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“So you have been to London then? Most women detest the countryside because they find it boring. Why then are you here, lurking around in the woods?”
Helen winced as she took her first step, her silk slippers almost sinking into the soft tufts of grass under her feet. “Of course, the countryside is wearisome. and the weather is bad for my skin. Even the sun burns my skin like I am being flayed alive.”
The man chortled, his blue eyes darkening. Helen felt her body shiver as her body responded to him. Under the golden lights on the veranda, his chestnut locks looked burnished. Broad shoulders draped in leather, and his face was more than honed to perfection.
“The sun is just perfect, Miss. Maybe it becomes a little warmer in summer, but the country is best enjoyed during the spring. Light rains to cool the heat, the quietude in the afternoons is best for immersing yourself in literary works.”
Helen huffed. She hated the country more than anything after being incarcerated in her aunt’s cottage for more than three weeks. She wanted the company of her best friend and father and even the other ladies of London. But she could not go back. At least, not yet. Her reputation was still ruined, and Helen was sure that she was still the topic of theton’s hottest gossip. A scandal could never go unnoticed among the elite. They always wanted something to spice up their lives.
“Do you need me to carry you again, Miss? Your steps are unbearably slow, and you need to be treated immediately. We should hurry inside as quickly as we can.”
“Carry me? Is that not even more vulgar than my words? I can walk myself.”
“But your groans and limp might turn me insane much sooner than later. Helping you should not be an offense now, is it?”
“Thank you, Mister, but I do not need your help. I can walk well enough on my own,” she said and leaped up the first step.
Pain shot up through her thighs, and she groaned in pain. Her whole body shivered from the cold that was approaching with the incoming twilight. By the time she had climbed three steps, even standing was unbearable.
The stranger was at the top, staring at her with a wicked smile on his face. Helen wanted to reach out and slap the smugness off his handsome face, but the slight curve of his lips set something inside her on fire. She brushed the thoughts away on instinct, like her aunt drilled into her several times over.
She leaned on the stone banister, sweating and panting. Her body had taken more than enough pain for a day. Helen was tired, about to pass out from exhaustion, but she kept the man’s face in focus as an anchor, helping keep her from slipping into unconsciousness — also, because her heart was already thudding uncomfortably in her chest.
Helen closed her eyes to climb the next step, anticipating the pain that would send her stomach reeling, but it didn’t come. Instead, she was swept off her feet.
“Put me down this instant,” she struggled against his embrace as he carried her up the stairs in his arms like a child.
His scent — earthen and woody — assailed her nostrils. She fought against it, suddenly remembering how the man in the garden pulled her to himself. It was horrible, and she pounded her hand against his chest, wanting to be let down.
“Damn you, Miss!” he exclaimed, his warm breath spilling softly on her skin. “If you were not walking with a limp and covered in scrapes, I might have mistaken you for the devil!”
Helen resisted the tingle that went down her spine as his chest vibrated against her body. “Heaven forbid I be called the devil! You are the one lifting me like a sack of potatoes.”
She looked into his deep blue eyes under thick, dark eyelashes. They were dark, unlike hers. Almost black under the light. Helen felt a certain familiarity around him, one that reminded her of something special.
“Will you stop fighting, then? I am not to be berated and boxed while trying to help you. You can be sure that I am definitely not licentious.”
The thrum of his body resonated with hers, filling her with a warmth she had not had ever since her Aunt burned her only source of joy to ashes. Helen eased into his warmth, placing her hands on his chest and feeling his heartbeat. Somehow, it steadied her, and she stopped fighting altogether.
“Now, that is more like it. You should have been quiet all along. Maybe we would have reached the doors by now.”
Helen smiled softly, and he returned it. His dark blue eyes glittered with a certain wildness, held together under a leash — a controlled power that she glimpsed for just a moment, and then, it was gone. Like it never existed.
He kicked the door open, barely making a noise as they entered the house. Helen was not allowed to properly gape at all the finery before he whisked her down the hallway.
Laying her down on the damask sofa, Helen watched him take off his leather jacket and tug on the rope in the room. She was in some kind of study, with a mahogany desk before her and stacked papers. High filigreed ceilings loomed quietly above her and brass candelabras were fitted with lit candles. They bathed the room in a soft glow, contrasting heavily with the enormous bookshelves.
Shortly after, a servant rushed into the room and bowed. “Evening, Your Grace.”
“Get Perceval here immediately,” he ordered. “Also, tell Mrs. Penbright to bring warm towels, some clean linen, and a bowl of water for her injuries.”
Then he turned to her. “Miss, would you like some tea? Something to clear your head?” Helen nodded quickly, her mind in a knot. She was dazed by the way the servant addressed the man before her.
Is he a Duke?
“Some milk with poppy to help alleviate her pain,” he went on. “Call for Perceval immediately.”
The servant scurried away, partly from fear but mostly from respect. She smiled at their interaction, briefly reminded of Sonya and her gossip. It felt like ages past when she dressed in the most gorgeous ball gown.
