“No, that isn’t—” The last word left on a high octave as Fletcher sank into her with a grunt. “Oh my.” Helen was stretched to an alarming degree, the fullness making her ache.
“Yes,” he groaned against her back. “My beautiful Helen. My ferocious gnat.” He pulled back and thrust once more, this time harder. “I promise to always keep you safe, from this moment forward.”
A moan left Helen as she pushed her hips back to meet each thrust. “No more stealing,” she panted out.
“No promises.” He slowed, one hand pressing along her slit, caressing the small bud.
“I’m going to faint,” she whimpered. “It’s too much.”
“It isn’t.” He nibbled along her shoulder, thrusting and teasing.
There was no more talking after that, only Helen screaming out her pleasure, pushed over the edge by the feel of his teeth sinking into her shoulder. His pace picked up, nearly forcing Helen across the mattress until her head dangled off the bed, fingers twisting in her hair, until a low, rumble choked out of him, along with a spill of warmth.
Helen closed her eyes, content and at peace for the first time in her life. Home, she thought sleepily, wasn’t a place. It was a person.
It doesn’t matter who you are. You are my home. And I love you.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Helen lay onher side, Fletcher curled around her smaller form, listening to sound of his own heart beating only for her.
He was madly,inescapablyin love with Helen Cosgrove and would remain so until the day he breathed his last. Letting her go, though by all accounts he should, was no longer an option.
Damn.
Dawn broke over the rookery turning the dirty, sooty buildings to pink and gold, making them almost beautiful. He stared out the window as Helen stirred, already calculating the best route to leave the city without being seen. He’d hire a private carriage, perhaps. Fletcher still had the bag of coins he’d taken from Ripps. It would be enough to get them to St. Oysth.
“We must leave,” he murmured into her hair. “Annie’s charity will soon expire. Will you come with me, Helen?”
“Yes,” she answered with no hesitation.
“I have a piece of property. Close to the ocean, or at least, close enough you can taste the salt in the air. A bit remote.” He made a sound. “At least, I believe it to be. Bought it sight unseen. Needs a great deal of renovation. But I’ve ample funds.”
“Is that why you asked me about color schemes?” She twisted to look at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? So we aren’t going to live in Cheapside?” she teased.
“No,” he laughed softly. “I planned to leave The Devil’s Acre long before I met you. Never wanted that life. I have anotheridentity. A fairly enormous pile of gold in the Bank of England, thanks to Roxboro. Enough to keep you in underthings. Care to live in the country with me?”
Helen’s eyes widened. She nibbled on her lower lip. “There’s something,” she rolled out of bed and went to her dress laying crumpled on the floor. “I need to tell you.”
Fletcher felt the physical punch to his heart. She’d changed her mind. Bedding a killer and thief was one thing, he supposed spending your life with one, another. “Helen.” He reached for her. “We’ll have a good life. I promise you.”
“You might change your mind, Fletcher.” Helen pulled out the letter she’d scooped up in the boarding house. “I should have given this to you sooner, but what with running for our lives and such I—well, I didn’t.” She paused and held the letter to her chest. “It changes nothing for me, Fletcher. But it might for you. I love you with my whole heart no matter who you are.” The paper dangled from her fingers. “I found this in Mary’s hand after Lark…well, I think she meant to give it to him but didn’t have the chance.”
Fletcher sat up looking at the familiar scrawl.
My darling Freckle,
“Probably no more than instructions on how to run The Swan, which I’ve no intention of doing,” he said, even as a chill tickled his spine. Delores Bean wasn’t fond of writing notes.
Calmly, she picked up her chemise and pulled it over her shoulders, hiding all her lovely parts from him. “Please, read it. Now. I must insist.”
Fletcher took a shuddering breath as he scanned the words.
You aren’t mine. Nor Hannah’s, mostly because she didn’t exist, but you guessed as much. Time I told you the truth. Sorry I didn’t before. Your Mam were the Duchess of Roxboro. Your father the duke who was slaughtered outside Parliament.You look like the Roxboro because you’re brothers. The duchess came to The Swan, bleeding something fierce about to give birth. As you know, I don’t give charity lightly, Freckle. But I did for that poor woman.
“Christ.” He put a palm to his forehead. “Blunt as always.”
Helen came to the bed and sat beside him.
