Winning Lord West (13 page)

Helena shot him a smile all bright devilry,
and dipped her head to take him in her mouth.

When the hot, wet suction of Helena’s mouth
surrounded him, West went taut as a violin string. Furious pleasure
blasted him. He groaned and struggled to cling to reality.

He couldn’t let her do this. She must hate
it.

Her tongue flickered over the head, and he
shuddered. He needed every ounce of willpower to reach down and
bury his hands in her wild hair.

“No, Hel…” he gasped. “Stop.”

With a leisurely movement that threatened to
hurl him to Kingdom Come, she raised her head and regarded him with
puzzled dark eyes. “Don’t you like it? Crewe did.”

Good God, the last thing he needed to hear
right now was that swine’s name. “I don’t want you to do anything
you don’t want to.”

Which was an outright lie. He wanted her
mouth on him more than he wanted to live another five minutes. When
she licked her lips, he bit back another groan.

“Crewe tried to make me do this, but I found
it too revolting.”

Disappointment cramped his gut. Although what
else could he expect? “Then why?”

“Because this is
you.
Because I want
to give you pleasure. Because I feel no shame in what we do
together. With you, this is almost…pure.” Uncertainty darkened her
eyes. “If you can bear it.”

A grunt of wry laughter. “You’re bringing a
thousand fantasies to life.”

Helena’s expression filled with incredulous
delight. “Really?”

“Really.” Still his inconvenient conscience
wouldn’t let him finish there. Dear Lord, he earned his place in
heaven today. He hoped the Recording Angel was listening in.
“Promise you’ll stop if it becomes too—”

Heavy eyelids descended. “I like it.”

The devils prancing about in his heart
settled. Her willingness made no sense in any universe he
inhabited, but he couldn’t doubt she meant it. “Then by all means,
continue.”

An excited huff of laughter escaped her. With
one hand, she gathered her hair behind her neck, while the other
circled the thick base of his cock.

Control became more ragged when she lowered
over him. He clawed at the cushions and prayed for fortitude
through an interval of excruciating pleasure before she found her
rhythm. When she did, she rocketed him into a volatile new world of
heat and sensuality.

That fiendish tongue prolonged the torture,
and she stroked his balls in a caress that crashed through him like
cannon fire. His breath emerged in guttural grunts. Every muscle
strained toward climax. Every ounce of will kept him from
surrendering.

Through the gathering storm, he remembered
she was a fine lady. He couldn’t lose himself in her mouth. Yet
with every second, release rushed nearer.

Ignoring her rules, he plunged shaking hands
into her hair. He had to stop her before it was too late. The words
scraped out of his tight throat. “Helena, I’m too close.”

She raised her head. “Give yourself to
me.”

The husky, urgent command smashed through
him. His hands clenched in her hair. “You don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do.”

Without waiting for an answer, she bowed her
head and swept him into sizzling paradise. She squeezed his balls
with exquisite pressure.

It was beyond bearing. He couldn’t hold back.
He wanted this too much.

With a drawn-out groan, West arched against
the cushions and gave himself up to flooding ecstasy.

***

West’s guttural cry woke Helena from
exhausted sleep. It was the dead of night and her bed was
shaking.

An earthquake?

She took a few disoriented seconds to realize
that West was shivering and moving restlessly beside her. He’d
kicked aside the covers, although the night was cold and the fire
had burned down to hot coals.

“West?” She leaned over him and placed one
hand on his bare shoulder. Dear Lord, he was bathed in sweat, and
his skin burned under her touch. In the dark, she fumbled for her
nightdress and dragged it over her head.

She should have seen this coming. He’d been
quiet all evening. She’d wondered if the direction of their affair
worried him. It certainly worried her.

During those tumultuous hours in the
summerhouse, they’d forged a profound connection. Profound, and
troubling. As Helena fell further and further under West’s spell,
the prospect of living without him became unbearable.

What a fool she was to think she could emerge
unchanged from such incendiary passion. Now the awkward question
was where they went from here. She still shrank from marriage. But
the prospect of sending him away in a few days left her desolate.
She felt lost and confused, and unable to make her next step.

Tonight when he’d come to bed, he’d settled
down with her in his arms and dropped into exhausted sleep. It had
all felt horribly—wonderfully—matrimonial.

Even worse, nestling beside him in drowsy
contentment, she had the oddest fancy that this was where she
belonged.

She pulled the blankets up and smoothed the
damp black hair back from his high forehead. “Hush, sweetheart.
Shhh.” She hardly noticed the endearment.

At least her touch brought him a measure of
comfort. As the terrifying shaking eased, he opened his eyes.
“Helena.”

She caught his hand. “You’re sick.”

“Damn it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be a fool.” She rose from the bed and
lit a couple of candles, then almost wished she hadn’t. West looked
appalling. White and drawn, eyes sunk back in his face.

He took an unsteady breath. “I’ll go.”

“You can’t be alone.”

The shivering started again. “Staying here
will cause a scandal.”

“The others won’t tell anyone.”

“They mightn’t.” Strain plastered his skin to
the bones of his face. “But there’s a household full of servants
who won’t keep the news to themselves. With the wedding, they’ll
have plenty of visitors to tell.”

“I don’t care. Anyway, if the housemaids have
eyes, they must know I haven’t slept alone the last two nights.” To
think she’d once fretted about gossip. All that mattered now was
West’s health. “What can I do?”

“Help me back to my room. You don’t have to
nurse me.”

She frowned. However brave his offer, it
wasn’t practical. He wasn’t fit to stand, let alone wander the
hallways. And her soul screamed denial at the idea of consigning
him to another’s care. “Maybe later,” she said to head off an
argument.

She might as well have saved her breath. His
eyes turned opaque, and his teeth chattered. He obviously couldn’t
hear her.

How could he survive this? And he’d suffered
these bouts for months. Helpless pity crushed her heart.

She fetched a glass of water and held him
against her bosom while he tried to drink. Most of the water went
over him, rather than down his throat. He was a big man, and even a
strong woman like her struggled to support his weight.

“Cold, cold,” he said over and over, while he
fought to throw off the covers.

Increasingly worried, Helena sponged him
down, speaking soothing nonsense. Her voice seemed to calm him, as
she ran a damp cloth over his naked body, noting again how thin he
was.

He raised a shaking hand. She set the bowl
aside and took it.

“Helena.” The sound was a whisper, although
his grip was firm.

“I’m here, darling,” she murmured.

“Help me back to my room.”

“We won’t make it.” She cupped the side of
his face, distraught that despite her efforts, his fever
worsened.

“Let’s try.” He was becoming agitated.

“Very well.”

Helena took both his hands and helped him to
sit, trembling and sick, on the edge of the bed. She slid her
shoulder under his arm. “Hold on to me.”

Staggering, she got him up, but on the first
step, he reeled.

“This is hopeless, West,” she said, stumbling
to keep him upright. “I’ll get Silas.”

And she’d send for a doctor, scandal be
damned. Since she’d woken, she’d been afraid, but seeing strong,
self-confident Vernon Grange unable to stand had her stomach
twisting with terror.

She’d known he was ill. She’d seen for
herself how the fever came upon him out of nowhere. But only now,
when she battled alone against this enemy, did she understand that
she might lose him.

Suddenly that seemed the worst blow fate
could deal her. Crueler by far than an unhappy marriage.

How precious he was. How precious he’d always
been.

If West lived, she didn’t care if the whole
county shunned her as a brazen trollop.

“No…Silas,” he said, before retreating into
the occasional grunt as she struggled to get him back into bed.

Leaning in, she kissed his hot forehead.
“I’ll be back in a moment.”

She flung a dressing gown over her shoulders,
grabbed a candle, and dashed out of the room. Once, she’d been glad
that her rooms were in a separate wing. Then she’d been worried
about keeping her affair with West a secret.

Now she’d
declare her disgrace from the rooftops if it brought him one scrap
of relief.
She cursed every yard of corridor stretching
between her and help.

By the time she reached Silas’s door, she was
breathless. She pounded on it. “Blast you, Silas, wake up!”

Her brother took an eon to appear. “Helena?
What the devil’s got into you?”

“West is sick. I think he’s going to die.
Come quickly.” Behind her brother, she saw Caro sitting up in bed
and clutching the sheets to her bare breasts.

“Is it the fever again?” Caro asked.

“Yes. I’ll go downstairs and send a servant
for the doctor.”

“No, you go with Silas. I’ll organize Dr.
Lawson.”

“He looked fine at dinner,” Silas said,
coming out into the corridor and tying his dressing gown more
securely.

“Well, he’s not fine now.” She grabbed her
brother’s hand and rushed back the way she’d come. “Hurry.”

A mountainous man in a crimson dressing gown
emerged from the shadows. “What’s all this hubbub?”

“West’s sick,” Silas said to Anthony.

Fen appeared, too. “I thought he was quiet
tonight. Has someone sent for a doctor?”

“Caro’s rousing the servants,” Silas said.
“She’ll have a groom off to the village in minutes.”

They trooped toward Helena’s room, but as
they came to the wide landing above the main staircase, something
tall and white stumbled out of the darkness.

“Silas?” the apparition rasped, weaving on
the spot.

“West!” Helena cried out, darting forward and
flinging her arm around his waist. Violent tremors shook his lean
form. How he’d made it this far, she had no idea. “You should be in
bed.”

“Sleep…walking,” he managed to say loudly
enough for the others to hear, then despite all her efforts, his
legs folded.

Anthony could move like lightning, it turned
out. Before West hit the floor, the big man caught him.

“He’s out cold.” With characteristic
competence, he hitched West up by the armpits.

“I’d be out cold, too, wandering the
corridors on a February night in nothing but a sheet,” Silas said,
lifting West’s bare feet.

Helena stepped away in favor of the men. In
her anguish, she hadn’t noticed that West was wrapped in a sheet,
she guessed from her bed. He’d come to her in his evening clothes,
but the intricacies of fashionable dress were clearly beyond
him.

As was his ability to listen to a lecture.
How on earth could he put his health at risk over something as
trivial as her reputation?

“We’ll take him to his room,” Silas said.
“Hel’s is too far away.”

Caro called from below. “A groom’s gone for
Dr. Lawson. He should be here soon.”

Silas and Anthony hauled the unconscious West
away. Helena set off after them, but Fen caught her arm. “Come and
wait with Caro and me.”

“I don’t want to leave him.”

Fen’s eyes were soft with compassion as she
untangled Helena’s fingers from the candlestick. “I know you don’t,
but it’s better he’s with Silas and Anthony when the doctor
arrives.”

Fen was right. West had gone to heroic
efforts to preserve Helena’s good name. The least she could do was
ensure his work wasn’t in vain. Mute with dread, she let her friend
lead her downstairs.

In the library, Fen poured Helena a brandy.
With a trembling hand, she accepted the glass and collapsed onto a
sofa. Across the room, a footman kneeled before the hearth,
lighting the fire. The tall clock in the corner chimed three. It
was bitterly cold, and Helena curled her bare toes into the carpet
in search of warmth. She hadn’t stopped to put slippers on when
she’d rushed out of her room in a panic.

“Where’s Caro?” Her voice was scratchy.

Fen crossed to the window and opened the
curtains on a starlit night. “Probably doing her best to make West
comfortable.”

The footman rose and bowed to Helena. “Shall
I arrange for refreshments, my lady?”

She mustered a smile. “Yes, please, John. The
doctor will want something to eat when he’s finished, I
imagine.”

“Very good, my lady.”

“Please pass my apologies to the staff for
the interrupted night. I’ll come and speak to everyone once we know
what’s happening.”

“We all wish Lord West well. He’s always been
a favorite downstairs.”

Another reminder of how her life was
entangled with West’s. “Thank you.”

Once John left, she placed her empty glass on
a side table and stood. “I’m going upstairs. If Caro’s with him,
why can’t I be there, too?”

Fen turned away from staring outside.
“Helena, there’s nothing you can do.”

“He might want me.”

“If he asks for you, Silas will tell us.”

Regret and self-recrimination settled cold
and heavy in her belly. She had no standing in West’s life. A wife
could attend a sickbed. While she was nothing but a childhood
friend and temporary mistress, damn it.