Page 48 of Duke of Seduction

“It is settled, then,” Ambrose said merrily, coaxing them both inside.

“You two go on,” Helena urged as she walked towards the stairs. “I just want to freshen up in my room for a moment. I shall be right down. Agatha assist me, would you please?”

She hurried up the stairs, ignoring her brother’s requests to wait and headed to her room.

“Lock the door, Agnes, and if anyone knocks tell them I will be out momentarily,” she commanded as Agnes shut the door behind them.

“Yes, my lady,” Agnes replied eagerly, already sliding the lock into place.

Helena scurried from her sitting room to her bedroom, shut the inner door and pulled out Morgan’s letter as she stood before the roaring fireplace. She opened it with trembling hands, and as she read the page, her mouth fell open and her stomach clenched with desire.

He had not sent a letter this time, but a sketch. Of them. Of Morgan from the throat down, elegantly dressed and seated on a couch, his shirt unbuttoned halfway and his jacket spread open, revealing the contours of his muscles. She lay in his lap, completely naked, her back arched, her eyes full of lust and need, and her lips parted and willing.

Morgan had sketched one hand around her throat, no doubt evoking the look of absolute pleasure drawn into her face, and she could practically feel his firm grip around it as she studied the sketch. It was beautiful. Erotic. Possessive. It was the most emotional piece of art she had ever seen.

“Mistress,” Agnes whispered from behind her bedroom door, “Your friend is insisting that she be let in.”

“Tell her I am coming,” Helena replied hollowly, not taking her eyes away from the sketch as she stretched it out above the fire.

She had destroyed every other letter Morgan had sent her, but now, as she stood before the flames, she could not bear the thought of tossing the sketch into the fire. As much as she could not bear to stop her lessons.

Pulling the paper away from the flames, Helena walked it over to her bed and tucked it into her pillow. She would find a better hiding place for it later, but for now it would have to do. After she was sure it was tucked away safely, Helena wiped the silent tears that had started to trickle down her cheeks, drew in a steadying breath, and went to join her friend and family for dinner.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Engaged.It had finally come to pass. Ambrose had made his choice and now Helena was engaged. Though he knew it was coming, the news had hit him harder than he had anticipated. Anger and jealousy had whirled up in him so intensely that it had stolen his breath and he had stormed out of the house for some air.

Not yours.Not yours, no longer your concern.

It was true. Helena was not his, but why did he feel like part of him was being ripped away? He forced his mind to turn from the thought, and focused his attention on Helena’s husband-to-be. Luke Ayles, the freshly minted viscount. Ambrose did not know him from Adam but he knew he despised the man.

His memory traveled back to the night he and Duncan had met Luke and recalled the strange reaction he had experienced in the man’s presence. His air of nobility and his kind nature had almost appeared genuine, but something had felt off. Like a mask that did not quite fit, Morgan felt as if Luke was not exactly as he seemed.

“Let it go,” he murmured to himself, cracking his gloved knuckles.

He needed to get into the ring and fight away his feelings.

“Morgan!” Ambrose called suddenly, shocking him out of his reverie.

Morgan looked up, immediately hoping to see Helena. As his eyes landed on her he felt a deep sense of peace. She looked cold, but the redness on her nose and cheeks made her appear innocent and adorable. And there, attached to her arm, was Luke.

A black rage eclipsed his usual sarcastic spirit. Morgan forewent his usual traits and stormed with purpose towards Helena.

Helena jolted out of the familiar numbness she felt around her fiancé as she heard her brother call out Morgan’s name.

“Did something pinch you?” Luke asked worriedly, pressing a concerned hand into her bright pink fur muff. His hand felt warm, but her body recoiled from his touch.

“It is the wind,” Helena forced herself to say as her eyes landed on Morgan, who was striding purposefully towards them.

Her heart hammered as she saw the grimness on his usually smiling and handsome face. There was a dark energy radiating from him as his eyes stayed trained on her.

Like a hunter stalks a fox.

“Ambrose,” Morgan greeted, cutting a glance and rueful smile toward her brother.

“Morgan, how goes your day?” Ambrose replied jovially, clearly not noticing his friend’s low countenance.

Helena felt a rush of emotion as Morgan turned his green eyes to her and stared openly into her soul. His gloved hand then twitched at his side, as if he were about to reach out to her, but then he drew it into a fist and rubbed his other hand over it.

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