said between serrated
breaths. "You are everything to me, Helena. My heart and my soul."

"I
love you, too," she sniffled.

They
stayed that way for a long while, holding each other.

Then
Nicholas's embrace eased. He tipped up her chin, and the hungry adoration she
saw in his dark eyes made her pulse leap with excitement. A squeak startled
from her lips when he quite literally swept her off her feet.

She
retained sufficient wit to whisper, "What about Mr. Kent's men? They're
just outside the door."

"Now
she worries about propriety." He grinned at her blushing face. "Come,
my prudish one, there's something I want to show you."

Nicholas
carried her toward what appeared to be a door to a wardrobe. She cocked her
head. Then he pushed open the door. To her amazement, Helena found herself
looking into an anteroom, fashioned as an exercise salon of sorts. In the
center of the chamber was a rectangular area demarcated by poles at the four
corners and cordoned off by two lines of thick rope. The floor was lined with mats.
A sparring ring. Percy had mentioned that Nicholas enjoyed the sport.

 Her
husband clearly had another sport in mind when he set her inside the ring and
closed the door behind. Then he fell upon her like a man starved, unbuttoning,
unfastening, his mouth consuming hers in a greedy kiss. As the layers fell
away, she experienced a freedom she had never before known, had never known to
be possible. For the rest of her life, she would not forget this moment when
their love burned so brightly, so fiercely that it chased away all the shadows—of
his past, her insecurities.

Her
chemise followed the rest, and soon she stood naked in front of her husband. She
felt nothing but sheer feminine pride. She held her shoulders higher, giving
her full breasts a generous wiggle, loving the way Nicholas' nostrils flared in
response. Then she tugged at his shirt, eager to have nothing left between
them, not even a scrap of clothing. She heard his wicked chuckle as he caught
her in his arms. Her legs slid around his hips as he maneuvered her backward. After
a few steps, she felt the bite of rope against her bare back. Sandwiched
between her husband's iron strength and the rough cord, she trembled with
arousal.

"Tell
me, my lady," Nicholas murmured, his tongue doing magical things to her
ear, "are you also my harlot?"

Helena
sighed as he discovered a particularly sublime spot. "Mmm, yes."

"Then
I want you to tell me what a harlot likes," her husband continued in the
dark, seductive voice that she loved. "I want to hear those lovely,
naughty lips of yours ask for what you desire."

He
released her and took a step back. He stood shirtless before her, unabashed in
his bold virility. Although he still wore his pantaloons, she could see the bulging
wedge of his erection. His gaze roved over her nakedness, and the
possessiveness of the look brought a tingle to her belly. Aroused, but shy, she
mumbled, "I like it when you touch me. Here." Her hand fluttered near
her breast.

Nicholas
shook his head sternly. "Any self-respecting doxy knows that she must use
specific and proper language in her requests. I seem to recall teaching you the
correct words during our lessons. Apt student that you are, you cannot have
forgotten so quickly. Again, where do you want me to touch you, Helena?"

"My
tits," she whispered, excitement flaring at her own boldness. "Please
touch my tits."

"Like
this?" Nicholas cupped her full breasts firmly. As he played with her, his
eyes remained on her face. He gently squeezed her nipple, and her lips parted
on a whimper of delight. "I asked you a question, Helena. Is this what you
want?"

"Your
mouth," Helena gasped, leaning back against the ropes as he obliged her. "Oh
sweet heavens, Nicholas, your mouth ..."

He
rolled a nipple into his mouth, his tongue dancing playful patterns over the
engorged bud.  "How does it feel, sweet?"

"It
feels so
good
," she panted. "Your tongue, oh Nicholas, it makes
me feel so ... so ..."

"Yes?
How does it make you feel?" Nicholas murmured against her other nipple.

"Tingly
and hot. . . between my legs," Helena confessed with a breathy sigh as he
rewarded her with more licks, more nips against her swollen tits.

Giving
her a playful swat on the buttocks, he stepped away. "Show me."

Helena
blinked. "How do you mean?"

Nicholas'
voice was rough velvet and dark as midnight. "Touch yourself, Helena. I
want you to show me exactly where it aches, where you burn for me."

Helena's
knees wobbled slightly at his request. Could she be as bold as he asked?

"Come
now, you did say you were a harlot," Nicholas chided, his eyes gleaming
with wicked laughter. "Or perhaps you are not quite as wanton as you would
have me believe?"

The
playful challenge emboldened her. Slowly, Helena ran her hands down the sides
of her waist and over the curves of her hips. The subtle quiver of Nicholas'
broad shoulders and rippled chest fanned her excitement. It appeared her
husband enjoyed watching her explore herself. She moved her hands inward toward
the curly thatch of hair. She ran a finger along the moist crevice.

At
Nicholas' sharp inhale, her lips curved into a siren's smile.

"It
aches here, my lord," she murmured, parting her curls to expose the
delicate pink flesh to his rapacious gaze. Dew lubricated her fingers as she
lightly stroked the swollen folds. She teased the opening of her pussy, before sliding
her fingers up to the hard nub which magnified her pleasure. With a soft moan,
she rubbed the knot of sensation. Sparks skipped along her legs. Her eyes
joined his.