Virtue's Reward by Jean R. Ewing

that I married you.”
    His eyes were pools of darkness. If she looked into them for another moment, she might be lost forever, so she dropped her head and looked away.
    Richard led her to the bed.
    “When you were a child,” he said casually, pulling her to his lap, “did you ever take off your dress and stockings and lie on the hot summer sand of Trethaerin Cove to let the sun wash over your skin like a wave?”
    She smiled nervously. Richard’s body felt strong and warm. His silk robe caressed her arm. His fingers were slowly moving her hair until it lay in a sheer curtain across her breast.
    “Of course I did, though I risked a beating if I were ever found out.”
    “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
    He bent his head and took her lips again. He tasted as sweet as honey.
    She barely noticed that his clever fingers had unbuttoned the row of fasteners at the back of her dress until it slithered to her waist and she was clothed in nothing but the fall of her hair over her thin chemise.
    “Imagine the hot sun,” he whispered softly as his hand moved up the bare skin of her back, “and the sound of the waves. There has never been a more beautiful summer day.”
     

Chapter Six
     
    When Helena awoke in the morning, she was alone. She could not remember his leaving. She must have fallen asleep after . . . She blushed a little, then smiled to herself. How on earth was such an amazing thing kept secret? Was this what men and women did together, that people all through history had risked honor, reputation, or even life itself to find?
    She thought for a moment about what had happened. Richard had asked for her trust and she had given it. Then he had touched her heart in ways she had not known were possible. He had said they would make love. How could you not love the agent of such pleasure? She would never be afraid again. It seemed that marriage was a one-sided bargain, after all, and every facet was a gift from him to her.
    Slipping from the bed, she went to the window and looked out over the grounds of Acton Mead. A scattering of great old trees punctuated a sweep of green lawn and gave shade to a flock of black-and-white sheep.
    In the distance lay the blue ribbon of the river, divided from the park by an iron railing and the waving tufts of cattails. A brightly painted barge went slowly by, as small and neat as a toy. The tow horse seemed to be led by a tiny boy.
    I would bear Richard’s child with gladness, she thought suddenly.
    Quickly Helena splashed cold water over her face and body from the jug on the dresser, and slipped into her green-and-ivory muslin. Her blood singing, she bundled her hair into a knot on the top of her head and went down the stairs to the kitchen.
    Mrs. Hood looked up at her entrance.
    “Well, bless me, your ladyship! Why didn’t you ring for hot water?”
    “Where is Viscount Lenwood, Mrs. Hood?”
    “He took off early for Town, my lady. He said not to disturb you till you woke by yourself, or I’d have brought up some tea for you.”
    “To Town? London, you mean?” She fought hard to keep the despair from her voice.
    “There’s a lot of business to do, my lady, to open up a big house like Acton Mead again. Why, we’ve been under covers these three years, ever since the dowager countess died. It does my old heart good to see your bonny face and think of Master Richard living here with a pretty young wife, and maybe a nursery as well before too long. Bless me! I’m letting my old tongue run away with me. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, your ladyship. And here we are talking in the kitchen!”
    “The kitchen seems to me to be an excellent place, Mrs. Hood. In fact, I should like breakfast. And perhaps afterward, you might show me the house and we’ll begin to see about those dust covers.”
    Helena appeared perfectly composed as she ate her simple meal, but her heart sank within her. She had refined too much on what had transpired last night. He had left without even