The Wallflower's Wicked Wager (The Wallflower Wins Book 2) Page 8
Love so often did not win in real life. It was no wonder that readers longed to see it triumph upon the page. She wished to give it to them as much as to herself.
Life was fraught with difficulty, but in her novels. . . Well, good would always have the day.
Helena scrawled words more and more quickly, allowing them to take shape, allowing the story to do what she hoped it should.
And as she refreshed the ink on her quill, she considered.
Perhaps her hero needn’t be quite so villainous after all. Perhaps her hero was actually setting free the heroine, but the heroine didn’t know it. She liked that idea.
Quite a lot, really.
She wondered if her readers would too, choosing to believe that one day she would have those readers.
Instead of hesitating and fearing this new choice, she supposed that if she liked the new plot, so would they.
Helena smiled to herself.
If not for MacAlister, she would have gone to bed this evening quite early. The sun would have barely slipped behind the towering bens.
It was what she had done every night since she’d arrived, so that she might wake energetically in the morning to play with the boys.
But now she had written for at least two hours.
It had flown by quite quickly.
She placed her quill down, rubbed her neck, and stood. She quickly sanded and pressed the last page and let her fingers trail over it. She was going to finish. She was going to be a novelist, and she absolutely loved that Laird Gideon MacAlister believed in her. Stranger that he was.
Chapter 9
There was not enough coffee in the world to shake the lethargy from her usually spritely person.
Helena poured herself another cup, heavily sugared it, poured in cream, and drank. Drank as if it was a bottomless cup.
“Did you stay up into the wee hours of the morning?” a deep, familiar, and oddly comforting voice asked.
She narrowed her eyes at the owner of that male voice, not wishing him to know how pleased she was at his company.
“Indeed, I did, Laird MacAlister. After all, I am in the middle of winning a wager.”
“We shall see if you win it,” he tsked. “I believe in your writing ability, but I’m not so certain that your doubts won’t stop you. So perhaps I should do a bit of seduction now to urge you along.”
“Ha!” she exclaimed, hefting the silver coffee pot and adding more of the divine, dark liquid to her cup. “You needn’t make fun of me, sir. I know that a man of your sort would never seduce a girl of my sort.”
He paused in the doorway. “Do you mean an honorable sort?”
She snorted. “No, a handsome one.”
He cocked his head to the side as he strode into the breakfast room. He poured himself a cup of coffee.
“That is a most interesting thing to say, Miss Highbury.”
“It’s accurate,” she said, downing her coffee with vigor.
Feeling a little bit dizzy with the extent of her exhaustion, she blinked rapidly.
How the devil was she going to get through the day?
This wager suddenly seemed far more challenging than she would care to admit. She certainly was going to have to go to sleep before one in the morning.
Getting up at seven was a rather challenging thing to do when one had less than six hours sleep. The boys were going to run absolute circles around her if she wasn’t careful.
“Well,” he said, “you’re an interesting young lady. Surely a man has attempted to seduce you before.”
“No,” she said factually. “Why would they? I am as pert as a persimmon.”
He laughed. “You are not. You are lovely and intriguing and–”
“Cease!” she said. “I am the writer of fiction, not you. I do not wish to hear such foolish things.”
“Aha! But I promised that I would try to seduce you. And what are the words of seduction, if not a trifle foolish.”
“I shall laugh at you the whole time,” she warned, “because I know how ridiculous this is.”
He took a step further into the room. “Not ridiculous at all. I am most intrigued by you.”
“Ha!” she said again. “Intrigued, indeed. I am the most regular sort of person.”
“You are not,” he countered boldly, cutting across the distance between them. “You are an artist. You’re witty. You’re mischievous. And I don’t know if you know it, but your eyes dance with absolute glee when you’re trying to set me down or set me straight.”
“They do not!” she protested, astonished.
He waggled his brows at her. “Indeed they do.”
She thought about that for a moment. She did always feel rather full of fun whenever she was chatting with him. Did that translate to her eyes? And did such a thing truly inspire him?
No, this was simply part of the wager.
Then again, he had been avoiding her.
“May I ask why you would choose such a wager?” she asked bluntly, adding more sugar to her coffee. “It seems out of character, given how much you profess to be an honorable fellow.”
He drew in a long breath, gazing down at her. “Perhaps it’s because it’s what I truly wish to do. I’m not in the habit of seducing virgins,” he said. “But perhaps, in the deepest well of my soul and the deepest wishes of my heart, I wish to seduce you. And so I have found an excuse.”
She laughed again. Though under the intensity of his declaration, her mirth no longer resonated. The power of his declaration caressed her skin and seemed to penetrate the very air of the room.
“Do not say such things,” she insisted. “I cannot believe you,” she said.
“You felt it,” he countered softly. “That evening when we had dinner together. The touch between us.”
“Surely you have had such touches with hundreds of women,” she said, drinking her coffee out of the sheer need to cling to something normal. “I do not imagine that I am capable of creating such a singular sensation in you.”
“You should imagine it. You’re an author capable of imagining a great many things.” Slowly, he lifted his hand and traced it over her wrist. “Why shouldn’t you cause such a singular reaction in me? You are singular.”
“You are trying to flatter me,” she bit out, staring at his strong hand sliding along her wrist, evoking the most shockingly delicious sensations along her arm.
“Of course, I’m trying to flatter you,” he whispered. “I’m trying to seduce you. And when you seduce someone, it is incredibly important that you tell the truth.”
“I beg your pardon?” she whispered.
He met her gaze and said firmly, “If one truly wishes to seduce, one cannot lie. You must always use what you admire to. . . get what you desire. Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t,” she breathed. In all her life, she’d barely been touched like this. And now, even though she knew it was a game of sorts, the power of it was remarkable. “No one has ever tried to seduce me before.”
“I have often wondered what it would be like to kiss you, Miss Highbury.”
She blew out a breath. “Please don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not. Ever since I witnessed the mischievous upturn of your lips, I wondered how they would feel beneath mine,” he rumbled. “I wonder what it would be like every night before I go to bed. It is a most challenging position for an employer to be in because I do not believe in taking advantage of my employees.”
She swallowed. “Then what the devil are you doing now?”
“I’m encouraging you to cease being an employee of mine and to be a writer instead.”
“And what shall happen to the boys if I become a full-time writer and no longer need to be a governess?” she countered.
He stopped then and met her gaze, his eyes sharp. “Will you abandon them?”
“No,” she confessed. “I like them too well.” r />
“There,” he said. “I could be your patron, you know, whilst you establish your great success. We could find you a cottage nearby, and you can continue to be friends with the boys whilst you pursue your dreams.”
She considered this.
She’d never really thought about having to leave the boys once she’d achieved her dreams.
She’d grown to like them so well.
“I think that a very acceptable idea,” she confessed, for she did not wish to go. It was a shocking thing to realize how quickly she had grown attached to this place and how little desire she had to return to London. “I quite like Scotland.”
“I’m glad you like it. It is a magical place.”
“It is indeed,” she replied. “Full of inspiration. But I don’t understand you.”
“Nor I you,” he said easily. “But doesn’t that make this lovely? We have so much to discover about each other.”
“You must leave me be so I can do my work,” she insisted, placing her coffee cup down on the polished cherry wood sideboard.
“That’s not the wager that we agreed upon.” He angled his body towards hers. “I am meant to get to know you, Helena. I know in my soul that I am meant to touch you. I am meant to discover if you like to be touched by me. Do you like it when I touch your hand?”
And, oh so gently, he took her fingertips into his and enveloped her hand with his, holding it carefully. Reverently.
He looked down into her eyes. The deep blue pools seemed to pull her in, promising a pleasure that she had never heretofore known.
Helena found herself leaning towards him, tilting her head back, and then she gave herself a good shake.
“Do not take me for a fool,” she insisted, pushing back from him. She wagged her finger. “That shall not work upon me, those deep blue eyes of yours. I know that they work upon every lady that you have clapped them upon. But I am not such a person. For I know that this is not real.”
He smiled wryly. “You know a vast many things, Miss Highbury, but I’ll tell you this. It is real, what I think and what I feel about you, and my seduction of you is quite real too.”
“Ha!” she said again. “I don’t believe it. You are too much of a gentleman, sir. You have proclaimed it.”
“Ah, but I want to know the end of your book more than I wish to be a gentleman now.”
She narrowed her eyes, even as her breath grew short. “I don’t believe you.”
“And how much did you write last night?” he asked.
“At least thirty pages,” she replied honestly.
He gave her a flourished bow. “You see, it worked.”
She laughed dryly. “Indeed. You freed me from my doubts. You see. I am no longer afraid.”
“Oh my dear Miss Highbury,” he replied knowingly. “I believe you to be too intelligent to not be afraid of anything. Every wise person is.”
“But I shall not be afraid of you,” she warned, even as she felt herself slipping. She liked him. She liked him far too well. Worse, she wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her and usher her over the threshold into knowing what transpired between a man and a woman.
“I wouldn’t wish you to. I’m not a dangerous sort of fellow, Helena, and I shall show you pleasure if you wish it.”
It was as if he had read her very thoughts. She straightened. “Why the devil should I wish such a thing?”
“You’re an author,” he explained. “Don’t you wish to have a wide experience of the world so you might write about it?”
“I have a very good imagination, thank you,” she replied tartly.
“Oh, I’m sure that you do,” he allowed. “But even so, there are things that cannot be imagined.”
“Oh?” she queried softly, suddenly eyeing his lips.
“For instance. . .”
He slid his hand to her waist, and she could only blame the fact that she was quite tired and the fact that she actually did wish to know what it was like to be kissed. When he tilted her head back slightly and brought his lips down to hers, she gave in.
No, she did not give in per say.
She met his challenge.
She was eager to experience his kiss. And why should she not do a bit of research? A bit of research seemed like a very wise idea. It was quite true. She did write about kissing and heroes and heroines being swept away together.
Surely she should know what that felt like.
So when his lips touched hers, stealing her breath and taking her in a soft, tempting touch, she nearly swooned.
Goo lord. She hated to admit it, but she did.
Her knees gave way ever so slightly, and he pulled her to him.
Her hands went to his broad shoulders, and she allowed him to kiss her deeply. His mouth worked over hers, teasing her until she was teasing him back too. And then his tongue did the most devilish thing. It touched her own.
She gasped and jolted back.
“Laird MacAlister,” she chastised. “This is nothing to do at breakfast time.”
“Oh Miss Helena,” he replied, his voice full of promise, “it is the perfect thing to do at breakfast time or luncheon or dinner or teatime or any time of the day. Once you’ve become accustomed to it, you will wish it all day long.”
“You shall not succeed, Laird MacAlister. I will win this wager. Not you.”
“Then you best go finish your book,” he offered, letting his hands slowly trail down her waist, then to his sides.
She shook her head. “I cannot. First, I must watch the boys all day.”
“No, you mustn’t,” he declared abruptly and firmly. “I will take them on an outing. You will go write.”
“Why?” she demanded, stunned.
“Because. . .even though I intend to seduce you, Helena, I must know what happens next. Now go.”
With those words lingering between them, she slipped away from his compelling presence, feeling determined. Determined to do just as he said. She was going to finish her book, and she was going to achieve her dreams.
Chapter 10
Hell.
Bloody hell.
How did he think he was going to carry this off?
She thought he was jesting. He wasn’t jesting. Gideon longed to seduce her, and that was deeply problematic.
This wager was an excuse. He knew it now to the deepest core of his being. He would never ever ruin a young lady. But bloody hell, he wanted to.
And this wager? It had given him an opportunity to kiss her, something that he never would’ve allowed himself to do before.
Good god, that kiss.
It had reverberated to his very soul. He realized how ridiculous that sounded, but it was also true. He’d never met anyone like her before, not man or woman.
Perhaps he would be able to convince her to read him the chapters that she had written. He doubted it, but he would try. And he would try to kiss her again. For now, while he had the opportunity, he felt that he had to make do as best he could to have this chance between them.
How was it possible that he could know a young lady for such a short period of time, a young lady he would usually take absolutely no interest in, and be completely consumed by her?
For he was.
From her unprepossessing appearance to the fact that she was a governess, none of that mattered. She was a blazing star in the firmament that had shaken his world.
That had been clear from the moment that he had seen her, when she had caught him bathing naked in the loch.
Yes, this was meant to happen. He was certain of it.
He felt a moment of guilt about the wager he’d put forth that served his own desires.
He wouldn’t ruin her.
He wouldn’t be able to misuse her so, but he could enjoy her kisses, and he could enjoy being close to her. Bloody hell, he could ensure that she was always well taken care of.
He would be her patron without condition whilst she wrote. He would be happy to support her for as long as it took for her to become
a writer of considerable means, and he was certain that she would.
Which was why he had sent her off to write and had agreed to play with the boys.
Besides, he loved spending time with his nephews. Fishing for trout would be just the thing.
Alastair scampered ahead, but Duncan had lingered back, his eyes swinging up to his uncle.
“You like Miss Highbury, don’t you?” the boy asked with the sort of boldness that only small children had.
“Of course I do,” he agreed easily. “She seems a lovely young woman.”
“No,” Duncan said, frowning. “More than that. You like her like they do in stories. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“You think so?” he said, nearly coughing.
“Oh yes.” Duncan nodded. “And that would be quite nice, you know? I like Miss Highbury. She should stay here forever, and if you married her, she could.”
Gideon looked down at Duncan, astounded.
It was the simplicity of a small child, one that assumed that if you liked another person, you would marry them. And it was rather admirable.
To Duncan, it made perfect sense. After all, that’s what happened in fairytales. Why not in life?
But Gideon could not marry Miss Highbury. He had to marry someone of standing, a person of his own class. Didn’t he?
Suddenly the very idea of marrying Miss Highbury could not be got from his head.
He should not have given it the slightest consideration.
But what would it be like to fall asleep while watching her write every night? Waking with the pert miss by his side? Certainly different than the society ladies he was accustomed to and far more preferable.
Marrying Miss Highbury was out of the question though. He simply found her to be fascinating, and he desired her, and he wished to support her and ensure that she would ascertain her dearest wish.
Bloody hell.
He liked her.
Liked her far more than any other lady he’d ever met.
Could he marry her as the ever-wise young Duncan suggested? No. He had merrily made a wager that he would seduce her. That was enough.
“I see it,” Duncan piped suddenly. “You’re interested. You wish to marry her, don’t you?”