Welcome to Mills & Boon. Jennifer RaeЧитать онлайн книгу.
HELENA WOKE UP ALONE, stretching out in the bed like a starfish to work out the kinks and aches that her muscles had built up over the night. She wasn’t used to sharing her space while she slept, although she was happy to learn if it meant sharing the bed with Flynn.
Where was Flynn, anyway?
Checking the clock, she saw it was already late morning, which meant he’d probably sloped off to work. Maybe she’d surprise him in his study, persuade him to come back to bed for a while. They could rerun the events of their wedding night, only with the right outcome this time...
She showered quickly, fixed her hair and cleaned her teeth, then dressed in the satin negligee Flynn had so wanted to see again. Then, just in case she ran into any or all of the household staff on her way down, she slipped on a light matching robe which made the whole ensemble almost decent.
Yawning, she opened the door and headed for the stairs, wondering if maybe she should stop for coffee first. No, husband first, then coffee. She could send him out to bring some back to the room afterwards. Ooh, breakfast in bed! That was what honeymoons were for. Well, amongst other things...
When she reached the study, she didn’t bother to knock and didn’t even register the two voices inside until she’d already opened the door.
‘Oh! Sorry.’ She pulled an apologetic face at Flynn, who smiled reassuringly. The man sitting across the desk from him, a laptop between them angled so they could both see the screen, laughed. It was a nice laugh, though, Helena thought. Not cruel or mocking, just amused.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘We were actually waiting for you. I’m Henry, Flynn’s solicitor.’ He held out a hand for Helena to shake.
She frowned as she took it. ‘Solicitor? Is there something wrong?’ Then she realised, and groaned. ‘Seriously, Flynn? Paperwork, at this time in the morning?’
‘It’s practically lunchtime,’ Flynn pointed out.
‘In his defence, I think he mostly wanted to get it sorted so that you could both get back to enjoying your honeymoon,’ Henry said.
Rolling her eyes, Helena dropped into the third chair set around the desk. ‘Fine. But I’m going to need coffee.’
It turned out that most of the post-nuptial agreement—which sounded like a stupid name to Helena, but was apparently what the thing was called—was pretty boring. Flynn and Henry had already been through the document and updated the original to reflect the slight change in wedding plans. Helena found some comfort in knowing that these were things that Thea had agreed to, even agreed with. It made nodding along as Henry talked her through it much easier.
Their finances, the business; that was all straightforward in the end—the lengthy negotiations between Thea, Flynn and their fathers had already hammered all that out. So the contract mostly came down to the relationship between her and Flynn.
That part, at least, she understood.
‘So, you’re both still happy to live in the London townhouse we arranged, right?’ Henry asked, and Helena nodded. ‘Great. Next up, charitable and social obligations.’
Helena sighed. She really should have just stayed in bed. Flynn would have come and found her eventually.
When they reached the part about sexual relations, Flynn stared at the ceiling and Helena couldn’t help but laugh.
‘I’m guessing we can strike the part about negotiating the initiation of sexual relations in one year’s time?’ Henry asked, clearly unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
‘Yeah, I think that ship has pretty much sailed,’ Helena said with a grin.
‘It was a stupid clause anyway,’ Flynn added, his gaze still focused on the ceiling.
‘Okay, then. In that case, the next bit is the declarations,’ Henry said, scrolling down to the next page.
‘Like the sickness and health part of the wedding?’ Helena asked.
‘Not exactly. Basically, we just need you to sign this section to say that you’ve never been married before, are not in a partnership with anyone else at this time, that you don’t have any children by a previous relationship—things that would affect your finances or inheritances mostly.’
Helena’s whole body trembled as if she had no control over it. She couldn’t speak—every word she thought of stuck in her throat. Her skin burned as if she’d stepped too close to the fire—and maybe she had, in a way.
She’d known last night that she had to tell Flynn about her daughter, but not like this. Not now and not here, not with Henry listening in.
Not when everything was finally going so well.
‘Helena? What’s wrong?’ Flynn was at her side now—when had he even moved? He took her hand, squeezing it gently, and Helena wanted nothing more than to cling on to it and never, ever let go. She’d come so close to getting everything she’d ever wanted.
And now one mistake from eight years ago was going to wreck it all.
In her mind, the film of the night she’d told Thea ran over and over. Her sister’s tears, followed by her father’s shouts. The ugly accusations, the hatred. And then the pity in Isabella’s expression when she’d arrived, as she always did, to support Thomas above all else. Not just pity, though. A sense of inevitability, as if they’d all known Helena would screw up irrevocably in the end; it had only been a matter of time.
Thea was the only one who’d listened, who’d understood what had really happened that night. And their father had just blamed her for letting Helena out that night at all. As if Thea were more to blame than Helena, and Helena more to blame than the boys who—she stopped that thought. She couldn’t relive that. Not now.
Instead, she remembered the coldness in her father’s eyes as he’d told her they would fix this. That she would do exactly as she was told. He and Isabella had a plan and she would follow it to the letter. And, if she did, she could come home and live her normal life again. Afterwards.
As if she could ever be the same, after.
‘Do you want me to call for someone?’ Henry asked, sounding concerned. ‘Get some water or something?’
‘Yeah, there should be someone in the kitchen.’ Flynn placed the back of his hand against her forehead. ‘Helena, talk to me. What is it? Are you feeling faint? I should have got you a proper breakfast. Let me ask Henry to—’
‘No.’ She couldn’t take it any more. She couldn’t let him carry on being so kind to her, not when he didn’t know the truth. ‘I don’t need anything. But I can’t...’ She stumbled over the words as she tried to get to her feet. Her legs felt too weak to support her body, but she forced them to move, to take her away from here. ‘I can’t sign this.’
And then she ran, the image of Flynn’s horrified face imprinted on her memory.
* * *
Okay, this...? This was not the plan.
Flynn stared after his wife as Helena stumbled out of the study and raced up the stairs. From the doorway, he could just about see the way she clung to the banister as she climbed, that stupid satin nightgown flapping around her legs.
‘What happened?’ Henry asked, striding across the hallway with a glass of water in his hand.
‘I have no idea,’ Flynn replied, gaze still locked on the now empty staircase. ‘But I’m going to find out. Stay here.’
They had an agreement, he fumed silently as he took the stairs two at a time. They’d talked about everything, he’d opened up to her in ways he’d never imagined he’d be able to with anyone. He’d married her! He’d given her that blasted ring and taken her to bed. He’d let her in, let himself hope, believe that he could have the future he’d dreamed of. That he was enough