“Good.” Nic stood, pacing to the window and back to his tea. “We’ve spent too long letting him treat our future like something on a wine list he hasn’t gotten around to reading. Well—surprise. We skipped to dessert.”
Helen buried her face in her hands. “This isn’t how I wanted it to go.”
“And how exactly did you imagine it?” His voice was clipped, irritation seeping through. “Were we supposed to keep playing house in secret until Jacob finally declared me tolerable?”
“Don’t shout at me,” Helen choked, eyes full of fresh tears.
Nic swore under his breath. He reached out and caught her hand, kissed her trembling fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to shout at you, I promise. I’m... fraying a little.”
He exhaled, pressed her hand to his chest. “The only thing that matters right now is—do you want to marry me, Helen? Before the baby comes?”
Helen nodded, climbing into his arms with desperate affection. “Of course I do.”
He held her close, even as a dull and heavy shadow settled inside his chest. He’d proposed without flowers, fanfare, or joy—just urgency and fear.Butnow, the doubt pressed in, quiet and sharp—was she saying yes because she wanted a life with him... or because it was the only path left to walk?
Some questions were better left unanswered.
“When will you speak to my father?” Helen asked softly.
Nic groaned. “Soon. I’ll find an evening. Maybe next week. Assuming I survive training long enough to ask for a night off.”
He knocked back the last of the willow bark tea, wishing—deeply, violently—that it had a shot of something stronger. He stared out the window, saw the night creeping in like cold water.
Helen tidied the untouched food, then returned and gently stroked his head. “Will you stay?”
“Here?”
“There’s no one else around. Just us.”
He had no reason to decline, and he was not looking for one. He yearned to spend a night with Helen, even if only to wrap his body around her and sleep. He took her hand and pushed away from the table. “Shall we?”
Helen led him through the quiet sitting room, past portraits and polished furniture, and down the long hall. She paused at the threshold of one of the large bedrooms—her own, clearly. The bed was as elegant as he’d imagined: wide, lavish, dressed in soft linens, its carved headboard glowing lush in the lamp’s gentle light. As she drew the curtains closed and struck the match to the lamp, Nic seized the moment. He pulled her onto the bed in a tumble of laughter and limbs.
He nuzzled against her throat, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear. “I do believe this is a first.”
“First?” she asked, already breathless.
His fingers slid up her waist with exaggerated slowness. “Our first proper bed,” he whispered, tracing the shape of her breast with a teasing touch.
“I thought you were tired,” she said, squealing as he stretched lazily against her.
“I am,” he sighed, grinning as he tugged her down atop him. “Let me rest. You’re my favorite blanket.”
She purred, straddling his hips, and leaned in to kiss him—slow and deep, full of promise. Her lips were soft, tasting faintlyof honeyed wine and defiance. His hands roamed her waist, the silk of her shift dress whispering under his fingers. But silk was never enough. He needed the heat of her skin.
When she sat back, the sorrow in her eyes had vanished. She looked down at him with hunger and amusement, and took her time peeling her dress over her head. Lace slipped from her shoulders and drifted to the floor like the last leaf of autumn.
He reached up, cupping the swell of her breasts in his calloused palms. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, wonder mixing with desire. “Let me worship you.”
She leaned forward, and he brought his mouth to her breast, kissing, licking, grazing her with teeth until her fingers curled in his hair. His hands roamed lower, shaping the softness of her backside, coaxing her into motion.
She began to move against him slowly, deliberately, and Nic’s breath caught. The rhythm was theirs alone, made of memory and longing and all the nights he’d wanted her but couldn’t.
Helen’s fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in her haste. He rose to help her, shrugging out of sleeves, baring skin inch by inch. She kissed down his chest as she pushed his trousers low, and then they were tangled together again, beneath the golden lamplight.
The press of her body against his own set him ablaze. He kissed her mouth hungrily, pulled her hips to his, desperate now. “If I don’t feel you soon—”
And then she took him into her, and he lost all words.
