The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (21 page)

Helena pondered his words. “It might serve. But how will we catch them? Will you lead a group of men out to seize the contraband?”

“How bloodthirsty you are, my dear,” mused Malcolm. “I thought I would contact the Lord Lieutenant and find out how best to handle a group of desperate villains. He is the Marquess of Camden, an old friend of my father’s. I have not seen him in many years, but I believe he would be glad to help.”

“Oh.”

Malcolm smiled. “You have the most fantastical notions, Helena, for a woman as sensible as you are. Do you truly believe the tales of the Wicked Earl?”

“It just seems rather tame to summon the excisemen.” Disappointment crept into her voice.

“Perhaps they will be unable to assist us, and the men at the ball will have to venture out in their finery to ambush the ruffians,” proposed Malcolm “I will, of course, lead them, and there will be a desperate fight in the fields surrounding Wroxton. At the end I shall, of course, run Denby through with my sword.”

Helena appeared to be enchanted by this vision. “Could you?”

“Probably. I once ran a fencing school in Bordeaux. Further, I must admit I would find it entirely pleasurable. But one does not go about stabbing one’s enemies these days,” he concluded regretfully.

“That does sound rather more exciting than the excisemen and the Lord Lieutenant.”

“I didn’t return home to Wroxton for excitement. I rather hoped it would be peaceful here.”

“I suppose it is my fault,” said Helena apologetically. “I dragged you into this, much against your will.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Without the smugglers I might never have met you again, or at least not under such delightful circumstances.”

“You needn’t flatter me, you know,” she said candidly. “I know you are accustomed to far more sophisticated and lovely women than me.”

“You are lovelier than any woman of my acquaintance, and sophistication becomes tedious,” said Malcolm. “You are delightful.”

Helena stared down into her teacup, willing herself not to blush.

“Are we agreed, then, that we shall pursue my plan?” asked Malcolm gently.

Helena nodded. “I suppose it will suffice.”

“I’m honored by your endorsement,” murmured Malcolm. “Now, if you’re done with your tea, I did promise to show you the house.”

He stood and held his hand out to her. She placed hers in it tentatively, and he raised her to her feet.

“You were here often as a child, of course,” he said.

Helena nodded. “I was. But we played outside, or in the schoolroom. Rowena often came to Keighley Manor, as the gardens are less formal, and my governess was not as strict as hers.”

Malcolm contemplated her. “What a remarkably foolish young man I must have been not to notice you.”

“Well, you were rather rude to me a few times,” said Helena. “But, for the most part, you ignored me. I remember you very clearly; Rowena and I were quite in awe of you.”

“Were you? Then I was not the only foolish one.”

“We were only children, and you seemed very grown-up. But you would have been very young, too. You were barely more than twenty when—” she broke off.

“When I became embroiled in a murder plot and found myself taking the blame,” finished Malcolm for her. “As I said, there was little to admire in my behavior.”

“You must not think I disapprove of you,” said Helena earnestly.

Malcolm’s lips twitched. “I am quite certain you disapprove of me, Helena. But I hope to convince you of my positive qualities as well.” He laced her hand through his arm. “Shall we walk through the house?”

He led her out into the hall. “You will have to help me plan the ball, of course, so you will need to know the house. I believe if we clear the furniture out of the Green Saloon, it will do very nicely for dancing. And there are doors onto the terrace, so that if our guests overexert themselves, they can go outside.”

He was about to open a door, when steps were heard on the stairs, and Stephen appeared. He surveyed them for a moment, and then approached, grinning broadly.

“Good afternoon, Miss Keighley,” he said. “How delightful to see you again.” He bowed politely over her hand.

“I invited Miss Keighley to walk through Wroxton Hall,” explained Malcolm. “It has been years since she played here with my sister as a child.”

“How charming.” Stephen cast a laughing look at Helena. “He must like you a great deal better than me; I have been here nearly a week now and he has yet to show me anything. I know where the dining room is, and my bedroom, and the library, but beyond that I am hopelessly lost. Perhaps I shall join you.”

“How unkind of Lord Wroxton to you leave you to your own devices,” said Helena. “I would enjoy having your company.”

A smile flickered on Malcolm’s lips. “I’m fairly sure you told me that you meant to go into the village this afternoon, Del.”

“I did?” Stephen seemed surprised. “I cannot possibly think of what I might have wanted in the village.”

“If you go there, perhaps you will remember,” Malcolm said softly.

“Ah.” Stephen shrugged. “You are undoubtedly right, Mal. Miss Keighley, you will have to excuse me. Apparently I have pressing business in the village.”

“What a pity,” said Helena.

“A pity indeed, as it deprives me of your company. Another day, perhaps. I feel sure you will be here frequently.” Del glanced at Malcolm, and then, with a knowing smile, bowed and walked away, whistling.

Helena watched him go and then turned to Malcolm. “Will Mr. Delaney stay for the ball?”

“If he does not find himself too bored over the next weeks. Do you want him to stay?”

“He’s very pleasant. The ladies will enjoy his company.”

“Yes, ladies do like Del,” said Malcolm pensively.

Helena’s eyes gleamed with a hint of humor. “While you do not have a way with them at all, to be sure.”

“I live a monkish existence,” rejoined Malcolm promptly.

Helena greeted his response with derisive laughter, and he smiled down at her. “Of course you, my dear, would drive even a monk to despair,” he said.

Helena flushed slightly as Malcolm turned away, opening the door to reveal the Green Saloon. The room was very large, with tall arching windows that let in the afternoon sun, gilding the walls covered in green cut velvet and glinting off the frames of the many pictures hanging there.

“How lovely,” said Helena, moving into the room and looking around.

“My ancestors are generally held to have had excellent taste, or at least the intelligence to hire good architects and craftsmen.”

Helena strolled across the room and looked up at a painting hanging above the chimneypiece of white marble decorated with carvings in black marble. “Is that a Van Dyck?” she asked.

Malcolm squinted up at the painting. “I believe so. My father always said it was an exceptional piece. My great-grandfather was an art collector, and the house was designed around his paintings. There’s a Velazquez somewhere as well, I’m told.”

Helena looked at him curiously. “It’s remarkable. Do you truly not care?”

Malcolm sighed and came to stand next to her. “It is not that I don’t care,” he said after a moment. “This house and its contents are truly remarkable, as you say. But I somehow feel as if they aren’t mine. They are my father’s, and my grandfather’s, but I don’t belong here.” He waved a hand. “Since I’ve returned I’ve stayed mostly in the library and avoided these rooms. “

“Of course you belong here. You are the Earl of Wroxton,” said Helena firmly. “You own these wonderful things, but you are also responsible for them.”

“Yes, that is it exactly. I’ve spent the better part of a decade thinking I’d never see any of this again, and now that it is mine I feel as though it’s slowly smothering me.”

“Nonsense. I think it is a very good thing you are having this ball. The house will be full of guests, and flowers, and music, and you will see how very lovely and welcoming it is. This is your home, Malcolm. It is where you belong.”

“Do you think so?” he asked slowly.

“I am sure of it,” she replied firmly.

“What makes you sure?”

“Because I feel about Keighley Manor the way you must feel about Wroxton Hall,” she replied simply. “I was born there, and it is home. London is all very well, I suppose, and you, of course, have seen many wonderful places. I would love to see them all too, but I would also always want to return to Keighley Manor. The rose garden, and the yew tunnel—and the priest hole—are all part of my memories.”

“What about the Queen’s Room?” asked Malcolm, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“You are incorrigible. Yes, the Queen’s Room as well.” Helena smiled up at him.

“Perhaps you can help me create some memories here.” He took her hand in his. “But for now, you must help me plan the ball, with the music and flowers.”

He opened the door to the next room. “This is the blue drawing room,” he said, gesturing extravagantly.

Helena looked around, taking in the walls covered in blue silk and the elegant furnishings. More paintings decorated the walls, and the chimneypiece was of variegated purple and white marble.

“How lovely,” she breathed.

“We could use this as the card room,” said Malcolm thoughtfully.

“What a pity to waste it on the gentlemen and their gaming,” she teased.

“I promise not to spend too much time in here.”

“Of course not; you are to be the host, and must tend to your guests.”

“You are very demanding,” he complained. He led her out of the drawing room and back into the hall, with its white and black floor and enormous gilded chandelier that hung down from the ceiling, two floors up. They went through a door with marble cherubim perched on the pediment.

“The picture gallery,” said Malcolm.

Helena gave a gasp of delight. The celadon walls were covered with Old Master paintings and representations of the Arlingby family. She walked slowly through the room, gazing up at them.

“This is your father,” she said, stopping at one painting.

“A good likeness, I would say,” Malcolm’s voice was curt.

“He was very kind to me,” ventured Helena.

“I’m glad, for I would hate to think anyone was unkind to you. My father and I did not care much for each other. He thought I was irresponsible and foolish.”

“You were young—and quite likely irresponsible and foolish.”

“He was young once too, and might have remembered,” said Malcolm shortly.

Helena forbore to press the topic and moved on to the next portrait, which hung over the Carrara marble chimneypiece.

“That,” said Malcolm, “is the infamous first Countess of Wroxton.”

Helena gazed up at the painting critically. “She was very lovely,” she observed. “She looks quite pleased with herself.”

“I imagine she must have been. She captured a king, if only for a bit, and made a countess of herself, which lasted until her death. It’s more than many of us achieve in a lifetime.”

“She must have had a great deal of determination.”

“So they say. I’m told she had quite a temper.”

“Your family—” Helena hesitated.

“What about my family?”

“Was her son—an Arlingby?” she asked tentatively.

“Ah, you’re asking if the second Earl of Wroxton was the child of her husband, or a by-blow of the king’s?” Malcolm smiled down at her. “How very curious you are. We don’t know. My lady’s husband acknowledged paternity, and that is all that matters. While Charles had many a bastard, I’m tempted to believe we are not descendants of his. He was very dark, and the Arlingbys are fair.”

“It all seems so scandalous.”

Malcolm laughed. “She was no more scandalous than her descendants. Look at Rowena, compromised by the devilish Earl of Brayleigh and forced into a marriage. Or me—the Wicked Earl, as you don’t hesitate to tell me. Nor should we forget you.”

“Me?” Helena blinked. “I am neither scandalous nor an Arlingby.”

“On the contrary. As you constantly remind me, you are a woman with a disreputable past, and you are currently involved in a torrid affair with a very scandalous man. Who has every intention that you too will be an Arlingby someday soon.”

“Don’t be nonsensical.” Helena attempted to move on to the next portrait, but Malcolm’s fingers closed around her wrist, holding her still.

“I have behaved in a completely respectable manner for the better part of an hour,” he said softly. “Surely you cannot ask more of me than that. Earlier we discussed my very base desire for you. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it at bay.”

Helena gazed at him, flustered. “Here?”

Malcolm glanced around. “I can think of no better place. The servants never come in here except once a week to dust, and Del is not only in the village, but has made it quite clear he has no idea that this room exists. Also, the setting is lovely, though not as lovely as you.”

He pulled her close against him, and she could feel he was already growing hard. The warmth of his breath trailed along her neck, and she felt the now almost familiar molten heat of desire trail down her spine. He dropped his head to the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder, and bit gently at it. Helena shivered in pleasure, and unconsciously arched her neck to give him better access. Malcolm didn’t wait for more encouragement, but nipped and licked his way up the side of her throat, even as he allowed one hand to slip down her back and onto her bottom to press her against the now very firm bulge in his breeches.

Without thinking, she hitched herself up against him, as Malcolm’s wandering hand almost imperceptibly, but excitingly, traced the line between her buttocks. He laughed a little at her eager response.

“I think your desire for me may be just as base as mine for you, my darling,” he said. “It’s just far more difficult for you to admit it.”

Helena didn’t respond, except to raise her head and bite him, none too gently, on the chin.

“Do I get to take a bite out of you in return?” he asked. “This seems appropriate,” he continued, as he took her lower lip between his teeth and nipped it just hard enough to send a shot of desire through her, causing a pulse to start beating between her legs.

By now Malcolm’s skillful hands had wandered to her waist, and he was sliding them up her ribs so that his thumbs could press on the undersides of her breasts, making her nipples to rub against the fabric of her corset in a most distracting way, even as the warmth of his hands cupped them. He lowered his head and pushed her bodice and top of her corset down with one hand, exposing the firm pink tips of her breasts.

When he took one in his mouth to suck and bite gently at it, Helena moaned her pleasure. Her head fell back a little, and her eyes suddenly took in the Arlingby ancestors watching as their descendant disrobed her before them.

“Wait!” she exclaimed.

Malcolm lifted his head, and looked at her incredulously. “Wait for what? I’ve been waiting far too long already.”

“The portraits are watching us,” Helena said, gesturing at the rows of Arlingbys hanging above them, their eyes seemingly gazing down at the pair below. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not at all, and I don’t think it bothers them either. Probably the most fun they have had in decades,” Malcolm answered insouciantly. His gaze returned to her, his desire evident in his eyes, and he pulled the tapes open at the back of her dress, letting her bodice fall altogether, and unlacing the corset below to let it slide down her ribs, leaving the moist tips of her breast to glisten in the sunbeams that slid through the windows.

“Indeed not,” he continued, clearly further aroused by the sight. He eyed a chair a few feet behind Helena and navigated her towards it, urging her to sit on its arm. He knelt before her and lifted her skirt, spreading her knees as he did so.

“Use your arms to brace yourself, my sweet,” he said, and slid his hands up her calves past her garters to the soft skin of her thighs. “Wider,” he whispered, as she hesitated, reluctant to expose herself to him so brazenly. He pressed gently, and she spread her thighs slowly; the cool air on her heated skin feeling strange to her.

“Beautiful,” Malcolm breathed, as he blew against the curls that nestled there, then used his fingers to part them, only to blow once again on the moist pink flesh he had revealed. Helena trembled, and then quivered as he tenderly slid a finger into her to rub a particularly sensitive spot. She heard Malcolm chuckle slightly, as a second digit joined the first. He spread his fingers slightly, and then slipped them out very slowly. Helena gasped, and tried to squirm, only to realize that on the narrow arm of the chair, she couldn’t move; Malcolm was in front of her, and if she moved backwards, she would lose her balance and fall into the chair. She stiffened her arms, and struggled to remain still under his sensual assault.

As she did, Malcolm leaned forward, and touched her tender folds with his tongue, causing Helena to once again nearly lose her balance as heated sensations shot through her body, and she pressed her thighs closer together.

“Open to me, sweetheart,” he quietly ordered, tenderly pressing her legs open again. When she slowly relaxed her thighs, he smiled up at her reassuringly, and then placed his mouth on her, licking skillfully over her slick folds, pausing to flick his tongue against the engorged bud he found there, wringing a muffled cry of astonishment from her. As he continued to lave her wet heat, he stroked her thighs, his hands moving slowly upwards, spreading her further, urging her onward. Eventually he reached his goal, and he pressed both thumbs inside her as he sucked and tongued her clitoris. Helena could take no more and she cried out as an ecstatic release gripped her. Malcolm raised his head to enjoy the sight of her in the hold of the shattering pleasure. When she slowly opened her eyes, gasping, she saw him still kneeling, watching her avidly.

She sighed and said, “That was, that was…” her voice trailed off a she failed to find a word to describe what she had just experienced.

Malcolm smiled at her a bit smugly. “So it seems, but there is more to come.”

He rose to his feet, and pulled her to hers, pausing to cup her tender breasts and lick and suck at her nipples, and then nip at her sensitive earlobes. Already overstimulated, Helena shivered, but she found the strength to pull at his coat with inexpert hands. Malcolm stopped her impatiently and hastily stripped it off, dropping it on the floor. His shirt followed after, and Helena splayed her hands across his chest, marveling at the warmth of his skin and the strength of the muscles under it.

“You’re altogether too beautiful,” she said, a shade petulantly. She leaned forward and licked one of his flat nipples, and he made an impatient sound. Hastily, he turned her to face the chair, and, standing close behind her so she could feel his erection pressing against her bottom, reached up to caress her breasts, rolling her already engorged and distended nipples between his fingers. Helena moaned deep in her throat.