Page 110 of The Wolf of Mayfair
The harsh angles of his face were drawn tight, and he gritted his teeth like he, too, fought the same battle within that Helia waged with herself.
“You feel so good,” he rasped. “So bloody good.” He drove himself harder, deeper inside her, and then, at last, Helia reached that glorious zenith.
She screamed her surrender to the ceiling. She screamed Anthony’s name.
Anthony stiffened over her, and then with a low, guttural groan, he spent himself inside her; as promised, he filled her with his seed, and she continued coming.
Helia gasped, her entire being jolted by the resplendence of at last being joined with him.
“I love you, Anthony,” she cried, and then collapsed onto the mattress.
The echo of her avowal danced around the walls and off the ceiling ... only to linger, and then fade into nothingness—unreturned.
Chapter 20
O! useful may it be to have shewn, that, though the vicious can sometimes pour affliction upon the good, their power is transient and their punishment certain; and that innocence, though oppressed by injustice, shall, supported by patience, finally triumph over misfortune!
—Ann Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho
The following morning, Helia and Anthony, without any fanfare, and with only servants as witnesses, were married.
The ancient-looking vicar, with nascent tones, who’d been unable to deny the future Duke of Talbert’s demands, performed a perfunctory ceremony that joined Helia and Anthony until death did part them.
She and Anthony had promptly adjourned to the dining room for their wedding breakfast, whereupon her husband had ordered the servants to leave. The door hadn’t even fully closed behind the last footman when Anthony placed Helia on the edge of the dining table.
He’d lifted her skirts and feasted upon her. Anthony, like a flesh-and-blood Lothario, had wrung climax after climax from Helia, until her center had pulsed and gone nearly numb from the intensity of his loving.
Then he’d left.
And she’d not seen him since.
Helia, curled up on the throne-like chair she’d commandeered in the duke’s office, rested her chin atop her right fist, and stared out at the single yew tree in the distance.
Absently, Helia played with the chain Anthony had placed around her neck, with the ring that marked her as his.
Even now, thinking of all the things he’d done to her this morn left her shamefully wet between her legs.
Helia didn’t doubt he desired her. Countless times he’d made her body sing and taught her something new in the art of lovemaking. He hungered for her the very way she ached for him.
Of course, knowing Anthony’s reputation and his lusty appetite, she’d anticipated they’d spend hours making love—which they had.
Aside from that, she didn’t know what else she’d expected of their marriage—
Helia pulled a face. “Liar. You know precisely what you expected.”And still expect.
When Anthony had barged into her chambers last evening, he’d filled her ears with the most beautiful of promises. With all that and the security, safety, and stability he vowed, how could she want for more?
Furthermore, although he’d not said he loved her, Helia knew with everyotherword he’d uttered that he cared for her, respected her, valued her, and wanted her to be his partner in life.
But she wanted more. She was the greediest of creatures, having so very much from Anthony, but only truly wanting the one thing he withheld—his heart.
Groaning, Helia dropped her head along the back of her seat.
From their first meeting he’d been clear—he didn’t deal in that intolerable thing called love.
Where Helia had been born, raised, and nurtured by that emotion, Anthony’s almighty parents had withheld it. The one person he’d freely loved had been taken from him.
“Is it any wonder you became the man you did?” she whispered.
