Her entire body rippled.
“Please,” Helen stammered. Was she begging him to stop? Continue? Difficult to tell with him pressing his tongue lazily along her slit.
Big hands reached beneath her, pushing her thighs further apart. “I’ve only the one kiss, Helen. I must make it count.”
She writhed beneath him, moaning softly as he carefully explored, nipping softly in places, but steadfastly ignoring the small bud that ached in her center. The more he avoided the area, the worse the blissful pressure inside her increased. She’d seen Owen climax and knew it was the pinnacle of sexual relations though she’d never—not with Owen. Nor during her own clumsy attempts at pleasure. Owen said she lacked passion.
All it takes is a skilled thief.
A sob of pure pleasure came from deep in her throat. Then another. She nearly moaned out “Roxboro,” but he wasn’t Roxboro.
I don’t even know his name.
He breathed against skin, trailing his tongue, teeth grazing over her sensitive flesh.
Threading her fingers through his hair, Helen tugged and a low, soft masculine sound came from him. Every sensation heightened until her entire midsection twisted, tightening with every slash of his tongue. Helen hovered, somewhere between pleasure and pain, kept in place by his mouth, wanting…more.
If they threw her into prison with him, it would be worth it.
“Do you want your kiss now, Helen?” His breath was warm. “If you’d rather I didn’t….” The words trailed away.
My God.Helen felt pulled so taut, she might well rip apart. She pounded a fist on his shoulder. “Damn you. Yes. I want your kiss.”
“I adore vulgarity, especially in you given your primness. Feel free to curse at me further.” Then his mouth descended, bestowing the most carnal, erotic kiss to herquim, that Helen could possibly imagine. A quiver shot through her limbs, hips arching to get closer to the press of his tongue.
The air in her lungs went still for only a moment as he pushed Helen over the edge. Gently, he placed one hand over her mouth, stifling the scream as she found her pleasure.
Finally.
Chapter Eighteen
Helen stared upat the sky, body sated, mind blank, watching the clouds drift above her head. A bird fluttered from the tree to the left, just as his palm slipped from her mouth.
Slowly, he worked his way up Helen’s body, pressing openmouthed kisses to her skin through the muslin of her dress. Laying half atop her, he took great care not to crush her with his weight.
Just a few more moments.
The guilt returned, but for far different reasons.
He made no attempt to move away, instead he tossed one leg possessively over Helen and held against his body. Helen could feel the length of him, hard like a piece of marble against her thigh, but he did nothing more.
And even if he did, Helen wouldn’t refuse.
This was a particular sort of madness, lying with a man, having him pleasure you, all the while knowing his secrets, at least, the most important one. That he was not the Duke of Roxboro, but an imposter. A skilled thief. But he was also the only man who had everseenHelen, not the lady’s companion or poor relation. She didn’t want to betray him. But there was Kate’s life to consider, and Helen could afford to make an enemy of the Duchess of Roxboro.
“One kiss, as I promised.” He wasn’t even bothering to hide his common speech now. Or maybe he’d forgotten to put on hisupper-class accent. She supposed it no longer mattered, at any rate.
Her hands ran through his hair and along his cheek, tipping up his chin. She took in the freckle on the end of his wonderfully aristocratic nose, set between those unusual gray green eyes. Not quite the emerald green of the grass. Or the damned pendant.
“I hadn’t thought to see you again. Possibly we could arrange—” she started, determined to see this through, for Kate’s sake if no one else.
“If I have my way, you will see me every day.”
Helen gnawed a bit on her lip, which didn’t ease her remorse at lying to him. Not outwardly, no this was far worse. Dishonestly was something she despised, having endured so much of it in her life. Maybe she could convince him to meet with Roxboro of his own accord. The duchess had promised they only wished to speak to him.
I need to tell him I know.
“There are matters,” Helen said into the quiet of the garden. “That should be discussed.”
