The Wallflower's Wicked Wager (The Wallflower Wins Book 2) Read online

  He groaned but did not pull away from her. “Oh dear God, this is the plot of one of your novels.”

  “It is not,” she insisted, taking hold of his forearms with surprising determination. “I promise it’s not. I could never be as dramatic as one of the heroines of my books. I am far too boring.”

  “Helena,” he said sternly, stunned by her poor assessment of herself. “You are not boring, not in the slightest. You are incapable of it.”

  He scowled. “As a matter of fact, I think you greatly underestimate your interesting nature.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, tentatively, “but my life seems rather boring to me. My stories are much more interesting than I, myself, am. I am always sitting in a room alone, unless I am playing with your nephews.”

  “Or being seduced by me,” he said.

  She grinned at him, though her eyes did dart over his face, as if searching for condemnation or disapproval. “You’ve not been terribly successful at that.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he sighed with put-on drama. He stilled, growing serious as the ramification of her words hit him. “What is it that you’re trying to tell me? You’ve run away from your family. Have they abused you? I will always be there to protect you.”

  “No!” she rushed, her face paling with dismay. “They haven’t abused me, but they didn’t support me. You don’t understand, Gideon,” she blurted, using his given name with a boldness that pleased him.

  “You were quite right,” she continued, “when you said that I had run away so that I might be a writer. My aunt and uncle are good, kind people. They live in London, and I’ve had four years on the London Season.”

  She grimaced. “I have had marriage proposals, all from men over sixty. The last, my aunt was desperately hoping I would accept was eighty years old.”

  She shook her head, her distress clear. “We have no money, but we are decent folk. And, well, I spent as many years on the Season as I possibly can as a wallflower. I couldn’t bear another moment of it. You see, I felt I had this talent inside me, this ability, but my aunt told me that while I could write, I could only do so as an entertainment. I might be allowed to do a bit of reading of my work for guests.”

  Helena winced. “The idea of writing little bon mots for people to listen to, like they would some barely capable girl playing Mozart on the piano with horrific misses of notes appalled me.”

  Her whole body tensed as she professed, “I just couldn’t bear the idea of that. I knew what had to be done, lest I wither away.”

  Gideon held her to him tightly, refusing to let her go, and listened. How he wished he could comfort her. “Go on,” he urged.

  “A marriage was becoming unavoidable,” she whispered. “I knew I had to go away to write and find freedom by being published. I would never be able to do it living with my aunt and uncle.” She swallowed, clearly distressed by the memory of the choice she’d been forced to make. “They’d notice something was amiss. They’d notice how many hours I was writing and what I was attempting to do. They would have disapproved horribly and tried to stop me. So I had to find a place where I could make a bit of money whilst waiting to be published.”

  Gideon was silent for a long moment. She clearly cared about her aunt and uncle. The situation was so unfortunate, and this life was damned unfair. But he was proud of her for choosing her talents. Still, was her family terrified? “Where do your aunt and uncle think you are?”

  She blew out a shaky breath. “If you must know, they think that I am staying with a friend here in Scotland, of all things.”

  He blinked. Visiting a friend for months? “They’re very gullible.”

  She looked way. “I told you. They’re good, kind people. They simply don’t understand me.”

  “You couldn’t tell them you’d sought employment?”

  “We are not so low in our status yet that it would be acceptable for me to seek employment,” she explained, her heart aching. “It would be an insult to my uncle if I did so. We are gentry, after all.”

  He nodded, understanding the imperative that gentle ladies did not work. “And you’ve been writing them letters, assuring them of your safety?”

  “Oh yes,” she assured, her body humming with her own concern at his opinion. “I am not cruel. I don’t want them to think that I am in danger or hurt or that anything has befallen me. They think I am happy in northern Scotland with my friend. But the truth is, I have deceived you.”

  He stared down at the woman he had just offered marriage to. The woman who had stolen his interest and awoken his heart.

  She was far more complicated than even he had imagined.

  “And them,” he felt compelled to point out.

  Her gaze sank and her shoulders curved ever so slightly.

  How he longed to kick himself then.

  He couldn’t condemn her. Bloody hell, how could he? If she’d been born a man, no one would have stood in the way of her genius. Quite the contrary, society would have cleared every obstacle to facilitate it.

  “This life is a trap for so many,” he said softly, wishing to alleviate her pain. “Society’s rules bind them all.” He brushed his fingers along her back until he raised one hand and cupped her cheek. “Very few people can get away from those rules unless they have a great deal of money or a very great title. Even then, sometimes the rule-breaking has to be done in secret.”

  He gazed down at her, feeling more for her now and her brave determination than he had but a few moments before. “I cannot blame you, Helena.”

  “You can’t?” she whispered, her voice hitching.

  “No,” he stated firmly. “I admire you for it. The rules for women are quite severe. A girl is expected to become a mother or be a good daughter or a wife, and you are allowed to do very little without the permission of a man.” He tilted her head back ever so slightly, desperate for her to see how he felt about her struggle. “I see that, and I can see that you wanted more. That doesn’t makes you someone to be castigated. It makes you a marvel who is full of courage.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled ever so slightly as she drew in a relieved breath.

  “Helena,” he continued, pulling her full against him, savoring the feel of her soft curves pressed to his body. “I see the humanity of you. And my heart aches for all the women like you, the writers who have longed to be published, who are clearly capable and have had to hide it. I would never ask you to hide that or to be ashamed of your capability. Nor would I ask you to forego making money from it. There’s something very freeing about money, though our class dislikes speaking of it.”

  She laughed, her whole body seeming to ease. “I’m glad you understand. Nobody wishes to talk about the importance of money, but all girls have to marry for it. If we don’t, our lives are fraught with peril.”

  He nodded before he rested his forehead against the top of her head and said, “I’ve seen what happens to young ladies who make poor choices, how they can be turned out, basically upon the streets, how their clothes grow worse every day. Some fear for their children’s lives. They live in poverty.” He enfolded her in his arms, closing his eyes as he thought of the danger so many faced. “Yes, money is important, and it’s only those of us who have it who make it seem as if it’s vulgar to speak of it.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Helena,” he continued, still drinking in her warmth and the feel of her. “I want you to come and make a life with me. You will never have to be afraid. You will be able to write whatever you want, and though you will earn money if you please, you shall never have to be afraid that you will be without.”

  “B-but.” Her hands fisted ever so slightly, as if she was afraid that what he was saying was far too good to be true. “You won’t mind that I write? What if we have children? Won’t you wish me to give up my writing to be a good mama?”

  “I wasn’t speaking falsely before, Helena,” he said gently. “Your writing
means the world to me. How could I deny myself that pleasure? And I could never ask you to give up writing. I could not ask you to stop breathing, and I think writing is like that for you.”

  “It is,” she agreed, her voice deep with emotion. “I have written since I was a little girl, small things here, stories there.”

  He smiled at the image of a tiny Helena laboring over parchment with her quill. “Do you have them kept somewhere?”

  “Yes. In our home in London.”

  “I’d dearly love to read them someday,” he said.

  She laughed softly. “They’re really rather silly, you know. Whole worlds of wizards and fairies and witches.”

  “Marvelous,” he declared, wondering if she might let him hold her forever. He certainly wished to. It was so damned pleasant. “No wonder you fit in so well in Scotland. For our land is abound with fairies and the magic of the old ones.”

  “I love it here,” she rushed, her forehead resting against his shoulder. “I confess that I do. I can feel it in the very air, the magic which makes so many stories possible.”

  “Then there is only one thing to be done if you feel thus,” he said. “We must be married at once.”

  “But my aunt and uncle won’t approve!” she exclaimed.

  “They will disapprove a marriage to a highly thought of laird?” he queried, certain it was simply a long-established fear which had caused her to say so.

  She paused. “Oh my. You’re correct. They likely will approve. But shan’t I need their permission?”

  “No,” he said easily. “This is Scotland. We could marry tomorrow.” He leaned back and gazed down into her steely eyes, eyes that had softened like the surface of the loch after a storm. “Why don’t we?”

  “You wish to marry me tomorrow?” she gasped. “Are you afraid I’m going to run away from you?”

  “Well,” he teased, “you do have a habit of running away, now don’t you?”

  “It’s not a habit,” she protested, scowling up at him though her eyes shone playfully. “I’ve only done it once.”

  “Do you know what it really is, Helena?” he said. “Why I don’t wish to wait?”

  “What?” she asked softly.

  He drank in her scent of lavender and let himself truly feel the curves of her breasts against his chest, her waist beneath his hands, and the way her legs so very nearly brushed his through her skirts.

  “I wish to have you in my bed,” he breathed. “And I don’t wish to seduce you. I wish to make love to you. I wish to take my time about it. I don’t want there to be any pretense or misunderstanding. I want you in my bed forever.”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Gideon—”

  He shook his head. “Helena, from the moment I saw you, whilst I was standing naked in the loch, I knew that you were different, that somehow you were the one for me. Even then, I knew in my heart of hearts that I had to have you.”

  “I am but a wallflower,” she insisted. “Plain—”

  “You look perfect to me,” he cut in, unwilling to hear her speak ill of herself. “You look like the woman for me. And I want you. I want you with every bit of my being, and I’m not going to let you go. Not if you’ll have me.”

  Helena’s lips parted ever so slightly, and she seemed to shake a trifle in disbelief. “You jest about my plots, but this is a turn so great I can scarcely countenance it.”

  “It’s no turn, Helena,” he replied, wishing he could somehow give her the self-confidence she deserved. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you, and now here you are. Marry me. Marry me tomorrow, so you can be in my bed tomorrow night. So that I can support you forever.”

  She stilled in his arms and her gaze met his with an intensity sharper than diamonds as she clearly attempted to ascertain his sincerity.

  And since he was, she was unable to find no duplicity.

  Then she said two simple words. “I will.”

  Gideon could have crowed with triumph.

  She had said yes when he had been afraid that she’d say no.

  It was perhaps the first time he’d felt such uncertainty in his entire adult life.

  “Good,” he all but shouted. He lifted her up, then swirled her around in a circle. “I will make you very happy, Helena, I promise. Nothing shall stop you from being the great writer that you are, and I shall make sure that you are free.”

  Laughing at the vigor with which he spun them about, she cried out, “I am free with you and I shall do my very best to make you happy too.”

  He stopped and her skirts swung against his legs. He drew in a long breath and leaned down, ready to kiss her. “We are of an accord,” he whispered.

  Suddenly she frowned and lamented, “Do you think your mother will approve?”

  “My mother?” Gideon pulled back ever so slightly. If he was honest, he hadn’t given it a great deal of thought. Over the weeks, she had seemed pleased with his return and with Helena. In fact, she’d spent more time resting and reading as she’d always longed to do, something she wouldn’t have been able to do without Helena’s successful relationship with the boys.

  “She thinks you’re marvelous,” he stated. “I’m certain she’ll think it’s a very sensible proposition. And once she finds out that you’re from a family from London that’s of our class, any fears or concerns will be relieved. I don’t think she really would have experienced them, in any case, because she’s likely been hoping that I’d marry for years now. Anyone would do at this point. And you are superior in every way, lady or no.”

  “I know you could have married anyone,” she said. “But—”

  “Helena,” he interrupted firmly, seeing a flicker of doubt in her eyes. “I wouldn’t marry anyone. I’m marrying you. a wallflower, a flower that isn’t a foolish hot house thing, but one that grows in its magnificence in the wild.”

  He tilted her back, readying her for his kiss, before professing, “Wild things, Helena, are the best.”

  Chapter 16

  Helena gazed up at Gideon in wonder.

  Wild things were the best?

  My goodness, the world had spun full circle in but a short time. Who needed a full year?

  Gideon MacAlister had turned her world around in but a few short weeks.

  She’d agreed to marry him, and it was positively thrilling. And a bit terrifying. But the truth was that she loved him.

  She shouldn’t.

  She shouldn’t love such a beautiful man. In such a short time.

  It was such a reckless thing to do! His beauty almost had nothing to do with him. After all, he was kind and strong and cared about her work.

  Much to her pleasure, he found her desirable.

  It was shocking.

  No man had found her desirable before. She’d been rather accustomed to the idea that she wasn’t even going to be kissed before she died.

  She smiled to herself, unable to deny the delicious tendrils of heat lacing through her.

  Now she’d been kissed more than once.

  And, my God, he wanted her in his bed?

  Helena had read enough to know exactly what that meant. She’d read Tom Jones, A Foundling after all. Even more shocking, she’d read Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure! The contents of that novel were unknown to her aunt and uncle. If they had been, the book never would have been allowed in their house.

  Goodness, they would have been shocked beyond the pale.

  She’d read Moll Flanders too, thank goodness.

  So she knew a few things. She wasn’t entirely in the dark, so to speak.

  Gideon wanted her, and oh she wanted him!

  Whenever she was in his presence, she thrilled at his very nearness. It was palpable, the way that their desire now filled the room. She had wanted to deny it over and over again, telling herself she was foolish. But it had been real.

  That charge between them was real.

  She up looked at him and said, “Is this but a dream?”

  “If it is, Helena, I
never want to wake.” He smiled that stunning, almost unbelievably beautiful smile of his. “You make us happy.”

  The word us put a hitch in her thoughts.

  But then she realized what a good thing that was. He was not concerned only with himself. He was not selfish. He did not care about his own happiness. He cared about his nephews’ happiness and his mother’s. He wanted to make sure that they were all happy, not just himself. And she thought, what a wonderful thing.

  They would all be happy together. And that was a wonderful thing indeed.

  “I can barely wait for tomorrow,” she sighed.

  A wicked look crossed his face. “Yes, you can.”

  “Why?” she asked, wondering what he could possibly mean.

  “Because you have something to do,” he said pointedly.

  “I do?” she asked, laughing.

  “You must finish this story.” With an agonized groan, he pulled away from her. “Please go and do so. Then I shall no longer have to suffer in anticipation.”

  Some people might have thought that he was being controlling. He wasn’t. She knew it. He was telling her to go and do the very thing that she loved.

  “Are you certain?” she asked, thinking of the duties she had yet to perform this evening. “The boys.”

  “Don’t even think of it,” he assured, his face now cast in the shadows of early evening. “I’m happy to spend time with them.”

  A sudden feeling of dread pooled in her stomach. “Do you think they’ll approve?”

  Gideon tsked. “It was Duncan’s idea.”

  She laughed. “Of course. One mustn’t forget that we can always blame Duncan if things go awry.”

  “Why would things go awry?” Gideon asked.

  She gazed up at him. How did she explain that this was the best her life had ever been since the death of her parents?

  Everything after that had been a bit, well, strange and difficult. Loneliness and challenges had followed her.

  Nothing had ever seemed to go as well as she’d hoped it would.

  But now? Now the world had opened up to her, giving her so many gifts she could scarce believe it. She was so grateful, and she was not going to throw this chance away.