The Duelist's Seduction (11 page)

“Where is Mr. Fairfax?” Helen asked Mary.

Mary’s face darkened, her lips pursed into a thin line. “He’s in his study, down the hall past the library.” The way Mary said this made Helen’s stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Am I allowed to see him?” she asked quietly.

“I suppose. He gave me no instruction that he was not to be disturbed.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Helen kissed Mary’s cheek lightly and darted out of her room. She passed the tall grandfather clock in the hall on the way to Gareth’s study. It was nearly noon. Her slippered feet made no sound on the wood floor as she approached the open study door. A pair of masculine voices drifted down to her. Helen crept across the hallway to lean against the wall next to the door, eavesdropping.

“As always, you are right, Ambrose. I cannot marry her.” Gareth sighed heavily.

“I knew you would understand. Well, I must return to Bath, but come and find me when you have returned Miss Banks to her brother.”

Helen scrambled away from the doorway and ducked around the corner, avoiding Mr. Worthing as he passed by. When he was gone, Helen exhaled slowly, her body shaking as she absorbed the depth of Gareth’s words. He was sending her home. He didn’t want her. Well, if he was going to treat her that way, she wouldn’t stay here anyway. She squared her shoulders and walked into his study.

Gareth was sitting at his desk when she came in. He glanced up briefly, the look momentarily soft before it sharpened and cooled.

“Ahh Miss Banks, I’m glad you’re here.” His tone and manner were all wrong. He hadn’t called her
Helen
. A heavy stone hit the pit of her stomach, echoing hard and painful. She placed a hand on her abdomen as a wave of nausea hit her like a physical blow. His coldness was more cutting and crueler than anything she could have imagined. She wanted to say his name, remind him of what they had shared. But she knew it wouldn’t matter.

“My coach will take you home tomorrow morning. I will speak to Mary. She can arrange for your new clothes and other items to return to Bath with you.”

The world began to fade at the edges, and a sharp ringing clouded Helen’s ears. She had never been the sort of woman who fainted, but at the moment, she felt perilously close to it. She knew what he was going to do, but hearing him say it hurt like nothing before had in her entire life. Helen stumbled to a nearby chair and collapsed into it. Gareth started to come over to her, but she waved him away.

“Please, do not trouble yourself.” She managed a few deep, slow breaths, mastering herself. This should be no worse than the duel…but it was, because death would have ended her fear. Now, the panic and pain would subside into an aching despair once he sent her away. She wasn’t sure how long she sat slumped in the chair before she found the energy to move. Helen stood up and looked him in the eye. How right he’d been to say love was pain. Now she understood. To love was to hurt.

“Thank you, sir, for your kindness. But I shall not trouble you further. I will not take a thing from this house which I did not bring with me. Our arrangement was the settlement of my brother’s debt. I see that after last night, you feel I have paid that account in full.” She wanted to demand that he ready the coach now. She wanted to scream, to yell, but her heart was breaking. She could almost hear it shattering like glass on stone.

She loved him.
She loved Gareth Fairfax.
The cold-hearted duelist had seduced her. She’d lost her virginity, her heart, and her hope in only one day as a prisoner of his paradise. The sooner she left, the better. Time would be the only remedy available to heal her, and with a sinking feeling, she worried it wouldn’t be enough.

His eyes flashed with fire. “I insist you take the clothing. They would be of no use to me.”

Shame tore through her at his words. She lashed out. “Wouldn’t they?” Let him give his next woman her clothes. She couldn’t bear to feel the silks on her skin and think of him. No, she needed never to touch them ever again.

“Just what are you implying, Helen?” Her name on his lips only fanned the flames of her anger further.
Now
he would call her by her name? Her hands fisted at her sides as she fought to stay in control of her sudden flare of temper. It bit at her inside like a vicious dog.

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying,” she shot back.

His face was turning a dark red with anger. “I know you need more clothes, and I want you to take them!” he snapped.

“How dare you pity me? How dare you!” she shouted, her voice sharp with hurt and anger. Her entire body was shaking with rage.

“Pity?” He marched over to her, glowering at her, but confusion lit his eyes.

“What else could it be but pity? You’ve stolen the only thing I had left, my dignity. No man will touch me now. You’ve ruined me.” She was venomous, harsh, and cruel, but she had to protect herself. If there was one thing she’d learned in the past several months, it was that no one else would ever take care of her besides herself.

He made as though to grab her, but she jumped back and fled the room. Tears blurred her eyes as she ran down the hall and out into the gardens. She tripped over a low cut rose bush but caught herself before falling and hurried to the garden gate. Her left ankle stung and her skirts were torn from the thorns but she didn’t stop. The rain pelted her skin, cold and thick, as it started to soak through her clothes. Above her, the skies were lowering with heavy rain. The deep blue of the clouds was dark and ominous, a fair reflection of her ravaged soul. Her heart thundered against her breast as though trying in vain to escape the crushing despair of her body as she struggled through the archway. Again she was caught by the momentary spell of leaving Gareth’s world to enter the wild, untamed land beyond. A distant growl from the sky heralded a deepening of the storm, but she didn’t care.

Let it pour, let it drown me
.
I don’t care anymore…
It was a devastating truth for her to realize that the reason she drew breath existed no longer. How did one recover from such a shock to the heart and soul? The chill of the water on her skin was icy, and a shudder racked her as she forced herself to keep moving.

“Helen!” Gareth was at the door of the house, calling after her.

She darted into the meadow. Her gown hung heavy as the hemline absorbed the water from the high grass. The thick blades whipped and stung her skin through the waterlogged gown that clung to her shins. She paused only a second to get her bearings. The sloping hills were a pale gold brown with the heavy rain and dark gray clouds hung low in the sky.

“Helen, wait!” Gareth shouted again. He was closer, but she didn’t look back.

She started running, pulling her gown up above her knees as she tore through the grass. Thunder rumbled, the earth vibrating with its fury. She was halfway through the meadow when Gareth caught up with her. He lunged for her, catching her at an awkward angle, and they both fell. He rolled, taking the brunt of the fall as they went down before he moved and put her beneath him. Helen was trapped, his arms and legs pinning her down. His face was dark with his fury, his brown eyes shadowed with desperation.

“Let go of me!” She strained to hit him.

“No.” His tone was hard, edged with desperation.

She felt his hard length against the wet fabric of her gown, and even in her anger, she still wanted him. Helen freed one arm and tried to hit him again, he caught her wrist and trapped it at her side. The cold, wet grass shifted beneath her as he moved fully on top of her. His free hand dug at her gown, pushing it up. She squirmed, her legs trying to kick out, but his knees forced her legs apart.

“Don’t you dare!” She clawed at his chest, but he wasn’t going to stop. His mouth sought hers, but she turned her head away in defiance. If he kissed her, she’d give in and make love to him. His lips fell to her neck, rough and hot as he sucked on her skin. She felt his hands bunching up her petticoats.

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop,” he growled.

“I…” she weakened beneath him, wanting him no matter how furious she was with him.

Gareth rubbed his hips against hers, and with one hand, he loosened his trousers.

“Go on, Helen. Tell me what it is you really want,” he purred, freeing her trapped wrists.

She bit her lip so hard she drew blood and then started tearing at his clothes, desperate to get closer to him, to feel his hot skin on her own cold flesh.

“You. I want you,” she ground out.

Gareth didn’t wait a second longer, he pushed his way inside, taking her, claiming her, and she gloried in the soreness mingling with her aching desire.

Helen arched her back, taking him in deeper with a low moan, unable to prevent anything else. Her eyes burned with tears as she fought her feelings for him. How could she yearn to stay with him when she would never mean anything more to him than this? Yet she was determined to enjoy these last few minutes with him, feeling alive for the last time in a way she knew she’d never feel again.

The rain fell harder and harder, the thundering skies responding to Gareth’s savage possession of her. As her body quaked in reaction to him, she stopped caring that he was using her. She would use him back. She turned her head, her one free hand catching his chin and pulling his mouth to hers. He grunted against her lips, adjusting himself as he thrust even harder into her. Their bodies moved together in a frantic symphony of sighs, sliding limbs, and whispered words of encouragement. One of his hands slid down to her bare thigh, slick with rain. His fingers dug into her skin as he pulled her leg tighter against his hip. Their heavy breaths and harsh grinding merged as they climaxed.

Gareth gasped loudly as he came inside her. She continued to move beneath him, taking her pleasure for a moment longer before her body shuddered along with his. He kept her trapped beneath him. She would not escape again, not yet. Her head fell back into the grass, wet strands of her gold hair spilling out around her. Her breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing. Gareth saw the two tempting peaks beneath the wet gown and nearly came a second time, wishing he could see them as he had last night. He rocked back slowly, still fully inside her.

A flicker of guilt shot through him. He shouldn’t have done this—not so soon and not after he’d resolved to send her away. Finally, he forced himself to pull out, rolling over onto the grass next to her as he fixed his trousers. Her creamy white legs shook, raindrops coating her bared limbs. A few small scrapes marred one of her ankles.

“You’re hurt,” he murmured, reaching for her ankle. He wanted to cuddle her into his lap and carry her back to the safety of his bed where he could tend to her cuts.

“I’m fine.” She jerked out of his hold, refusing to glance his way.

He watched as she tried to fix her torn petticoats and pull her gown down. She sat up, her entire body vibrating as her eyes looked straight ahead at the sloping hills in the distance.

She wiped tears and raindrops from her cheeks. Her face, once so open and easy to read, closed up like a castle’s portcullis dropping down, the heavy iron sinking deep into the soil, sealing him outside forever. The passion they’d recaptured was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was losing her—truly losing her—and it scared him out of his mind. With Clarissa, God had taken her. But Helen was leaving because he was a damned coward and a fool.

Without looking at him, she stood up, wobbling once before she spoke.

“I will be gone from here as soon as Mary can have the coach ready. Do not attempt to stop me.” Her last words were cold and firm. He did not want to know where she could find such coldness within herself. He hadn’t thought her capable of it. Maybe his mercenary treatment had put it there. By sending her away, doing what was best for her, he had turned her cold, just like himself. The thought left a bitter sting in his mouth.

Gareth didn’t respond. He let her walk away, but his eyes followed her hungrily, desperately memorizing the curves of her breasts and hips, so clearly outlined by her drenched gown. He bowed his head as he forced his thoughts elsewhere to ease the pang of his breaking heart and the renewed lust in his groin. There was no crueler torture than loving and wanting a woman he could not have. He dared not get up until she was well out of sight, back in the safety of the gardens, so he would not be tempted to make love to her again. By the time he made it back to the house, he saw not a single servant except Mary. The moment he stepped inside to escape the rain, she was there, glaring at him.