Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Not even at the card tables could Helen escape Captain Starling, as he seemed to appear at the most inopportune moment to smoothly insert himself into the game of whist she sat down to. Sliding himself into the seat opposite her with a honeyed smile that made her want to storm off in a huff.

She took a steadying breath, trying to find the focus that had always come so easily to her before.

It would be too rude to outright refuse him, so Helen picked up the deck with lips pressed tight together in displeasure, shuffling the cards angrily.

He would be her partner in the game, and they were to play against Lord Seldon and his wife.

Lady Caroline was holding court over her own game of whist one table over, and a group of young bucks had set up a game of hazard in the corner.

Overall, the night appeared to be a lovely warmup to deeper play later in the weekend.

Helen should be moving amongst the games, charming the gathering in her own quiet way. Ensuring that none would see her as anything more than just another guest who loved to indulge themselves in a bit of harmless fun.

She should not be fixated on the man seated across from her, who had somehow wrangled himself an invitation to this exclusive party.

Ruining her composure in the process.

And now, she would have to play whist with him as if he hadn't kissed her practically senseless in a darkened courtyard not a few nights past.

Your partner was a vital part of whist play, as you had to work as a team to earn the most trumps.

The thought of having to rely on this man was maddening. Exasperating.

Bloody inconvenient.

Helen would have to stare into his handsome face with each fall of the cards and she loathed the heat that rushed through her at the thought.

Helen offered the deck to Lady Sedon to cut, then proceeded to deal the cards, laying out the first trump with a crisp snick of the card as it settled in the centre of the table.

Captain Starling fingered his tokens, running the small ivory disk of one through his fingers over and over again.

Helen blew out a huff of annoyance and glared at his movements. Unfortunately, the dratted man would not take a hint, and Starling merely smiled mildly at her in return, continuing to distract her with his long, neatly manicured fingers as they flipped and caught the token.

The game was a disaster from the start, with Lord and Lady Seldon easily taking the trumps as Helen struggled to focus.

Whist was a game where, if you had a head for numbers, one could easily guess at the cards that were still left in the deck. It was not so much chance, as a skill that could take the game.

Normally Helen could work with her partner, no matter who they were, as whist was an inherently competitive game and it was easy to team up with another who shared the thrill of victory.

But with Captain Starling, it was different. Instead of working with her, he seemed to want to constantly one-up her. Helen was furious to admit that he was not as unskilled as she had imagined, and she was soon lagging behind the others.

It irked her, that she was not winning.

Helen always won. Always.

She could not remember the last time she had tasted the bitterness of defeat on her tongue in such a manner.

By the end of the game, she was a tangled mess of nerves and overwrought emotions. Excusing herself from the table as soon as she politely could, Helen left the gaming room with the aim of taking a slow, calming walk through the halls of the manor.

Helen sucked in slow, deep breaths, willing her hands to stop shaking with what must be anger.

After a time, she arrived at the large, vaulted picture gallery. A few sconces were lit along the walls, allowing for the viewing of the artwork and sculptures on display. Although the light was dim, she slowed her steps, allowing herself to linger before the portraits and country scenes, enjoying the rich colours and pretending for a moment that she was swept away into one of the decadent settings.

She sometimes longed to be somewhere else, somewhere she could start over, without having to mould herself for the comfort of others.

But that was a girlish fantasy, and there was no point in dwelling on what could never be.

One of the paintings at the far end caught her eye, and Helen moved closer, her hand coming up to cover her lips as she spied a racier scene than before.

The painting depicted a couple entwined on a low couch, the lady with her bare back to the viewer, glancing enticingly over her shoulder as her lover gazed at her with adoration.

Such paintings were normally held in more private rooms, and Helen wondered if this one had been placed here on purpose to entice any visitor that came upon it into similar sensual activities.

She would not put it past Lady Caroline to engage in such mischief.

Helen felt the heat that had simmered in her body all evening flare hot at the wicked thoughts the painting inspired.

Of Captain Starling, looking at her just like that, while she…

An insidious idea snaked its way into Helen's thoughts.

Why shouldn't she indulge herself? The man certainly seemed interested.

Nobody here would bat an eyelid if she engaged in a tryst. In fact, such house parties were often organised for the sole reason of engaging in illicit liaisons away from the social whirl of London.

If Helen needed to concentrate, to take back her power and her control with it, she should seduce Captain Starling and take him to her bed.

Once her body was sated, the tension eased, surely her mind would once again be able to focus on the matter at hand?

Earning her freedom.

Helen tapped one white-gloved finger against her lip, considering.

Yes. It was an appealing idea. She already knew what Amelia would say, if Helen asked her opinion.

There were many things she had seen at places like the Palais, carnal things that she had never done with her husband. It would be intriguing to see how Captain Starling reacted to such activities. Something told her the rogue might be the perfect man to indulge her curiosities.

As if summoned by her devilish thoughts, footsteps sounded behind her in the gallery, and the smell of cigars and sandalwood washed over her as a certain incorrigible male came to a halt behind her.