and he answered her with a small thrust of his own, and Helena understood.
Now her kisses fell off, and she turned her head to the side. “Yes,” she said, and he growled.
“Truly?” he gasped, and she repeated the word.
“Yes.” Not an answer, an affirmation.
Declan made a vague sound of praise and relief combined. He resumed kissing her, really kissing her, and rocking into her.
Helena gasped at the pounding, pressing shock of it all, but then she laughed, delighted—this was so lovely—and she kissed him back, meeting him thrust for thrust.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her knees, first to his haunches. He reached back and took one ankle, showing her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Declan rolled them, flipping her on top, and then rolled them again, driving into her when she landed on the bottom again.
“More,” she huffed, and he flipped them again, rolling and rolling, tangling the fabric, fusing himself to her.
Her climax took her by surprise. One moment she was kissing him, pressing against him, and the next she thought, Wait, wait, wait, I will—
But she couldn’t say what she would, because she didn’t know—but then she did. Her world imploded from the junction of their bodies, pleasure radiating like a star, like a thousand stars, through every limb, shimmering and buzzing. She felt it under her skin, inside her belly, up her spine. She even felt it in her toenails.
She cried out and Declan matched her cry, pumping into her once more, twice more, and then collapsing on her with a groan.
For a moment they lay there, hovering somewhere between the soft fabric beneath them and the transcendental realm of glowing, pulsing pleasure mingled with pure, selfless love.
Finally, Declan raised up. “Are you well?”
She nodded.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Have I pounded the voice from your lips?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and she turned her head away. Without warning, tears filled her eyes. “Please do not go back to prison,” she whispered.
He sighed wearily. “We shall make every effort.”
She nodded. “Considering the threat of it, I can’t believe we waited so long to do this.”
“Liked that, did you, my lady?”
Another nod.
He moaned and kissed her neck. “Do you know when I found it most challenging to keep my control? Around you?”
She shook her head. “The masquerade?”
“No.”
“The wet carriage after Lady Canning's?”
“No. My God, I’d only just met you. At that point I was blaming our attraction on prison.”
She laughed. “It was Madame Layfette’s?”
He nodded. “There was something about our coming together to make the plan happen. I’d just managed to admit that I was a mercenary. And then seeing you in that . . . in that—”
“You know I can likely bring that negligee back—”
“Nothing intended for Lusk,” he said. “Please. Only you. I want only you.”
“And you shall have me,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “One of the girls will work out. Lusk will throw me over. We will go home to the forest.”
Declan buried his face in her hair and breathed in, flipping them over again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Titus Girdleston celebrated his birthday, Declan thought, like a five-year-old girl.
The room swelled with pastel bunting, streamers, and pink roses. In December. Attendees were expected to bring a gift; each of which, according to Helena, he would open while they watched.
The guests included friends, business associates, political allies, and all hangers-on to the Lusk dukedom by blood or marriage. Luckily, this meant that Helena had been free to invite her three potential duchesses.
Declan had kept away on Sunday, the day after their (God help him) wedding and the night in his father’s shop. He’d left a note before they’d left Savile Row, tidied the shop as best he could, and returned Helena to her bedroom just before sunrise.
Two hours later, all grooms were expected to help the footmen set up for the birthday.
He saw Helena only in passing. He’d expected the encounters to be intense or steeped in longing, but he felt very much the way he’d felt every time he’d seen her within Lusk House.
There she walks, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Is she safe?
Is she comfortable?
When will I see her again?
The sameness of it, by no means insignificant, caused him to realize how very long he’d been in love with her. Being married did not change the strength of his love, but their shared secret did drive his anxiety to new heights. Their love should feel safe and accepted; instead, he scribbled down contingency plans and escape strategies, he