The Duelist's Seduction (5 page)

He broke away when she started to seek his lips for another kiss. With a smirk of satisfaction, he left her alone in her bedchamber. She heard a click as something turned in the door. He had locked her in! She had agreed to stay here, but the sound of that lock turning infuriated her. She stumbled on weak legs to the door, tugging fiercely at the handle, which did not budge.

“Please… Gareth, let me out!” she called. “I said I would stay! Please!”

Silence.

He wanted her locked away. Why? Did he lie to her? Was he going to return to Bath, kill her brother, and return to take her to his bed? Surely, he couldn’t be so cruel. Helen twisted at the knob again, hating that it didn’t open, didn’t budge an inch. She turned to look about the room. The thick paned windows weren’t the type to open, and she wouldn’t be able to break through it fast enough to escape without waking the entire house with the noise.

Helen choked down a panicked sob and abandoned the door. She prayed with every bit of her heart that Gareth hadn’t decided to return to Bath and kill Martin. Maybe he had another reason for locking her in, even if she couldn’t fathom why.

“Gareth, please…” she whispered into the wood of the door. Still silence. A wave of exhaustion swept her with such force that her head was too thick with a fog that made it hard to think. Gareth wouldn’t kill Martin. He’d made a promise to her. Tomorrow she would demand to know why he’d locked her away tonight, and she would not let him do it again.

She retrieved the nightgown and, after a moment, prepared for bed. When she climbed between the sheets, she buried her face in the soft mound of pillows. Hot tears leaked from the corner of her eyes, soaking the cloth. Helen fought off the drowning despair that swamped her, but she couldn’t hold long. Between this morning’s near disaster on the field and the way Gareth had so coldly abandoned her just now, she was completely confused, both mentally and physically, and her crying grew harsh and ragged.

What had she done? She was trapped here by her own foolishness. And Martin… Would he try to find her? Would Gareth kill him if he came here? It was a long while before Helen cried herself into a deep sleep, unaware of the shadow that lingered outsider her door, listening to her weep.

CHAPTER TWO

Gareth listened to Helen tug on the locked door handle. He was on the verge of going to his own chambers when she began to cry. He froze mid-step. It was such a quiet, sweet, sad noise. It reminded him of a time when he’d captured and caged a wild thrush.

The little bird had been stunned at first, quiet and unsure, before it began to sing a sad little song, a plea of mercy. The thrush had only lasted a few weeks in a cage before its chirps lost their wild charms. Gareth knew that he had to release the bird if he ever wished to hear its song again, but the fear of letting go struck him deep. He had worked hard to make the bird his own, and he didn’t want to release his hard won prize. But he knew with certainty that the bird would lose its song. Finally, he’d had to set it free. The memory of letting it go was burned into his heart. As the cage latch sprang open and the bird shot out of its prison, it fluttered away, and Gareth’s heart fell. He would never hear it sing again.

But a minute later, he heard the distant trill slowly growing louder. The little thrush had returned. It perched on the edge of the garden wall, chattering away as though it had never been held prisoner. Perhaps Helen was like the thrush…needed to be kept caged for a time before he would release her, and maybe then she would return to him.

Gareth was twenty-seven and sole owner of a vast estate, but life had left him little to hope for. He’d lost his parents long ago, and his wife to childbirth when he was only twenty. He’d been a fool to marry so young, but he and Clarissa had been childhood sweethearts. After Clarissa and the babe had died, he sought ways to fill the bleak void in his heart that grew larger with each passing year. He gambled, drank—everything a man of leisure could afford—and still could not find peace. His restlessness had reared its ugly head when he had challenged Martin Banks to a duel.

Either he would lose the duel or be executed for killing Banks in an illegal duel. It should have ended tonight, but he’d been confounded by Helen. He’d been moved by her courage to take her brother’s place. Like the songbird, she affected him deeply…in ways he had not begun to fully understand. He had to have her, had to hear her song in the whisper of his name, the sighs full of ecstasy, and the laugh of triumph from his own lips as he claimed her. She was a creature of sunlight, spirit, and innocence, and he craved her like he’d never craved anything in his life. He was a bastard to use her for his pleasure because her brother owed him. But damned if he didn’t still desire her with a wild and unbridled hunger he hadn’t felt since he’d last held his wife in his arms. He would have been lucky to recapture just one bit of that feeling again, but with Helen, it flooded through him, a tidal wave he could not stop, nor did he wish to.

When her crying stopped, and Gareth could hear no more sounds from her room, he headed toward his own bedchamber. Mary appeared at his side. She was a wizened woman in her early fifties and had been with Gareth’s family since Gareth’s mother was a bride.

“Might I have a word, Master Gareth?” she asked gravely, her voice low and disapproving. While Gareth had no interest in being lectured like a naughty schoolboy, he did not dare refuse her the right to chastise him for his wrongdoing. He had practically abducted the poor girl, after all.

“Yes Mary,” he leaned heavily against the frame of the doorway to his own chambers.

“I know it has been awhile since you’ve had a woman in this house. Might I advise sending to Bath for gowns that suit her? It would not be proper for her to wear Mrs. Fairfax’s clothes.”

This remark astounded him. Did Mary think he’d brought home a bit of muslin? Not a woman worthy of compassion? He caught himself suddenly astonished that he’d wished to defend Helen’s character. How had she wormed her way into his heart so quickly?

“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning,” he growled at Mary, daring her to make another remark against Helen. After everything that had happened to her—most of it his fault—he felt protective of her.

Mary blinked, then narrowed her eyes with annoyance. “I meant no offense to the young lady by saying she was not good enough to wear Mrs. Fairfax’s clothes, sir…rather I meant that she is a great deal taller than Lady Clarissa was, and her fairer hair and skin require a much different color in gowns, not to mention fashion has changed in the last seven years. If you would permit me, I will send for a better wardrobe for her tomorrow morning.” Mary lifted her chin, crossing her arms with an annoyed expression, as if expecting him to growl again.

Gareth relaxed considerably. “Yes, do what you see fit. I care not for fashion, but if it would make her happy…” He trailed off, surprised that he was thinking of what would please Helen when at first she’d only been an object brought here to please him. It seemed he’d been quite moved by her tears.

“Do you wish for me to take a look at your injury?” Mary’s eyes dropped to his bloodied arm.

He gave a short jerk of his head. “’Tis only a scratch. Miss Banks took it upon herself to shoot me.”

“Shoot you?” His housekeeper’s voice rose an octave. “And what, pray tell, were you doing to her that warranted such a reaction?”

He flashed her a weary, yet still charming grin. “Well, that’s the thing. I challenged her brother to a duel, and she showed up dressed like him and took his place. She shot me, accidentally, I think, before I realized she wasn’t a man.”

“Well, if you think you’re well enough…” She was still eyeing the wound with worry. “I think I’ll send for the doctor tomorrow and have him look it over in any case. Goodnight, sir.” Mary curtsied, the corners of her mouth twitching so slightly he wondered if he’d imagined it before she left him to his thoughts and he readied for bed.

He stripped off his bloodied shirt and poured some water into his basin. The wound was superficial. The bullet had barely grazed him. He chuckled softly as he recalled Helen’s wide, horrified eyes as she ran to help him in the field. Her first time to fire a pistol and she had managed to graze him—not bad for a woman.

And what a woman she was. She was truly beautiful with her soft, yielding lips of a green girl, the swell of perfect breasts, and the curve of a slender waist out to her wider hips. Just made for his hands.

God…it has been too long since I’ve had a woman
. Gareth almost moaned. Among the many vices he’d acquired since his wife’s death, seduction of other women hadn’t been one of them. He hadn’t the will or desire to bed any woman he’d come across in the last seven years. Yet, the mere thought of Helen beneath him in his bed, golden waves of hair rippling out around her in rays of condensed sunlight, made him shake with desire. What pleasure he would have when he took her that first time. Her sheath would squeeze him tight as a fist, and he knew the pleasure would be beyond compare. It had taken every bit of restraint he possessed to do no more than bring her to climax with his hand. His cock tightened in his breeches, shoving hard against the buttons.

He would have to control himself. She was a virgin. He had no doubt of that, not after he’d kissed her in the drawing room. She had been dewy-eyed with the innocent desire of an untouched maiden, yet she’d responded with a sensual hunger that marked her for a future as a great lover to a lucky man. She would learn just how good it felt to have him deep inside her while his lips drank from the sweetness of her mouth. Perhaps, he might at last find the pleasure he sought, after having had it torn from him seven years ago.

Gareth finished cleaning his shoulder and dressed the wound with a light bandage. As he settled into his own bed, he expected to dream of Helen and how he would seduce her come morning.

Instead, his dreams were haunted by the caged thrush and its fight for freedom, trilling a sad song into the murky depths of his unconsciousness.

Helen woke well rested and refreshed, so much so that she almost forgot the troubles from earlier that morning. But the moment her eyes took in the foreign bed lit by sunlight, she remembered where she was. Helen slid out from under the covers to stand, the wood floor cool beneath her bare feet. She washed her face in the water basin and went to the armoire to see what clothes she might find. As much as she had enjoyed the freedom of her brother’s attire, it was not wise to put it on again.

She needed a clear mind to deal with Gareth. She faced this truth with the light of day heavy upon her. The bargain they’d struck early in the morning had to be undone. Surely he would realize that after his temper had cooled and he’d rested. There was no need to keep her here, not when he could have his pick of the ladies of Bath.

Pressing her fingers to her lips, she could swear she still felt his kiss. Her memories of the early morning were merely exaggerated dreams. What they’d done together, the way they’d embraced, touched…it hadn’t been that deliciously wonderful had it? Yes, that was a dream, no doubt spurred on by her anxiety of the situation.

The only thing left for her to do was decide how to tell Gareth she meant to break the bargain they’d struck and convince him to let her return home. Excuses would have to be made in order to hide where she’d been. Perhaps she could say she was ill and stayed at a friend’s house… But what friend did she have who would reinforce the lie? It was unlikely that would happen, and that wasn’t her only problem. She would have to find a reputable means of repaying Martin’s debts. In order to do that, she must return to Bath immediately, and she would not do it garbed in men’s clothing. Her family’s name was already shamed enough by Martin’s gambling debts, she could not add to it.

The armoire was full of dresses, each lovely yet simple. The cuts and styles were a few years out of date, but the stitching and fabrics were far finer than she was used to. She chose a pale cerulean gown that had van-dyked sleeves and a modest neckline. It was too short in the skirts, but Helen didn’t mind. She dressed in a light white chemise, petticoats, and stays and was in the act of donning the gown when her door was unlocked and Mary entered.

“Good morning, Miss Banks. I trust you slept well?” Mary came over to help her dress.

“I did, thank you,” she replied shyly. She’d had to let her ladies’ maid, Olivia, go a few months ago. Servants were far too costly to maintain without money when she and her brother could barely afford to eat. Mary made quick work of letting out the hem of the dress with a small pair of sewing scissors.