The Seduction Series

Books 1-4

Lauren Smith

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2026 by Lauren Smith

Cover art for the Box Set and the individual book covers by Theresa Spreckelmeyer - The Midnight Muse

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-956227-86-4 (e-book edition)

Contents

The Duelist’s Seduction

The Seduction Series - Book 1

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The Rakehell’s Seduction

The Seduction Series - Book 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

The Rogue’s Seduction

The Seduction Series - Book 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

The Gentleman’s Seduction

The Seduction Series - Book 4

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

An Earl By Any Other Name

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

For Amanda who is always there to support me, and is the queen of story plotting sessions.

Foreword

Dear Readers,

I began my writing journey several years ago, a true “green girl” when it came to romance. The Duelist’s Seduction was my first story, one that began my love affair with writing historical romances. In the following pages, you’ll meet Gareth and Helen, the hero and heroine. Gareth is a stubborn man, hurting, wounded, and full of pride. Please forgive him for being so, he does change, I assure you. All great romances require the hero and heroine to change. So if he is a tad blunt, a little rude, a little cold, just know that he won’t always be so. The way he and Helen meets is undeniably dark, and the circumstances certainly questionable, but if you can, fearless reader, stay with them, you might find their happily ever after is very sweet and satisfying. Helen, with her soft heart, is different from most heroines you expect to read about today, she is not weak in her spirit. She has a will to love against all odds. I hope you’ll take a chance on Gareth and Helen and enjoy their story.

Chapter One

The predawn sky shone brightly with flickering stars as Helen Banks readied herself for the duel. Her hair was coiled and pinned tightly against her head, concealing its thick mass and giving her a boyish look—a disguise she prayed would last. Checking the black mask covering her face, she resumed walking. She took a deep, steadying breath as she adjusted her breeches and the black coat she’d pinched from her brother’s wardrobe.

The open field near the spa city of Bath was quiet. Two coaches waited in the distance along the roadside, and ahead of her, two men waited, watching her approach. Not even a breeze dared rustle the knee-high grass as Helen walked up to her enemy and his second. Both men also wore masks to conceal their identities should someone witness the illegal duel. The paling skies played with the retreating shadows of night, lending a melancholy air to the moment she stopped inches from the men.

“You are late, Mr. Banks,” the taller of the two men announced coldly.

With his broad shoulders and muscular body, Gareth Fairfax cut an imposing figure. He seemed perpetually tense, as though ready to strike out at anyone who might offend him. Dark hair framed his chiseled features, and the eyes that glowered from between the spaces of his mask were a fathomless blue. They were the sort of eyes a woman lost herself in, like gazing into a dark pool of water that seemed to sink endlessly, drawing her in until she can’t find her way back to the surface.

She recognized the sensual, full lips, now thinned by anger, and the gleam of his eyes on her. She was never more thankful that the early morning’s pale light did not expose her as being a woman.

Helen hated knowing that even now, faced with possible death at his hands, she still desired him. Having seen him from afar over the past few months, she’d been enchanted. Gareth—for that was the way she’d dreamt about him, not as Mr. Fairfax—had a way about him, an animal magnetism that drew her in, with his smoky gaze and relaxed movements. Sin personified—she’d once heard a woman describe him thus at a dance and it was true. Even angels would be tempted to stray to hell for one glance, one lingering, seductive look. He smiled so rarely, she’d glimpsed it but twice in the months she’d seen him. Both times it had fairly knocked her off her feet with the sheer force of its power.

He’d never noticed her at the social engagements. She had stood close to the wall, quiet and lost in dreams as she watched him through her heavy lashes. Foolish, too, she knew, to look at him and feel such hunger for the things his brooding demeanor promised. He had passed her by on numerous occasions, but his head never turned and his eyes never alighted on her. Even now, as she stood before him, ready to die at his hands, she knew he thought her to be her twin brother, Martin.

If he ever discovered she was a woman, he would be appalled and furious. Especially given that she was only dueling him to save her brother’s life.

She briefly studied her opponent’s second. He was just as tall, his features nearly as striking as Gareth’s.

Helen choked down a shaky breath. “I was waylaid.” She prayed her voice sounded gruff and masculine.

Gareth’s eyes were dark orbs, burning with thinly controlled anger. He shifted restlessly on his feet, his imposing form momentarily revealed by the dark blue coat that contoured to his shape.

“Is this your second?” His growl sent shivers down her spine as his glaze flicked to the squat man in his mid-thirties standing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, widening her eyes in silent encouragement for her second to come closer.

“I am,” Mr. Rodney Bennett replied and bowed.

“Mr. Banks, I am Mr. Ambrose Worthing,” Gareth’s second announced politely.

Well, finally someone was acting like a gentleman. “Mr. Worthing,” Helen said, making sure to keep her voice low. “Allow me to introduce my second, Mr. Rodney Bennett.”

Bennett passed by Helen, and he and Worthing shook hands. Bennett offered the pistols to Worthing for inspection. Since Gareth and Worthing had not brought the weapons, that duty fell to her as the challenged party. As the two men drew apart from her and Gareth, she tried not to stare at him. He was impossibly handsome, in that dark, mysterious sort of way that a woman simply couldn’t ignore. Like gazing upon a visage of an angry god, all fire and might, ready to burn her to ash with passion.

Her opponent glowered at her. “I suppose I should trust that you’ve not tampered with my pistol?”

His icy tone made her bristle with indignation. “You have my word it shoots fair,” Helen snapped. The nerve of the man to accuse her of cheating!

“Your word? We would not be here if I could trust your word. A man who does not honor his debts may not find it necessary to honor the rules of a duel,” Gareth retorted.

She wanted to scream. Her fists clenched at her sides. Her nails dug painfully into her palms as she struggled to calm down. She wanted to throttle her brother, whose rash and inconsiderate behavior had gotten her into this mess.

“Easy, Fairfax. Both pistols appear to be in working order,” Worthing announced as he and Bennett rejoined them.

Helen breathed a sigh of relief as Bennett resumed his position behind her. She’d paid him the last bit of money she’d had for him to appear as her second. She didn’t really know the man, having only met him briefly when she’d had to drag her brother away from the card tables a few nights ago. When she first approached Bennett with her plan, he had tried to talk her out of it, but when she offered money, he couldn’t refuse and had agreed to help her take her brother’s place in the duel. Even though he was a gentleman, the gambler inside him craved any bit of money he could get his hands on to return to the tables. She was lucky he hadn’t gambled away his pair of pistols, or else she would have been completely humiliated to turn up at a duel without weapons.

“Now,” Mr. Worthing said, “before we settle this, is it possible that you and Mr. Banks can reconcile the dispute?”

Helen started to nod, wanting desperately to find a way to settle the problem without bloodshed, but Gareth spoke up, stilling the bobbing of her head.

“Mr. Banks has run up a debt to me of over a thousand pounds. He has not been able to pay it back to me over the last three months. Furthermore, he created an additional liability of five hundred pounds last evening when he played with money he did not have.”

Helen swallowed hard, a painful lump in her throat choking her. Martin, you damned fool…

“Why did you accept his vouchers then?” Rodney spoke up. “I saw you agree to play with him. You didn’t have to.”

“Banks had money on him. I assumed he’d replenished his funds and would settle his debts to me.” Gareth shot a withering look in Helen’s direction. “Shooting him will be a bonus.”

Helen held his stare for a moment, feeling the regret deep in her belly that she hadn’t known better than to trust her twin brother—too childish for a gentleman of one-and-twenty—to be more responsible. Instead of helping to secure her a position as a governess—their finances dim after the death of their parents and no good marriages likely—he had been losing what meager fortune they had to men like Gareth Fairfax, who had plenty to spare.

A man who would now take her life as payment for a debt she didn’t owe. But what else could she do? She couldn’t let Martin die. A man had options to survive, a woman did not, at least not one that wouldn’t make her despise herself for the rest of her life.

Her memory of the previous night was tinged with fury and disappointment in Martin. Her heart had plummeted into the pit of her stomach when she’d retired for the evening and found his room empty. All of her hopes were dashed the moment she’d learned he’d gone back to the gambling tables.

She’d hidden in the shadows outside the gambling hell, trying not to be seen by anyone passing by. The smell of alcohol stung her nose, and the raucous laughter echoing from the entrance sent chills of trepidation down her spine. It would ruin her completely if she were witnessed outside such an establishment. Bennett had promised to bring Martin out to her, but when Martin emerged, he was being roughly hauled out by a dark-haired gentleman, a man she recognized, a man she’d admired for the last few months from afar.

“I’ll honor my debt to you, Mr. Fairfax,” Martin had drunkenly promised, over and over again.

Gareth Fairfax, following behind her brother, grabbed Martin by his coat collar and rammed him up against the stone wall of the nearest building.

“Honor your debt? With what, pray tell? You played that last hand without a shilling to your name,” Gareth growled. “You haven’t even redeemed your vowels for the last few times of play. I demand satisfaction.” Gareth released Martin, who sagged against the wall in defeat.

Martin’s head had bowed wearily in submission. “Name the location and time.”

“There is a field two miles east of the Crow tavern. Be there tomorrow morning one hour before the sun rises. There is a full moon. That will do. I have no intention of being chased out of the country because of you. Bring a second and your choice of weapon.” Gareth had stalked off, leaving Martin alone. He shook his head as though to clear it, and with steps none too steady, started walking in Helen’s direction.

When he passed by the alcove where she was hiding, she stepped out and struck her brother as hard as she could on the shoulder. Her anger flared. “You fool! That man is going to kill you!”

“Helen?” Martin said in shock. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? You should be at home.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I had hoped to get you out of that place before you lost everything we have. It seems I am too late.” She hoped her accusation stung. It was nothing less than he deserved.

Martin glanced at her. Under the glow of the streetlight, she saw guilt deepening the color of his lightly tanned skin.

“I’m sorry, Helen… I thought I could win back our money and more.” His tone was apologetic, but it lost some of its effect when he hiccupped.

Helen waited for Martin to say something, but he did not. Her voice shook with a mixture of fear and fury. “I forbid you to go tomorrow morning. What will I do if you die, Martin?”

“I won’t die,” he replied sullenly. “I’m a crack shot. I stand an even chance.”

“An even chance of what?” Helen nearly shrieked. “Killing a man and being made to leave the country? Do you even care what would happen to me without you?”

“Is that all I am? Someone to take care of you?” he shot back.

Helen’s eyes burned with tears and she threw her arms around her brother. “No, you fool. I love you. I don’t want to lose you. How can you not understand that? After mama and papa…” her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. “I cannot lose you, too.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, does it? I have to meet Fairfax tomorrow.” Her brother’s mouth assumed a mulish cast, and she knew it would do no good to argue with him.

He was as stubborn as their father had been. They did not speak the rest of the way back to their lodgings, but Helen’s mind worked frantically. She loved Martin, he was her other half, as any true twins were. She had to save him, had to find a way to fix what he’d done, or if not fix it, then sacrifice herself for him. It was the only way. One of them had to survive, and he stood a better chance on his own than she did.

She’d formed a plan. She and her brother were almost the same height, and their build was similar enough that as children they’d often been mistaken for one another. If she dressed as a male, could she pass for him? When her brother woke up early the next morning to prepare for the duel, Helen took her father’s cane, one of the last pieces of his belongings they hadn’t sold, and knocked Martin out. She dressed in an extra set of his clothes and locked Martin in his room.

It was a simple solution to a complex problem. Martin was a man and could live on without her. It was easier for men to make their way in the world. A penniless young lady with no family and no connections had no such luck. The best she could hope for was a position as a governess or companion, and without references, those positions were almost impossible to find. The only other possibility was one she would not consider. Even being a maid would be better than selling her body.

And that was how she’d ended up on this field, facing the one man she’d dreamt about dancing with and knowing she never would. A man above her in station, money, and power. A man with secretive smiles, and a soft, low seductive voice, surrounded by rumors whispered behind fans in the assembly halls of how he must make a good lover. She would never know if any of it was true now, not that she’d ever had a chance to earn his interest at the balls before.

Mr. Worthing cleared his throat. “Fairfax, would you be willing to work with Mr. Banks?”

Even in the pre-dawn light, Helen could see Gareth’s face darken in anger. “I would find a way to repay you, sir,” Helen said quickly. Like a man about to be hanged, she clung to the last few minutes she’d have of life, even if it meant lying. There would be no way to repay him, of course, but she had to try. She had to hope her opponent still had some kindness and would delay her demise a few precious seconds.

“You’ve had weeks to repay me, and I’ve not seen one shilling. There will be no settlement.” Gareth’s tone was quieter, almost resigned, as he checked his pistol, flicked his glance at her, and then nodded to Worthing.

So much for compassion. The last hope of her survival had died with his curt nod. Helen’s heart kicked into a faster pace. Her fear created a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth as she realized she’d been hoping the duel wouldn’t actually happen. But of course it would. Men like Gareth valued honor, and her brother had none. This duel was unavoidable.

Worthing sighed heavily, apparently convinced there was no turning back. He and Bennett walked several yards away to watch the proceedings.

She and Gareth were alone, closer than they’d ever been before tonight. How many times had she peered through the crowds of dancers in the assembly rooms and watched him dance with other women, wishing she was the one that close to him? Now here she was, close enough to dance, but it was to be a dance of death. A hollow ache filled her chest at the thought, and a whisper of fear made her heart shudder behind her ribs.

I don’t want to die, but what choice is there?

The faint breeze brought his scent of sandalwood and the faintest hint of horses and leather to her nose. The aroma made her homesick for the stables in her parents’ home in the country, a home she and Martin had to sell in order to survive. The pistol grew heavier in her hands, the wood and metal sinking into her palm with force as she curled her fingers around it more securely. The silence and her fear made it all suddenly unbearable.

“Very well,” Helen growled, losing her ability to remain calm and still any longer. The only way to quell her fear was to embrace her anger. “Name your distance, sir.” If she was to die, let it be done already. This waiting and delay was eating away at her courage.

“Thirty paces.” Gareth replied after a moment’s hesitation. He seemed to be peering at her more sharply, as though something had attracted his attention. His usually sensual full lips were thinned into a frown. Surely he couldn’t have realized she wasn’t Martin… She had to distract him.

“Thirty.” She nodded, relieved to know it helped mask the way her entire body shook with a new wave of fear. She’d never imagined facing death like this, especially not at the hands of a man she desired. Fate was cruel. “Let us finish this.” She turned her back to Gareth and waited.

He closed the distance between them and put his back up against hers. She shivered at the sudden warmth of his body against hers, his backside pressed ever so lightly against her lower back. His clothing whispered against hers, like a strange sort of dance, and then Gareth moved away as Mr. Worthing began to count. She began to mark the paces as well, trying to ignore the roaring of blood in her ears and the realization that each step brought her that much closer to her death.

When Mr. Worthing called out to halt Helen and Gareth at thirty paces, they turned to face each other. The velvet skies were paler now, as though the stars had blinked, closing their celestial eyes to miss the grisly scene about to unfold below. Helen saw Gareth turn sideways and raise his arm. She copied the movement, aiming her pistol at Gareth’s chest. The pale moonlight glinted off the gun in his hand as he trained it on her chest. Her entire body started to shake as instinctive fear took over. There was a pistol pointed at her heart. Her hand trembled, the barrel of her own gun wavering. She wouldn’t shoot him, there was no doubt of that.

“One,” Worthing called out. “Two…”

Helen’s eyes shot up from Gareth’s pistol to his face. He was far enough away to appear more a shadow dressed in black with glowing eyes than the man she’d longed to share the secrets of her heart with.

“Three—”

Her finger clenched around the trigger and she fired without meaning to. Her shot went wide, grazing Gareth’s shoulder. He flinched but did not fire. Blood sprayed along his shirt, nearly black in the distance. She gasped and sucked in a violent breath, her vision spinning momentarily.

Horrified she had actually hit him, she dropped her pistol and it landed with a thunk in the grass. She ran over to him, reaching out to check the damage.

His dark eyes flashed in surprise as she clutched his arm and examined the wound.

“Oh Good Heavens!” she cried. “The one time I fire one of these stupid things…”

By the time she realized her higher feminine tone had betrayed her, Gareth, in one swift motion, had dropped his own pistol and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her against him. He ripped the mask from her face. Her pins sprung loose from the rough movement, releasing the bound up hair. The loose waves dropped down against her shoulders, the soft strands caressing her cheeks as she ducked her head, hiding her face from him. Gareth’s look of rage turned to sheer astonishment.

“Where is Martin Banks?” His voice was rough and low. “And who the devil are you?”

His grip was too strong and Helen started to lose feeling in her arm. “Please, you’re hurting me,” she gasped.

Her plea went ignored. He didn’t release his hold on her, but he lightened his hold so it was no longer bruising.

“Where is Banks?” He shook her and shouted angrily.

“Unconscious, in our lodgings.” Helen tried to break free, but his iron grip held her fast. “I could not let you kill him.” His eyes sharpened at her defiance.

Worthing and Bennett ran towards them.

“A woman?” Worthing called out in surprise. “Really, Fairfax…you should have told me,” When Worthing strode over to her and Gareth, his eyes shifted between them as they stood locked together by Gareth’s vice-like grip.

“Let go of her, Fairfax,” Worthing slowly reached out and pried her loose from Gareth’s arms.

Gareth batted Worthing’s protective arm aside and gripped her by the shoulders, rattling her. “Who are you?” he snarled, his white, even teeth shining in the dim light. “Why are you here in Banks’s place?”

“Let go of her,” Bennett growled and moved a step toward Gareth. Worthing lifted a hand to stay Bennett and tried once more to intervene, but Gareth dragged her away from Worthing’s reach.

“Well? Answer me! I have no intention of hurting you, but I will get answers.” His angry gaze bore into her like a hot poker.

Helen bit back furious tears. “I’m his sister. He is my only family.” Her body started that awful shaking again, this time from the shock of being alive and unhurt. “I would be utterly alone should he perish.”

“Don’t you dare cry. I’ll not be moved by a woman’s tears,” he threatened, but his grip softened immediately, belaying whatever cruelty hung in his words.

“Fairfax,” Worthing cautioned at the same time Bennett said, “Release her!”

Everything happened so fast, it was almost a blur. Bennett tried to step between Gareth and Helen but stumbled back as Gareth pummeled him in the stomach. Helen screamed and struck out at Gareth, slapping him hard across the face. Worthing dove out of the way as Gareth tackled Helen to the ground. Bennett tried once more to rescue her but was felled by another punch from Gareth.

“Damnit Fairfax, hold off!” Worthing knelt by the unconscious Bennett.

“Keep that bloody fool away from me. I’m not going to hurt her,” Gareth growled. “I want her to answer me.” He was gazing down at her, a new light in his eyes, a light that was less dangerous, or perhaps more so, but in a different way. As though he was appraising her, or assessing her value, the way a man studies a good piece of horseflesh at the market when selecting a ride. It was not the gaze of a man who would strike out at her or wound her.

Helen gasped, struggling beneath Gareth’s body. She wasn’t afraid now, but more angry at the way he had manhandled her. He sat back on his heels, his knees on either side of her hips, still pinning her to the ground. His chest heaved with panting breaths, and his palms fell to his thighs.

She attempted to raise her hips but couldn’t budge. “Please, let me go.” He tensed at her movement, his fingers digging into his thighs.

“Whatever shall I do with you, Miss Banks?” Gareth’s breath evened out. “We have ourselves quite the problem.”

“Fairfax…” Worthing’s tone held an edge of warning. Gareth ignored him, a calculating gleam in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, she met his gaze as evenly as she could.

“I have a proposal for you, Miss Banks,” Gareth said peacefully, but the shadows in his gaze made her wary. One of his hands drifted to her hair, allowing her blonde curls to cascade around and through his fingers. He suddenly smiled, taking one lock and twining it around his index finger, his eyes meeting hers. “If you come to my home with me, I will forget the debts owed to me. Or I send you back to Bath, find that scoundrel you call a brother, and finish this duel properly.”

Helen blinked. Go home with Gareth Fairfax? She may have been an innocent, but she knew that if he were to take her to his home, she would be compromised—ruined for marriage. Certainly ruined for any other man. A blush warmed her whole body just thinking of what he would do to her if she agreed. Ruined. Part of her was filled with a secret, dark curiosity. Would he seduce her? She should have been more frightened by the fact that she was curious enough to wonder what it would be like to be with him. Women seemed to like seduction under the right circumstances. A spark of heat shot through her body at the thought of Gareth willfully seducing her.

“If I agree to go with you, what would you do with me?” The words came out thick, her tongue seemingly unable to form the words as she dared to ask about his intentions.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. Instead he rubbed his thumb and forefinger against the lock of her hair. Finally, he let the loose curl drop and settled his hand back on his thigh, shifting his hips slightly. It pressed him harder against her and her own body flashed with a strange, queer sort of fire.

“You can settle your brother’s debts to me one way or another.” His tone was black as midnight, dark as sin, and rather than frighten her, it made her tremble with longing. She had heard enough women speak behind closed doors at the balls to know that what could happen between a man and woman in bed could be pleasurable for both parties.

Worthing stood up and eyed his friend. “Fairfax, you can’t just take her home.”

Gareth’s eyes searched her face and settled on her lips. “She’s already said that Banks is her only relative, Worthing. No one will miss her. It’s her choice. She’s free to leave, or she can come with me and save her brother’s life.”

“You can’t be serious. The young woman was only defending her brother. You cannot ruin a lady over that.”

She watched the exchange, wondering why Worthing was so ready to defend her.

“Well, Miss Banks?” He continued to study her, his body keeping hers trapped as though there really was no option but to accept him. “Make your choice. Dawn is chasing us, and I, for one, don’t wish to be here when the sun fully rises.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I promise to take good care of you and give you so much pleasure you might feel you’ll die from it.” The feel of his warm breath against the sensitive shell of her ear sent sparks shooting down her spine and she tensed.

Helen gazed up at him, desire running riotously through her body, and her mind whispered dark suggestions, borne of long years of need for things she barely understood. This was a chance to taste temptation, to be with a handsome man and know passion. There would never be love, she knew that, but passion might prove a memory worth having, especially with a man like him. Did she dare, though? Any chance of marrying, having children, would be at an end, and if anyone discovered where she was, her reputation would be ruined. Even obtaining employment as a maid would become difficult. Yet Martin would be safe, and he may yet find a way to make a living and support himself and her. It was a feeble hope, but that would be the only future she could hope for. Gareth had said he’d treat her well. Really, what choice did she have?

“Yes, Mr. Fairfax. I’ll go with you.”

The finality behind her words was heavy, and Gareth tensed above her, eyes widening. He hadn’t expected her to agree? A ripple of power flowed through her. She liked surprising him. He scanned her face again, his eyes darkening, but not with anger. This time it was something else that gleamed in their depths.

Worthing moved towards them, one hand raised. “Now, hold on Fairfax. I must insist you think this through.”

Gareth slid off Helen and grabbed her arms, pulling her onto her feet. She barely heard the men arguing. All she was aware of was Gareth’s hands on her body as he lifted her up and into him, letting her lean against his arm, as though aware she needed help to stand. The muscles beneath his shirt were taut and large. Heat emanated against her palms when she rested them briefly against his chest as she finally pushed away to stand on her own. He kept hold of her wrists, though, despite the tentative tug she gave to be released.

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Worthing. You take care of that…fellow. I will bring Miss Banks to my house. After you’ve seen to him, you can come and rescue the woman if you feel you must.” There was a mixture of amusement and warning in Gareth’s tone that confused Helen. “Provided you can convince her to go.”

She tugged at her wrists, still trapped by his hands. Even though she’d agreed to accompany him, the fact that he still held her caused an unsettling heat to stir between her thighs. Helen clenched her legs together, desperate to stop the sensation. She tugged her hands again.

“Stop that,” he growled and started walking.

Helen obeyed instantly. He was too strong for her to resist, so she followed, struggling to keep pace with his long-legged strides. They crossed the field and moved in the direction of the road where Helen had been dropped off by the hired conveyance. Gareth’s coach stood waiting. The driver jumped down to lower the steps, and Gareth pulled her against him as he lifted her into the vehicle. Once they were settled inside, sharing the same seat, he shouted an order to the driver and the coach jerked forward. She rubbed her wrists, wondering if they’d bruise, and tried not to look at him. She failed.

He turned his head towards the window and away from her, his expression cool and unemotional. She couldn’t believe that he actually desired her. Not when he’d had his pick of women in Bath. Compared to those other ladies, Helen knew she didn’t measure up, so Gareth’s choice made little sense.

“Why did you want me to come with you?” Helen dared herself to ask when the silence had stretched too long between them.

He fixed his cold gaze on her once more. “Because your brother must learn that his actions have consequences. If I have you, it will cause trouble for him. He’ll have to find a way to marry you off after I’m done, not an easy task for a man with a ruined sister. It won’t amount to the money he won off me, but it will be some measure of revenge.”

Helen shut her eyes for a few minutes, jostled by the battering of the coach wheels on the rough road. Her stomach roiled with nausea. So he didn’t desire her. Using her was only about revenge. Disappointment weighed her shoulders down, pressing on her chest. She sucked in a much needed breath. It was a cruel sort of feeling to go from believing she was desired to learning her seduction and ruination were merely payback for her brother’s carelessness. In that moment, Helen felt very small and alone, uncared for, and unloved in the worst way. The most awful part was the way it seemed to take the wind from her sails. All of her high spirits, even the angry ones, were dashed upon the rocks. Would it be worth it—going with him, exploring her own passions—even when he might not feel them in return? There seemed no ready answer.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her still. This time, his eyes were more curious than cold. He had a beautiful profile—strong and straight like the statue Michelangelo’s David. How many hours at the balls and soirees had she spent studying each feature of him? Too many. As a wallflower, she’d had endless hours to memorize him, fantasize about him. What would she have said if only he’d asked her to dance once? A girlish dream, one that now lay dead in the field they’d just left. She would never be that woman, the one that handsome men would ask to dance or pay court to. She was just another woman who would go without love, and now, without marriage. Still, his face would haunt her forever. She could recall each line, each shape of his features…draw them perfectly from her dreams, if needed.

“What is your given name?” His question drew her from her thoughts.

“Helen,” she replied, her eyes drawn to the curve of his lips as he smiled.

“Like fair Helen of Troy…do you bring ruin to my kingdom?” he mused, more to himself than to her.

“I only wished to save my brother’s life. Had I died, he would be no worse off than before. But had our positions been reversed… I would have no one to protect me.”

“A tragedy to any woman,” Gareth agreed.

At least he understood. She had no money and no friends. Without her brother, she’d be lost to decent society. She might have to sell herself to survive. Helen’s lips quivered at that thought—to be so desperate for food that she would… A dark thought trespassed in her mind. Was agreeing to Gareth’s proposal any better? She shivered at where such ideas led.

“Calm yourself.” There was an underlying callousness to his words that rekindled her fire. “I’ll not hurt you. No woman has ever left my bed with any complaints.” His tone was layered with smug satisfaction. He leaned back in the coach seat, stretching out long, muscled legs, and crossing his boots at the ankles. She was reminded of a tomcat merely biding his time to make his move on the unsuspecting female cat he planned to mate with. She was the female cat in this scenario, and it did not make her feel safe at all. What little she’d heard of him from other ladies in society was that he wasn’t rumored to be a cruel man. That was her only solace—that he wouldn’t truly harm her.

The ride was long. Helen couldn’t help but wonder what type of house he had, to live so far from Bath. At some point, fatigue overcame her. She didn’t want to show weakness in front of him, but when her eyelids kept falling shut, she knew she was lost. Her head fell against Gareth’s shoulder as she drifted off to sleep. She woke a while later when the pattern of the horses’ hooves changed and the wheels slowed to a halt. Still drowsy, she raised her head from his shoulder, blushed when she realized he was staring at her, and scooted a little ways away. Running her hands through her hair, she tried to tame the wild waves.

Gareth opened the coach door and helped her out. He kept a gentle but firm grip on her arm as they walked up a set of stone steps. A matronly woman with graying hair waited for them just inside the door.

“Good, evening, Mary. Prepare a room for Miss Banks. She will be our guest for a time,” Gareth said to the woman.

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise, but she did not question him.

Helen gulped. How long was her stay to be? Gareth had not given any indication of its duration.

“Mr. Fairfax, how long do you intend to keep me here?” She held her breath so long her lungs burned.

He did not look at her as they followed Mary. “As long as necessary. I’ll likely tire of you in a few weeks.”

His words were a slap to her soul and she flinched.

Mary departed, winding her way up the grand staircase to prepare a room for her. Helen was once more alone with the brooding and frightening Gareth Fairfax. He still held her arm as he escorted her to a mahogany and wine colored drawing room where a warm fire was lit. A pair of deep-backed chairs faced the fire, and Helen was pushed toward the one furthest from the door. Gareth took the other, his chair slightly angled toward her.

The dimness of the room, lit by only a few candles, and the roaring fire’s warmth was seductive and inviting, like a strange sort of dream. Perhaps she was dreaming, and none of this was real. She’d wake soon and prepare a meager breakfast for Martin and…but she knew the truth. This was all too real and she was very vulnerable. A little tremor stole through her arms and chest.

“You find yourself in an unfortunate predicament, Miss Banks. I owe your brother a bullet. The duel was not finished. I’ve taken you, by your choice, in his place.” His eyes reflected the fire’s glow, wild and untamable.

Helen could not respond. Fascination rippled through her as she studied his lips, his eyes, his dark hair that gleamed in the firelight. He was a devil, but a handsome one, and his harsh gaze made her heart beat rapidly. It was madness to long for his seduction, to pray for it with every breath. Surely the fires of hell awaited her for her thoughts.

“My temper has cooled. I have no interest in shooting anyone at the moment, but your brother owes me a great deal of money.” She’d expected him to be more businesslike, but there was a pensive musing to his voice that drew her in…made her wonder what he was truly thinking.

He seemed to be watching her for some reaction, but Helen did not understand the weight his words carried.

“We have no way of repaying you,” she replied gravely. “I used the last bit of money I had to secure Mr. Bennett’s support for the duel. I had hoped to gain a position as governess…that is, before Martin quarreled with you. If you give me time, I’m sure I could think of a way to settle our debt.”

“Would you deny me, should I demand a different form of payment? It is why I brought you here, after all.” The question was delivered very slowly and deliberately. His gaze raked up and down her body more savagely than she thought a look ever could. Helen paled, her earlier suspicion had been right.

“What would you have me do while I’m here?” Her words came out a strangled whisper. She knew what he would say, hoped breathlessly that he would, as dangerous and foolish as it was to wish for him to desire her.

Gareth stood up and, in one elegant move, came around behind her chair, his hands falling lightly onto her shoulders. He slowly swept her long hair away from her neck, baring part of her throat. One of his fingers drew a lazy pattern on her skin, teasing the tiny hairs which rose at his touch, and she shivered. He bent over the back of the chair, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, stirring her senses.

“Remain here, at my beck and call, as a companion of sorts.” He caught her chin with his hand and gently turned her face towards his, his lips so close to hers she could almost feel them. She swallowed uncomfortably as her mouth grew dry. “When I tire of you, I shall return you to Bath, and your brother’s debt will be fully paid.” His hands slid down her shoulders, along the sides of her arms. For the first time in her life, she was torn, her mind and heart were warning her against him, but her body was enticed by the slightest touch of his hands, the brush of his lips. Her face flushed with heat as he kissed her softly below the ear.

“And if I refuse?” The room slowly spun, and her head filled with a strange buzzing. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. She ought to refuse. Staying here would ruin her respectability…the last thing she had left that couldn’t be bought or destroyed, except it seemed, by this dark, brooding man. Yet she’d chosen, as he’d reminded her, to come here voluntarily. She couldn’t lie to herself. She’d known of his intentions to bed her from the start, but she longed to test him, to see what he would say if she pretended to change her mind.

“Then I lock you in a room here and ride straight to Bath to find your brother.” Gareth’s words were sinister, but his voice was as smooth as honey. Helen’s eyelashes fluttered down against her cheeks as she fought to hide her emotions. It wouldn’t be wise for him to know his power over her…how easily he enthralled her with the carnal promise in his eyes. He came back around to stand in front of her.

“So, Miss Banks, will you accept?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking down at her imperiously.

Helen rose from her chair, glad for her height. She needed to be his equal if she was going to accept this bargain. He didn’t tower over her as much as he would have other women. For a long moment, she gazed back at him, weighing her options. Ruin herself and save her brother? Or save herself and sign her brother’s death sentence. Sadly, the choice was easier than it ought to have been. She would do anything to protect Martin. And she’d also not refuse herself this one chance to know passion.

“I accept, so long as you vow that my brother will not be harmed and his debt to you will be satisfied.” Her voice didn’t waver.

Gareth nodded slowly. “I will honor those terms.”

Helen held out a hand to shake upon it. “Then we have a bargain.”

Gareth looked down at her hand, a slow smile spreading across his lips. He took her hand and before she could protest, he tugged her into his arms. It was her first kiss, and not at all what she had expected. This was no innocent meeting of lovers’ lips. Gareth’s mouth caught hers, moving in deep, teasing motions that sent shivers down her spine. One of his hands coiled in her hair, twining his fingers in her silky strands. He clenched, just enough to cause her to open her mouth wider in a gasp born of pleasure at the slight pain. He plundered her mouth, his tongue diving to mate with hers.

A throbbing pulse burst into life between her legs and her knees gave way, knocking against his. He wound an arm about her waist, holding her to him. Like a limp ragdoll, she surrendered to his amorous attentions, the sensations overwhelming and intoxicating. She wished she knew what to do—how to move her lips, where to place her hands—to please him in return.

His hand in her hair held her captive for his exploring mouth, which tasted her lips, her neck, her collarbone, and behind her ears. And then it was over. He spun her gently out of his grasp, grinning at her smugly.

“That is how we seal our bargain, my darling.”

The glare she sent him only made him smile.

He gestured for her to follow him. “I’m sure Mary has prepared your chamber by now.” Helen trailed behind him as they left the drawing room. An upstairs maid stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting.

“The lady’s room is ready, sir,” the ginger-haired maid bobbed in a shallow curtsey.

“Thank you, Mira. Which room is it?”

“The third guest room on the right, sir.” The maid looked expectantly to Gareth.

“That will be all, Mira. Run along to bed.”

Helen watched as the maid ducked back down the stairs and through a door that probably led to the servants’ quarters. It took every ounce of her will not to call out for the maid to stay and not leave them alone. She wasn’t afraid of him, but nerves made her shaky. There was so much about being with a man in bed that she didn’t know. Any woman with good sense would be nervous about her first time, even though he’d assured her she would enjoy it. Gareth tugged Helen’s hand, forcing her to follow him up the stairs and down the hall. He paused at the third room on the right, just as the maid had directed. The door stood open, the room ready for her.

It had a beautiful four-poster bed with velvet hangings and a ruby red coverlet. A thin white nightgown lay draped over the middle of the bed. Walking away from him, Helen picked the garment up, admiring its beautiful but simple design. She had never owned anything so fine in her life. Rather than bid her goodnight, Gareth came into the room and shut the door. The snick of the door settling into the frame held a frightening finality. They were alone again. Helen backed away in fear, her heart racing. Did he mean to take her so soon?

I am not ready. I want him, but I am not prepared.

Gareth walked over to the armoire that faced the bed and tapped it lightly.

“There are gowns in here. They may not fit properly, but I will have my housekeeper send for ones that will. You may rest a while if you wish. Mary will be here to help you dress later in the morning. It has been some time since you’ve eaten, I assume. The servants will prepare whatever you wish after you’ve rested.” He came back to her, cupping her chin, his voice gentler than it had been since they’d first met on the field for the duel.

“Th…thank you, Mr. Fairfax,” Helen stammered, her body shaking slightly with fear.

She’d had such courage in the field, ready to face death for her brother, but this was so different. She’d come here, agreeing to be his mistress, in a fashion. She had little knowledge of the ways of men. Would he prepare her for their joining? Or would he be ruthless, take her hard, and not think a moment about her pleasure? The second the thought passed her mind, she shoved it aside. Helen had made a study of Gareth over the last few months, seen him interact with men and women, and she knew enough of reading a person’s character to know he wouldn’t hurt her. But he also wouldn’t let her walk away from what she’d promised to give him.

“Mr. Fairfax—” she stammered.

“I give you leave to address me by my Christian name, Gareth.” He smiled again, his eyes shining with hidden laughter. “You’re afraid of me.” He teased.

Helen clasped her shaking hands together. “Of course I am. You were going to shoot me. And now I’m here…unchaperoned in your house with the agreement between us that I share your bed. I’ve never been with a man, and frankly, the prospect of it scares me a little. I would be a fool to not be a little afraid.”

“You certainly are no fool. Feisty, but not foolish. A unique trait in a woman. You’ve no reason to fear me. There will be only pleasure between us.” Gareth slowly reached out and captured her hips, his fingers digging for a better hold as he drew her against him. The smile that curved his lips heated her blood and sent her heart skittering. He rocked her into him, as though he meant to give her a gentle, teasing shake to cheer her up and relax her.

“Prepare yourself, Helen. I am going to kiss you again.” And he did. A feathery brush of lips on lips. Helen’s eyes drifted shut at the pleasurable sensation of his embrace.

The kiss changed, becoming slow and deep, his tongue easing between her lips. The sensation was strange, but Helen found herself kissing him back, her own tongue exploring him in turn. She was barely aware of him pushing her back against the bedpost until the wood dug between her shoulder blades. Gasping against him, she shuddered as he unbuttoned her breeches and slid his palm down her abdomen to part the thatch of pale curls between her legs. Gareth pinned her body with his, trapping her against the bedpost while using his hand to cup her mound. She tensed, gasping as he rubbed her with the heel of his hand. The rough pad of his thumb brushed her sensitive bud while another figure probed at the throbbing folds. She bit her lip, whimpering at the powerful zing of pleasure from his touch, and her body bucked forward. Was this how it really felt to be with a man? To feel the riotous waves of building excitement? She wanted more, so much more.

“Please!” Helen could barely form a coherent thought. His thumb tweaked her again, stronger this time, and a second finger joined the first, pushing deep into her tight sheath.

“You like this?” Gareth growled against her neck, taking tiny tastes of her skin as he slid his fingers in and out, thrusting in a slow, deliberate pattern designed to drive her mad.

Her answer was a plaintive moan. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him for support.

“Soon, I will taste you here,” he pressed firmly on the bud, and the lightning flash of that touch exploded like a fire inside her.

“And I will take you here, hard and fast. Then so slow you will beg for mercy. And just when you drift off to sleep, I’ll cover you again and thrust my cock so deep into you that you’ll scream for more.” As he spoke, his words were rough against her neck, tickling her skin, which was still damp from his kisses.

Helen gasped in breathless wonder as a powerful sensation spread through her, tingles, fire, and sparks alternating beneath her skin. Her knees knocked together as her legs gave out. His arms around her were the only thing keeping her upright. Gareth cupped her mound hard, holding her up as he continued to kiss her. She barely responded, too relaxed from the pleasure weighting her body with lethargy, so she merely consented to his rich plundering tongue. The fingers in her sheath withdrew, leaving her feeling strangely empty. But he moved his hand to her bottom, patting it softly as though to reward her for her inability to walk or talk. She knew she ought to have been indignant at his treatment of her, but she was too elated and drunk on the aftershocks of the explosion of sated desire which flashed and burned between her thighs.

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.

“The master has permitted me to send for gowns more suitable to your height and coloring. They’ll be here later today,” Mary said as she gestured for Helen to sit in front of the vanity table.

“I do not wish to inconvenience him,” Helen said, distressed to hear that this might in some way further the great debt between them. Mary shushed her as she brushed Helen’s hair and began to style it.

Mary seemed able to read her thoughts. “It was at my request. He thinks little of the expense, and it is no inconvenience.”

Can I allow him to do this for me? The thought of lovely gowns, a whole pile of them just for her…it was almost too much. And she hated herself for wanting them, even just to look at.

“There now, a vision of loveliness. Do not let the master muss it up,” she warned with a secretive smile. Helen blushed, her skin radiating with the implications of Mary’s warning.

When Helen turned and stared at herself in the mirror, she marveled at the style the housekeeper had chosen. Mary had pulled her locks back loosely into a rippling coil much in the Grecian style. Several loose curls fell against the back of her neck, and a matching cerulean ribbon threaded about her hair held it all in place.

“I did not think anyone save the master woke at such an early hour. The breakfast will not be ready for another hour. Perhaps you would care to see the gardens?” Mary suggested as she ushered Helen out of the bedchamber.

“I’m sure the gardens will be lovely,” she said, but when her stomach rumbled, she blushed in shame.

“Oh dear, come to the kitchens with me and I’ll see you get something into that belly of yours before you go out.” The housekeeper tugged one of her curls playfully, the gesture so warm and fond that Helen blinked back tears. Her mother used to do that—tug a curl and kiss her cheek.

Helen started to protest, but the hunger pains only grew and she didn’t see a point in fighting. Mary ushered her out of the bedchamber and led her towards the kitchens.

Gareth’s house, so haunting and dark at night, was a different creature altogether in the light of day. Sun broke through the many windows, lighting up paintings of pastoral scenes and gardens which decorated the walls. It was as though the house’s inhabitants had wanted to feel they were forever in the gardens, even while inside the walls. And yet, despite its beauty, something felt hollow here. Helen thought of when she’d been a child and she’d found an abandoned nest in the late fall. This house had that same feel…as though it, too, had lost those who’d once dwelt within its walls.

“Mary, has this house always been so lonely?” She knew it was impertinent to ask, but her curiosity demanded an answer.

“The master lost his wife and child seven years ago. He was only a lad then, barely twenty. The house has been quiet since my lady’s passing.” Mary sighed heavily as though it pained her to speak of the loss.

“Mr. Fairfax is only twenty-seven?” She was astounded by this. He did not look old, but his voice, his gaze, his physical presence seemed to her to be so worldly, so experienced. To think, he was only six years her senior. Helen repressed the sudden flare of irritation at his treating her as though she were a mere babe at times. Then her irritation faded in the wake of a tremor at how he’d kissed her in her chamber. Maybe he didn’t think of her as being so young after all.

The kitchens were bustling with busy servants, and Helen lingered in the doorway, afraid to intrude. Mary gathered a couple of cookies and ushered her back into the hallway. Helen took the treats and nibbled on them as she followed the housekeeper to a door at the rear of the house.

“Ah, here we are. The gardens are just beyond. Should you fancy a longer walk, there is a nice meadow outside. But do not stray far. It is easy to get lost. We are quite far from any village.” Mary shoved her gently out the door.

The second Mary was gone, Helen started walking, keeping her pace slow as she finished the last of the cookies and put a hand to her stomach, relishing the satisfied feeling. She had the strangest urge to run, to escape. Knowing Gareth was somewhere close made her feel…vulnerable, exposed. Early that morning, she’d been certain she could handle him and be happy to share his bed. But sleeping had returned her good sense. She wasn’t prepared for a joining with a man, especially not one like Gareth. He’d barge into her heart, steal it away, and leave her body restless for him and his kisses for the rest of her life. A woman simply could not afford that sort of problem, not when she’d likely have to beg on the streets to save what remained of her family.

She paused to cup flowers in her hands and breathe their scent in. But she never forgot for a moment that she should be working up the courage to speak to Gareth and break off their agreement.

He must be up and about somewhere on the estate, if Mary’s words were any evidence. Helen still felt unprepared to see him again. It would be too easy to get lost in the memory of his mouth on hers, his hand stroking between her thighs in that dark, hot place. As though she’d summoned her own demon of passion, the spot between her legs throbbed steadily—insistently—for Gareth’s expert touch.

She finally located the garden’s exit, deciding it might be better to get further away from the house for a while and hoping the fresh air would clear her head.

The exit was a stone archway with a wooden door covered in climbing ivy. Helen dug around the slick ivy leaves to find the handle and cracked the door open. Beyond it, she found a sprawling scene of beautiful land, trees dotting the edges of the rolling meadows, and azure skies stretching to the heavens themselves. As she passed through the archway, she had the strangest sense that she was free of Gareth and the binding of their devil’s bargain. Behind her was the house and his control, ahead of her was only open land. She could go where she wished…

I’m a fool to think he won’t come after me. He would find her, she had no doubt, but the illusion of freedom was something she wouldn’t take for granted, even for so short a time.

Fluffy white shapes dotted a distant sloping hill. They must be sheep. Her heart skipped a beat at the beauty. It reminded her so much of her childhood home, a small cottage, far away from here, which had abutted an estate as grand as this. Surely she had taken a wrong turn outside the garden gate. This had to be paradise, not Gareth’s lands.

Damn Martin and his gambling. If only he’d controlled himself. I’d never have ended up here, seen this place, or kissed Gareth.

Helen was halfway through the meadow when it occurred to her that she ought to seek shelter in the trees where he could not see her, if she wished to have her moment alone to clear her head. Given that Gareth had locked her in her room last night, he might think she intended to escape if he saw her in the meadow.

She changed direction, walking parallel to the house as she headed toward the nearest copse of trees. She turned back once more, pausing to see the house one last time before she left. The soft snap of twigs and the brush of cloth made her spin back around. Gareth was lounging against a tree six feet away from her.

“Taking a walk, Helen?” The way he caressed her name made her shiver. He was dressed in tan breeches and a waistcoat of dark navy blue, so at odds with the greens and umber browns of the woods behind him.

“Good Morning, Mr. Fairfax.” She gave a nod of greeting but looked away from his openly admiring gaze. It was all too familiar to the way he’d looked upon her last night when he’d pinned her against the bedpost and… Heat infused her cheeks and flashed beneath the surface of her skin.

He shifted away from the tree he’d been leaning against. “Please, call me Gareth. You are looking well. Blushing suits you.”

“Er… Thank you.” She wasn’t sure if she ought to have thanked him for such a comment, but she did it anyway, trying to maintain a pretense of calm. Her eyes scanned the area on either side of him, trying to determine the best route to get around him. He was blocking her best path.

“I should like to continue my walk...Gareth. Would you let me pass?” She finally summoned the courage to look him in the eye.

It was a mistake.

His eyes burned her, invisible flames flicking over her skin, heating her from the inside out. The throbbing started between her thighs again and she clenched them together, but the pressure only made the throbbing worse.

“And let you run off and get lost? My darling Helen, I’d much rather you stay here so I don’t have to find you later.” The grin of devilish delight playing with his lips was far too charming and far too dangerous. He took a step closer.

Helen’s heartbeat increased. If she ran now, would he dare to grab her? It would be so uncivilized. Yet there was something distinctly uncivilized about him. The predatory way he stalked her and the primal way he’d taken control of her body earlier that morning in her chamber set her ablaze inside. Helen darted to the left, choosing the opening between Gareth and the tree. He lunged, catching her easily by wrapping one arm around her waist. She was too startled to scream as he backed her up against the rough bark. Her hands clenched at his chest, catching the smooth fabric of his waistcoat. He gripped her waist, holding her firm and preventing her from escaping him.

“Helen …” he whispered, his voice strangely soothing, calming. “I’m not going to hurt you. I made a promise, and I keep my promises.” A ghost of a smile hovered at his mouth. “But I am going to kiss you.”

Her traitorous body relaxed in his hold. Her eyes drifted shut, her head tilting upward for his kiss. But his lips never touched hers. Instead they trailed softly from her neck down to the swell of her breasts. Her breathing deepened, her chest rising to meet his exploring mouth. With each inhalation, she struggled to stay above the drowning sense of dizziness that his touch roused in her. He cupped one of the tender mounds, his thumb circling her hardened nipple through the fabric of her gown. He pinched the bud and Helen forgot breathing all together. His eyes were lowered, studying her reaction—the way her skin flushed as he continued to tease and torture the sensitive peak. Helen was fascinated by his intense expression, the way his lips were slightly parted, his breath rougher, his eyes half-lidded but their gleam sharp. When his fingers pinched her nipple again, she gasped, drawing his focus back up to her face.

“You are so responsive, so alive,” he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You don’t even know what that does to me, do you?”

Helen swallowed, her mouth dry and incapable of forming words.

Gareth’s hands wound around her waist, pulling her away from the tree and toward the edge of the meadow.

“Sit,” he urged gently.

Still entranced by the way he kept her spellbound with his soft, arousing words and touches, she allowed him to help her down onto the ground. He pressed her shoulders, urging her to lie back. The grass bent beneath her when he cradled one arm behind her head as a firm pillow.

“What are we doing?” she whispered, studying his face, the sunlight haloing him as he leaned over her.

“Getting acquainted,” he replied, as though what they were doing was the most normal thing in all the world.

“Wouldn’t that entail you courting me by bringing me flowers and sitting in the parlor under the watchful eyes of a chaperone?” She was half joking, trying to fight off the tingle of nervousness that made its way through her body with small tremors.

His rich laugh made her smile. He could be teasing and playful then. Knowing that eased more of the tension inside her and she relaxed.

“Do you want flowers? I can promise you a field of wildflowers, a garden, even a hothouse. Whatever you desire, it is yours. But no chaperones and no parlors. I want you, want to know your body and the way it responds to mine.” His earnestness surprised her. He seemed as baffled by his answering hunger for her.

She squirmed, trying to stop his hand from pushing up her skirts, but he gently pushed her hand away. Helen’s eyes widened as his other hand slid beneath her gown and up her left thigh. The dress’s fabric rose obligingly at his hand’s command, taking her petticoats with it. Helen’s mouth parted as she gasped in shock and her sudden fear of vulnerability. She was terrified of his hand on her bare thigh and even more scared by how she wanted him to keep moving his palm higher even though she guessed where it would lead. Did all women feel this way when first touched by a man, torn between desperation to escape and the need for more?

Gareth’s face blocked out the bright sky. Would he give her pleasure like last night?

“Do not fear me, Helen.” It almost sounded like a plea.

But if Helen knew anything about a man like Gareth Fairfax, she knew he was not the sort of man to beg. Rather, the hunger that flamed behind his dark brown eyes explained everything. He needed her body, needed to have her accept whatever it was he wished to do. What could a woman say to that? Yes, take me, take all of me? She wasn’t nearly ready for that sort of surrender to him. The thought was erased as Gareth’s head descended toward hers.

His lips found hers. She was lost to the pleasure of his tongue dancing with hers but still aware of his hand as it parted her legs and slid through the slit in her drawers. That first brush of his fingertips on her hot flesh burned them both, her with a hiss and him with a groan. Helen shifted restlessly as wetness pooled between her thighs. He moved deeper, finding the swollen flesh tender and yearning. He stroked her once, twice, opening her further to him. She shivered in pleasure as he continued. Her legs twisted and shifted as she adjusted to the strange sensation of his invading touch. It was as though he was caressing the innermost part of her. Each slow thrust of his fingers was a delicious teasing. Gareth’s mouth left hers again to lay kisses along the lines of her collarbone and down to the heavy swell of her breasts.

A pain grew deep within her, a hunger between her legs, the same desire that she’d felt this morning in her room. She clutched Gareth’s shoulders. As though he understood her body’s needs, his fingers sunk deeper into her, and she let out a small cry of pleasure mingled with fear. Pinpricks of tiny explosions burst forth, sending tremors outward along her limbs. She clung to him, her violent quaking subsiding against the strength of his embrace.

He withdrew his hand, pulling her petticoats and gown back down over her hips and legs. He kissed her again, the meeting of mouths softer than before, as though he sought to maintain the intimacy of that moment—their closeness and the isolation they found together in the meadow. He held her against him and Helen breathed in his scent. Sandalwood, leather, and something uniquely belonging to him, intoxicating as an opiate. The breeze moved the grass around them like waves of an emerald sea. For a brief moment, Helen thought they were the only two people in this paradise, and that no world existed outside.

“Do I still frighten you?” Gareth asked, his tone teasing as he stroked her cheek.

Helen, spellbound by the sensations he’d created in her moments ago, was speechless for a second. She leaned into his caress, unable to deny herself the pleasure of his touch. She could not escape him, and she was beginning to want to stay. But a part of her still feared him, the way he made her want things she knew she could never have, like happiness with a man like him. She remembered the fire in his eyes as he demanded the debt be paid. He would claim it—claim her—and that did frighten her. What would happen when he was done and she’d been foolish enough to let herself fall for him?

“I believe you will always frighten me,” she admitted. But it was a different sort of fear, not one of harm to the body, but devastation to the heart.

His laugh was low and rough. “You present me with a challenge then. I shall spend our time together wooing you into trusting me.” He fingered one of her loosened curls, wearing a boyish smile. “I rather like you, Helen.”

She bit her lip, the words I rather like you, too hung on the tip of her tongue, unspoken.

He got to his feet, brushing grass off his breeches. “Should we return to the house and see if Mary has breakfast ready?”

She wobbled for a few seconds as he pulled her to her feet. Her legs trembled, still reverberating with the memory of what he’d done to her and how her body had reacted. Echoes of pleasure still worked their way through her in little flushes and the twitching of her inner muscles. He held out an arm, which she leaned on, grateful for the support.

The house was abuzz with the flutter of servants when they returned. Maids were dusting shelves and polishing candlesticks. Footmen were stretching their legs by running errands at Mary’s bidding. She stood in the main hall, issuing orders better than a British General. Gareth nodded in greeting as they passed her on their way to the dining room. She smiled, brief but warm, before dashing off to chastise a clumsy footman who’d tripped on the edge of a carpet and spilled the basin of water he’d been carrying.

The table was decorated with plates of fruit, eggs, kippers, and various jams for spreading on a stack of warm toast. Helen’s stomach growled at the sight of food. Even though she’d stuffed herself on cookies an hour ago, the sight of these new dishes renewed her hunger. Over the last few months, she had survived on small portions of bread and water, just to be able to get by. She’d taken to giving her brother the larger share of whatever meals they could afford. Gareth pulled out a chair for her next to his own seat at the head of the table. Helen reached for the nearest piece of toast but froze, remembering her manners. Gareth had not yet made a move towards the food. His eyes were scanning a stack of letters brought in by a servant. He glanced up, noticing her stillness.

“Do not wait for me. Please eat.” He smiled warmly at her. She had to stop herself before she smiled back. He was a different person from early this morning. Then, he’d been a haunted, troubled man, burdened by anger and frustration. Now he seemed…kind. Even in the meadow, his touch had been soft, insistent, too, but not brutal…not like what she’d expected.

Helen filled a plate with a balance of fruits, eggs, and toast, enjoying the variety. There was a flare of excitement in her at being able to eat as much as she wanted. Their fortune had been so slight that meals had been meager of late, and she’d been forced to convince Martin that she wasn’t nearly as hungry as he was so that he might have a fuller belly. For the first time since her father died, she was able to worry only about herself, about what she needed. Her stomach grumbled again, and Helen eyed the stack of toast thoughtfully before quickly snatching another piece and adding it to her plate.

This strange sense of comfort and ease made her less and less willing to fight against Gareth and his desires. If she liked what happened in the meadow, she would probably like other things he might do to her. Well, if she was being truly honest, she hadn’t just liked it. She’d reveled in it. It might be worth it—his physical pleasure traded for food and clothing. A cold thought struck her. Was she no better than the type of women she’d feared she would become? Surely not. Gareth didn’t treat her like she was that sort of woman, but still… Helen shook her head slightly to rid herself of that unpleasant thought and turned her attention back to the food.

Gareth read his letters as he ate, seemingly oblivious to her study of him. She thought perhaps her mind had exaggerated the marble carved features of perfection on his face, but they were just as she had remembered. The sunlight played with his hair, revealing a hint of chocolate brown amidst the rich russet. His hands were large and strong, the fingers deftly breaking the seals of his letters. Those were the same hands that had brought unspeakable pleasure to her only a short while ago. A delicious little shiver ran through her at the memory.

When Gareth finished his breakfast, he bid her a good day with a genteel bow, lifting her hand to press his lips on the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped at the intimate contact.

She was fascinated by him, like a helpless minnow spying its first shiny lure in the stream. Helen wanted to follow him, to see where he would go and what he would do. Would he want to kiss her or pleasure her again? Gareth was halfway out the door when he paused and Helen bumped into his back. He looked over his shoulder at her as though surprised to find her so close.

“You mean to follow me, Helen? I do not expect you to. You are free to go about the house and gardens as you wish.”

Helen frowned. Was he dismissing her? Did he mean to leave her alone while he went about his day? The thought saddened her. Perhaps she was not a good companion and he would soon tire of her. As a twin, she craved companionship, and didn’t like too much time alone. She didn’t need to be speaking to someone every minute of the day, but she liked another person in her presence. Perhaps Gareth was the opposite and did not wish to have her around.

Her unhappy silence affected him enough that he reached out for her arm and tilted his head to indicate she should accompany him.

“Come along then. I’m off to the stables. It is a fine day for riding.”

“You have horses?” She was all smiles again, memories of her youth flooding through her. They’d once owned a pair of stout draft horses, and she and Martin used to ride them in the summer.

“Of course I have horses, my darling. How do you think my coach brought you here?”

He was teasing her, she could see it in his eyes. She liked it when he was playful. He must feel something for her, however small, if he joked with her. One of Martin’s boyhood friends used to tug her hair, and her mother said that men often treated the women they liked in such a fashion.

“Do you know how to ride?”

“I do, but not sidesaddle, I’m afraid,” she admitted. Her father hadn’t bothered with teaching her the niceties expected of gentle bred ladies, at least when it came to riding. Since her mother died when she was a child, she’d been without the feminine guidance that would have taught her such things.

“That is well, for I got rid of the only sidesaddle I had years ago.”

“Because your wife passed away?” She regretted the words the moment they came out. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to…” she was flustered, her face warm with embarrassment.

“Do not worry. I have mourned Clarissa, my wife, and am at peace with her death. You may speak about her if you wish. It will not cause me pain, I assure you.” Despite the polite smile that curved his lips, there was a guarded wariness in his face that said there was still a twist in his heart at the mention of his late wife.

“You loved her very much.” Helen saw it in his eyes, the way the sadness there formed dark shadows. Losing someone you loved often left a stain upon the soul.

“She was my friend. Not many men are fortunate enough to have wives who lay claim to their hearts and their minds, not just as lovers but also as friends. It’s a loss not easy to recover from. I mourn the way we used to talk late into the night and ride together on lazy afternoons.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to dispel the creeping melancholy. “We were happy when many around us were not so fortunate. I’ll likely never know that sense of joy again.”

Helen bit her bottom lip, pain clamping its vice-like claws on her own heart, threatening to rip it asunder. Gareth was a wounded man still, no matter that he believed he’d moved on. Everything about him was becoming clearer, he was desperate to feel, to live again, and using her, even as a temporary companion, must be one way in which he was trying to find solace. She did not feel pity, but rather it filled her with compassion.

With false cheeriness, he gestured to the stairs. “Would you like to go and change into a riding habit?”

“Yes. I shall only be a moment,” she promised.

Once Helen was properly attired for riding, they left the house and approached the building next to it. It was a small but well-kept stable with four stalls for the four horses he owned. They were all matching bays with tall heads and long, lean legs, nothing like the draft horses she’d ridden as a child.

Even though she didn’t want to cause him distress, she still wanted to get to know him. If she were to stay here with him, she’d have to understand him better. “If you no longer miss your wife, why haven’t you remarried?”

How could this man, so blessed in looks and fortune, not find another wife, one who would delight in pleasing him? Gareth smiled, though it was little and pained. His eyes moved from the horse to her. She read the truth there. Clarissa couldn’t be replaced and he hadn’t wanted to try.

“I got used to Clarissa’s absence after a few years, but I’ve become restless. Nothing eases me anymore, nothing gives me peace.” He spoke softly, more to himself as though the revelation was one he’d never dared to voice aloud. His confession was like opening a book, the pages revealing a glimpse of his secrets. She craved to read more of his soul, to come to know him the way he knew only himself.

Helen wished to comfort him, so she put a hand on his arm. “Try to love again. Love settle’s a person’s heart.”

He shook his head. “No. Love destroys. It rips you clean in two and devastates you. I would never go looking for that again.”

* * *

Gareth looked at her, her blue eyes gazing at him in pity. Did she not know what she was asking of him? Love was hard to find, hard to earn, and hard to keep. He reached up to tug one of her curls playfully, wanting to rid his mind of the thoughts she’d put there. His actions made her wrinkle her nose in disapproval. The urge to hold her was too strong to resist. He tugged her into his arms, relishing the feel of her body flush against his.

She was growing ever more receptive to his kisses. He let her mouth guide his, let her explore his chest, his arms, his back before she locked her hands around his neck. Her fingertips brushed the back of his neck and stroked his hair. He loved how quickly she opened up to him, how she let him instruct her in the ways of seduction.

The feeling of her touch on his skin made him shiver. She was a quick learner. Gareth wanted to part her legs again, like he’d done in the meadow, but the stables were no place for such an activity. Instead he teased her breasts through the fabric of her gown until he felt her grow breathless. He hardened, his groin aching with need, but he could not take her, not until she asked for him. He could have kissed and touched her for hours.

“My apologies, sir!” A groom, who’d walked into the stables, apologized profusely as he scrambled away, overturning a bucket of feed in his haste to depart.

Helen stifled an embarrassed giggle and buried her face in his chest as though to hide herself from the world. Gareth found himself laughing, too. It was a loud, rich laugh, one he hadn’t made in years. What was she doing to him? In a mere matter of a day, she had turned his world upside down. She was open and honest about herself and her life. And brave. He couldn’t forget that, either, the way she’d risked her life to save her brother’s knowing she would die. What woman of his acquaintance would have dared to risk her life? None that he knew. Helen was different. She was real and beautiful and so full of life. Each time he looked at her, something inside him seemed to shake off a century’s worth of dust and awaken. Being around her made him feel alive.

“Let’s get the horses ready. We should get a ride in while the day is young.” Gareth reluctantly pried her away from his chest and set about saddling the horses.

They rode at a nice canter for nearly an hour, over the meadow, down the hill, and through the neighboring lands. Gareth chuckled as Helen rode her mare through a flock of panicked sheep. They both nearly fell out of their saddles with laughter as they watched the wooly creatures bolt in all directions to avoid being trampled by her horse. The sheep gathered rebelliously into a flock several yards away, bleating melodramatically at having been attacked.

“Heavens! That was quite a ride,” Helen said as she watched the sheep shifting restlessly as her horse stomped and huffed.

“I daresay, the farmer, Mr. Pennysworth, won’t be pleased to find we’ve been scaring his beasts. Come, let’s away, Helen,” He chuckled and lightly tugged the reins of his horse, guiding it to turn around.

Gareth watched Helen the entire time they were out riding. He could not keep his eyes off the halo of her golden hair or the mischievous grin as she drove towards the sheep. Her little laugh was music to him, music he’d been missing for years.

Sing my little thrush, please sing to me. She was beautiful, she was perfect, and he would have to let her go. That brother of hers would eventually show up, and Gareth would have to deal with him when the time came. Damned if he knew what to do with Martin Banks. The fool might still insist on the duel, now over Helen’s honor. What a mess he was in. His eyes strayed to Helen, and her easy smile made all of the problems with his choice to have her fade. She was worth the trouble. He knew he could not keep her for long. Ambrose’s words came back to him. He was ruining her for her brother’s debts. Debts she shouldn’t have to pay, and he’d destroyed all chances of her making a good match. On the field after the duel that hadn’t mattered to him, in fact he’d relished the thought of hurting Banks by saddling him with a sister who would never make a match. But now…now he saw he was only hurting Helen, a brave, innocent woman who didn’t deserve any of this. Yet there was no way to undo the damage he’d done.

Marriage was out of the question. He had nothing to offer her besides his name and his body, and he knew only too well that a woman like Helen would need his heart to survive a marriage. For him, it was seduction, plain and simple. He had no right to anything else. He’d lost his right to love a long time ago. God would not give him a second chance, not after blessing him with Clarissa. That sort of love, he was sure, came only once. He had his turn and lost. Helen was nothing more than a cruel reminder of what he could never have.

Chapter Three

Helen spent the remainder of the day exploring the house, reading in the expansive library, and being spoiled by the numerous cooks in the kitchen, who were more than delighted to let her taste pies, pastries, and other dishes they were preparing. Gareth had to leave on a business related matter but had assured her he would return in time for dinner. Helen found the house felt empty with his departure at first, but Mary soon distracted her with activities. She was allowed to play freely on the pianoforte in the music room, she was encouraged to explore the gardens, and she was positively forced to try on gown after gown once they arrived late in the afternoon from Bath. About halfway through the day, Helen was sure this was an elaborate and wonderful dream, and that eventually, she would wake to find herself back in Bath, ever watchful of her brother and their meager finances.

Once Mary had finished fitting all of the new gowns, she left Helen to her own devices. The day was still clear and fine and the warm sun was setting in the western sky as Helen entered the gardens once more. She found a stout tree near the garden wall and decided to climb it to better see the sunset. Climbing was something more suited for a young child, not a woman of one and twenty, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Here, she was free to do as she wished, to eat, to play, to laugh, even to climb. In this private world, she had been swept away by the sense of timelessness. She could do whatever she wanted, and at the moment, she planned to climb a tree to get a better glimpse of the reddening skies beyond the gardens.