Helen burst out laughing—there was simply nothing else to do. There was no one like her father. She wished she was close enough to kiss him and hug him for a brief moment, to tell him again how much she adored him, but she was standing beside her new husband, and so she just laughed and waved at her father, who much enjoyed being the center of attention.
The crowd loved this unconventional toast given by the unique and quite eccentric Lord Prith, whose manservant had tears in his eyes as he passed around glasses of champagne to the guests. No one would know that Flock, the manservant, was weeping not with the joy of the day, but because his Teeny had married a certain Walter Jones just two days previous in Court Hammering.
The toast and the manservant’s tears for his beloved Miss Helen and her happiness, were spoken of for a good three days after the wedding.
At exactly 3:57 in the morning, long after all the guests had departed, Lord Beecham lay upon his bride, wondering seriously if he would survive his wedding night, which was only half over. His beleaguered heart was going to pump itself right out of his chest, but before that, he would probably suffocate because he, very simply, could not breathe. He pressed his forehead to his bride’s. “It’s all over for me, Helen.”
It was the fourth time he had loved her.
“It should be.” She managed to purse her numbed lips together, finally, and lightly kiss his neck.
“I did it. I succeeded.” He hauled himself up and managed to balance himself over her, so exhausted, so replete with pleasure and love for the nearly unconscious woman beneath him, with her beautiful blond hair all tangled around her face, that he could have wept with the power of all those wondrous feelings settled deep in his heart.
“Helen, this was quite an accomplishment. We did it.”
“Hmmm?”
“Four times, Helen, not just three. I have managed to break that miserable sameness, that triad cycle that seemed to have us by the throat.”
“We could have stopped at two times, Spenser. That would have broken the cycle too. We could have stopped after one time.”
“No, that would have made me less of a man. A man must always strive to achieve even greater strides. I have strided tonight, Helen. But I fear that I cannot strive more.”
He dropped down beside her and pulled her against him. He managed to kiss her hair. He was unconscious in the next drawing of a breath. As for Helen Heatherington, Lady Beecham, she simply lay there, pressed against her husband, lightly stroking her fingers down his chest. She didn’t have the energy to do more.
She rested her palm on his belly. “There is something I must tell you, Spenser.”
He snorted in his sleep, managed to pull up his head, and kiss her ear. He fell on his back again, but not to sleep. She had his attention.
“I wanted to tell you earlier, but you were so intent upon extending our lovemaking horizons that I didn’t want to distract you.”
“You could not have distracted me. No man could be distracted if he had you, dearest.”
“Yes, you would have been utterly distracted. You would have fallen off the bed, you would have been so distracted.”
He actually managed to come up on his elbow as he gently shoved her onto her back. He leaned down and kissed her mouth, then said, “All right, tell me. Distract me if you can.”
“I’m not barren. Evidently I was just unable to become pregnant with Gerard. The physician told me this sometimes happens. We are going to have a child, Spenser.”
He looked down at her, blinked a couple of times, then flopped onto his back. In the next moment, he slid off the bed onto the floor.
One week later
Lord Beecham awoke to Helen’s soft mouth on his cheek. Nothing unusual in that. He loved it, and he was becoming used to it. He was so used to it that if she didn’t kiss him every morning, he knew he would miss it desperately. He would probably whine and beg.
He sighed and turned toward her. Nothing happened.
He couldn’t seem to move. Now this was odd. She kissed him yet again, her mouth soft and warm against the whiskers on his chin. He was immediately interested, but that was nothing new. And so he tried to bring his arms around her, but his arms wouldn’t move.
His eyes flew open. He saw his bride smiling down at him, her expression so sweet, so tender, and that beautiful mouth of hers touched him yet again.
He said slowly, trying to get his wits together—not an easy thing when he wanted her, something that happened with very little delay. “There is something very wrong here, Helen.”
“Yes, I know, my lord.” She kissed his left ear. “You are now my prisoner.”
She was right about that. He was lying sprawled naked on his back, his arms tied over his head, his legs spread and his ankles tied as well.
His eyes crossed. “Fate is a remarkable thing. Helen, my dearest, what if you had never even seen me? What if, by some awful quirk of fate, I had never even seen you? What if you had never decided to hunt me down?