Chapter Thirteen

I n the commotion after the ceremony, Helena lost track of West. Which was something of a miracle, given she’d been burningly conscious of him from the moment she entered the church. Her heart had slammed to a stop at the sight of him waiting at the altar, tall and handsome in his blue coat.

Tall and handsome, and drawn and tired. Today he appeared ten years older than the man she’d seduced in the summerhouse.

Despite his best attempts to avoid looking at her—honestly, he must know the game was up when it came to hiding their liaison—a thread of fire had connected them. But as Silas and Caro left for Woodley Park in a barouche garlanded with ribbons and hothouse flowers, she glanced around the rice-strewn churchyard and realized that West had disappeared.

Fear stirred. He’d been so ill. Had he collapsed somewhere, and in all the hullabaloo, nobody noticed?

Berating herself, she retreated from the thinning crowd—Silas had laid on a celebration for the villagers at the tavern, while his friends and family walked back to the house for the wedding breakfast.

One last check of the area. No West.

She started her hunt in the church, but only saw the vicar’s wife collecting hymn books. Helena shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Without the press of warm bodies, the old stone building was cold.

Where on earth was West? Had he slipped away to the house ahead of everyone else? After the ceremony, carriages had driven the old and infirm up to the breakfast. But she couldn’t see West, no matter how ill, admitting that he fell into that category.

She emerged into the day, blinking at the glare of sun on snow. The villagers had cleared the road, and the area in front of the church, but white blanketed everything else.

What a perfect winter day for a perfect winter wedding. Caro and Silas’s transparent happiness had brought a tear to even unsentimental Helena Wade’s eye. Her brother and his bride deserved every ounce of their joy.

Helena made her way around the church, thankful anew for the villagers’ hard work. Her fur-lined half-boots were a stylish take on seasonal footwear, but they weren’t up to wading through snow. She shaded her eyes and looked over the graves—although why West would choose to wander among tombstones today of all days, she couldn’t imagine.

Still no sign of him. He must have left without her noticing. Which seemed dashed odd.

Nettled and still worried, she turned to retrace her steps, and caught sight of a pair of long—and familiar—legs. They extended across the entrance to the stone porch outside the vestry.

Propelled by a mixture of relief and concern, she hurried forward. “West? Aren’t you well?”

During the ceremony, he’d looked pale and serious. She suspected iron will alone had kept him standing.

“Helena.” He didn’t look up as she appeared in the doorway. “My day is complete.”

She flinched as foreboding settled heavy in her stomach. The words might be flattering. His tone was not. He sounded like the drawling, sardonic rake she’d so disliked in London.

He’d removed his hat and set it on the bench beside him. She bit back the urge to insist he put it on against the cold. The last thing he’d want was her fussing about his health.

“Are you all right?” Needing the support, she set a shaky hand on the stone archway. His closed expression deterred her from touching him.

His illness might explain this cool reception, she supposed. Although she couldn’t help feeling something more personal lay behind his reserve.

He concentrated on the flagstoned floor. “Of course I am.”

She set a hand on her hip. “Then why are you brooding in here?”

“Just catching my breath. You go ahead. I’ll be there soon.”

She struggled to hide how his dismissal stung. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

At last, he lifted his eyes. The green was flat as she’d never seen it. “Yes, I have.”

She was surprised at the ready admission. Surprised, puzzled—and hurt. “Why?”

Impatience lengthened the lips that had kissed her into a frenzy. “Because there’s something I need to say. And I don’t want to spoil Silas’s wedding for you.”

She stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “Well, that’s damned considerate of you.”

He shook his glossy head. As if anchoring himself in place, he hooked his gloved hands over the edge of the oak bench. “We need privacy, and no likelihood of interruption.”

Worse and worse. Sick apprehension knotted her stomach. The last time he’d wanted privacy and no interruptions, he’d sent her to paradise and back. The contrast with today was chilling.

She clutched trembling hands together at her waist, before deliberately separating them and lowering them to her sides. His distant attitude scraped tattered holes in her heart, but she was a fighter, not a helpless victim. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

A muscle flickered in his lean cheek. “The vicar’s still inside the church, and we’re expected at the house. I’m due to make a speech, if you recall.”

She set her jaw and marched into the small space, despite West’s silent warning to keep out. “The vicar and his wife left a few minutes ago. You don’t have to do your speech until the end of the breakfast. And you’re not weaseling out of telling me what’s going on, even if we sit here until Christmas.”

He sighed again. “People will talk.”

“Let them.” With legs that felt like string, she sank onto the narrow bench opposite West. It was colder in his dank hideout than it was outside in the sun. “What’s wrong?”

He smiled with grudging fondness—and a regret that sliced at her like a razor. “Always ready to rush in where angels fear to tread.”

She didn’t smile back—after all, he hadn’t given her much of a smile in the first place. “Are you angry because our friends now know we’re…involved?”

“No. Although that doesn’t mean I want the whole bloody county knowing our business.”

She leaned back on the clammy medieval stone. She didn’t understand what was happening. Which was strange when she and West had shared such an uncanny connection.

But whatever troubled him, he needed to know that the game had changed.

“West, I will marry you.”

Whatever reaction she expected, it wasn’t the one she got. For a blistering instant, he stared at her in absolute horror. Then he tipped his head against the wall and laughed.

His sour amusement bounced around the stone walls like mistuned bells. Devastated, angry, bewildered, Helena surged to her feet and glared at him. Her hands formed fists at her sides, although she knew she couldn’t thump a man only hours out of his sickbed.

“What the devil is wrong with you?”

He stopped laughing and leveled cold eyes upon her. Shocked, distraught, she stumbled back onto the bench.

His lips twisted. “Do any two people in history have worse timing than you and me?”

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all.

Dread colder than the snow outside oozed down her spine. “What do you mean?” she asked in a reedy voice.

The humor, however bitter, drained from his face. He looked weary and desolate.

She wasn’t a stupid woman, although right now, she feared she’d been fatally stupid about West. Before he spoke, she knew what he was going to say. Although she still couldn’t fathom how everything could shift in mere days.

“I mean that I’ve changed my mind.” His deep voice was toneless. He didn’t sound at all like the man who had slept by her side and caressed her until she cried out in ecstasy. “I won’t marry you, Helena.”

Although his manner already hinted at that answer, she recoiled. Having her heart crushed beneath his boot heel hurt like the very devil. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. It would be too humiliating.

She couldn’t help but remember the afternoon in the summerhouse. She’d never trusted anyone so deeply. She’d never felt so happy.

Her nails bit into her palms as she struggled for control. Crewe had taught her all about disappointment and loneliness and shame. This should be more of the same.

Except it wasn’t.

Because she’d soon realized that her so-called love for Crewe was only adolescent romanticism, allied with his dedicated pursuit of her—and her dowry. Whereas her bond with West was real.

Or at least she’d believed it was.

Mustering her ragged courage, she squared her shoulders. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Yes.” That muscle in his cheek continued its erratic dance. He looked uncomfortable and miserable and strained.

Which also struck her as strange. This couldn’t be the first time a libertine like West had dismissed an incompatible lover. He should be better at it.

Her brain scurried for explanations. Only one reason occurred to her, and it made her feel like vomiting. “Is it…”

Helena broke off. It seemed blasphemous to say the words outside a church, but she had to know. When she’d taken him into her mouth, she’d felt so free and brave. But men were bizarre creatures. Perhaps he saw her actions in a different light.

She steeled herself to ask the question. “Did I give you a disgust of me, when I—”

His features tightened in dismay, and he reached out convulsively. But he stopped before making contact and curled his hands over the bench again. “No. Good God, no. That was one of the most glorious experiences of my life.”

At least he no longer sounded like a bored roué rejecting an unpromising courtesan. She stared into his face, and at last her sharp mind kicked into its usual efficient action. Whatever lay behind this lunatic decision, it wasn’t because he’d tired of her.

Just now he’d betrayed himself. She’d glimpsed hunger and longing, and something that looked very much like self-hatred.

Now his expression was shuttered, and he stared over her right shoulder as if the old stonework was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

She sucked in a breath of freezing air and forced herself to think, instead of feel. Feeling wouldn’t help her here.

Four days ago, everything between them had been perfect. So whatever the problem, it had arisen since he’d collapsed with fever.

Helena strove for calmness. “If you don’t want to marry me, we’ll do as you suggested, and go on as lovers.”

That caught his attention. He stared at her as if she was mad. “That’s not possible.”

West seemed determined to make an operatic drama out of their affair. She was equally determined to drag him back to reality. And the reality was that they belonged together, even if she’d taken far too long to admit that.

“Why not?” She shrugged with manufactured insouciance. “Although we may run into trouble when you choose a bride. After all, you need an heir.”

Deep lines ran between his nose and mouth. “I doubt I’ll ever marry.”

She frowned as explanations for his behavior, none related to wanting to move on from her, hurtled through her mind. She wasn’t experienced with dalliance, but nor was she a fool. She couldn’t help remembering a man barely able to crawl who had struggled out of his sickbed to protect her good name.

“That seems a pity.” Holding West’s gaze, she rose and, daring the bristling hostility, sat beside him. “What about the title?”

He slid away, but she hadn’t left him much room to maneuver. “I have cousins aplenty.”

“That’s a mercy, then,” she said with assumed cheerfulness. She inched along the seat until her hip bumped his.

He eyed her warily, winged brows lowered in displeasure. “Must you sit so close?”

“It’s cold.” She caught his gloved hand in hers.

“So why not head up to the house?” He vibrated with tension, but didn’t break free. “There’s nothing for you here.”

How wrong could a man be? “I’m waiting for you to tell me why you wanted me one day, and you can’t abide me the next. It doesn’t seem like you.”

Despite lack of encouragement, her senses expanded to his nearness. The lemon soap he used. Beneath that, the musky scent of his skin. The warmth of his body. She’d felt glacially cold when he’d tried to send her away, but now frail hope warmed her blood.

Dear God, don’t let her be wrong.

“That’s rakes for you,” he said.

If he meant to sound like the heartless debauchee she’d once believed him to be, he failed. She raised his hand and rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. “Maybe, but I know now I misjudged you all these years. You’re a man of steady affections, unshakable loyalty, and the highest honor.”

This time he did wrench away, despite her best efforts to cling to him. He stumbled to his feet and stared at her angrily. “What’s this, Hel?”

As she studied him, tentative hope firmed, and settled hard and sure inside her. “I’m saying I know your game.”

He scowled. “This is no game. Our affair is over. I’m sending you away.”

She glowered back. “I won’t go.”

He flinched as though she’d hit him. “Have you no pride?”

It was her turn for an unamused laugh. “Of course. Too much.” She shot him a straight look. “But unlike you, I’m not stupid with pride.”

His expression turned shifty, which bolstered her optimism that she was on the right track. “You’re talking utter rubbish.”

She folded her gloved hands in her lap and fixed him with an unwavering regard. “No, you are. You should know me by now, West. I’m steadfast and true. For pity’s sake, I remained faithful to that swine Crewe. Now I’ve chosen you, and I won’t be fobbed off.” Impatience roughened her tone. “As if your illness makes a shred of difference to my affection.”

More than affection. But while she was brave, she wasn’t brave enough to set her whole heart out before him. Not when she still wasn’t sure whether he meant to surrender, or crush all her chances of happiness. And all his chances, too, the stiff-necked wretch.

A long, prickling silence extended.

Suspense tightened her belly until bile rose in her throat. Was she wrong? Had she pushed him too far?

Then he dragged in a shuddering breath. He slumped as the resistance drained out of him. And with it, the rage-fueled vigor.

Relief flooded her, and she leaped to her feet, helping him back to the bench. “Should I fetch someone?”

“A keeper to take you away and lock you up,” he said, although the words lacked venom. He leaned against her, heavy and trembling and dear.

She wasn’t complaining. At least they’d bridged the cruel distance. She turned her head to kiss the ruffled dark hair. “Make your heroic declaration of self-denial. Then I can argue it away, and we can get on with the rest of our lives.”

Despite physical discomfort, a grunt of laughter escaped him. “You’re bloody sure of yourself.”

“That’s your fault.” Her embrace tightened. “You make me feel like a goddess.”

“I should have been more careful,” he muttered, but his arm snaked around her waist to draw her closer. “It’s all very well to sound so confident. I saw doctors in Russia, and again in London. These fevers could go on for the rest of my life. There’s no cure. I might get better, but it’s quite possible I won’t.”

She’d been right about what troubled him. Relief made her dizzy, but she stiffened her shoulders against any weakness. The fight wasn’t over yet. “So like a gallant fool, you decided to fall on your sword, and throw me to the wolves for good measure?”

He shifted to level somber green eyes on her. “You deserve my best.”

Heaven save her from stubborn masculine pride. “And it didn’t occur to you to share these ramshackle ideas?”

“I know your stalwart soul, Helena. I’ve known it all my life. You’d insist on standing by me.”

“Now who’s sure of himself?”

“I know you’ve…become attached. It seemed easier to let you go back to thinking I’m a worthless cad.”

“Easier for whom?”

“Hating me helped you cope with Crewe’s betrayals. I thought it might help again this time.” Obstinacy squared his jaw. She realized with a sinking feeling that she hadn’t won yet, although victory hovered close. “I can’t bear to be a burden on you.”

“So your vanity is more important than my happiness?”

“Vanity?” he snapped, sounding much more like himself.

Fear that even now, she still might fail, added an edge to her voice. A wonderful future opened up before them. She could see that so clearly. Why in Hades couldn’t he?

“Yes. Vanity. I don’t care if you’re ill—oh, that’s not right, of course I care—but it doesn’t change my feelings. In the past days, you’ve brought me alive. Surely you know that.” Tears stung her eyes, and this time she didn’t force them back. “For heaven’s sake, West, don’t let your conceit shut me away in the dark.”

“I was right—you do intend to stand by me. Blast you, I won’t have it. I won’t tie you to a wreck of a man.”

“You’re not a wreck of a man.” A tear trickled down her cheek. How things had changed. Once he’d been so certain, and she’d been the one to hold out. “You’re everything I want.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “A week ago, you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Well, now I can’t go on without you. If you’re intent on self-sacrifice, be self-sacrificing by my side. I’m not the easiest person in the world.” She yielded the very last of her own pride. “Lover or wife, I don’t care which. As long as we stay together.”

A familiar mulish expression settled on his features. “No. I want to marry you.”

More relief rose to choke her. She caught his intense, dark face between her hands and met eyes still brimming with uncertainty. “Then don’t consign us both to a lonely life, just because you sometimes get the shakes.”

He studied her. “Helena, I’m trying to do the right thing.”

She dredged up a smile. “Then make an honest woman of me. Really, Lord West, have you no scruples?”

Reluctant amusement tugged at his lips. “More than I ever realized. But you seem to have talked me out of most of them.”

Closing her eyes, she sent a thankful prayer heavenward. She was terrifyingly aware of how close she’d come to losing him. “Really?”

“Really.” The clumsy eagerness in his kiss showed as nothing else could that he was hers at last.

By the time he raised his head, she was befuddled and happy and shaking. Sniffing, she fumbled for a handkerchief in the satin reticule tied to her wrist.

“My dear Lady Crewe—” With difficulty, West shifted out of her arms and dropped to one knee before her.

Immediately she forgot what she was looking for. “Get up, West. That stone’s too cold for you.”

Despite her efforts to avoid him, he caught her hands. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be a nagging wife.”

“Probably.” She tried to break free. “I’ll take the romantic proposal as read.”

“No, you won’t.”

“For a decrepit ruin, you’re very highhanded,” she grumbled.

“You had your chance to run, and you didn’t take it.” His tight grip contradicted the humor. “My dear Lady Crewe—”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. Now be quiet and listen, curse you.” His voice lowered to a velvety sincerity that made her tremble. “My dear Lady Crewe, I’ve long admired your beauty and kindness.” He ignored her soft snort. “You are everything a man could want in a lifelong partner. I’ll count myself the most fortunate of men if you accept me as your husband.”

“I will,” she said quickly.

“There’s more.”

She leaned down and kissed him. She’d expected resistance, but his mouth was eager. When she raised her head, her heart overflowed with happiness. “I don’t need pretty words.”

“Yes, you do.” He raised her hands to his lips. “Helena, I’m not the perfect choice.” He ignored the emphatic shake of her head, disagreeing with him. “Life will send us challenges. But you’re the bravest and best woman I know, and I swear I’ll cherish you until the day I die.”

Oh, dear. A lump settled in Helena’s throat, and moisture turned her vision misty. She should have found that handkerchief while she had the chance.

“Maybe I do need pretty words after all.” She curled her fingers around his and struggled for the answer he deserved. “West, I pledge myself to you. I’ll be proud to be your wife. Nobody has ever made me as happy as you have today.”

This time the kiss lasted much longer, and ended in the two of them entwined on the narrow bench. West no longer objected to her crowding him.

When he tucked her under his chin, she’d never felt so safe in her life. “The others will be pleased that we’ve made up our difficulties.”

Helena gave a gurgle of laughter. “I have a suspicion they already know. My fellow Dashing Widows have an uncanny ability to sniff out a wedding in the wind.”

“Now the Dashing Widows will all be cherished wives.” Despite the wedding breakfast, he seemed content to linger in the shadowy porch. “Will you miss your wild ways, my darling?”

“My dear Lord West, how very wrong you are.” She raised her head to meet his glowing eyes. “My dashing days have only just begun.”