‘Tangle your fingers in her hair, yes. Like that. Now pull her closer.’
Helena did as he asked, pulling Cynthia so close, their lips were only a breath apart. The weight of her grounded Helena, holding her present in the moment.
She could lose herself in the greens and browns of Cynthia’s eyes. So many different shades of the forest. Silver sage, deep moss, rich bark, surrounded by a darker rim that held the universe captive. Her free hand tightened around Cynthia’s corseted waist, and she wished to feel the softness of her skin beneath.
Cynthia’s breath washed over her in puffs as she licked her lips. Helena could feel the heat pouring off Cynthia in waves. She longed to taste her mouth. Explore the hidden depths. Show Cynthia what pleasure could be found between two people who wanted each other as desperately as she wanted her.
The snap of the lens cover clicking back into place pulled Helena back to the present. She blinked as Cynthia stiffened her spine.
Sinclair’s eyes turned hard. His mouth flattened as vicious curses filled his head.
Perhaps he had an issue with sapphic women. But getting upset made no sense. He was making them pose. They were the ones being blackmailed. Helena couldn’t push deeper into his thoughts to determine the root of his bitterness without her eyes shifting to silver. In such close quarters, he would see the abrupt change, and she couldn’t risk giving him any more ammunition against them. The last thing she needed was for a man like Sinclair to suspect she might be a witch.
He quickly pulled the glass plate free, dipped a new one in the shallow dish of silver nitrate and inserted it into the camera.
‘Lady Burrows, stand behind Miss Blair. Miss Blair, show me your profile. Lady Burrows, press your mouth to her neck, just there.’
Helena knew enough of photography to understand he only had a few minutes before each glass plate would dry and render the negative useless. If they dawdled, he would lose his photographs and need to start over. It was tempting, but prolonging this unique torture seemed unwise. Both women quickly assumed the new pose. Helena turned her head to give Cynthia access to her neck. She felt the warm rush of Cynthia’s breath before soft lips pressed against the sensitive tendon where her neck met her shoulder. Helena gasped as Cynthia’s teeth gently scraped her skin. Cynthia’s hand pressed against Helena’s belly, holding her tightly as heat and blood rushed to the surface where Cynthia’s mouth delicately sucked her neck.
Dear goddess.
A liquid rush of heat flowed through Helena, pooling between her thighs as a hollow ache bloomed. She hated being so aroused in front of a man intent on ruining them.
Sinclair cleared his throat, and Cynthia stepped back from Helena. She nearly caught Cynthia’s hand as it slipped from her belly, loathe to lose their connection.
‘Stay there,’ he instructed before stepping to a curtained area in the corner of the room. It must be a makeshift darkroom. Clever. He could develop photographs from both glass plates to ensure the images were clear before placing each negative in a paper sleeve, storing them in the wooden box sitting next to the dish of silver nitrate. A wooden box Helena would flood with water, soaking the chemicals so the images would be ruined before she left the room. Whatever other negatives he stored there would also be destroyed. If she weren’t so incredibly aroused, she could enjoy the satisfaction of knowing they would dupe the devious Damien Sinclair. She turned to face Cynthia and searched her face for signs of fear or disgust.
‘Are you well?’
Cynthia’s eyes were wide, her pupils dilated as her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths. ‘I… Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to, er, well.’ She couldn’t finish her thought, but the meaning was clear. She had gotten carried away when she kissed Helena’s neck. Using her teeth, sucking Helena so sweetly, those weren’t things Sinclair could photograph. She had done that because she wanted Helena, and that clearly upset her. This beautiful, confident, powerful woman was frightened of her own desires. Which meant Helena needed to tread very carefully.
‘There is nothing to forgive.’ Helena took Cynthia’s trembling hands in her own and squeezed gently.
‘I never understood until now. I’ve seen the way Clio and my brother are together. I’ve watched couples at balls stare at one another the way a starving man might look at a feast. I always thought I was missing that vital piece. But now?—’
Damien Sinclair deserved to suffer for many reasons, but none so dastardly as interrupting Cynthia in this moment. He swept the curtain aside and strode back to them, halting Cynthia from revealing what remained infuriatingly hidden from Helena. But she didn’t have to use her magic to get past the barriers of Sinclair’s mind. He was fairly shouting out his triumph.
I’m so close! Soon. Soon, it will be done All of this will be worth it. It has to be.
Something else flickered in his mind, too quick to catch. A darker whisper echoing so quietly, Helena wondered if he could hear it.
‘I have what I need.’ He carefully inserted each glass plate into its own paper cover, unlocked the wooden box holding rows of similarly protected negatives, and placed them reverently into their own slots. Shutting and relocking the case, his cold gaze locked on Cynthia. ‘Leave, now.’
Helena didn’t need a second invitation. She took Cynthia’s hand, and they hurried to the door. Looking behind her at the box, she pooled her power, condensing the particles of air inside until droplets formed. It took only a moment to fill the box. She hid a satisfied grin as water dripped down the outside of the wooden case. Every negative would be soaked; the images that were once held captive in collodion and silver nitrate were irrevocably ruined.
With a flick of her gaze, she imagined the photographs hanging to dry in the makeshift darkroom and soaked them as well, blurring the clear images to black and grey smudges.
Sinclair’s gravelled voice tore her focus away from her handiwork. ‘Take a message to your uncle, Miss Blair. If ’e doesn’t cease ’is investigations into my affairs, I will destroy that which ’e holds most dear. As for you, Lady Burrows… I’ll come calling for a favour one day. And I’ll expect you to grant it. Now, begone.’
The fear whispering through her was nonsensical. Though he didn’t yet know it, she had ruined any leverage he might have over Uncle Lachlan.
But he is still a threat. Devils are not so easily destroyed.
The thought came unbidden and resonated in the marrow of her bones.
Cynthia tugged her hand, pulling her from the room and scuttling down the stairs, through the gaming room and out onto the street where London’s cool evening air washed over them and Cynthia’s carriage waited.
13
