Chapter 4

The cottage was small and quaint, with a well-maintained gabled thatched roof. The small oak front door opened into a narrow hallway that was sparsely decorated. After they had entered the cottage, Helen followed Lord Huntingdon through another dark oak door into what had once been a small parlour. Instead of containing furniture, one associated with a lived-in parlour, the room contained an artist's painting equipment.

Helen walked over to one of the paintings propped up on an easel by a compact bow window. It was a view of the cliffs where she had just been standing. Even though the picture was unfinished, the talented artist had already captured the wildness of the bleak landscape.

'My mother,' Lord Huntingdon said as he crossed the room to the fireplace, 'she comes here to paint. Not many people know of her extraordinary talent.'

Helen, despite beginning to shiver because of the wet clothes she was still wearing, was captivated by the scene and could not look away. It was evident, from the masterly placed strokes of paint on the large canvas, that the artist had understood the power of the natural world.

'It's beautiful,' was all she could manage to say as she continued to stare at the stark grey sky that the painter had created.

'She started painting soon after her marriage to my father,' Lord Huntingdon said as he took off his greatcoat and began to kneel by the fireplace. 'It was her escape from the world around her.'

She had not developed any affection for Lady Huntingdon. In fact, Helen had found her attitude both rude and condescending. Lady Huntingdon was a social elitist and seemed to only care about those who were on a similar standing in society as her and her family. However, as she continued to look at the painting, Helen was discovering a different side to her. Behind the cold and brusque manner, she adopted with those she thought were beneath her, she had demonstrated an understanding of the complexity of the world around her.

It was common knowledge that the previous Lord Huntingdon, her husband, was a libertine who had not altered his lifestyle when he had married. Helen knew only too well the shame and humiliation associated with an unfaithful spouse, who cared for only themselves.

As Helen continued to look at the painting, she felt Ralph stand behind her and rest his hands on the top of her arms. The warmth of his hands made Helen aware of how cold she was feeling. He turned her around so that she was facing him and looking into his grey eyes. Helen was above average height, and he was only a few inches taller than her. As she continued to look into his eyes, she felt that strong attraction to him that she had felt at the cliff.

The warmth of the fire, now crackling in the grate, began to spread throughout the room. But the warmth had yet to penetrate the cold, wet wool dress that Helen was still wearing, and her teeth began to chatter.

'You're cold and wet,' Ralph said with concern, 'if you stay in those wet clothes, you will catch your death. I suggest you take them off and then I will put them next to the fire to dry. Behind the screen, my mother keeps some overalls to protect her clothes when she paints, you could wear them until we are ready to leave.'

Helen went behind the screen and with difficultly peeled off her wet dress. She also removed her damp chemise that clung to her body like a second skin. She picked up an overall and wrapped it around her cold, damp skin and then ran her fingers through her wet hair. She was a lot taller than Lady Huntingdon and the overall reached to just below her knees.

When she had tied the sash loosely around her waist, she came back into the parlour and laid out her clothes in front of the fire. When she had finished, she looked over to Lord Huntingdon. He was sitting on a chair by the fire, trying to remove his riding boots. 'Let me do that for you,' Helen said as she walked over to him.

'That really will not be necessary,' he said through gritted teeth, as he strained to remove one of his boots, 'I am quite capable of removing my own boots.'

She kneeled in front of him and placed her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. 'I was the wife of an officer for many years, and I am an expert at removing tight-fitting boots even if they are wet and covered in mud.'

His grim expression vanished, and he then nodded his consent with a look of resignation in his eyes.

'I told you it would not take long,' she said after she had removed the second boot and wiped her hands. Helen then stood up and placed the boots next to hers by the fire.

He was about to get up and offer her the chair, but Helen shook her head. 'I am quite content to sit on a cushion on the floor. It is closer to the fire.'

Helen placed the cushion near his feet, and she sat down in front of him and leant her back against his legs. They sat for several minutes in companionable silence, both enjoying the warm, comforting orange glow from the fire.

'Have some of this,' he said, breaking the silence, as he passed her a small canteen.

She took a sip of the warming brandy and enjoyed the fiery sensation as it trickled down her throat. 'Thank you,' she said as she handed the canteen back to him. Helen leant her head back and laid her cheek on his thigh. She closed her eyes and listened to the hypnotic crackle of the fire, as the damp wood popped and hissed as it caught alight.

'Why were you standing so close to the cliff?' he eventually said, his voice so soft, she scarcely heard him.

Helen looked down at her hands that were resting in her lap. As she studied them, she could feel the prickle of tears begin to sting the corner of her eyes. 'I wanted to feel alive,' she said in a whisper. She turned around and looked at him, 'I wanted to feel something in here.' She placed her right hand on her chest where her heart was located and held it there. 'It's been so long since I've felt anything,' she said, still looking up at him. 'When I stood on the cliff's edge, I felt alive. A part of me that had been dead for some years sprang back to life.'

He leant forward and wiped a tear that had fallen down her cheek away with his thumb. 'I thought you were going to fall,' he said tenderly. There was no censure in his voice, only compassion.

'I know that it sounds foolish, but I heard the sea call my name,' she said, looking into his grey eyes. 'At that moment, I thought that falling would be the answer.'

'The answer to what?' he said after she stalled.

His fingers began to delicately trace the outline of her cheek, and she leant her head against his hand.

'To everything,' Helen said bleakly. How could she explain to him everything that had compelled her to stand on the cliff's edge and contemplate ending the dreadful loneliness she felt?

He took her hand that was still clasped to her chest, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers tenderly.

'Kiss me again,' she said almost inaudibly, 'like you did at the cliffs.'

He bent down and grazed her lips with his. His touch was so light, it was barely perceptible, but she felt her body begin to respond to him both physically and emotionally.

She eased herself up from the floor and straddled his lap, resting both her hands on his shoulders. He made no protest when she traced the line of his jaw with her fingers. His hands went around her waist and then rested on the swell of her hips. She undid the sash around her waist and let the linen material slip off her shoulders. Her breathing quickened as his hands moved up her body towards the soft swell of her breasts. Pools of liquid warmth rippled through her as his fingers began to lightly fondle their peaks.

'Mrs Wakefield,' he said, his voice husky and full of passion. 'We should not...'

His hands moved away from her aching body, leaving Helen wanting more.

'Please, call me Helen,' she said, as she deftly started to undo his cravat.

He sat still as she removed the silk cravat from around his neck and deposited it onto the floor.

'Helen,' he said breathlessly, as she opened up his shirt and slid her fingers over his chest. 'We should not...'

She smothered his protest with a kiss. The need for that intense feeling of euphoria that accompanies the intimacy between a man and a woman had become overwhelming. She had felt the stirrings of her emotions on the cliff's edge, and now she wanted to temporarily give them free rein. When this was over, she would return them and go back to being the dull, plain companion of Lady Helford. But now, at this moment, she had to let them loose. She felt no guilt that she was using him. He was, after all, Lord Huntingdon; a man well-known for his reputation as a rake. Why should he have any qualms about making love to her? But, even now, with all the encouragement she had given him, she could still sense a reticence in him that she could not explain.

'Helen,' he said, as he broke the kiss.

She put her fingers onto his lips. 'Please, my lord,' she said softly. 'I want this. I want you. And, I know you want me as well,' she said coquettishly, as she traced a finger down his chest towards his waist.

She kissed him again. This time, she felt his surrender as his hands moved around her back and pulled her closer.

Ralph awoke and sighed contentedly, as he felt the warm, soft feminine body nestled next to him. After they had made love, he had put a blanket on the floor by the fire, and they had both laid down and fallen asleep in each other's arms. The combination of the warmth of the fire, and the aftereffects of their lovemaking, had relaxed every muscle in his body, sending him into a deep sleep.

It had been over a year since Ralph had last made love to a woman. At the end of last year's season, when he had made the decision that it was high time he got married, he had taken the decision to become celibate. He did not think it was in good taste to be actively looking for a wife while one had a mistress in one's employ. It was one of the reasons why he had been so disappointed in Lady Millicent's lukewarm response to his kisses. He did not want to be like his father and keep a string of mistresses when he got married. He believed in the sanctity of the marriage bed, and he did not want to destroy his wife's life like his father had devastated his mother's.

Over the years, he had been actively encouraging gossip concerning his rakish behaviour. Coupled with the fact that he had been rarely seen at ton events, this had discouraged any matchmaking mama's from pursuing him as a target for matrimony. However, in reality, he had never been as bad as the reputation he cultivated. It was true that he was no saint and up until this season, he had always had a mistress in his keeping. He had not visited a brothel since the first couple of years after inheriting the title. After the initial excitement of discovering the vices available to him as a rich, young titled gentleman, he soon tired of them. He had found these places to be seedy, and often riddled with disease.

However, less than an hour ago, he had done something he rarely did; he had let his body take control of his rational mind. His first mistake was taking her to the cottage with its cosy interior that made it an intimate setting perfect for seduction. He had only wanted to talk to her and find out why she had so nearly willingly fallen to her death. He should have just left her and returned to the house, but when they had kissed, he had felt a connection between them. He wanted to know what had driven her to be so reckless with her own life.

It had been a powerful aphrodisiac to see and feel her curled up by his feet, wearing nothing but a flimsy linen overall. He had felt an empathy for her when she had talked about the sea calling her name. After the death of his father, he had stood on the same spot and had felt its pull. He also understood the knawing loneliness she felt. He seemed to have everything; money, status and family, but in reality, he felt like he had very little that mattered. He lacked a contentment that both his brother and Tom had found in marriage. He had hoped that his own marriage to Lady Millicent would have gone some way to alleviate the feeling, but she had proved to be a big disappointment, and he was back to the beginning, starting his quest all over again.

When she had was straddled, naked on his lap, she had kissed him with an intense passion that had touched his soul, and he had been tempted to give in to his desire for her. He had even been able to resist her whiles when she had removed his cravat and opened his shirt. It was her tender touch on his chest as she asked him again that had undone his resolve. 'Please, my lord, I want this. And I know that you want me as well.' If there had been any hint of a plea in her voice, he would have resisted. But as she spoke, her voice, combined with her touch, was like liquid silk and it melted his reserve.

Their lovemaking had been swift, but there had been a wild urgency between them that had made their heated encounter intensely passionate and satisfying. He had felt there had been a connection between them, something uniquely different to anything he had experienced before. As the wind and rain lashed the cottage, they had experienced within its walls the same wild, frenzied, primal energy as the storm outside.

He heard her give a sleepy sigh and nuzzle closer.

'Helen,' he said softly, 'wake up.'

She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him. She looked so different from the pale, drawn woman he had seen last night in his drawing-room for the first time. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips red and swollen from his kisses. She looked beautiful as her head rested on his chest, with her body pressed up close against his. She moved her hand and affectionately fondled the hair on his chest.

She reached up and began to kiss him again. The kiss started tenderly, but it soon became heated with mutual desire. As Ralph felt his body respond to her teasing touch, he felt guilt slowly creep into his mind again. He had already broken his promise he had made to himself, and he knew that he could not do it again. Despite the intense pleasure she was bringing to his body, he knew that his rational mind had to take control of the situation.

He broke free of the kiss, disengaged himself from their intimate embrace and stood up. It was one of the hardest things Ralph had ever had to do, and it had required all his self-control.

Ralph found his discarded clothes and started to get dressed. After he had put on his breeches and shirt, he walked over to the bow window. He wanted to put a little distance between them. Being close to her would only be a temptation he knew his body would not be able to control. Once he had schooled his thoughts and had regained control of his wayward body, he turned and looked at her. She was sitting upright with her arms around her knees with the blanket loosely draped around her shoulders. There was a look of vulnerability about her that only compounded his guilt. He should have been stronger and resisted the temptation to make love to her. It was too late now, but he had to make amends for the weakness he had shown earlier.

'Mrs Wakefield,' he said, deciding to use her full name. Calling her Helen would only evoke an intimacy that he did not want to recall. 'I am sorry for my conduct earlier. It was quite unforgivable.'

She continued to stare at the fire. 'There is really nothing to forgive,' she replied, her voice devoid of emotion.

'Yes, there is,' he replied, his voice firm. 'I have dishonoured you.'

He saw her laugh gently as she continued to look at the burning embers.

There was only one way he could bring honour to her and readdress the problem he had helped create.

'I must make amends,' he said, as he stood almost to attention by the bow window, 'you must marry me.'

She turned around and looked at him with incredulity. 'Marry you?' she said theatrically. 'Whatever for?'

'I am not in the habit of debauching respectable ladies in my own home,' he said stiffly.

She laughed again, but to Ralph, it sounded false and brittle. She stood up, the blanket still loosely wrapped around her. She turned to face him, and he could see that her expression was hard. 'Let me disabuse you of your opinion of me. I am not respectable.'

'But...'

She put up her hand to interrupt him. 'You forget one thing. I seduced you.' Her voice was cold and seemed to Ralph to be devoid of any feeling.

She had seemed so genuine. When she had told him, at their first meeting at the cliff's edge, that she had wanted to feel again, he, like a fool, had believed her.

'But, Helen,' he could not help but use her given name again. I thought there was a connection between us.'

She laughed again, and the hollow sound sent a cold shiver down his spine.

'It was just sex,' she said nonchalantly, 'nothing more.'

'No, Helen, that is not true,' he said fiercely. He walked over to her and looked at her. He saw a flicker of pain in her eyes, but it quickly vanished and was replaced by a haughty expression.

He saw her slowly shake her head. 'No, my lord, it was lust that drove us, nothing more.'

She had changed. Gone was the vulnerability he had sensed in her earlier. It had been replaced by a hardness he had not detected in her before. How could someone's countenance change so quickly?

'It was pleasant,' she said casually, with a sigh, 'but I would not read anything more into the encounter than satisfying our own lusts. It was certainly a better way to spend my afternoon than having to listen to Lady Helford and her cronies, talk about their ailments or the latest on dits being discussed in fashionable drawing-rooms.'

Ralph was beginning to get angry, and he could feel his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands, as they clenched. How could he have been so deceived?