Page 96 of The Wolf of Mayfair
Unable to sleep, even with his body snugly pressed against hers, Helia carefully climbed off Anthony.
A loud, shuddery breath escaped him and Helia remained motionless above him, until he’d shifted back and forth on the sofa.
Anthony flipped onto his right side so he faced the back of the sofa and then resumed snoring.
Helia glanced around the office. Her gaze landed on a blanket draped over a green embroidered Gainsborough armchair tucked in the far-left corner of the room.
On stockinged feet, she hurried over, fetched the throw, and then stopped.
Unblinking, lest the image change, Helia stared at the soft blanket she held in her hands. Close as she was to the soft, woolen fabric, she now took in the details which had been previously obscured by the room’s darkness: the weathered pink and even paler sea-green checkered pattern. That proud tartan of Clan Fraser.
Helia gasped and her fingers flexed reflexively.
The blanket fell to her feet.
Heart hammering, she hurriedly rescued the blessedly familiar throw and clutched it close to her fast-beating heart.
Surely, surely, this could be no mere coincidence? Why should the duchess, who by Anthony’s own admission kept no secrets from her powerful husband, own the checkered fabric which belonged to people whom the duke despised?
Not only that, what were the chances the duchess would, and that it should also happen to be Helia’s family tartan?
Another bleating snort split through the quiet.
Helia jumped.
While her thoughts whirred, Helia returned to Anthony’s side.
She traced her gaze over his sprawled frame. He’d curled up into himself as though in sleep he sought to make more space for his large, powerful physique.
Mayhap that pink and sea-green was nothing more than a coincidence. Those beautifully delicate hues proved an ideal match for the ebulliently decorated room.
“And maybe you’re just so very desperate to be connected to the Blofields so you won’t have to be separated from Anthony,” she whispered to herself.
His deep, sonorous breathing proved the only response to her musings.
Coming out of her thoughts, Helia gingerly brought the throw over his resting form. She remained motionless for several moments more so as to not wake him.
Once assured he slept still, Helia turned her focus to the mess he’d made of the duchess’s office.
Don’t you mean the mess you both made of her office?a deprecating voice reminded her.
An image of Helia perched on the edge of the delicate mahogany desk played like a stage performance in her mind. Her fingers tangled in Anthony’s hair as she shoved his face into that most intimate place.
She pressed her palms to burning cheeks.
Those efforts didn’t do anything to dull the heat.
For a second time, she’d behaved like a wanton. She’d not only surrendered to his advances, she’d shamelesslyembracedAnthony’s every kiss, every caress, all of it. All ofhim.
Helia, determined to bury those sordid memories, dropped to her haunches and gathered up those papers at the foot of the Duchess of Talbert’s desk.
She stacked them neatly, and tapped the pile lightly upon the floor to make that stack even, then moved her attention to those on the right side of the desk.
“You taste so good, Helia,” Anthony breathed, and stroked his tongue over her clitoris.
She whimpered.
“Aww, you’re in pain,” he crooned. “I’ll help you, love.”
