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“I assure you, Helena,” he whispered, touching the tip of his nose to hers, “there is nothing about your body that is laughable.”

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she sank into him. He could see everything in her eyes. The relief, the yearning, the intrepid anticipation that came with crossing the bridge from reality to fantasy.

“Hold your breath,” he rasped, caressing the back of her neck as he tilted her head upward, and he felt her cease moving immediately. He softly kissed one corner of her lips, then the other. He felt her tremble as his mouth traced teasingly over hers, her need flowing from her in waves as she held her breath.

“Now breathe,” he commanded, pulling away just enough so that the edges of their lips still met, “and kiss me.”

A whimper of desire wafted from her lips as she followed his command and pressed her lips hungrily onto his. Arousal burst like fire through his veins as he teased his chiseled lips against her heavenly soft ones, pressing and parting them so gently at first that she soon began to lean into him.

He allowed her to feel her own desire grow before pressing his own upon her. Without his guidance, she brought her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her.

“Very good, little Persephone,” he moaned between their deepening kisses, “very good.”

CHAPTER NINE

“You did so well during your first lesson,” he praised as he gently pulled his lips away from hers.

Helena relived the memory of the way his hands had tenderly untangled her arms from around his neck; the way he had helped her, while dazed and mystified, to rise to her feet.

Helena swayed and stumbled as she swept into a low curtsy before Lord Crawley.

To her relief he had completely missed her blunder, so consumed was he with sweeping into his own low bow while rambling off his introduction. Helena had no idea what he had said, her mind too engrossed in her thoughts, and prayed he had said no more than what Ambrose had already told her.

“It is a great pleasure to see you again, Lord Crawley,” she replied as they both rose to a standing position.

Lord Crawley’s pale blonde brows flew up in surprise.

“Apologies, my lady. Did you sayagain?” he asked, appearing genuinely confused.

Helena felt a twinge of disappointment, followed by a rustle of annoyance as she stood a little straighter.

“Yes,” she replied, forcing a smile. “We spoke at Lord and Lady Beaufort’s garden party, although it was admittedly brief.”

Lord Crawley’s mouth formed into a forced smile as his brows creased with the effort of recollection and forced his slightly handsome face into a distorted and unattractive caricature.

“You will have to forgive me, my lady,” he stammered awkwardly, bowing again. “I am unable to recall. Though, to be fair, my thirst at such parties has been known to steal my memory.”

He chuckled loudly and Helena’s disappointment grew.

“I beg your pardon, Crawley, but you will be more careful in how you share your truths with my sister,” Ambrose stated, stepping up beside Helena.

She groaned inwardly. How had she forgotten that both he andBarbara were present to chaperone her many appointments today? Morgan. That was how. After two days of being consumed with how he made her body feel, she was acting as witlessly as a simpleton. Her concentration was poor, and her manners scant at best.

Since the night she had kissed Morgan, a constant deep, warm and heavy ache had taken up residence in her lower abdomen and coursed throughout her body.

Shehad kissed Morgan. He had initiated it, but had let her keep a tight hold upon the reins of her own desire and had allowed her to explore the pleasure it had created within her at her leisure. Time had come to a stop, and without even realizing it, her undulating body had melted into Morgan’s, her breaths coming out in whimpers, until he had stopped her by pulling his lips away from hers.

He had carefully unwound her body from his and had sent her home in one of his unmarked carriages, as though he was completely blind to the fact that he had set her entire body on fire.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Crawley stammered as Helena blinked herself back to the present.

Before he could continue, Gerald, one of the footmen, appeared in the doorway.

“Forgive me, Your Graces, but Lord Raventhorn has arrived,” he stated politely.

“Perfect timing,” Ambrose snapped, sweeping an arm towards the door. “Off you go, Crawley. You and I will discuss this later.”

Crawley scurried off without so much as a bow or another apology.