The Wolf of Mayfair

“Why all this terror?” said he, in a tremulous voice. “Hear me, Emily: I come not to alarm you; no, by Heaven! I love you too well—too well for my own peace.”

—Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho

Her knees drawn close to her chest, Helia sat on the floor in the corner of the same guest chambers she’d occupied upon her arrival, days, weeks—a lifetime—ago.

Even with the sun glaring brightly through the filmy curtains, the room remained chilled from the absence of a fire in the barren hearth.

That cold filled every corner of her numb being.

Anthony had worried that those who were close to him ultimately suffered. Helia had struggled to help him realize differently.

She didn’t delude herself into believing Anthony carried any affection for his father. How could he, after all?

What her husband would take from this was that his actions had brought about another death.

He’d blamed himself for having encouraged Evander to go skating with him and saw himself as responsible as opposed to understanding it’d been a tragic accident.

Only, in the end, everything Anthony had taken as fact and feared—even as he would never dare admit to that emotion—had come true.

He’d been so very close to letting down all his walls and trusting and smiling . . . and then pain and heartache and loss had revisited this household, all because of Helia.

Or that was how Anthony was likely to see it. And why shouldn’t he? The entire reason for the duke’s explosion had been because Anthony had married her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged herself even more tightly. Once again, her efforts proved futile. The memories of the duke’s violent row with Anthony, the thunderous shouts, the breaking glass, the toppling furniture; it all came rushing back.

What now?

Cowardly as it was, she didn’t want to know. She wanted to remain hidden away in this room, shut away from Anthony, and what was to come.

The hinges of the door squeaked as the panel opened.

Let it be a diligent maid. Let it be a footman. Or . . . or any servant. Just do not let it be . . .

Anthony.

Alas, the universe wouldn’t even grant her a slightly longer reprieve.

From where he stood in the entryway, her husband, wearing a dark frown, did a sweep of the room.

Helia hunched her shoulders and made herself as small as possible.

She should have known better.

Her slight movement instantly beckoned Anthony’s notice.

His gaze sharpened on the corner she’d made hers for the better part of the morning and afternoon; Anthony frowned.

“Helia?” he said, pushing the door closed behind him with a quiet click.

He was across the room and at her side in three long strides.

Her gut clenched. She hated his frown as much as she cherished, craved, and loved his elusive smile. “An—my lord,” she quickly corrected, in tremulous tones.

His scowl deepened. “‘My lord’?”

Oh, God. The worst had happened. “Your G-Grace?” she whispered. She made to climb to her feet and pay proper due in the form of a curtsy to her husband.

“What are you doing down here?” he demanded, and joined her on the floor before she could even stand.

Because duchesses behaved a certain way and that most definitely did not include hiding in corners.

She couldn’t manage anything but a question of her own. “Your father?”

His jaw tightened. “Lives, but not in any sense he’d want to.”

Helia stared confusedly at him.

“He suffered a catastrophic apoplexy,” he said flatly. “It has robbed him of the ability to speak, walk, or use his hands.”

Her gut roiled. First he’d lost his brother, and now his father had suffered perhaps an even worse fate. I’m going to be sick.

“I am so, so sorry, Anth—my lord.” She got past the thick ball of emotion in her throat.

He stared at her like she’d sprouted a second and third head. “Why in hell are you calling me ‘my lord’?”

Grief did strange things to people. Having lost her parents, Helia knew that all too well.

“I . . .” It was too much being this close to him. Needing to stretch, needing to move, needing distance from him, Helia stood and presented him her back.

“Yes?” he snapped.

“I thought you might prefer it?” That slight uptilt managed to turn her response into a question.

“Prefer it?” he asked bluntly. “And why would I?”

That brought her up short. A sliver of hope slipped inside her breast.

She faced him once more.

“I know you feel as if you are responsible when those close to you suffer.” She held her palms up. “Just as I know I’m the one responsible for your father’s fit and resulting impairment.”

With every word that flew from her lips, Anthony’s gaze darkened.

Missing a beat, Helia stumbled back a step. “And if you wish for me to go away . . .” Her voice broke.

Oh, God, how she’d miss him. Her heart would cease to beat and then wither and die in her breast.

He glared for her to continue.

“If you wish for me to leave, I understand. I’ve already asked for my belongings to be packed.”

Anthony said nothing for a long while, and Helia sat in the misery of his silence.

Then a low, murderous rumble shook his frame.

“You’ve packed your bags,” he said between tightly gritted teeth.

Biting her lower lip, Helia nodded.

Suddenly, he shot a hand out, caught her by the waist, and hauled her against him.

She gasped . . . and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Those nearly black irises gleamed with a raw ferocity.

He lowered his head, so that she had to tip her neck back.

“You better have packed for two, love, because if you think for one moment I intend to let you leave me, I will track you down to the ends of the earth, and claw my way to heaven and snatch you back from the hands of God himself.”

Tears blurred his beautiful, beloved visage. Her mouth trembled furiously.

He wasn’t done with her.

“You are mine,” he rasped. Anthony gave her a slight shake, and the chain bearing his signet ring rattled about her neck as if to add further weight to his affirmation. “And I am yours. Do you hear that?”

Helia gave a small nod.

“Do you hear that?” he repeated, this time more forcefully and with another greater shake.

A sob escaped her, and Helia caught it too late behind her fingers. “A-aye.”

Anthony searched her face like one in seek of the veracity of her confirmation, and with a harsh growl, he again snatched her close.

Helia wept; her tears dampened the front of his shirt. She cried so that her entire body shook, and still she could not stop, not even with the quiet, soothing words Anthony whispered into her ear.

“I th-thought you would blame me,” she said between tears.

“Why would I blame you, love?” He placed a tender kiss at her temple, softening that chastisement.

“I challenged him. I pushed him—”

“Helia, my father’s actions and behavior this day, and every day, belong only to him.”

She opened her mouth to further protest, but he kissed her to silence.

Her lashes fluttered wildly.

“Now,” he murmured, “you are going somewhere.”

Helia’s lashes flew open.

He tweaked her nose. “With me, Helia. I am your warrior, your king, and also your shadow. Where you go, I go, too.”

With a mysterious set to his features, Anthony removed a long strip of black satin fabric from inside the front of his jacket. He made to twine the soft cloth about her head.

Helia drew back. “What are ye d-doing?” Her voice trembled in both wicked anticipation and fear.

“Trust me.”

And she did. She trusted him to keep her safe and protected and to treat her like the queen he insisted she was.

A short time later, a blindfolded Helia sat nestled alongside Anthony on the carriage bench. A warmed blanket upon her lap and heating bricks added an impossible heat on this winter’s night.

“May I take this off?” she murmured, already reaching for the black satin fabric he’d gently fastened about her head.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” The velvet squabs dipped, and Helia found her legs shoved farther apart. “It heightens the pleasure.”

She knew what he attempted to do.

With a tantalizing languor, Anthony pushed her skirts up, higher and higher, and despite his denial, she removed the blindfold and gazed upon him.

Helia slipped her fingers through his hair, already knowing his intentions, and wanting them, but she made herself stop, preventing him from giving her what she hungered for.

He glanced up with a question in his eyes.

“I know,” she said softly.

His frown deepened.

“I know you are showing me that which you are unable to say.” She gently stroked his loose, ink-black curls.

Anthony placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “What is that, love?”

His question contained none of the rancor that’d been so much a part of their exchanges before.

“It is going to be fine.” Helia touched her palm to his cheek, and held his gaze. “We are going to be fine.”

Emotion blazed from within his eyes; an understanding passed between them.

They knew one another’s thoughts. They knew one another’s souls.

“It is going to be all right,” he vowed.

Anthony placed tantalizing kisses along first her right inner thigh, and then her left. As he did, the sough of his breath upon her hot flesh made the ache between her legs unbearable.

And then, he buried his tongue inside her slit.

Helia moaned and lifted her hips.

Unhurried in his attentions, Anthony made love to her with his mouth.

All the while, the carriage rocked under them, that slight back-and-forth bouncing heightening the effects of his efforts.

At last, Anthony brought Helia to a gentle, but no less transcendental, climax.

Gasping, replete, Helia collapsed into the velvet squabs and allowed her heart to find its normal tempo.

A powerful wave of emotion threatened to bring her under. She would never not want him. He was the very air in her lungs. The reason her heart beat.

Tenderly, Anthony dropped a kiss atop her damp curls and then drew her skirts down into place.

The bench dipped as Anthony joined her. “It was good, love?”

“Good?” A sated smile played at her lips. “You strutting rooster, you ken it was splendorous.”

He grinned, flashing two rows of perfectly even, pearl-white teeth. A loose black curl fell over his eyes, giving him a boyish look, and her heart melted.

Dark, enigmatic marquess. Masterful, attentive lover. Naughty, bonny boy. Guarded, hurting man. She loved every dazzlingly different facet of him.

“We’re here,” he murmured.

It took a moment to register that at some point the carriage had come to a stop.

Here? “Where is ‘here’?” She reached for the gold velvet curtains.

Anthony caught her hand and effectively intercepted her efforts. “Uh-uh.” He touched his lips to the delicate place where her hand met her wrist.

Helia’s breath hitched. How is it possible for such a small kiss to have this dizzying effect?

Anthony shot a fist up.

The carriage dipped. There came a slight hurry-scurry, and then the footman, John Thomas, drew the door open.

Helia went to steal a peek outside, but as Anthony made to exit, his broad frame completely blocked the entrance and robbed her of that attempt.

When his feet touched the ground, John Thomas reached a hand up.

She made to place her gloved fingertips within his palm.

Anthony growled; that menacing sound caused the servant to stumble several steps away from Helia.

In the nighttime still and winter’s quiet, there came John Thomas’s telltale audible nervous swallowing. The man fell back into the shadows.

That imagined threat gone, Anthony, in one fluid movement, caught Helia by the waist and helped her down himself.

“You know, you’ve scared poor Mr. John Thomas,” she chided the moment her feet touched the snow-covered ground.

“Good,” he said tersely. “No man touches what is mine.”

Butterflies danced around her belly.

That possessive threat was softened as he carefully drew her fur-lined hood into place.

Helia caught his hands and linked her fingers through his; she forced him to look at her. “Do you truly believe I could ever want anyone but you, husband?”

“No,” he said bluntly, with a deserved masculine conceit. “But I do not trust any man won’t lust after you and be compelled to do something as foolish as daring to touch you.” His eyes darkened. “Then I’d be forced to kill him.”

She shivered with a shameful ebullience.

He raked a savage gaze over her. “Come, love,” he said in gravelled tones. “Let me show you what I’ve been up to.”

Anthony placed her fingers in the crook of his elbow. She allowed herself to be led by him.

As they walked, Helia took in their surroundings.

Then Anthony brought them to a stop. Her stomach clenched, and Helia stared, unblinking, at the shore like she passed a horrific carriage accident.

She closed her eyes, but the onslaught of memories and emotions overwhelmed her senses.

The only thing I may be persuaded to do is place you over my knee, toss your skirts up, and redden your stubborn arse . . . In fact, I would enjoy that task immensely.

We shall see which of us wins this battle of the wills, Miss Wallace . . . And I must confess, I’ve found myself beginning to enjoy your feistiness.

“Look at me, Helia.”

Anthony’s gratingly harsh command penetrated the hell of that day.

She forced her eyes open.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asked thickly.

He caught her by the shoulders and drew her close. His indomitable gaze speared Helia’s unsteady one.

“The man who dared to touch you stole ownership of that day and your happiness.” Fire burned from within the deep-blue depths of his fathomless eyes. “No one”—he gave her a slight gentle shake—“shall take anything from you. Tonight, with me at your side, you reclaim what he took. You will purge him from your thoughts, Helia, so only the memory of your time with me lives in their place.”

The ferocity of that decree stole all the breath from her body.

“You are ready,” he proclaimed on Helia’s behalf.

And she was. With Anthony at her side, she found herself steadied by his words and formidable presence.

“I am ready,” she confirmed.

He grunted his approval.

Together they went. The closer they got, Helia evaluated the frozen Thames through lenses devoid of fear.

This winter wonderland was a place she’d been before. But at the same time, this frozen part of London was discrepant in every way. Where before the provisional fairground had rung out with the loud, joyful resonance of festivalgoers, now a tranquil peace remained in its stead.

And yet, the sweet, pleasant smell of roasted chestnuts and freshly baked bread filled the air; those scents mingled with the inordinately loud call of peddlers offering their goods.

The rough, playful whine of fiddles combined with wassailers singing a quick tempo rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” lent a cheer that managed to further drive back any dark remembrances.

At last they reached the edge of the ice.

Dazed, Helia stopped and looked about. “Where are all the people?”

“Aside from those who work the event, you and I are the only ones here, Helia.”

Helia whipped her head up to look at Anthony; she searched for signs he jested—only there were none. His features remained as coolly implacable as ever.

“The only way to ensure we are in control of any and all memories made this day is to erase everyone from the equation,” he explained.

He’d closed down the whole Frost Fair so only she and he could be here.

Tears clogged her throat and blurred her vision. “You did this for me?” she whispered.

“It is all for you. Anything your heart desires, anything you want, crave, or need, will be yours.”

As if to demonstrate that very promise, he inclined his head.

A young lad hastened over at a pace that sent his wool cap tottering on his head.

He held up a small red-and-green cloth, tied with a pink ribbon. “Roasted chestnuts for ye, Your Ladyship.” The child flashed a crooked smile.

Helia fell to a knee. “Why, thank you very much, good sir. Tell me,” she said as she loosened the ribbon. “Are you the fine maker of these sweets?”

He pulled at his tattered lapels. “Indeed I am, Yer Ladyship.”

Helia helped herself to one. She chewed the earthy, rich-tasting goody and closed her eyes. “It is more magnificent than I could have imagined.”

The four-foot-three-inch fellow grew several inches more under that high praise.

“Your parents must be very proud of your accomplishments . . . ?”

The lad shifted back and forth in his boots. “Ye want anything else, Yer Ladyship?”

Helia nodded. “Do you know, I do. My husband . . .” She glanced up at the taciturn figure above them.

The child lifted his gaze and instantly blanched.

“Lord Wingrave and I have been searching for someone to make toasted chestnuts as good as yours. Isn’t that right, husband?” Helia gave her husband a stern look.

“No,” he muttered.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe?” he rejoined, this time.

Helia shook her head and mouthed, “Try again.”

“Yes,” he gritted out.

Helia beamed and recalled the terrified lad’s focus. “You have such talent for this. What is your name?”

“Knox.”

“Mr. Knox,” she continued.

“Just Knox, my lady.”

“Very well, Knox. I can only imagine the wonders you’ll do in a kitchen. That is, if you are searching for employment?”

The boy choked. “Y-Yer Ladyship?” he squeaked.

Helia sighed. “It is as I feared—you are already employed in someone’s kitchens, no doubt a baker—”

“No! Don’t got no work. That is, no regular work.” He puffed his chest out. “It’d be an ’onor to work in yer kitchens, Yer Ladyship.” He dared a peek at Anthony. “And yers, Yer Lordship.”

Helia clapped her hands around the chestnuts. “Splendid!” She proceeded to give him directions to the waiting carriage, along with a message to deliver the driver.

Knox frantically bowed. “Ye willna regret this, Yer Ladyship. Oi promise.”

She scoffed. “Of course I won’t. I know a thing or two about delectable sweets. Isn’t that right, husband?” She directed that up to a stonily silent Anthony, giving him another chance.

He grunted; his hard features remained impassive.

The grinning boy glanced up at the marquess, and again his smile instantly faded.

Like he feared the offer would be rescinded at any moment, the boy took flight.

Helia came to her feet and dropped her bag of chestnuts into her cloak pocket. “Do you make a habit of scaring children, Anthony?” she drawled.

He gave another grunt. “I didn’t do anything.”

She smoothed the lapels of his black, satin-trimmed greatcoat. “No,” she murmured, tenderly stroking him. “Not with anything you said or did, but what you did not confer. Children, they need assurances of warmth and kindness.”

He stared at her like she’d gone mad. “What good will that do them? Better they understand the world is a cold, dark place.”

Anthony sounded so truly confused, her lips twitched. “Better they are armed with affection and love so that they are prepared to face the cold, dark world you describe.”

He drew back.

She’d gotten through to him, some.

“I want our children to know they are loved and so very much wanted, Anthony,” she said softly. “I want them to realize we will protect them and help them and hold them when life is cruel. I want our children to be loved the way you would have wanted Evander loved.”

The stupefied expression on his face deepened.

“It is all right—I will help you along the way,” she promised.

Helia withdrew a sugared treat from her pocket and popped it in his slightly agape mouth.

Like a child who’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Anthony stole a furtive glance about.

At that poignant reminder of all the things he denied himself, a vise tightened about her heart.

“Come,” she said, taking over to lead the way, and this time, he went cooperatively.

That pliability proved short lived. “As we are discussing one another’s habits, love, tell me: Do you go about hiring every London street waif you meet?”

She scoffed. “I hardly hired every street waif. Just the one lad.” For now.

“For now,” he said bluntly.

Helia stared up at him.

“You didn’t need to say it, love. I saw the intent in your glittering eyes.”

She forced them to another stop. “And what is so wrong if we do offer employment to children and people in need?” she asked. “By your own words, do we not have a veritable kingdom, Anthony? You, who possess the riches to pay vendors and send away festivalgoers, can hire every poor soul in London and still have a fortune to last you and our children for centuries to come. So why should we not—eek.”

Anthony wrapped an arm about her waist and drew her close. Before she could even catch her breath, he covered Helia’s mouth in a long, hot-blooded kiss.

She melted into him and his embrace and met every glide of his lips and tongue.

Too quick, Anthony broke that kiss.

He placed his lips against her temple. “My glorious, benevolent queen,” he whispered harshly. “There is no one like you.”

“A benevolent queen requires a benevolent king, Anthony,” she gently reminded him.

She braced for his rejection.

“I’ll show benevolence only to those you deem worthy,” he vowed.

Warmth suffused her breast. For a man so proud and insulated, Anthony’s was a significant concession. He fought to maintain the fortress about him, but each day, in every way, he slowly but surely let those walls down—for her and only her.

Her scrutiny went on too long.

Anthony frowned. “What is it?”

“I love you. That is all.” There was no dread over his anticipated reaction to her quiet pronouncement.

The sharp planes of his cheeks grew flushed. “Helia,” he said gruffly.

“Someday you will become comfortable hearing those words and accepting them, Anthony,” she said softly. “I don’t know when you heard those words last—”

“Helia,” he clipped out.

“But I’m going to continue telling you, Anthony, and one day, you’ll be at peace and comfortable with my lov—”

“Helia!”

She stared wide-eyed at him.

He drew back and gripped her arms. “Listen to me, love, there are no buts in this. You are my queen, and your holdings include my heart.”

Anthony placed her fingertips against the place where that organ beat in his chest.

Her breath caught. She frantically searched his beloved face.

What is he saying?

His eyes sparkled with an unchecked light and warmth she’d never before seen him so freely reveal.

“What am I saying?” he murmured, reading her thoughts as he was so apt to do. He made a tsking sound. “Shame on me for not being clearer and for having left you in doubt for far too long.”

Anthony dropped to a knee. “Until the stars go dark and the moon falls and the tides cease their movement”—his eyes blazed with the strength of his vow—“I love you, Helia, my duchess, my queen. Stand beside me in life and in every—”

“Aye!” Sobbing and laughing, Helia launched herself into her husband’s arms. “Ah love ye, Anthony, my duke, my king, my lover, my friend. Anthony, my duke, my king, I’ll love ye ’til the day I die.”

And with that pledge of their partnership, Anthony kissed Helia hard, marking eternal his promise to her.