Chapter Nine

A gain West left Helena before dawn. The urge to cling to him, and let scandal go hang nearly overpowered what little remained of her good sense. The bed felt very lonely and cold once he’d gone.

She slept late and awoke to a sweet smell. Her eyes opened to see a pink lily on her pillow—the exotic perfume combined with West’s lingering, musky scent.

Gently she touched the petals, her mind full of the night’s pleasures. After he left her, West must have raided Silas’s extravagant greenhouses. As befitted one of the nation’s premier botanists, Silas had massive heated conservatories attached to the house. Convenient when one planned a wedding in February.

Helena held the lily to her nose and rolled over to find a sealed note propped on her nightstand. After the flood of correspondence from Russia, she recognized the slashing writing.

She pushed herself up on the pillows and reached for the letter. Idly she turned it over and over in her hands, until she realized she was smiling down at it like a sapskull. As if this was a love note.

Damn this house. The atmosphere of romance triumphant was irresistible.

Still, her heart skipped as she slid her thumbnail under the seal and unfolded the thick creamy sheet of paper.

My darling…

Blindly she glanced away. The endearment shouldn’t be so powerful. After those letters from Russia, she’d decided West used words like sweetheart and darling without meaning anything much by them.

Neither of them pretended that this affair involved love. Pleasure certainly. And she was grateful that they’d moved beyond past bitterness to re-establish their friendship. She’d forgotten how she enjoyed his humor, and the way he wouldn’t back down from her.

If he was here, she’d scold him for putting a romantic gloss on an unromantic union. But still when he called her his darling, her blood turned to syrup. She hoped to heaven she wasn’t going to end up going silly over West.

That would be the last straw.

The first two words of his note had her in such a spin that she’d failed to read the rest. Skating her eyes across “darling,” she went on.

Meet me at the Greek temple at 12. Don’t worry about the others. They think I’ve invited you to Shelton Abbey to see my stables.

Yours in sensual anticipation.

West

* * *

Helena rode Artemis through the bare woods, toward the isolated summerhouse her father had built after his marriage. A happy marriage that had endured until her parents’ death in a carriage accident near Pompeii three years ago. The Nashes made a habit of happy marriages. Helena couldn’t doubt how well Caro and Silas suited each other.

Her disastrous union with Crewe had been the exception to the rule.

After two nights in West’s arms, the memory of her pig of a husband didn’t bring the usual churning stomach. Right now, life was too interesting for her to dwell on old failures.

The forest was breathlessly still as Helena approached the pretty little folly. The only sound was the crunch of Artemis’s neat hooves on the leaf litter. Above them, a watery sun shone in a streaky sky. The late winter day carried the promise of spring.

Or perhaps, despite her best efforts to keep a cool head, Helena wasn’t immune to the thrill of sneaking away to meet a handsome lover.

Through the trees, the lake glistened. With sudden vigor, she set her heels to Artemis’s sides. The mare broke into a springing canter.

Helena supposed now West was back in England, she’d have to return the horse. Which would break her heart. Unless she could budge him on selling Artemis. And long acquaintance told her that when he made up his mind, nothing shifted him.

West stood on the graceful flight of marble steps, watching her ride up. She shivered at his intense concentration on her. Once she’d found it unnerving. Not now when she knew where that interest led.

Predatory intent filled his smile. “I wish I could paint.”

Helena drew Artemis to a halt. “Oh, no, not today, my fine fellow. I have other plans for you. And none of them involve standing several feet away with a brush in your hand.”

He ran lightly down the steps. He looked well, more like the man she remembered, before he fell victim to that mysterious fever. “Lady Crewe, you put me to the blush.”

“Blush, fine. Brush, no,” she said with a laugh, as he lifted her from the sidesaddle to the dry winter grass.

West caught her up for an urgent kiss, then drew back and cradled her head in his hands, holding her still for a thorough inspection.

She shifted restlessly under his searching gaze, not just because that kiss had stirred her blood. “What?”

“How is it that I’ve only been away from you for a couple of hours, yet I’ve missed you like the very devil?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said, struggling for an acerbic tone, but instead sounding bewildered and enchanted.

“I want to go where we can be alone for day after glorious day. Where I can wake to sunlight and make uninhibited love to you. Where when I get the urge in a drawing room, I can bend you over the back of the couch. Where we can talk until late in front of the fire. I want you to myself. I don’t want to have to check the clock or look over my shoulder for fear of scandal.”

His voice was insistent, strong emotion deepening it to a growly bass that made her bones vibrate. She struggled to escape this net of attraction, that tangled tighter with every second. But it was so damned difficult, when she, too, already kicked against the restrictions of secrecy.

“You speak as if our liaison will outlast this week.”

Mockery lit his eyes. “You still mean to toss me out of your bed in a few days? I don’t believe it.”

The problem was that she wasn’t sure she believed it either.

“That was the arrangement.” Curse her for sounding so uncertain.

“A week isn’t enough.”

She jerked free, bumping into Artemis who snorted and sidled away. “What are you suggesting?”

“You know what I’m suggesting.”

Unfortunately she did. “I don’t want to marry again.”

“Then let’s be lovers.”

She shook her head. “We can’t keep sneaking around. And such things always become public knowledge.”

He frowned, more in puzzlement than anger. “Would that be so bad? You’re not a debutante, and you were faithful to Crewe when he didn’t deserve it. Society will cast a forgiving eye on a discreet affair.”

“I don’t want people talking about me. I had enough of that when I was married. Everyone gossiped about Crewe, and by default, me. I hated how they watched me all the time. I hated their pity and contempt.”

He didn’t bother contradicting her. They both knew she was right. Playing the part of the wronged wife had lacerated her pride to tatters. “Then come away with me. We can go to France or Italy. Or darkest Africa, for all that. I don’t care as long as we’re together.”

Wonderingly she stared at him. “West, you almost sound desperate.”

He gave a self-derisive grunt of laughter and dropped to sit on the steps leading to the Doric-columned doorway. “How the mighty have fallen.” He ran his hand through his hair, and his expression was rueful. “I’m sorry. I meant today to be an idyll, yet here I am haranguing you.”

For a moment, she studied him. He was by nature the king of the beasts, but she found these occasional hints of vulnerability so dangerously appealing.

Abruptly she turned away, as if she stared too long at the sun. She caught Artemis and took off her bridle, so the mare was free to graze on the sparse greenery. The Arab was too well trained to bolt. Even if she did, they were within walking distance of the house, however secluded this pretty haven seemed.

Only when she’d gained a grip on her rioting emotions did Helena face West again. He lounged in front of her. She’d always been conscious of his handsomeness, although as an adult, she’d had little difficulty resisting his practiced charms. But here where they’d roamed as children, it was impossible to keep her distance. Without his shell of worldly sophistication, he seemed much more real. And much more perilous to her vow never to fall victim to another libertine.

Except right now, he didn’t look like a libertine. He looked like a man who could be well satisfied with the right woman. Even his clothes seemed honest. Shirtsleeves, fawn breeches, and scuffed boots that had seen better days.

Fearing that the battle to keep her distance was all but lost, she sighed. She sat beside him, taking his hand. “West, let’s enjoy our day. After tomorrow, we’ll have to be more careful. Amy’s back, and when it comes to secrets, she’s got a nose like a foxhound.”

“You know, we don’t need to hide our attachment at Woodley Park. It’s not as if the others are sleeping in chaste isolation.” He turned his hand to lace his fingers through hers.

Fear rippled through her anew. She could countenance incendiary passion. After all, that was why she’d entered into this affair. But these affectionate gestures reached deep into her soul—and her soul wasn’t up for negotiation.

“Yes, we do,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “If the others think you and I are interested in each other, they’ll nag us into the ground until we marry.”

“They already know I’m interested in you.”

“They don’t know I’m interested back,” she retorted, wondering if she betrayed too much. Although he must know she was helpless against his lures. “And if there’s even a hint of a scandal, the wedding guests will carry it back to London.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.” And wondered why her words rang hollow.

He rose and extended his hand. “If you’re going to argue with me, come inside. I’m not dressed for outdoors.”

She accepted his hand, and the tacit request for a change of subject. “Surely you can’t be cold. Not after Russia. I remember in one of your letters, you said that the air was so freezing, it hurt to breathe.”

He gave a grunt of pleased surprise. “So you did read my letters?”

She shot him a teasing look. “One or two.”

“More than that, I suspect.”

She laughed. “All right. I’ll admit it.”

“So they didn’t end up fueling the drawing room fire?”

“No, of course not. They’re marvelous letters. I’ve read and re-read them. There’s one about racing troikas at dawn across the frozen steppes that I know by heart. I could almost hear the snow crunching under the runners, and the bells tinkling on the horses’ harness. For a careless libertine, you have quite a way with words.”

It had been a game, pretending to despise that copious, fascinating correspondence. But in the last two days, the game between them had changed forever, and she could never claim indifference again. Not that her indifference had ever convinced him. “There. Look as smug as you like.”

He did look smug. “I always knew you read them. After all, you occasionally replied.”

“I couldn’t let you get away with talking about breeding rights, could I?”

“For Artemis.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “If you say so.”

He put on a theatrically innocent look. “I was lonely in Russia. You can’t blame me for pondering…natural matters.”

A huff of ironic laughter. “I’ve reached the conclusion that you think about natural matters most of the time.”

He caught her close for a quick kiss, an explicit promise of more to come. “A man needs a hobby.”

Helena caught his hand, and they ascended the stairs together. “Do you remember we used to come here that summer before you went to Oxford?”

“I do. Those are among my most precious memories.”

She frowned as they stepped through the tall door. “I’m sure that’s not true. We were very innocent.”

“That was part of the charm.” He smiled with that singular sweetness that she found increasingly difficult to withstand. A sweetness he seemed to direct at her alone.

She tore her gaze from his face, if only to hide how close she came to giving him everything he asked. And released a gasp of delight. “West, this is magical.”

The marble summerhouse wasn’t designed for February days, even fine ones like today. But he’d set braziers around a circular table covered in cream silk. Savory scents rose from porcelain dishes, and a bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket.

West helped her remove her vermillion riding jacket. Another light kiss, before he stepped away to lift the champagne bottle. “I’m glad you approve.”

Helena shifted closer to the table, battling the urge to cry, silly as it was. “You took such pains.”

His eyes were disconcertingly perceptive. “I ordered a few servants around. They were glad of the occupation. With Silas and Caro so wrapped up in each other, they’re at a loose end.”

“No, you devoted real thought to this.” Her voice was husky.

“Perhaps a moment or two. And don’t worry—I told the staff I wanted to give you a treat before I took you over to my stables. I made everything sound aboveboard.”

Pleasure and surprise vanquished reticence. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

His smile was tender. “That’s a crime. A woman like you should have swains scattering roses in front of her wherever she goes.”

She gave a cracked laugh. “That doesn’t sound very practical.” She took in the massed flowers adorning the table and set in vases around the room. “Anyway, I prefer lilies.”

The champagne cork popped, and he filled two crystal glasses. “You always did.”

He’d remembered her favorite flower? She’d thought this morning’s lily was just a happy accident. God in heaven, she was in dire trouble. If he hadn’t gone to such effort—and if she wasn’t completely under his spell—she’d take to her heels.

She swallowed and tried to sound relaxed and amused. But the hand she curled around her glass trembled. “I hope you left a few flowers. There’s a wedding next week.”

West raised his glass to her, and while his tone was cheerful, something momentous swam in his eyes. “One or two. Caro will have her bouquet.”

“No lilies, though.” The champagne was cold and crisp on her tongue, and did nothing to combat her giddiness.

He pulled out a chair for her. “There’s plenty of other flowers.”

Helena sat, unfolded her damask napkin, and placed it across her lap. “One of the benefits of marrying a botanist is that Caro will never lack for floral tributes.”

West dropped a kiss on her shoulder, making her shiver with anticipation. So far, his caresses had remained circumspect, but impending pleasure hummed around them. This meeting in the temple would have a very different end from those clandestine encounters when she was sixteen.

“Nor should you.” He sat and caught the hand she’d laid on the table, bringing it to his lips. “Be happy, sweet Helena. Everything will work out one way or another.”