Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Dinner was a boisterous affair, the guests were many and eclectic, and Helen was grateful that she was seated far away from the man who had unnerved her so.

So far, she had not had to acknowledge his presence, and that suited her just fine. She felt a confusing sense of irritation whenever he crossed her thoughts.

With the number of guests assembled, it was possible they might avoid each other entirely for most of the weekend.

Or at least, one could hope.

Amelia sat across from her, tucked between two wealthy lords who spent the meal vying valiantly for her attention, to much amusement. At intervals, the two women shared meaningful glances as they silently entertained themselves by examining their fellow guests and the scandalous goings on.

Amelia glanced meaningfully to her left, shooting Helen a quick smile. Of course, Helen already knew what she was about.

Look at Mrs Cathcart's attention, it strays far too often to that of Lord Hemsford, don't you think?

Helen raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, hiding her grin behind a napkin and relaxing as her own dinner partners chattered away about the matched bay chattel they had just purchased, boasting about careening through the street of London on a dare.

Finally, the meal was done, and the ladies of the company withdrew to the large formal drawing room. There was a troupe of musicians assembled in one corner, and the door to the games room stood wide, the front rooms of the house seemingly lit with a hundred sweet-smelling beeswax candles.

Gosh, the expense of it.

It was enough to make a lady gawk, although that would be far too gauche.

It soothed Helen's conscience somewhat, to witness such displays of wealth. Really, what she won was a drop in the ocean to someone such as Lady Caroline, who could spend as much in one night as Helen could win in a month.

Helen, as was her way, kept to one side of the gathering. Allowing Amelia and the other young bright things to dominate the conversation as they were all served sweet sherry.

Amelia made her way over, cheeks already pink with the effects of the wine and the diverting conversation.

"Helen, my dearest, have I told you yet how absolutely divine you look tonight?"

Helen smiled shyly, running her hand lovingly over the fine fabric of her dress. "Yes, Madame Blanchet certainly outdid herself, don't you think?"

The gown was made up of rich red tissue, overlaid over gold silk and gathered at the sleeves with a spray of artfully worked flowers. The bodice hugged her generous bosom before the skirts flared out to waft around her like a cloud as she walked, outlining the length of her thighs quite shockingly.

It was the most gorgeous gown Helen had ever owned.

"Not your usual striking red, but I think it complements you all the better for it. I know a certain pair of eyes has not been able to look away all evening," said Amelia with a knowing sparkle in her eye.

Helen blushed, and, as if fate was laughing at her for her boldness, the men chose that very moment to enter the room.

Captain Starling was last to step through the door, but as soon as he did, his eyes scanned the room until they found her in the corner.

His heated gaze ate her up from across the crowded space, and Helen resisted the urge to press a gloved hand to her cheek.

"My, my. Speak of the devil," murmured Amelia, watching avidly as the man started to make his way towards them through the crush.

He looked… God, what was that he was wearing?

Helen felt a snicker of disbelief lodge in her throat.

His jacket was a suitably refined black wool superfine, the perfectly tied cravat and high pointed collar a starched snowy white. But his waistcoat…

It was red, embroidered all over with a riot of flourishes and golden embellishments. Totally at odds with the other gentlemen in their staid grey or cream silks.

The man looked like a bloody pirate.

Amelia glanced between them, amusement sparkling in her gaze as she sipped her sherry blithely beside Helen.

"Does he… match you?" Amelia asked with bemusement.

Oh heavens . Please, no, thought Helen desperately.

She turned herself away, working her fan frantically over her cheeks as she stared at Amelia incredulously. Her friend merely smirked, then, pretending to see someone behind Helen, she moved away.

"Traitor," murmured Helen as her friend retreated, steeling herself against the moment she would have to acknowledge him.

"Mrs Montrose," came a low, smooth as velvet voice from behind her.

Helen turned with a disapproving frown. "Captain Starling," she murmured, desperate for her host to call them into the card room.

Anything to get away from this man.

His eyes lingered on her face as he made an elegant bow in her direction. "How fortuitous to see you here."

Helen resisted the urge to pull a face at the incorrigible man.

Instead, she smiled politely, flashing her teeth in a most unladylike manner. "And just how did you acquire an invitation to this particular event? It is almost as if you are following me."

"Perhaps I am," he quipped in reply, turning his back to the room and dropping her that signature wink. He pressed a hand to his heart. "Although I am quite wounded at the thought that you imagine me out of place at such a lofty gathering."

Helen tipped her head, interested despite herself. "What could you mean?"

Captain Starling smirked. "I am often invited to such events to add a frisson of scandal to the atmosphere, being the notorious bastard son of an earl has that effect."

Helen frowned, looking the man up and down with fresh eyes. Yes, there was that entitled attitude that often hovered around a member of the upper crust, but it was tempered with a heavy dose of disillusioned sarcasm. Captain Starling was telling the truth.

"You are the firstborn, but not the heir," she said without thinking.

Starling's gaze shuttered momentarily, a dark cloud that parted as he grimaced in acknowledgement of her barb. "You have me at a disadvantage, madam. Now, what other secrets might you win from me, hmm?"

Helen tapped her fan across her palm, intrigued by the last part of his comment despite herself. "It seems you think we are engaged in some kind of game, Captain. What do you imagine is at stake?"

Starling stepped closer, bending down so that his breath ghosted across the bare skin of her neck. "Secrets are powerful, Mrs Montrose. You have one of mine, now it is only fair I have one of yours."

Helen felt her skin flush with heat at the nearness of his body, a shamefully wanton reaction to the feel of him towering over her.

What would it feel like to have that lean strength pressed tight against her?

"I have no secrets," she whispered, feeling as if she was suddenly adrift, with no solid land in sight.

His hand moved to brush along the skin of her upper arm above the edge of her glove, the movement hidden from the gathered guests by their position.

Gods above, he was utterly shameless.

"Oh no, I think you might have some very intriguing secrets, Mrs Montrose. And I intend to win them from you."

With that, he stepped back, flashing her a charmingly polite smile, before moving away into the crowd.

Helen shivered, still reeling from the feel of his touch and the confusion his words had elicited.

What on earth could he mean?