The Duke of Nothing (The 1797 Club Book 5) Page 11

  He pulled her, and she tumbled off her chair and firmly into his lap. His fingers pushed into her hair, drawing down some of the locks as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.

  She let him. He had been right that she would never have what she wanted. And yes, she had been telling him the truth when she said she accepted that fact. But there was also pain. And grief. But when he touched her all that faded away, and all that was left was the pulsing drive she felt to surrender to him.

  His hands drifted lower as he kissed her, his fingers tracing her neck, her collarbone, the edge of her plain gown. Then they folded around her breast and she tilted her head back with a moan of pleasure. She hadn’t expected that sensation, but there it was, powerful and wonderful and overwhelming all at once.

  He lifted his mouth to her exposed throat and began to swirl little patterns with the tip of his tongue. She found herself rocking against him almost against her will, her fingertips digging into his chest as he did things to her that made her forget every other thing in the world but him.

  His hand dragged from her breast and she was faintly aware through the fog of desire that it was drifting lower. He cupped her hip, then she felt her skirt hitching up. Up and up until the warm air that stirred from the fire tickled her calves and her knees.

  Desire was like the ocean and she swam through it, knowing she had to surface, to become aware of her surroundings again. Somehow she managed to do so and stared down first at her uncovered legs and then at him.

  “I-I don’t—” she stammered, placing her hands on his to keep him from lifting her skirts all the more.

  “I want to touch you,” he explained, his voice very low and soft and gentle. “Just touch you, Helena. Just give you pleasure because I want to see it. I want to feel it. But I’ll stop if you give the word.”

  She could hardly breathe. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been in this position before. Oh, she had, but not like this. Not when it had been a pleasure rather than a terror. Not with a man she wanted. So she was tangled between harsh, horrible memories and an unexpected longing.

  She shut her eyes. If her life was to be lived with an implied scandal trailing her wherever she went, if it was to be chasing after Charity and trying to avoid the wrath of her uncle, if it was to be acceptance…then being here with Baldwin, this was her last chance at having something just for herself. Something she longed for.

  Something to erase the painful memories of the past. Or at least soften them slightly. With this man, she had no doubt she would be taken care of. Even a drink or two into his cups he didn’t force or push or demand. He was asking for her leave.

  And in that moment, she found herself nodding as she pulled her hand away.

  “Y-yes,” she choked out as she turned her face. “Yes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Someone hurt you,” Baldwin said.

  Helena stiffened at the words. They were a statement, not a question. Something he could see even with his drink-addled mind. She didn’t look at him, but nodded.

  For a moment he was still, and then she felt his finger touch her chin. He tugged and she was forced to look at him. He blinked a few times, like he was trying to clear his mind.

  “Do you want this?” he repeated.

  She swallowed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “When you touch me…it makes me forget those other things. But I don’t really know what you’ll do or what I’ll feel.”

  His brow wrinkled and his face softened. “Pleasure,” he promised as he brushed his lips over hers again.

  She sank into the kiss once more, loving how his tongue felt when it tangled with her own. It was heaven, it was heat, it was desire and pleasure. And somehow he was promising her more. She wanted more.

  So when his hand tugged on her skirt again, she didn’t stop him. She just continued kissing him in the hopes that her fears would stop flaring and she could just enjoy this stolen, wicked moment that he offered.

  He bunched her skirt at her hips and then pressed a hand on her now-exposed knee. Through her stockings, she felt the heat of his palm as he squeezed gently. Then his fingers glided upward, slowly, tracing the line of her legs.

  She shivered, for she’d never realized just how sensitive her legs were. But it was like being jolted awake when he touched her like this.

  His kiss deepened as he slid that same hand from the front of her thigh to the inside. Her legs fell open of their own accord, even as she sucked in a breath of surprise and fear.

  He pulled away from the kiss and stared into her eyes. “No matter how far I go, no matter what, you can tell me no.”

  She jerked out a nod as she looked down at the image of his hand on her leg. It looked so big there, so dark against the pale skin above her stocking, and it felt as warm as fire.

  He held her gaze as he glided his fingers up higher, to the slit in her drawers. Gently he parted the fabric, and then his fingers wedged their way inside.

  When he touched her sex, she jolted and he stopped moving, but just rested his palm there, flat and warm against her sensitive skin.

  He leaned back in and his mouth found hers again. She was focused on his hand against her, that wicked hand covering the most private part of her. But as the kiss deepened once more, her focus softened, the fear lost its edge and she wrapped her arms around his neck with a sigh.

  Only then did he begin to move his fingers again. He stroked along the outside of her folds, tracing her sex gently. Now that the shock had faded a fraction, the touch of his skin no longer felt so very frightening and foreign. It was nice, actually. Intimate. Warm.

  Enticing.

  He gently opened her, and she drew back with another gasp.

  “Stop?” he asked, his gaze fully focused on her face.

  She shook her head. “No, I-I was just surprised.”

  “It won’t hurt,” he assured her. “I’m not going to penetrate. I just want to do…this…”

  He began to swirl two fingers against her, gently at first, in some wonderful place she had never imagined existed in her body before. When he did, pleasure bolted through her, racing through her veins and her nerves and her skin and everything else. It was pleasure from every part in her body, and she shuddered as he increased the pressure ever so slightly.

  “Baldwin,” she croaked out.

  He nodded and pressed his lips to her neck as he continued to circle, circle. She felt how wet she was from that touch, and yet that wetness made the electric current of desire all the stronger. It built and built, blossoming like a flower as he expertly pleasured her with nothing but his two fingers.

  She found herself lifting into him, meeting the stroke of his hand halfway as her breath came short and her legs started to shake. This was…wonderful, different than anything she’d ever felt before.

  But it was arcing out of control. And that terrified her and exhilarated her all at once. She might have asked him about it. She might have pulled away from the intensity, but at that moment the sensations crested and suddenly she was falling, falling over an edge of something she’d never known. Her body quaked in long waves of pleasure that rocked her every fiber. She clung to him, moaning out his name as her back arched and her feet flexed in her slippers.

  At last the crisis faded and she went weak against his chest. He held her there as her breathing returned to normal and her vision cleared. She had no idea how long, for everything in her world felt very slow and sweet and focused on the trembling warmth that remained between her legs.

  But at last she sat up slightly and blushed as she realized her position, still curled up on his lap. She made a move to go back to her own chair, but he caught her hand and drew her down to kiss her once more.

  “Don’t blush,” he said. “That was wonderful.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. Wonderful.”

  He moved to stand, but when he did he staggered ever so slightly, catching himself on the arm of the chair where he’d just done such wicked things to
her. She jolted and moved to catch his arm, helping him balance as he blinked in surprise.

  “I hardly ever drink,” he muttered. “Apparently I have little head for it anymore.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Leave it to Baldwin to remain in control even when he was in his cups. Enough control to pleasure her, and yet he hadn’t asked her for anything in return. Even though she could see the harsh outline of his body against his trousers in the faint firelight.

  “Do you need help upstairs to bed?” she asked.

  His gaze jerked to her, and there was fire in it. Desire that hadn’t faded even a fraction. Her body warmed at the sight of it, still tingling despite her needs being slaked.

  “I can make it on my—” He released the chair and took a step, but staggered once more. He let out a long, ragged sigh. “Very well. I suppose I could use the help. There are back stairs that will help us hide from prying eyes.”

  She shook her head as she moved to his side. He hesitated, then slung an arm around her shoulder and leaned on her for support. The feel of him along the length of her body made everything seem very hot and close.

  “It’s late,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I doubt we’ll encounter anyone, back stairs or front. The party was wrapping up before I came to find you.”

  He let out a long sigh. “My mother and Charlotte will be upset I missed the remainder of the gathering. Seems I can do nothing right of late.”

  They exited into the hallway and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His mouth was set in a thin line and his gaze was straight ahead and filled with remorse. She couldn’t help but reflect on how very lonely he must be. No one knew his secret—well, no one but her. So he was forced to pretend for the world.

  She understood that better than most. She understood the lack of respite mistakes created.

  She cleared her throat. “Do you want to tell me what happened that put you in this state?”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then he grunted. “Drunk and ready to accost innocent ladies?”

  She pursed her lips. How little he knew. “You are not exactly drunk and I do not feel accosted, Your Grace. So unless there were other ladies who called on you in your study tonight, please put that thought out of your mind.” She shook her head. “I meant, what made you leave your party? And drink in the dark?”

  “I thought women liked broody men,” he said. “James, Graham…Robert…brooders all.”

  She glanced at him. “You don’t have to tell me, of course.”

  They had reached the back stairs, and he gripped the banister as they made their way up slowly. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

  She nodded slowly, trying to ignore the disappointment that rose up in her. His rejection reminded her of her place, the one they’d both forgotten when he confessed to her initially. Or when he’d touched her moments before.

  “I understand,” she said.

  He waved his hand toward the door at the end of the hallway. “You don’t,” he said.

  “I only want to help,” she said.

  He paused for a moment, then looked down at her. “You did. Tonight you did, for when I touched you I forgot every other thing.” He leaned in to kiss her, then weaved.

  “It’s starting to catch up with you now, isn’t it?” she asked, unable to stop the chuckle that escaped her lips.

  “Apparently,” he said with a laugh of his own.

  She reached out and opened his chamber and together they moved inside.

  “Come on then,” she said, urging him through the sitting room and into the master chamber. She edged him forward. “To bed with you.”

  He staggered and flopped face-first onto the mattress. She lifted his feet up and began to work on his boots. It was a mighty feat, but she managed to loosen first one, then the other, and tug them both off. He sighed as she did so. “Thank you. I much prefer you to my regular valet.”

  She smiled, rather enamored with this silly man who now inhabited the usually serious body of the Duke of Sheffield. “Go to sleep now. It will be better in the morning.”

  He rolled to his side to face her. “It won’t be. How I wish you could join me. That would make my morning better.”

  Her heart jumped. The suggestion was tempting, for certain. The idea of curling herself around this man in his bed. Of waking up to him beside her. Of waking up to more of that wonderful pleasure he had provided less than half an hour before.

  She shook her head. “You know I can’t,” she whispered.

  He didn’t speak, but reached his hand out to awkwardly touch her face with his fingertips. Then he smiled and said, “Good night, lovely Helena.”

  “Good night,” she said. She moved to extinguish the lamp, and as she did she heard the soft sound of a snore from the bed. She turned to examine him in firelight for the second time that night and found him already asleep. She leaned a little closer, indulging herself as she would likely never be allowed to do again.

  He was so beautiful. Just perfectly formed in every way, and in his sleep the seriousness and worry was all gone from his face.

  She leaned in and gently kissed his cheek. “Good night,” she said again, and turned to leave the room.

  But first she looked around. Unlike the rest of the house, which was still opulent, here she saw the effects of the financial struggles Baldwin faced. Everything was plain, from the worn furniture to the discolorations in the walls where pictures had clearly once hung but had now been removed, likely sold.

  It was sobering, and she frowned as she slipped from the room and closed the door behind herself. She crept away hurriedly so she wouldn’t be caught in such a terrible position, but as she moved toward the guest wing of the house, she couldn’t help but ponder everything that had happened tonight, from the ball to the pleasure to the end.

  She wanted to help Baldwin, but tonight he had helped her, without even meaning to. Without even trying. And she knew that she would never be the same.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Baldwin lifted his head with a moan. Pain shot through his entire skull and down his neck. He flopped back down face-first into his pillow and stayed there, blessedly surrounded by the darkness.

  It had been a very long time since he drank to excess. A very, very long time since he had more than one glass of scotch out of politeness. Not that he hadn’t earned that pleasure…or punishment, for it felt like a punishment now.

  But his sense of responsibility always stopped him.

  He rolled over slowly and grunted in pain once more. Everything was coming back to him now. The letter about the outstanding debts that could very well seal his fate. The decision to go drink that pain away.

  And then Helena had come and—

  He jerked to a seated position as he was overwhelmed with memories. Kissing her. Touching her…oh God, touching her.

  There was a knock on his chamber door and he ignored it as he set his head in his hands. What had he done? They’d talked and he’d touched and then—then she’d told him that someone…hurt her. Rage swelled up in him at that thought. Rage at that faceless person. Rage at himself because despite her confession, he had continued on anyway. He had lifted her skirts and touched her. An ungentlemanly act that he wouldn’t have done if he weren’t tipsy.

  The knock came again and he staggered from his bed. “What?”

  It opened, but it wasn’t a servant who peeked his head into the darkened chamber. It was Simon. Baldwin groaned.

  “What do you want, Crestwood?” he mumbled as he relived last night over and over again, tormenting himself with both the pleasure of what he’d done and the incredible imprudence of it.

  Simon strode through his sitting room and into his chamber. “We’re riding, don’t you remember? Were you still abed? I don’t think I’ve ever known you to lollygag around after seven in your entire life.”

  Before Baldwin could retort, Simon went to the window and threw the curtains wide, sending a stream of bright sunshine
cascading into the room. Baldwin flinched away from it, from the pain it brought. Pain he deserved, it seemed.

  Simon stared at him, and the jovial, teasing smile that had been on his face faded slowly. “What is wrong with you? You look like hell.”

  Baldwin covered his face. He had kept so many lies from his best friends, his brothers, his family. Right now he had no ability to do so.

  “I did something,” he moaned as he dared to look at Simon again.

  Simon moved on him, catching his arm gently. “What, what did you do?”

  Baldwin turned away, questioning his decision to speak. But then, this was Simon. Simon had pursued his wife, Meg, despite the fact that she’d been engaged to Graham at the time. They had been imprudent with their passions, they’d nearly destroyed themselves and the entire group they called friends.

  Simon, of all people, would understand him.

  “I was half-drunk,” he said. “It’s no excuse. It was wrong.”

  Simon leaned in. “Baldwin, you are nothing but good and decent. Whatever you did, I’m certain it isn’t as bad as you believe.”

  Baldwin tilted his head back, trying to find air. “Helena,” he whispered at last. “She found me in that...state. She found me and I…I went too far.”

  Simon stared at him for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Are you telling me you took Helena Monroe to bed?”

  “No,” he said, lurching backward. Oh, that’s what he’d wanted to do. Still wanted to do. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t no matter how much he wanted to. “No, but I…I touched her. In an ungentlemanly way.”

  Simon shook his head. “Baldwin, I’ve known you since you were twelve. You would never do something against a lady’s will. It’s clear that Helena is attracted to you, that you are attracted to her and despite everything, sometimes these things happen.”