William lingered by the folly, feigning interest in the construction. None of the other guests noticed his distraction, they were preoccupied, and the state of Lady Fairfax’s ill health had already become a topic of speculation. Only when he was satisfied did he make his way back to the house, keeping a respectful distance.
Helena did not return to the party, and her absence went unnoticed. Even the hostess, recalling it later, could not remember the last time she had seen her. By the time William saw Helena again her carriage departing.
He did not hesitate. He strode to the stables, chose the fastest horse without regard for protocol, and set off at a canter along the road that cut through the lower meadow. The air was rich with the earthy aroma of spring. He allowed himself only a moment to appreciate it.
He knew, without knowing how, exactly where she would go.
The folly lay two miles from the house, nestled among ancient yew and ash that funneled the last of the light into a single beam. Its stones were older than the estate, quarried from a ruin that had endured plague and siege, then whimsically rebuilt by some ancestor of Lord Pembroke. William dismounted at the edge of the trees, tethering his mount to an oak with slightly trembling hands.
The folly’s entrance was an archway draped in ivy, the interior lit by sunlight filtering through a moss-covered window. The air inside was ten degrees colder, the flagstones slick underfoot. Helena stood at the far end, her back to the door, gloved hands braced against the lintel. The red of her dress stood out against the muted green.
She did not turn at the sound of his footsteps, nor when he closed the distance to stand just behind her. He could see her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck.
“You took your time,” she said, her tone flat.
He placed his hand at her waist, above the sash, and felt her tremor. “I did not want to be followed.”
“You won’t be.” She exhaled, the sound reverberating off the stone. “They are to absorbed in themselves.”
He pressed his lips to the spot behind her ear, inhaling her clean scent with a hint of gin or tonic. She tilted her head, exposing more of her throat. He suckled just hard enough not to mark her, and she hissed in approval.
“Did you think I would not come?” he asked, his voice vibrating against her skin.
She turned, slow and deliberate, allowing his hands to settle at the small of her back, drawing her in. “I knew you would. You can’t leave well enough alone.”
He laughed, a sound that startled them both. “Is that what passed between us? Well enough?”
She did not answer, but her fingers closed around his lapel, pulling him down until their mouths collided, open and eager. There was no prelude. She took his lower lip between her teeth, biting before sucking the sting away. He groaned, one hand already in her hair, urgently undoing the pins. Dark strands tumbled across her shoulders.
William pressed her against the wall, his body firm, her spine curving to meet him. She exhaled a soft moan as his teeth grazed the skin of her throat and jaw. His hands slipped behind her, finding the buttons of her gown and teasing them free. In the back of his mind, he knew this was reckless, but every racing heartbeat thrilled him.
With deliberate slowness, he tugged her dress free. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent. “No one must hear.”
She looked up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.
William removed his gloves with precision before he let them drop. His bare hands, warm, traced the curve of her collarbone, stirring a shiver through her.
She leaned in. “William…”
“I want you,” he whispered, brushing a stray curl from her face, his gaze intense. “These past days have been torture.”
She shrugged off her stays, revealing the sheer white chamise clinging to her. William slid his hands inside the fabric, pressing into the warmth of her ribs and finding her breasts. She arched toward him, capturing his hands as her sigh brushed against his skin.
They sank together to the cold flagstones, dust swirling at their elbows. Her gown spread beneath them. William straddled her thighs, his hips pressing into hers, and she gasped, arching for him. He fumbled with the ribbons of her chamise until she reached up, her deft fingers freeing herself. Then she guided his hand to the heat between her thighs.
He paused to take in the sight of her desire, heart pounding. She laughed, a low sound, and rocked against his palm. “You promised,” she whispered, every breath a confession.
Driven by instinct, he found the slit in her damp folds and slid two fingers inside, curling them to meet her need. Her back arched, muscles trembling around him, and he bent forward to kiss the hollow of her throat, savoring her.
She reached for him, unfastening his trousers with swift, confident movements. He was already hard, and she guided him to her entrance with the firm insistence of a woman who demanded release.
“How,” she murmured, and he obliged, entering her in one slow thrust that stole her breath. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, a soft cry escaping her lips.
Their bodies moved together, urgent and tender, every thrust responding to a question neither dared to voice. The stone beneath them was unyielding, but they hardly noticed as the slick press of flesh, the tight grip of limbs, and the whispered sound of his name filled the air.
William slowed, enjoying the friction, leaning close to kiss her in a way that was both fierce and gentle. She responded, her sighs marking his deliberate strokes.
“Look at me,” she commanded softly. Their eyes met, and in her gaze, he saw a bright, reckless promise he wanted to keep. “Say my name.”
