Page 125 of The Wolf of Mayfair
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Like he feared the offer would be rescinded at any moment, the boy took flight.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 willthatdo 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,hewent 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 hiredeverystreet 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.
