Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 57: Milky, Glistening Olive Skin.

Chapter 57: Milky, Glistening Olive Skin.

Daybreak.

Conan’s Bungalow.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

Conan woke up first. He turned and Helena lay peaceful and soft next to him, her cheek was pressed at one side making her lips pout. He smiled, she looked so cute. He resisted the urge to trail her cheeks with his fingers. She made a soft sound that made him blink, air rushing into his lungs. He left the bed and after freshening up he headed for the kitchen to make breakfast.

"Good morning" he felt her before he heard her voice behind him moments later. He grumbled as he replied without turning to her.

Helena raised a brow, both her palms connecting with her waist.

"Good morning Conan" she repeated, her voice stern.

He turns to her, his shoulders tight "What do you want?" he asked.

"Good morning," she said again.

He stared at her in silence before he then sighed "I hope you enjoyed your night" he asked.

"I did not" she lied, Conan’s lips twitched, she had been enjoying her sleep when he woke up earlier.

"I am sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position with your father yesterday" she mumbled, her eyes drifting to what he was making. Her eyes widen at the view.

"It’s okay, the marriage talks are inevitable with any of my parents around" he added.

She nodded "I see, I am hungry" he pouted.

"Helena I am cooking, come closer" he gestured for her to move forward as he turned to continue cooking.

Over his shoulders, she asked, "What are you making?"

He froze, before taking a deep breath and veering around to face her.

"Have you ever had a milk punch?" he inquired.

She shifted. "No, fruit punch perhaps," she said.

He nodded "Sit" he encouraged as he continued to cook.

"Milk punch is a creamy cocktail made with milk, spirits, sugar, and sometimes spices, it’s a good one in Critic Arley" he conveyed as he continued to make their breakfast.

"Are they spices in this one?" she asked in a mumble.

"No" he asserted.

Breakfast got ready and Helena helped Conan set the table, they sat to eat and Helena was eager to taste the milk punch he had made. She shipped it for the first time and a frown colored her face.

The spirits in it made it strong. She continued to eat, a food she enjoyed as she glanced at the silent Conan. He is a good cook but why had he asked her never to cook for them?

She sipped the drink twice more but she still didn’t enjoy it, she dropped it on the table with a thud.

"I don’t like milk punches, let’s stick with fruit punch next time" she mumbled.

Conan looked at her with an understanding smile "Perhaps with spices you shall like it" he suggested.

"Perhaps" she agreed.

They finished eating and Conan went to the room to get ready for work, she cleared the dishes, washed them and thought of how to start writing in Critic Arley, she needed a real job to cover for him she makes money.

Conan walked back into the room to find Helena going through his shelf of books. The stack was filled with the muckraker’s papers.

"Helena" he called.

"Yes, Sir Obnoxious" she answered instinctively.

He narrowed his eyes.

She realized her mistake, they had come to a silent truce, one she shouldn’t jeopardize. "Yes, Conan sweetie" she purred, leaving the papers and coming to his side.

He hid a smirk "What did you do to me when I collapsed that day" he then asked, his question shocked her.

She manages to look unruffled "I merely got you out of the place" she admitted.

He raised a brow "The place?".

She met his eyes "The casted land" she pointed out.

"You know of it" he raised a question that sounded like a comment.

"Yes Conan, I lived in Critic-Ishelm, we hear tales" she confessed.

He nodded, rearranging his collar "How did you bring me back from the state I had slipped in?" he asked, his dark blond hair wet.

She shrugged "You woke up on your own after two days" she lied through her teeth.

He had been unconscious after collapsing, the betraying steed had run off neighing with all of Conan’s belongings. She had used magic to pull out all of the venom that the land had poured into his body, she then brought him back to a semi-conscious state where they walked out of the land together but he could not remember the happenings because she had hypnotized him and guided him out of the place but just as they left the land, they didn’t go further when she started to feel exhausted, she stopped using her magic and he had fallen back to his unconscious state. She had become weak and scared afterwards, so she stayed with him until he woke up and then they had travelled to Critic Arley together.

"Why were you not affected" Conan asked.

Because I’m a magic practitioner, she mused.

"I had mountain ash," she said instead.

Conan looked taken aback before he asked "What then does that mean Helena?"

"Mountain ash wards off spirits so whatever it was lurking there could never touch me" she asserted, as she watched him try to button his shirt sleeve wrist.

He narrowed his eyes. "Can you give me the mountain ash" he requested politely.

She blinked "I don’t have it anymore, I spread it all over you when you collapsed" she confessed, her fingers dancing with each other.

He sighed, met her ocean-blue eyes and sincerely apologized "I’m sorry I showed my gratitude like a self-entitled nobleman" his words.

"You should show me around Critic Arley if you regret your actions," she said with a grin.

"Someday" he promised.

They were getting along but she needed to know his motive for the sudden bombardment of questions.

"Why are you asking about that day?" she invited softly.

"Because my friend stepped inside foot inside the casted land and now he is in a lifeless state" he explained.

"I’m sorry, Conan" she whispered her eyes down. She wished she could help but she could not risk exposing her identity as a witch.

"It’s not your fault," Conan said to her.

He left the house before noon, today should better be good, he thought.

*****************

Morning.

Theodore Mansion

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

Theodore had woken up alone in bed, his wife, he later heard her movement in the bathroom, he smiled, he could join her, he mused.

He sprang out of bed, but Lydia was already done so they met outside the door making Theodore groan.

"I was about to come to help you bathe, Gooseberry" he grunted, his steps predatory as he pranced to her.

"Good morning husband" she wished.

"Good morning Gooseberry" he growled, pulling her into his arms.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering "Let me help you get dolled up"

"Your work" she reminded me, it was getting bright real fast.

He kissed her eyes simultaneously now "It can wait, I stayed out late yesterday, I shall spend the day with you today" he announced, with a grin. He barely grins, she feels elated.

"You shall also seek help for Hound today if you are less busy" she added, she had not been able to get his thought out of her head.

"I have, I did yesterday" he sighed "I am jumbled in the head because of that, nobody seems to know about it" he added.

Lydia frowned in bewilderment "Maybe a physician could help" she suggested.

"Perhaps, now come here, what dress are we putting my wife in today" Theodore diverted the conversation back to her, he did not want her to worry.

"A peach gown, white petticoat, white bloomer, a peach fastener and peach stockings please" she listed, her face in a beautiful smile as she watched him try to get them. He is so clueless yet determined.

"Did you tell Ms Janet not to deliver the dungarees in my absence?" Lydia accused her eyes narrowed as her husband picked everything he shall help her wear.

"She is making the best dungaree ever made, give her time" he grumbled from where he searched.

He found everything and dropped them in a neat heap on the bed, he drew her to the dresser and started the journey of dolling the lady of Critic Arley up.

Lydia stood breathless as he loosened the rope tying her open silky cloak together in the middle, the material parted, revealing the front of her. The swell of her breast, her tight stomach and a good view of her slender legs.

Lydia could only blink and sigh as her husband raised his hand to touch her. With his index, he pushed the shoulders of the cloak further revealing her milky skin, her flawless glistening olive skin.

His Gooseberry stood in her birthday suit and he could only think of what he could do to make her further his than she already is.