The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (16 page)

Malcolm led Helena out into the mid-morning sun and they turned towards the stables in silence. Determined not to allow him to get the upper hand, she schooled her features into an expression of casual unconcern and fixed a pleasant smile on her lips.

“The gardens are lovely this time of year,” she said brightly. “I have not visited Wroxton since your father’s death; it’s pleasing to see them so well maintained.”

Malcolm glanced at her. “What the devil did you mean by behaving like that?”

“Behaving how?” asked Helena limpidly.

“You were flirting with Del.”

“I was not flirting! I was merely being civil to Mr. Delaney.”

“You were flirting. Not particularly well, mind you.”

Helena stopped in her tracks. “You are incredibly rude.”

Malcolm looked back over his shoulder at the house, and then whisked her around the corner of a hedge, shielding them from view.

“Helena, what is going on?” he asked gently. “I know I shouldn’t have made love to you, but the damage is done, and I am trying my best to fix it. Why are you fighting me?”

She winced slightly at the tenderness in his voice. “Thank you for your concern, my lord. However, I am not a porcelain statue for you to damage—or fix. I am fortunate in being able to make my own decisions about if and whom I choose to marry.”

“Would it be so terrible?”

Helena had a brief vision of life at Wroxton with Malcolm, waking each day to his teasing voice and gentle hands. She quashed it firmly, reminding herself that he was also irresponsible, making his way on his charm of manner and handsome face, to which all too many had woman had already succumbed.

“Perhaps it would not be terrible, but I do not wish for a marriage that is simply not terrible,” she answered. “You would find me interesting for a week or a month, but then you would find your way back to London, and the gaming hells, and Mrs. Lacey, or some other woman.”

“You sell yourself, and me, short,” Malcolm said brusquely. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her toward him. “You would interest me for a great deal longer than a week or a month.”

“But not forever.”

“Who knows?”

One arm wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her toward him. She hesitated a moment, but then her body betrayed her, and she leaned into him.

“You see?” he murmured.

Helena watched through narrowed eyes as his lips lowered towards hers until they met. Their kiss was gentle, almost sweet, his tongue gently teasing across her lips until they opened to him, and he deepened his languid contact, his hand stealing down to cup her behind as she gave a little moan of pleasure.

“God,” he muttered, raising his head and releasing her, putting her gently away from him. She swayed slightly, and his hands closed over her shoulders again.

“You cannot possibly think this is an everyday occurrence. You—me—the way we come together. If I didn’t know Macklin was waiting for you even now, I’d have you here on the lawn.” He eyed the grass thoughtfully. “It looks quite comfortable.”

She stifled a laugh, and he smiled down at her. “I love it when you do that,” he said.

“When I do what?”

“Make that sound in the back of your throat when you’re trying not to laugh. “ His hands slid down her arms, and he clasped her wrists lightly. “Helena, stop fighting me.”

She looked down at the ground. “I’m not fighting you.”

“You see? You just did. You always tell me no.”

“Not always.”

A spark of humor lit his eyes. “You’re right. Not always. Not this morning. All you need to do is say yes to me now, and I’ll make you laugh every day.”

“I cannot marry you because you feel you must settle a debt,” she said in a small voice.

“I’ve told you I want to marry you.”

“I have my pride, Lord Wroxton. As a woman ruined in the eyes of the world, I have very little else. I will not ask such a sacrifice of you.”

He gave a snort of annoyance. “How can I convince you that I am not making a sacrifice?”

“You can try,” she said. “But I have no thought of marriage”

He ignored the last part of her statement. “I can try?” he repeated with delight.

She flushed. “I did not mean that you should—that I would—”

“I know you are not indifferent to me,” he said. “You have shown me that very sweetly this morning, and if you were indifferent you would not react to me as you do. Shall we have an agreement, Helena?”

“What sort of agreement?” she asked suspiciously

“I will continue to help you with your pursuit of the free traders. After we catch Denby, as I know we will, I will ask you to marry me again.”

“I do not promise to accept you,” she said with a touch of defiance.

“No need to promise. Because by then you will want to marry me.”

“You are very sure of yourself.”

“On the contrary, I am very sure of you.”

Helena shook her head. “You can ask, my lord, but I cannot tell you what the answer will be.”

“At least you have not sworn it will be no,” said Malcolm. He tucked her hand through his arm again and they began to walk. Helena cast a regretful look at the grass.

When they reached the stable yard Macklin was waiting, holding Helena’s horse. He gave them a thoughtful look, then turned away and spat as Malcolm handed Helena up into the saddle.

“I will call on you tomorrow,” Malcolm said.

“You needn’t bother. I will send for Lord Denby, and write you a note to tell you how he responds.”

“Then I will certainly call on you tomorrow,” he responded, alarm in his voice. “I wish you would not proceed with this ill-advised plan of yours. I’ll not have you indulge in such a wild escapade.”

She looked down at him, the corners of her lips turned up in a tiny smile. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

Malcolm sighed. “Very well, I see you have the upper hand. Everything we have done is ill advised, and yet we have done it and mean to go on. But believe me, I will be at Keighley Manor tomorrow!”

Helena merely smiled, and urged her horse forward as Macklin followed her. Malcolm shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. When he had said just three days before that Miss Keighley would be a bit of a handful, he had clearly understated the case.

He strolled back to the house, pondering the events of the day. It was still only mid-morning, but he had a strong urge to go back to bed and ponder the upheaval in his life. However, as he felt sure that Helena would think less of him for doing so, he made his way to the dining room, where Stephen still sat, eating baked eggs.

His friend looked up when Malcolm entered and gave him a thoughtful look.

“What the devil has been going on today?” he asked. “The Keighleys almost seem to live here. Sir Arthur was here until three o’clock, and Miss Keighley must have been here by dawn.”

“Not by dawn,” said Malcolm, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Eight o’clock?” asked Stephen.

“Thereabouts.” Malcolm took a sip his coffee. “You don’t have to eat all those eggs.”

“I don’t mean to. But they seem to be helping with the head I’ve got. I don’t recall drinking that much.”

“You drank a great deal,” said Malcolm. “But it didn’t matter, as you had only to walk upstairs to bed.”

Stephen considered him. “What did Miss Keighley want at such an ungodly hour? Was it something to do with the your blasted free traders?”

“I’m not sure what it was about. I am never sure when it comes to Miss Keighley. But it turned out to be a delightful visit, at least in some ways.”

“You looked as mad as a hornet when I came down to breakfast.”

“Well, I was displeased at that moment,” Malcolm allowed. “But before and after that I was happy.”

“You make my head spin,” complained Stephen.

“You, my friend, are not the only one who feels that way,” Malcolm assured him.

The following morning Malcolm sauntered into the drawing room at Keighley Manor to find Helena seated at a desk, entering figures into an account book. He paused a moment to admire her as she bent over the pages, her slender fingers holding the pen, her large eyes narrowed in concentration. He noticed the slender curve of her long neck and the delicacy of her profile, as well as the thickness of her auburn hair, caught up in fashionable ringlets, one falling forward to rest on the white skin of her chest.

She turned to the door, surprise in her eyes, which rapidly turned to alarm as she saw who stood there. She leapt to her feet.

“My lord!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Malcolm stepped forward to take her hand in his, raising it to his lips in a courtly gesture.

“I told you I would call. Did you doubt me?”

“I said I would inform you after I heard from Lord Denby,” said Helena.

“If you think I’m going to wait around for a message from you to tell me what that scoundrel might have to say, you don’t know me very well. I’ve better things to do than worry about him.”

“What do you have to worry about?” asked Helena teasingly. “It seems to me that all depends on Lord Denby now.”

He raised his eyebrows. “On the contrary, I would happily dispense with Denby all together. But I follow your lead, my dear.”

She gave a gurgle of laughter. “You follow no one’s lead, Wroxton.”

“On the contrary, I have come to report to you that I have done yeoman’s work in your service. Yesterday afternoon I tracked down the local exciseman.”

“How frightfully dull that must have been for you.”

“I was rather startled to find myself on the right side of the law,” admitted Malcolm. “I’m not much given to seeking out its representatives. But now that I am an upstanding member of the peerage, I find I have to do dull things such as discuss brandy taxes with excisemen.”

“Did you learn anything of use?”

“I learned they are underpaid and have little hope of catching the local gang of free traders. Oh, here and there they catch one or two, but, in general, the cargoes go through without interruption. The locals are bribed or frightened into silence, and the preventives receive little information of value.”

“Then we must get information of value for them.”

“The men in that cave two days ago said another large shipment would be coming in within the month. It seems that could be our opportunity. If we can learn when they will be transporting it up from the beach, it may be possible to catch them in the act.”

“How will we find that out?” asked Helena.

“I have been thinking about it.” Malcolm paused and looked at her gravely. “I seem to do a great deal more thinking since I have become reacquainted with you, Miss Keighley.”

“That is hardly a fault, is it?”

“Perhaps not, although I find my thoughts wandering more that usual in your presence.”

“You need to think of the free traders, and how we will catch them,” she said severely.

“Ah, but that is so dull.” Malcolm moved closer and stood looking down at her thoughtfully. “Is your brother about?”

“No, he rode into town earlier today. Did you wish to speak to him?”

“No, I wished to ascertain that you are alone and we will not be interrupted.”

Helena felt a now slightly familiar sensation as her body began to react to his closeness. The memory of the previous day’s activities had not been far from her thoughts.

“Oh,” she said weakly. “No, we won’t be interrupted.”

“Splendid.” Malcolm raised a hand to cup her chin, lifting her face toward his. “I’ve missed you, Helena, and I deserve a reward for being so patient. All yesterday afternoon, as I sought out that exciseman and discussed the very dull vagaries of the smuggling business with him, I thought only of how much I would rather be with you.”

“My lord, this is not the time, nor the place, to discuss this,” protested Helena.

“I wasn’t planning on discussing anything,” Malcolm leaned down and touched her lips with his. “Unless you have a very odd notion of conversation.”

“But the smugglers,” protested Helena.

“The hell with the smugglers. Since I walked into this room I’ve wanted you. No, I take that back. Since I awoke this morning I’ve wanted you.” He pulled her close, and she could feel that he was already growing hard. Instinctively she pressed herself against him, and her hands came up to cradle his head as he kissed her again, this time with a sense of urgency.

“The servants,” she said in a small voice.

“They will leave us alone, I’m sure,” said Malcolm, his voice silky as his hands slid down her spine to the round firm flesh he found there. “I’ve been waiting for this for an entire day, and I’m not going to let some damn servants stop me now.”

Helena realized hazily that she should make an attempt to retain control of the situation, but Malcolm’s hands and lips were preventing any rational thought. She turned her face up towards his, returning his kisses with a zest he found very encouraging.

“At least you’re not wearing a riding habit today,” he muttered, pulling at the sleeve of her muslin dress. “I remember the first time I saw you in this room. I wanted you then as well.”

“I was so angry with you,” she said quietly.

He laughed, his lips gliding down her throat. “But you wanted me nonetheless, did you not?”

“Perhaps.”

“Tell me, Helena,” Malcolm urged. “Tell me that you wanted me.”

“Oh very well,” she said crossly, giving way to the sensations his hands were creating as one slid up to cup her breast. “I wanted you. As annoying as you were, I wanted you for some reason.”

“You said that so sweetly,” he teased. “Do you want me now?”

“Would I be letting you kiss me if I did not?” she asked impatiently.

“Slowly, my dear. It’s better if you take your time.”

Helena wondered vaguely how she had allowed the earl to move so swiftly from discussing the free traders to kissing her, but she found it was easiest not to resist. They could always discuss their plans for catching Lord Denby some other time, but right now his lordship’s attentions seemed to require a response.

She realized Malcolm had maneuvered her back against the wall and was slowly lifting her skirt, his hands lightly skimming over the tender skin of her thighs as he revealed them.

“Damn, you’re lovely,” he said.

Helena felt her knees weaken as his fingers stroked up her leg, heading inexorably to the spot that ached for him. She gave a little sigh of contentment as he wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her up.

“Is that better, darling?” he asked.

She nodded, and raised her lips for a kiss, which Malcolm obligingly bestowed upon her. Just as his fingers touched the soft down between her legs, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through her, a noise in the hallway broke through her haze of desire. She stiffened.

“Ignore it,” said Malcolm, his voice hoarse. “It is a tradesman, or a servant from another estate.”

Helena’s eyes widened as she heard a man’s voice, and then her butler answering, his voice touched with concern.

“It’s Denby!” she exclaimed, trying to pull away.

“Is it?” he asked, holding her fast. “Then he’s in for a surprise. I’ll show him how to go about compromising a lady.”

Helena pushed at his shoulders. “You must hide!” she whispered. “He cannot find you here.”

“Why the hell not?” he growled. “I have no taste for this charade you wish to engage in. It’s better he knows now that he has no chance with you.”

“But we have to find out if he is our man. Please, Malcolm, for me?”

He looked down at her, his eyes serious, his arm still looped loosely around her waist. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Malcolm.”

“I will call you that, or anything else you please, many more times, if you oblige me in this,” said Helena hastily.

“Oh, very well,” he said grudgingly. He released her, allowing her skirts to slide back down her legs. “A pity,” he murmured.

“Quickly, you must hide.”

“Where? It’s a drawing room,” said Malcolm practically.

“In the priest hole.” Helena grabbed his and led him toward the fireplace.

“No, I’m not going in some dirty opening in the wall,” he protested. “My valet will leave me if I damage this coat.”

“You are being impossible.” Helena turned to the ornately carved oaken woodwork surrounding the fireplace and reached for a finely detailed quince that hung at eye level. She turned it quickly, and a small panel in the wall slid open silently, revealing a cubbyhole barely four feet square.

“I can barely turn around in there,” objected Malcolm. “And there might be spiders.”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders,” said Helena, exasperated.

“I’m not afraid of them, but I don’t much like them. Why should I? It’s dark in there too, why are you always taking me into dark places?”

“It was good enough for the priests.”

“I’m not a priest,” said Malcolm rationally.

Helena laughed in spite of her anxiety. “I feel sure that the entire world knows you are not, so why do you think you must point it out to me? But as it will ruin all if Denby sees you here, you must hide. Please, Malcolm?”

“You did that on purpose,” he said, accusation in his voice.

“Did what?”

“Called me Malcolm.”

She stifled a laugh and pushed him toward the opening. He moved into the space reluctantly.

“I can’t stand up straight,” he complained. “This must have been built for exceptionally tiny priests.”

“Then sit down. And be quiet. We don’t want Denby to guess you are here.”

“Get rid of him quickly, or I shall come out,” warned Malcolm. “You won’t like that.”

“Hush.” Helena turned the quince again, and watched as the panel slid back into place. A quick glance in the mirror assured her that Wroxton had not yet managed to disarrange her hair, and she turned toward the door, glancing down to make sure her skirts were properly arranged and adjusting her bodice.

“I give you ten minutes,” came a muffled voice from behind the wall. “This place is full of cobwebs. Couldn’t you have it dusted from time to time?”

“Be quiet,” hissed Helena. As she did so, the butler opened the door and entered the room.

“Miss? Did you mean me?”

“No, not at all Chalmers,” said Helena quickly. “I was—I was not speaking to you.”

The butler glanced around and, seeing no one, turned back to Helena. “Miss Keighley, Lord Denby is here to see you. I told him you had another visitor—” he glanced around the room again, “but he says that you sent for him.” Chalmers’ voice indicated polite disbelief of Denby’s claim.

“I did send for his lordship. Show him in.”

Chalmers’ face expressed his emotions eloquently, but he bowed and exited. A few moments later Denby appeared. Helena did her best to arrange her face into an expression of welcome.

“Miss Keighley,” he said, advancing on her and bowing elegantly.

Helena nodded her head in acknowledgement. Despite knowing she should not, she found herself comparing him to Wroxton. Denby was older, of course, and therefore did not have the athletic slimness that graced the earl, but she also felt she saw something in his eyes that made her uncomfortable. He wore riding breeches with a black coat, a buff waistcoat, and a carelessly tied Belcher neckerchief, an outfit she found not nearly as elegant as Malcolm’s.

Denby took Helena’s hand and raised it to his lips as she fought back the urge to snatch it away from him. He held it for a moment longer than was quite proper, and then produced her note from his pocket.

“I must say I was very surprised to receive your missive, Miss Keighley,” he said. “You have never invited me to the Manor before.”

“I did not have cause previously.” Helena noted the catch in her voice with irritation, and hoped that Lord Denby would assume it was due to her discomfort at having to summon him, not because she intended to deceive him.

“Why do you wish to speak to me now?”

Helena turned away from him, clasping her hands in front of herself nervously. “It seems—it seems, my lord that you were right about Lord Wroxton.”

“I was?” Lord Denby sounded delighted. She swung around to find a large grin on his face, which he quickly rearranged into a look of regret. “I mean, I am very sorry. I hoped he might prove me wrong.”

“He did not. He called on me yesterday and offered me the basest of insults,” she said, attempting to sound mortified.

“Did he so? And what sort—I mean what—I mean, I am very sorry, Miss Keighley.”

“He proposed an indecent liaison,” continued Helena dramatically. “It was quite clear he did not consider me worthy of his respect.”

“An indecent liaison? How—how appalling, Miss Keighley. Do you wish me to call the rascal out?”

“I dare not ask you. He is held to be a crack shot, as well as the very devil with a small sword.”