Winning Lord West (11 page)

“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.”

He spoke urgently, strong emotion deepening
his baritone 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, 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 won’t lack for a 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 the promise of 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.”

West leaned back from the table and raised a
glass of excellent claret to his lips as he studied Helena. Right
now, she didn’t look like the self-contained countess with the
formidable brain, who had alternately awed and fascinated London
society. Nor did she, thank God, look like the unhappy Lady Crewe
who had held her head high through the shambles her repugnant
husband had made of her life.

She didn’t even look like the adorably unsure
beauty who had succumbed to his seduction.

Was that only two nights ago? He’d lived a
lifetime since.

He smiled at her in delight. “My dear Lady
Crewe, you’re foxed.”

Helena smiled back with bleary affability. “I
fear, my lord, you are right.”

With impressive steadiness, she raised her
claret and took a sip. Between them, the ruins of their meal spread
across the table. Silas’s kitchens had done them proud, with
oysters, chicken
à la perse,
salads—courtesy again of the
greenhouses—exotic fruits, fresh and candied. All that remained in
one piece was a meringue fancy molded in the shape of the
summerhouse.

West wasn’t anywhere near tipsy, although an
enjoyable warmth simmered in his blood. He had a strong head for
liquor. The only man able to drink him under the table was Anthony
Townsend, who had clearly led quite a life, running his shipping
line.

The only man in England. In Russia, the
locals and their vodka had trumped him.

Helena, on the other hand, was three sheets
to the wind.

“Do you want to lie down?” He waved his glass
toward the low divan under the window, where the servants had set
out cushions and rugs.

Salacious anticipation broadened her smile.
“Yes.”

When her foot curled over his knee in
unmistakable invitation, he jumped like a virgin. During the meal,
she must have kicked off her half-boots.

His cock reacted with predictable enthusiasm.
Never had he been as desperate for a woman as he was for Helena.
She merely had to look at him sideways, and he was upright as a
ship’s mast. He’d long believed they’d prove a physical match, but
the sizzling reality of holding her in his arms surpassed all his
imaginings.

Still, a gentleman didn’t take advantage of a
lady’s inebriation.

And he remained a gentleman. Just.

“You’ll feel better after a nap.”

She pursed her lips and lowered her eyelids
until thick, black lashes shadowed her cheekbones. “I’m feeling
rather fine right now.”

With unmistakable intent, her foot slid
further up his thigh. His grip on the glass tightened as explosions
set off behind his eyes. “Helena, you’re in no state to make
decisions.”

He wished she’d stop smiling at him as though
she meant to gobble him up for dessert, instead of the sugar and
cream confection. “That charming bower screams sin. You can’t mean
to waste it.”

“We’ll use it when you’ve got a clear
head.”

With a soft laugh, she curled her toes
against his leg. “I’m never clearheaded when I’m with you.”

Astonishment, as much as burgeoning arousal,
had him sitting straight in his chair. From Helena, that was a
major admission. Unfortunately, it also proved that she wasn’t
herself.

He caught that brazen stockinged foot before
it ventured higher. “We’ve got all afternoon. Silas and Caro are
visiting the neighbors, and Fen and Anthony are looking at property
in the area.”

“Then let’s not waste time.”

“I can’t seduce a woman who’s drunk,” he said
tartly. Despite his tone, he couldn’t help caressing the long,
elegant foot in his lap. He loved that she was built like a
greyhound, all slim speed and grace.