“Do you need help upstairs to bed?” she asked.
His gaze jerked to her, and there was fire in it. Desire that hadn’t faded even a fraction. Her body warmed at the sight of it, still tingling despite her needs being slaked.
“I can make it on my—” He released the chair and took a step, but staggered once more. He let out a long, ragged sigh. “Very well. I suppose I could use the help. There are back stairs that will help us hide from prying eyes.”
She shook her head as she moved to his side. He hesitated, then slung an arm around her shoulder and leaned on her for support. The feel of him along the length of her body made everything seem very hot and close.
“It’s late,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “I doubt we’ll encounter anyone, back stairs or front. The party was wrapping up before I came to find you.”
He let out a long sigh. “My mother and Charlotte will be upset I missed the remainder of the gathering. Seems I can do nothing right of late.”
They exited into the hallway and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His mouth was set in a thin line and his gaze was straight ahead and filled with remorse. She couldn’t help but reflect on how very lonely he must be. No one knew his secret—well, no one but her. So he was forced to pretend for the world.
She understood that better than most. She understood the lack of respite mistakes created.
She cleared her throat. “Do you want to tell me what happened that put you in this state?”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he grunted. “Drunk and ready to accost innocent ladies?”
She pursed her lips. How little he knew. “You are not exactly drunk and I do not feel accosted, Your Grace. So unless there were other ladies who called on you in your study tonight, please put that thought out of your mind.” She shook her head. “I meant, what made you leave your party? And drink in the dark?”
“I thought women liked broody men,” he said. “James, Graham…Robert…brooders all.”
She glanced at him. “You don’t have to tell me, of course.”
They had reached the back stairs, and he gripped the banister as they made their way up slowly. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled.
She nodded slowly, trying to ignore the disappointment that rose up in her. His rejection reminded her of her place, the one they’d both forgotten when he confessed to her initially. Or when he’d touched her moments before.
“I understand,” she said.
He waved his hand toward the door at the end of the hallway. “You don’t,” he said.
“I only want to help,” she said.
He paused for a moment, then looked down at her. “You did. Tonight you did, for when I touched you I forgot every other thing.” He leaned in to kiss her, then weaved.
“It’s starting to catch up with you now, isn’t it?” she asked, unable to stop the chuckle that escaped her lips.
“Apparently,” he said with a laugh of his own.
She reached out and opened his chamber and together they moved inside.
“Come on then,” she said, urging him through the sitting room and into the master chamber. She edged him forward. “To bed with you.”
He staggered and flopped face-first onto the mattress. She lifted his feet up and began to work on his boots. It was a mighty feat, but she managed to loosen first one, then the other, and tug them both off. He sighed as she did so. “Thank you. I much prefer you to my regular valet.”
She smiled, rather enamored with this silly man who now inhabited the usually serious body of the Duke of Sheffield. “Go to sleep now. It will be better in the morning.”
He rolled to his side to face her. “It won’t be. How I wish you could join me. That would make my morning better.”
Her heart jumped. The suggestion was tempting, for certain. The idea of curling herself around this man in his bed. Of waking up to him beside her. Of waking up to more of that wonderful pleasure he had provided less than half an hour before.
She shook her head. “You know I can’t,” she whispered.
He didn’t speak, but reached his hand out to awkwardly touch her face with his fingertips. Then he smiled and said, “Good night, lovely Helena.”
“Good night,” she said. She moved to extinguish the lamp, and as she did she heard the soft sound of a snore from the bed. She turned to examine him in firelight for the second time that night and found him already asleep. She leaned a little closer, indulging herself as she would likely never be allowed to do again.
He was so beautiful. Just perfectly formed in every way, and in his sleep the seriousness and worry was all gone from his face.
She leaned in and gently kissed his cheek. “Good night,” she said again, and turned to leave the room.
But first she looked around. Unlike the rest of the house, which was still opulent, here she saw the effects of the financial struggles Baldwin faced. Everything was plain, from the worn furniture to the discolorations in the walls where pictures had clearly once hung but had now been removed, likely sold.
It was sobering, and she frowned as she slipped from the room and closed the door behind herself. She crept away hurriedly so she wouldn’t be caught in such a terrible position, but as she moved toward the guest wing of the house, she couldn’t help but ponder everything that had happened tonight, from the ball to the pleasure to the end.
She wanted to help Baldwin, but tonight he had helped her, without even meaning to. Without even trying. And she knew that she would never be the same.
Chapter Thirteen
Baldwin lifted his head with a moan. Pain shot through his entire skull and down his neck. He flopped back down face-first into his pillow and stayed there, blessedly surrounded by the darkness.
It had been a very long time since he drank to excess. A very, very long time since he had more than one glass of scotch out of politeness. Not that he hadn’t earned that pleasure…or punishment, for it felt like a punishment now.
But his sense of responsibility always stopped him.
He rolled over slowly and grunted in pain once more. Everything was coming back to him now. The letter about the outstanding debts that could very well seal his fate. The decision to go drink that pain away.
And then Helena had come and—
He jerked to a seated position as he was overwhelmed with memories. Kissing her. Touching her…oh God, touching her.
There was a knock on his chamber door and he ignored it as he set his head in his hands. What had he done? They’d talked and he’d touched and then—then she’d told him that someone…hurt her. Rage swelled up in him at that thought. Rage at that faceless person. Rage at himself because despite her confession, he had continued on anyway. He had lifted her skirts and touched her. An ungentlemanly act that he wouldn’t have done if he weren’t tipsy.
The knock came again and he staggered from his bed. “What?”