The enormity of her selfishness nearly made her double over in shame. Because she had wanted another night with him, he could be forced into a childless fate that would have him hating her eventually. How could she have been so greedy? For both of their sakes, she had to get him out of her bed and back to his room quickly.
The languid smile on his lips when she looked down at him had her shame intensifying. “Come here.” His voice was hoarse with sleep as he attempted to pull her back to him, but she was already moving, donning her dressing gown as she got out of bed.
“Alice is down the corridor. She’ll be here any moment to light the fire.” Helena moved quickly to set the bed curtains to rights—she never slept with them closed. A quick glance at the state of the bedclothes had her hurrying around to tuck them back in beneath the mattress. It would only take one look for anyone to hazard a guess about what had taken place within the bed last night.
“Max, please,” she urged when he didn’t seem in any particular hurry to leave her bed. “You must leave.”
“You’re panicking.” The contented look of bliss had yet to leave his eyes as he moved, but only so far as to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Of course I’m panicking! We overslept. You shouldn’t have slept here at all.”
He grinned a grin of pure male satisfaction. “As I recall, I fell asleep inside you after you—”
She covered his mouth with her fingers. “Don’t say such things in the light of day.”
Kissing her fingertips, he asked, “Is that a rule they have here in England? Because in America we—”
She pressed her palm to his lips, and her stomach tumbled in dread as another door closed. This one was much closer. “Please, you have to go.”
It was either the desperation in her voice or on her face; one of them had him getting to his feet. She bent down to search for his dressing gown, which was partially beneath the bed. “You have to be back in your room before they discover you gone. I can’t remember if Alice lights the fires on the bachelor’s hall or if it’s someone else. It may already be—”
Her lungs seized as she saw the two rubber sheaths they had used during the night lying on the floor. Max had tied off the ends, but they lay there, stark indictments of the night before. Tossing the dressing gown at him, she grasped one of the sheaths by the tie, intent on disposing of it in the bin, but she stopped when she reached the empty receptacle by her desk. The sheath would lie there easily seen when the maid who cleaned her room emptied it. She reached for a sheet of parchment to wrap around it but changed her mind when she imagined the paper coming undone to expose it when it was being transferred to the larger receptacle the maid carried with her.
What if someone rifled through her trash and found it? Servants sometimes did that, and the scandal sheets would be paying good money for gossip now that their betrothal was official. If she were at home, she wouldn’t worry, but the staff was larger at Claremont Hall, which meant at least a few of them were less loyal. She couldn’t throw it out.
Max was standing, shrugging into his dressing gown when she turned and spotted the fire. It had mostly gone out during the night, but the coals glowed. Burning it would get rid of all the evidence.
“No, don’t—” Max’s warning came too late as she pitched it over the top of the brocaded silk and rosewood fire screen.
As soon as it settled into the coals, curling wisps of black smoke rose up, and almost immediately the room was filled with a terrible smell. Perhaps most infuriating of all, the sheath sat there stubbornly refusing to go away as it sputtered and released more black fumes. Helena grabbed the fire tongs and plucked it out.
“Jesus! Throw it out the window,” he said and rushed to open the sash.
In grateful alarm, she kept her eyes on the thing, which was still belching black smoke as she hurried over and tossed it out the window, very nearly throwing the tongs out as well, but Max covered her hand with his as she brought the tool back down between them. They both looked out, watching as the sheath sizzled and smoldered in the layer of snow accumulated against the house far below. His smile was so broad when he looked at her that she said, “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
“I wouldn’t.” But his smile didn’t leave as he closed the sash.
It was only then that she felt the cold morning air and held the folds of her dressing gown tighter around herself. The sides of his own dressing gown flapped around him as he faced her, completely unconcerned with his nakedness. She couldn’t help but appreciate his broad chest, flat stomach, and the sight of his penis and bollocks nested in chestnut-colored curls in the full light of day. He was an impressive sight even mostly flaccid as he was at the moment.
And he knew it. There wasn’t a shred of self-consciousness on his face when his gaze met hers. “I can dispose of them. I have a small linen satchel that will hold them until I reach the train station tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
He did laugh then. “You didn’t give me the chance. You panicked.” His smile faded as he walked over to her and took her gently by the shoulders. The first trace of self-consciousness graced his eyes when he asked, “Do you regret last night?”
Perhaps if she could say yes, then it would make things easier and lessen her guilt, but she couldn’t regret a moment with him. “How could I? I loved every moment of it.”
Relief and satisfaction warred for dominance on his features and he pulled her against him. She allowed herself a moment of respite to luxuriate in how good he felt, before tugging away and moving back to set the bed to rights. “You have to go. They can’t know.”
“Okay.” He nodded and walked over to retrieve the other sheath, which he pocketed before stepping into his slippers and picking up his drawers. “Helena . . .” There was a question in his voice as he stopped at the panel leading to the hidden passage.
The uncertainty tugged at her heart, and she hurried over to embrace him again and kiss him quickly on the lips. “We must talk. Later this morning, after breakfast?” she asked.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he ran a loving hand over her hair. “You should know, if you’re worried about Alice knowing what we did last night, that she only needs to look at you to see everything.”
That male satisfaction was back, burning in his eyes as he kissed her hard and then disappeared through the panel. She hurried to the looking glass on her dressing table and saw what he meant. Her hair was a mess of tangles and waves as if a man had spent the night with his hands buried within it, her neck and the portion of her chest exposed by the dressing gown was pink and chafed as if a man’s beard had abraded the tender skin, and a suspicious-looking bruise graced the tendon where her neck met her shoulder, but most telling were her eyes. Her eyes were alight as if lit from within by a secret only she possessed. She looked like a madwoman, half-wild with all the pleasure that had been poured into her last night.