A question lit Fletcher’s handsome features.
“Lord Galway accused me of stealing Cerise’s emerald pendant. After offering to allow me to work off the debt in hisbed, which I declined, he locked me in my room. He was going to turn me over to the authorities and have me imprisoned.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” she informed him. There would be other ways he could punish Galway if he chose. Later. “Kate, that’s Cerise’s maid, the one who I thought might be dismissed for theft, helped me escape. And while I was running from Galway, Vulture found me.
He’d been following you and saw us together in the garden.”
Pain filled his gaze, forcing him to look away. “My fault, isn’t it? Everything.” Fletcher swallowed down the rest of his wine and refilled his glass. “This isn’t at all terrible.” He held up his wine. “While prancing about pretending to be Roxboro, I learned to appreciate the taste of wine. I never drank enough to become foxed. Far too dangerous. But I enjoyed the flavor all the same.” He set down his glass. “You should hate me. For what I’ve done. What I am.”
“I do not,” Helen said lightly. “Quite the opposite.”
“You should,” he snapped back. “Youmust.”
“Well, I simply don’t,” Helen retorted. “I’ve tried. Especially when you were Roxboro and I thought you a morally corrupt duke. Not even when I knew you weren’t Roxboro—well, I still let you pleasure me,” she stumbled over the words. “I didn’t even hate you when Lark killed Mary right in front of me.” A tiny sound came from the back of her throat. “Which was honestly so terrible, I cast up my accounts. But you aren’t Lark or Vulture.” She lifted her chin to take him in.
“Don’t try to convince yourself I’m not as terrible as they are, because I am. I have slit throats, stolen a great deal of jewelry and in general done indecent and horrific things.”
“You aren’t Lark.”
Fletcher stood, a hard predatory glint to his eyes. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he whispered. “I am. Far worse than you can imagine.”
Helen’s entire being vibrated at his touch, the longing for Fletcher warming her far more than the fire. “Not so terrible, Fletcher Bean. You’ve barely laid a hand on me,” she goaded. “Lark would have—”
The light touch of his lips as his mouth ghosted along the edge of her neck, silenced Helen. Tongue tracing along the line of her collarbone, he said, “But.”
“But what?” Taking his hand Helen placed his palm over the mound of her breast. “I don’t care who or what you are, Fletcher. I still want you.” Helen’s lips trembled, remembering how frightened she’d been of Vulture and Lark. “You came for me, as I knew you would.”
Tonight might be all Helen would ever have of Fletcher, and she wanted all of him.
“I always will,” the words were thick. He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling Helen though they were both dirty and likely smelled worse than the streets outside no matter that they’d cleaned up as best they could. “So all things bein’ equal,” he purred in a dangerous tone. “You’d gladly come back to The Devil’s Acre with me. Live in that slum. Watch me run a brothel. Slit the occasional throat here and there.”
“I wasn’t aware Lark would allow you to return.”
“Oh, he’ll try to kill me on sight. But let’s pretend he won’t.”
If Helen took wagers, which she did not, hers would be that Lark wasn’t destined to survive terribly long, with or without a knife in Fletcher’s hand.
“Very well. I’d likely negotiate for,” a quiver shot through her as his teeth grazed the delicate skin beneath one ear. “Cheapside, possibly. Seemed welcoming despite my unfortunate brief time there. I would expect you to be amicable.”
He pulled at her skirts. “You mean as much, don’t you?”
“I do.” Her breath caught as he sucked at the lobe of her ear.
“Come to bed with me,” he growled.
“You won’t dissuade me.” Helen needed to tell him the truth now, before they twisted around each other. But in doing so, she doomed herself from his life. She was only a lady’s companion of uncertain parentage. And Fletcher, well he was not some thug from The Devil’s Acre.
A gasp left her as his tongue circled her ear.
“Fletcher,” she whispered.
“Mmm.” He undid the row of buttons at her back, mouth never leaving her skin, as big hands slowly drew the muslin over her shoulders. At the sight of only her chemise he said, “Pity. I was hoping to cut off your corset.”
“I was escaping Galway and thought it best to remain unencumbered.”
“Galway,” he growled.
