The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(55)

He’d no right to her secrets. But he wanted them all the same.

“Come, your lesson, then,” he urged gruffly, and without hesitation, she drew the door closed, and stepped into his arms.

“We’ll not bother with anything beyond a waltz,” he said quietly, angling her in his arms, and guiding her hand up to his sleeve. “This is most conducive.” He settled his hand on the small of her back, bringing her body closer. A hungering to cup her buttocks and drag her closer filled him.

“Most conducive to what?” Her tremulous question hinted at her also weakening control.

Robert lowered his mouth to hers so only a hairsbreadth separated them. “Why, for touching you,” he breathed. Her lashes fluttered and he guided her into movement.

Her eyes shot open, and she stumbled against him.

“You enjoy mathematics,” he said matter-of-factly, and Helena stared unblinking at him, promptly missing another step. “Think of dancing in terms of your calculations. Concentrate on the numbers.” He hummed a discordant tone that earned another of her elusive smiles. “Pay attention,” he rebuked. “It is a one-two-three—one-two-three,” he murmured. “Remember all the beats of the waltz are equal.” He guided her back. “You start with the right foot and you go back on the first step with the right foot.” He dipped his brow to hers. “Then side with the left and close right foot to left.” Angling her body closer still, he led her through the rhythmic movements.

Cheeks flushed, Helena chewed at her lower lip, and missed a step.

“Concentrate,” he whispered. “Think of the numbers, Helena. Think of the steady one-two-three.” They continued through the first stilted, then gradually smooth, movements, as their bodies together found the rhythm. “One-two-three,” he murmured, waltzing her around the duchess’s prize rose bushes.

As the moments fell away, he moved his hand lower, to the small of her back, just above her buttocks, and her breath caught. “This is the touch,” he continued in low tones. “This is the one that any gentleman will see and know.”

Her lips parted as she drew in a shuddery breath. “Know what?”

“That you are mine.” In this game of pretend that suddenly felt all too real.

The back of Helena’s legs knocked against a stone bench, forcing them to a jerky stop. They stood, bodies flush, their chests rising and falling in a matched, heavy rhythm. Robert moved his hand up, folding his palm about her nape, and angled her head up.

Their lips met in a fiery explosion and on a low moan, Helena twined her fingers about his neck, meeting his kiss. He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, working his hands over her body, exploring the curve of her hips, and the small swells of her breasts.

He dragged his lips away from hers and she cried out, searching for his mouth, but Robert continued his quest. With his lips, he explored the long arch of her neck, sucking at the soft skin where her pulse pounded, and then lower. He quickly worked the fabric of her décolletage lower, and worshiped the satiny expanse of flesh with his lips. “So beautiful,” he whispered. How had he failed to see it before, this beauty that would make sailors flail themselves against the rocks at sea. Her legs weakened, and he collected her to him, cupping his hands about her buttocks and dragging her close to his jutting shaft.

“Robert,” she rasped, his name emerging as a keening moan. She parted her legs.

Sitting on the stone bench, Robert settled Helena on his lap, and worked his hand up her skirt. “I’ve hungered for this since I awakened in your bed,” he growled, hating that even now, he didn’t recall the moments they’d shared because of his drunken state that night. He again claimed her mouth and slid his tongue inside.

She boldly met that thrust and parry, matching the intensity of his kiss. His breath came heavily and he found the slick folds of her womanhood.

Robert swallowed her sharp cry with his mouth, and proceeded to work her with his fingers, toying with her nub, exploring her. He slid a finger inside her channel and she stiffened about him. Then, with a long, agonized groan, she grinded into him, thrusting rapidly against his palm with her body, urging him to finish her.

“Please,” she begged against his mouth, and that entreaty from this bold, commanding woman, drove him mad with desire. Increasing the pace of his strokes, he pressed the heel of his palm against the silky curls shielding her womanhood, and Helena’s body jerked. Then in a glorious display of sensual abandon, she tossed her head back and cried out, thrusting and gyrating, coming in long-rippling waves, and he rang every drop from her, until she collapsed against him, breathless and sweaty. Never more had he wished he were a rogue in the truest sense, because then this blasted sense of honor would not keep him from lying himself between her thighs and thrusting himself deep inside her hot, welcoming heat.

Robert folded his arms around her, holding her against his chest until his heart slowed to a normal cadence. As they silently stood, and he righted her garments, a sense of panic pulled at the corner of his senses. Not since Lucy Whitman had a woman held this pull over him. And if he were not careful, with her candidness and bold ways, Helena had the power to shatter those well-constructed defenses he’d built in years past.

Which would be folly, indeed, especially in a woman so determined to cloak herself in the shrouded mystery of her past.

Not for the first time, questions about Helena Banbury whispered around his mind.