Chapter Eight

W hen Helena wandered downstairs the next day, it was close to noon. She made her way to the morning room where Caro and Fenella sat gossiping over tea.

West’s theory that her fellow Dashing Widows were too spellbound to notice much else around them was borne out. Helena was a notorious early riser—most days in London she rode in Hyde Park at dawn—but neither of her friends questioned her tardy appearance.

Helena fell upon the tea table with enthusiasm. A night of debauchery played havoc with a polite appetite.

“That’s a pretty dress,” Fenella said from the couch near the fire. As usual, she had her embroidery on her lap. “I haven’t seen it before.”

With a self-conscious gesture, Helena’s hand strayed to the high lace neckline. She’d bought the yellow and white gown last season, but had decided she didn’t like its Elizabethan collar. She had no idea why her maid had packed it. But when she’d looked in her mirror this morning and seen the marks of West’s teeth, she’d decided this dress was her latest favorite. “It’s new.”

“More demure than you usually wear,” Caro said from the sofa.

Helena’s cheeks heated. Making a great show of filling her cup, she avoided her friends’ eyes. “I feel like a change of style. Would either of you like tea?”

“I’ll ring for more,” Caro said. “That’s been sitting there for half an hour.”

While Caro summoned a footman and arranged more refreshments, Helena sought a seat in the room’s darkest corner. Luckily it was a typical February day, gray, wet, miserable. Gloomy. Despite copious amounts of Milk of Roses, her face was still pink with whisker burn. Tonight, she’d make sure that West shaved before he came to her, however exciting his beard had felt rasping against her skin.

Tonight…

How odd it felt to anticipate a meeting with a lover. And what a lover. She shivered to recall the way his mouth had explored every inch of her. From her toes to her eyebrows and everything—everything!—in between. She shifted on her brocade chair and stifled a gasp of discomfort. Today her body ached in so many unfamiliar places.

“Amy’s back the day after tomorrow,” Caro said, returning to her place without glancing at Helena, which was a good thing. She feared she looked completely besotted.

The woeful fact was that she felt completely besotted. She put it down to discovering sexual fulfillment so late in life. But right now, her logical world was awash with butterflies and unicorns and rainbows.

“I’ve never met her,” Fen said. “She lives here most of the time, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Helena said. “She does a jolly good job of running the place. She might be only seventeen, but she’s quite the expert on modern farming. The rest of the family arrives the day before the wedding.”

Heaven help her, she’d better get a grip on her reactions before her sister turned up. Amy had the sharpest eyes in England—and the least discretion. It was lucky she was staying with one of their aunts right now, or Helena’s fall from grace would no longer be a secret.

“It’s a pity Robert couldn’t be here, too,” Caro said. “He’s mapping some obscure corner of the African coast and couldn’t get leave.”

“I haven’t met him either,” Fen said.

“He stayed with Helena last year in London, when he’d just come back from New South Wales. He’s frightfully handsome and gallant and naval.”

“Oh, I’m sure he sets hearts fluttering.”

Helena smiled. “Ladies are swooning between here and Sydney, and every port in between.”

“I hope this weather doesn’t worsen before the wedding,” Fen said as the butler brought in a laden tray. “Travel’s so difficult if there’s heavy snow.”

“All the Nashes are punishing riders,” Caro said, as Fen rose to serve the tea. “Silas’s relations would push through a blizzard to be here.”

As Helena sipped a fresh cup of tea, she’d gathered enough composure to ask after West without sounding like a complete nitwit. “Where are the gentlemen?”

“Silas’s horse was favoring its right foreleg this morning,” Caro said, setting her cup into its saucer. “They’re in the stables seeing to the problem.”

“Silas and West are. Anthony’s just gone along for show,” Fen said serenely, wandering back to her couch with a full cup. “The poor darling doesn’t know one end of a horse from another.”

“But he could out-sail the other two with his hands tied behind his back,” Helena said. In recent weeks, she’d become very fond of Anthony Townsend. She admired both his acumen and his lack of artifice. And his devotion to Fenella, who had emerged from long grief to find happiness with him.

“I’m sure a prime whip like Fen appreciates a man who lets her take the reins,” Caro said. “If she married an arrogant brute like West, he’d never let her drive.”

“He’s not an arrogant brute,” Helena said, then dipped her head in mortification.

A resonant silence fell.

“You’ve changed your tune.” Caro cast her a quizzical glance. “He’s always set your back up. I’ve never been sure why. I think he’s utterly divine.”

So divine that before she fell in love with Silas, Caro had considered taking West as a lover. With an audible clink, Helena returned her cup to its saucer. She knew she was absurd—Caro was mad about Silas—but the idea of West kissing her friend made Helena want to shoot her.

Telling herself to settle down, she affected an airy tone. “He’s back from Russia with some of the stuffing knocked out of him. As a result, he’s more bearable than usual.”

Bravo. That was much more like her.

“I’m worried about this fever,” Fen said, sipping her tea with a thoughtful frown. “Anthony says he’s seen agues like this in the East, and they can recur for years.”

“This sounds a very odd diplomatic mission,” Caro said. “Away for months, and traipsing all over Russia.”

“Anthony says Russia’s a strange place,” Fen said.

“And of course if Anthony says it, it must be true,” Helena said slyly.

When Fen blushed, she looked like a pretty sixteen-year-old. “I’m sorry. I must sound addled. Love turns the brain to custard.”

Lust had a similar effect, Helena could now confirm.

“So true,” Caro said. “The other day, I was walking in the woods, and I started thinking about Silas. I got completely lost.”

The reminiscent light in Caro’s eyes hinted there was more to the story. Since they’d found love, Helena had noted the changes in her friends. But today she was hypersensitive to the female satisfaction pervading the room.

“It’s a large estate,” Helena said.

“I got as far as the Grecian temple before Silas found me.”

Ideal for a private rendezvous. When she’d been a giddy girl, Helena and West had often met there.

“We’re hardly Dashing Widows anymore,” Fenella said with a smile. “Perhaps we should rechristen ourselves the dreamy ladies.”

Helena expected someone to mention the one unattached Dashing Widow, but Caro started to describe her forthcoming voyage to China instead. Helen let the chatter wash over her, while she wallowed in wanton memories.

Last night, West had answered so many of her questions.

Was she unnatural? Not with the right lover.

What fueled the light in her friends’ eyes? She now had a fair idea.

Tonight West would come to her bed again. And perhaps this time, he wouldn’t leave her unsettled, as well as supremely satisfied.

Because every answer she’d received had raised a hundred questions. And all of them disturbed her. How could a physical act conjure such a profound emotional effect? She knew it was mere imagination, but when West thrust deep inside her, she’d felt like they united into a single being.

“Helena?”

She emerged from her reverie to find both Caro and Fen staring at her.

“Sorry. I wandered off.” She struggled to sound like her sharp-tongued self, not this moony creature she’d become. “You can’t blame me. I’ve heard nothing but China and weddings—and wedding china!—since I arrived.”

Caro smiled. “It must be dull for you, with Fen and I so preoccupied.”

Did the question hide a sting? After all, she was still on the shelf—at least as far as her friends knew. How shocked they’d be to learn what she’d done last night. Shocked, and quick to interfere.

But Caro’s smile was genuine. “This is our last chance to be together for a long while.”

Helena picked up her tea and said with perfect sincerity, “I’m delighted you’re both so happy—and I heartily approve of your choices. Silas is the best brother in the world. I look forward to you becoming my sister in fact as well as in my heart, Caro. And, Fen, I’d never pictured you with a man like Anthony, but you’re perfect for each other.”

Caro’s regard was mocking. “Oh, dear, I’m not picking up a single note of irony. Are you sickening for something, Hel? Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down.”

Only if West comes, too, she wanted to say.

She gave a short laugh. “It’s the blasted atmosphere in this house. Even I can’t help getting mawkish. I promise everything will return to normal, once we’ve packed away the wedding finery.”

Fen studied her. “Helena, things will change, that’s inevitable, but our friendship will endure. I hope you’ll be a regular visitor to the Beeches.”

“Thank you. I plan to come down and inspect the stables the minute you’re back from your wedding trip.” The Townsends were setting up home with Fenella’s son and Anthony’s ward at a magnificent estate outside Winchester.

Fenella stepped straight into the heart of a family. Helena suffered a pang of envy, before forcibly reminding herself that she preferred the freedom to make her own choices.

Caro looked out the window. “Speaking of stables, our menfolk are marching across the lawn in this direction.”

Helena had last seen West when he’d reluctantly crawled out of her bed before dawn. Now at his approach, her silly heart leaped about with excitement like a dog before a walk.

With a brilliant smile, Caro rose to open the door onto the terrace. “Come inside, out of the cold.”

As he stepped in, Silas gave her a brief kiss. Anthony crossed to sit beside Fenella and sling one powerful arm around her. West entered more slowly, closing the door behind him. His eyes arrowed in on Helena, before he made a great show of turning to Caro. “The horse just needs rest, in my opinion.”

Helena slid her cup and saucer onto the table so that their rattle didn’t betray her reaction to West’s arrival. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a young girl, infatuated with her handsome neighbor.

Her neighbor was still handsome. Seeing him, her heart slammed to a stop, then began to beat hard and fast.

Luckily nobody paid her a shred of attention. She had a horrible feeling that if they did, they’d know precisely what she and West had been up to all night.

Silas was talking about his lame horse, but he may as well have been speaking Greek. Although if he’d spoken Greek, Helena might have made an effort to concentrate—like all the Nash offspring, she’d had a good classical education. But her friends’ voices turned into mere background as her eyes devoured West, leaning with louche elegance against the doorframe.

She knew exactly how that tall, rangy form looked unclothed. Those long, capable fingers had been inside her body. That ruthless mouth had tasted her sex and licked her into writhing ecstasy.

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him now. Right this minute.

His shoulders tensed, as if he knew what she was thinking. After one smoldering glance, he concentrated with unconvincing interest on Silas.

Helena curled her fingernails into her palms until the sting forced her back to reality. What she and West had unleashed last night threatened to break free of all constraint.