In Bed with a Rogue

The air whooshed from Helena as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She blinked against the sting of approaching tears. Crying was a ludicrous response. Sebastian was no one to her. She had refused to become his lover, and if he so chose to pursue his entertainment elsewhere—even with that harpy—Helena should be happy he was no longer pursuing her. She wasn’t.

She kept her attention focused on the empty stage and prayed the opera players would begin performing soon, so she wouldn’t be forced into conversation. Her prayers were answered when a short while later Madame Beaudry took the stage in a gown reminiscent of a Roman toga and a crown of gardenias on her loose curls. Helena had never seen anyone appear in public in such disarray, at least not in Polite Society. Madame Beaudry’s imperious voice invaded the theatre, holding everyone spellbound. Everyone except Helena, who couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian and whose bed he would visit once they parted this evening.

Her visions were vivid and unsettling. And the harder she tried to banish them from her mind, the more invasive they became.

“How was your day, Lady Prestwick?” Sebastian asked close to her ear.

She jumped. “Fair, my lord. And yours?”

“More painful than I anticipated, but well worth the effort. Benjamin Hillary will no longer be bothering Eve.”

Her gaze strayed away from the stage and found the light bruise on his cheek. How she adored those cheekbones. It was silly, she supposed, but their prominence made her want to place her lips against them. She clamped them tightly together. Someone else would be soothing his hurts tonight, and she hated that she wanted it to be her.

He discreetly touched her hand, his smile charming. “I’ve plans to set off on my nightly mission as soon as the opera ends. Perhaps you and Eve could ride home with Ellis so I may get an early start.”

Disappointment settled in her belly. She had been looking forward to the short drive back to her town house with just his and Eve’s company. His eagerness to visit the brothel was too much to handle.

“I should find the retiring room.” She jerked her hand from his hold, hopped from the chair, and hurried into the corridor. It was deserted. She was halfway down the staircase, uncertain where the retiring room was, when Sebastian appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Is something wrong?”

She shook her head and kept moving. She didn’t trust herself to speak without her voice cracking.

He trotted down the stairs faster than she could escape and caught her at the landing. His hand on the small of her back sent tingles racing through her. “Helena, stop a moment.”

She hated his effect on her. She didn’t want to be one of them, one of the multitudes of ladies who lost their wits when he was near. She didn’t want to fall in bed with him, and yet her body insisted she did.

She swung her head around in search of someplace to run. Why couldn’t she recall where the retiring room was?

His hand slid around her waist and held her in place. “Come with me.”

He steered her away from the vestibule and down a dimly lit corridor leading backstage.

“Someone might see us.”

He pulled her closer to his side, perhaps thinking she might try to run, but she was hopelessly caught like a fly in a spider’s web. The pleasurable tingles radiated from his touch and enveloped her in a dreamy haze. She couldn’t run even if he wasn’t holding her. Or perhaps because he was, she didn’t want to flee. Heavens, she didn’t know anymore.

Quite a racket came from behind the door leading to the actors’ domain. Voices were raised in alarm, warnings to hurry because someone was due onstage. A crash, then a curse.

“We can’t go in there,” she said at the same moment they reached a side door and Sebastian flung it open. He pulled her outside into the dark courtyard. The sounds grew muffled when the door closed.

Away from censorious eyes, she struggled to suppress the urges that had been an undercurrent every time they had been together. Slumping against the wall, her legs quivered as if her bones were turning to aspic. She clung to the bricks, desperate to deny the need to touch him. His firm chest, his sculpted jaw, his lovely mouth. She cleared her throat. “What are we doing here? What do you want?”