She reached out, searching for Tristan, and she laid her palm on the center of his chest, relieved to feel his heart beating.

"Don't you dare die on me," she murmured. "Do you hear me, Tristan? Don't you dare die!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

James stood in front of a mirror in his bedchamber, observing carefully as he stuffed an ace up his sleeve, then drew it out again, but he kept fumbling the attempt. It was very late, and he'd had too much to drink so he couldn't make the card do what it ought.

Usually, he was adept at the fluid exercise, the card popping out at the appropriate moment, with no one at the table being any the wiser as to how it had arrived. A bungled effort could destroy a man's reputation, could get him beaten to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp, or shot in a duel, so he only used it in the most dire circ.u.mstances-such as when he'd bet an enormous amount, but wasn't holding the winning hand.

Dexterity was vital, as was a cool demeanor, so he practiced regularly, feeling free to utilize any means necessary to retrieve what had been stolen from his father. Yet because he was constantly thinking about Helen, he couldn't concentrate.

What had Helen learned on her visit to her sister? Was her sister all right? Was Helen still distressed over Nigel Stewart? Had she calmed?

The questions swirled through his head, and it was embarra.s.sing to be so preoccupied, especially when there was no reason to be distracted.

His obsession was completely out of control, and he had to rein it in. Yes, she was pretty and interesting, and he was physically attracted to her as he'd never been to another. But she was a servant-nothing more and nothing less-and when he couldn't focus on anything but her, it was time to make some changes.

Again, he tried to pull the card from his sleeve, and when it wouldn't glide out, he yanked it out, tore it in half, and threw it on the floor.

"d.a.m.n her," he muttered.

He walked over and poured himself another brandy-just what he didn't need-when he happened to glance toward the door. Like an apparition, Helen was there in the threshold, staring at him.

To his amazement, she was dressed for a tryst, her hair down and brushed out, and she was wearing a thin robe and naught else. The fabric was a silky green that hugged every curve of her lush torso and set off the color of her eyes, making them appear larger and more luminous.

At the notion that she'd come to him with dalliance in mind, his c.o.c.k sprang to attention. Like a hawk honing in on a rabbit, he studied her, delighted to know that an end was in sight to his lengthy wait.

He had no idea how long she'd been watching him, but it was clear that she'd seen plenty. She gaped at him, at the card on the floor, at him again. A charged silence ensued as she processed what she'd witnessed.

Finally, she stated the obvious. "You cheat when you gamble."

Since she'd caught him red-handed, he couldn't deny his behavior.

"If I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I refuse to lose to the men with whom I play." Another electric interval pa.s.sed, and he said, "You've discovered my deepest, darkest secret. Will you betray me? Will you tattle to others and ruin me?"

She gazed at him, her confusion evident, and ultimately, she shook her head.

"No, I never would."

Her a.s.surance altered something between them. It created a bond that no words or deeds could have produced.

He downed his drink, then went over to her and pulled her into his suite, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Since she'd returned from calling on her sister, they hadn't spoken, and as he a.s.sessed her, he decided the meeting must have been grueling. She looked anxious and alarmed, but he was so thrilled to see her that he was able to discount her upset.

He'd never been the type to wield his position like a sword, never the type to coerce a woman who didn't want to be seduced, but he couldn't continue on as he had been. He couldn't continue l.u.s.ting after her and never having his ardor a.s.suaged. It wasn't healthy to be so aroused for so long.

They had to be lovers. If they didn't hurry and start an affair, he wasn't certain what would become of him. He was positive that his infatuation was caused by the fact that they hadn't yet fornicated. After they copulated a few times, no doubt her allure would fade.

"You must be reading my mind," he told her. "I had to see you. I was about to come to your room."

"Were you?"

"Yes. I'm tired of ignoring the pa.s.sion that flares between us. I'm tired of you telling me no. It appears"-he scrutinized her scandalous outfit-"that you're tired of it, as well."

She was struggling to put on a brave front, and he wondered how she'd found the courage to approach him. For weeks, he'd been asking her to be his mistress, and she'd kept declining. Obviously, something had occurred to alter her opinion, and he didn't care what it was.

Like the worst sort of cad, he'd take what she was about to offer, and he'd never regret it.

"Why are you here?" he inquired, eager to hear from her own mouth that she was ready.

"My sister is in terrible trouble."

Her sister? He didn't give a b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.n about her sister.

"Is she?"

"Yes."

She held out a piece of paper, and he scanned the words.

"Harriet Stewart," he read. "She is your twin?"

"Yes. I talked to one of Mr. Struthers's maids. Harriet didn't steal anything."

James shrugged, too bent on fornication to pay attention to the plight of a person he'd never met.

"Struthers was trying to ravish her," Helen claimed, "but Harriet fought him off and fled."

"All right, Helen. I believe you. Your sister did nothing wrong. What has all this to do with me?"

"I'm begging you to help me find her, and when we do find her, I'm begging you to protect her from Bentley Struthers. If you will"-she took a deep breath, looking as if she was about to leap off a cliff-"I will be your mistress."

The first response that flew to his lips was: I would a.s.sist you no matter what. You don't have to do this.

But he swallowed down the comment.

While he wished that his life had gone differently, he'd never had the chance to be a decent or honest man. From the day his mother had left, he'd endured a string of disasters through which he'd persevered. He made his living at artifice and deception, and to his ultimate disgust, it was incredibly easy to lie to her.

"I desire you, so yes, if you'll agree to be my mistress, I will help you find and protect your sister."

"Thank you."

"I'll support you for a year, until next summer, and then, if I'm still interested, we'll negotiate terms for a second year."

On knowing that he'd have her for twelve whole months-perhaps longer-he was nearly giddy with joy. Would he be weary of her by then? Would any of his fascination have waned?

"And if you don't prefer to keep on with me?"

"Then I'll pay you a stipend so you can move on."

She nodded, pensive, not understanding that these kinds of affairs were business arrangements.

"Where would I go?"

"Wherever you like." He reached out and toyed with a lock of her hair. "I'll have to purchase a new wardrobe for you."

"But you've already bought me so many clothes."

"I want you to have other things-more beautiful things. Ball gowns and dresses for the theater and all the frivolous accessories to match. I'll give you an allowance, too."

"I have my salary."

"I'll give you more."

"Must I...must I...continue to work as a companion to Miss Wilson?"

"It's up to you. For now, I'd like you to live here. If we maintain a pretense of employment, our liaison will be simpler. I could be with you whenever the mood strikes me."

A surge of excitement swept over him. He'd be able to dally with her as often as he liked! There'd be no barriers, no holding back.

"I can't decide what's best," she mumbled.

"If the situation with Miranda grows too unpalatable, we can rent a house for you. But not yet."

It was strange, but he wanted her in his own home, in his own bed-a spot he'd never let any other lover occupy. He wanted her around and underfoot, and he didn't want to stash her in some hideaway acquired for illicit purposes. It would seem too seedy and not worthy of the burgeoning affection he felt for her.

She licked her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue galvanizing him.

"Will we begin immediately with the...the..."

"Yes."

"I don't know what to do."

"But I do."

She blushed, nervously tugging at the lapels of her robe.

"I've heard that it's very physical."

"It is, but I will make it wonderful for you."

She glanced down. "I'm afraid."

"Don't be. Everything will be all right now."

As Westwood drew her into his arms, Helen trembled. Before her arrival, he'd shed his coat and cravat, and the front of his shirt was open. She snuggled close, burying her nose in the center of his chest.

With her choice made, there would be no half measures. If she was to be his paramour, she would do it with as much gusto and enthusiasm as she could muster.

She would learn and observe and practice, would give him all that he asked for and more. In some distant future, when he sent her away, she hoped he'd be glad that he'd known her, glad that she'd been part of his life.

In all of her dithering over how to convince him to aid Harriet, Helen had recognized that she had just one thing of any value to tender-and that was her chast.i.ty. She'd suspected that he'd jump at the chance to bed her, and there was such a sense of inevitability that she wasn't sad or upset. She felt as if she'd been marching down a long road, her path leading her to this precise spot.

They would be lovers. He wanted it to happen, but she wanted it to happen, too. She wouldn't pretend otherwise. She would get what she craved, with a.s.sistance for Harriet thrown into the bargain.

"We'll start with your calling me James," he said.

"Yes, James, whatever you want is fine. Tell me what to do."

With her acquiescence being so easily won, he appeared worried as if-now that he'd gotten his way-he wasn't sure he should proceed.

Wouldn't that be just her luck? What if she'd finally offered herself to a man, only to have him realize that he didn't desire her after all?

But she needn't have fretted.

He began kissing her and kissing her, bestowing the type of breathtaking embraces that make her lose her inhibitions, that made her eager to please him and d.a.m.n the consequences.

His hand slid inside her robe, and he clasped her nipple, pinching and squeezing it so she writhed against him.

Inflamed by her movements, he picked her up, twirled her toward the bed and laid her down. He followed, stretching out atop her, his large body pushing her into the mattress. He was so much bigger than she was, but he didn't feel heavy. He felt familiar and welcome, and she rippled with antic.i.p.ation as if she was aware-on some instinctual level-of exactly what was coming.

He fussed with the belt on her robe, loosening it to bare her torso, then he nibbled down her neck, her bosom, to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He sucked on one, then the other, going back and forth, back and forth, until her heart was pounding so hard that she thought it might explode.

He touched her between her legs, as he had the night they'd trysted in the garden, and this time, with her knowing what was approaching, the caress was even more thrilling.

Quickly, he goaded her to the precipice where bliss could sweep her away. She cried out, liking how he chuckled, how he nuzzled a trail to her mouth to kiss her again.

"You are so fine," he murmured.

"How do you do that to me?"

"You have a very s.e.xual nature. It's simply a matter of coaxing it to the fore."

He drew away and yanked off his shirt, giving her a full view of his broad shoulders, his narrow waist. His chest was covered with a thick matting of dark hair, and the sight t.i.tillated her in a manner she didn't comprehend.

"Have you ever seen a naked man?"