Winning Lord West (6 page)

West didn’t take offense at her rudeness. Of
course he didn’t. He knew she didn’t hate him, whatever
self-serving lies she told. “That’s a pity when we have so much in
common. Our childhoods, our friendships, our love of horses.”

“It doesn’t matter, West. I’m not interested
in marrying again. Even if I was, I’d never choose another man who
I couldn’t trust to stay in my bed.”

His tone hardened and he straightened in his
chair. “I haven’t had a mistress in more than a year.”

“Making do with casual encounters, are you?”
she asked, while the more generous side of her nature stood
appalled at how crabbed and snide she sounded. Crewe had changed
her so powerfully, and in ways that she hated, but couldn’t seem to
overcome.

He shook his head. “You’ve become so bitter,
Hel. I hate to see it.”

The fact that he was right didn’t mean she
had to agree. She shrugged. “Do you blame me?”

“Crewe has been dead two years. Your best
revenge is to rise above his sins against you and lead a fulfilled
life.”

She loathed that a man she wanted to deride
as a self-centered lightweight was so perceptive. “As your
wife?”

He surged to his feet and moved to stand over
her, bracing his elegant hands on the chair arms. “Yes, if you
like. But I’d give my right arm to see you experience some real
happiness. I don’t believe you’ve had one moment of unsullied joy
since you married that toad.”

Helena pressed back against the chair’s
brocade upholstery and fought to control angry, anguished tears.
She wanted to protest that she was happy when she and Artemis
galloped fit to outrun the world. But that would only make her
sound more pitiable.

“Stop it,” she said in a choked voice.

He grabbed her shoulders in adamant hands.
“I’d like to shake some sense into you.”

His touch made her stiffen. “How irresistible
that makes the idea of marrying you,” she forced through lips that
threatened to tremble.

She’d survived the last ten years by
pretending nothing could hurt her. Be damned if she’d cry in front
of West.

He sighed, and the anger drained from his
face. Lifting his hands, he stepped back with a gesture of apology.
“I’m sorry, Hel. I swore I’d be civilized. But I care too
much.”

She was seriously rattled now. If his
emotions were engaged, it would be almost impossible to discourage
his pursuit. She tried to speak lightly, but her voice emerged high
and unnatural. “You’re feeling nostalgic because we’re back in old
haunts.”

“No.”

He sounded so sure. As another wave of fear
rippled through her, she raised her chin. “You’ve had your ten
minutes.”

His smile was wry. “Damn me, so I have.”

Crewe hadn’t possessed an ounce of
self-awareness. West’s self-mockery reminded her again that he was
a better man than her late husband. “So good night.”

Self-aware West might be. Malleable he was
not. He drew himself up and stared at her with a green-eyed glint
she didn’t trust. “I haven’t got to what I want to talk about.”

“I won’t marry you.”

“That wasn’t it.”

She frowned, curious despite herself. “Wasn’t
it?”

“No.” He reached for her hand and pulled her
up—and far too close. “You asked about the women in my life.”

“Actually I didn’t. You told me that of late,
you’ve avoided stable liaisons.”

“Any liaisons at all.”

She surveyed him cynically, although the
rational part of her brain squeaked in protest that she shouldn’t
care who shared his bed. And worse, interest would encourage his
delusions that she was more than a childhood friend. “Even in
Russia?”

“Even in Russia. By God, those nights were
cold.”

“I assume you mean your uncharacteristic
chastity as some sort of compliment.” Her voice sharpened. “Well, I
don’t want it.”

He shrugged. “It’s not for you to decide.”
The glint in his eyes changed to determination. “When there’s only
one woman I want, it seems shabby to waste my time with
substitutes.”

“Then you’ll be sleeping alone for a long
time,” she snapped. Because despite everything she knew about
rakes, including that they lied—and who was to say he’d been
faithful during those chilly St. Petersburgh nights?—something
inside her melted to think he’d turned away armies of women for her
sake.

Which proved she wasn’t much smarter than the
wide-eyed virgin who had fallen so disastrously under Lord Crewe’s
spell.

“That’s what I’m here to talk about.” Before
she could repeat that she’d never marry him, he rushed on. “An
affair. I want an affair.”

A vibrating silence crashed down. Then Helena
burst out laughing. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

His grip on her hand firmed. “Hear me
out.”

“Another ten minutes?”

“You have other plans for tonight?”

His audacity made her laugh again. He was
impossible. “Oh, to Hades with you. All right. I’m listening. You
told me in the stables you don’t want a mistress.”

Another charming, self-deprecating smile. “I
didn’t, until I entered this bower of hearts and flowers. You and I
are de trop amongst all the billing and cooing.”

“So because we’re at loose end, we should
jump into bed?”

“I’ve bedded women for less valid
reasons.”

She gasped at his impudence. “Perhaps now and
again, you should try a good book instead.”

“That’s what you do—and it’s left you a
bundle of nerves and frustration.” He tugged on her hand, but she
resisted his attempt to bring her closer. “Come on, Hel. I know
you. I know the passion simmering under all those thorns. Unless
you’ve been unbelievably discreet, you haven’t taken a lover since
Crewe broke his neck. Caro told me about you and Pascal. Poor sap’s
hanging out for an encouraging word, but he’s not getting one. I
know how he feels.”

Annoyance flattened her lips. “Caro’s a
telltale.”

“She doesn’t like to see me suffer.” He
paused. “Surely you want to revisit the pleasures of the flesh—two
years of chastity must chafe.”

For a shocked moment, she stared at him. Then
the ludicrous situation struck her with full force. She jerked away
and collapsed back into her chair, laughing.

“Helena?” West asked when she didn’t stop.
“What the devil is the matter?”

“I can’t—” she spluttered and set off on
another peal of giggles. To think, this was the man who claimed to
understand her. Yet everything he said was wrong, wrong, wrong.

He went down on his haunches and grabbed her
shoulders. Genuine concern darkened his expression. “Helena, damn
well calm down.”

She sucked in a breath, feeling better for
the good laugh, however bitter its cause.

And because she felt better, she admitted the
unvarnished truth. “There were no pleasures of the flesh in my
marriage. Crewe was as useless with a woman as he was with
everything else.”

West had led a full and exciting life. He’d
traveled. He’d indulged his sensual appetites, some might say to a
fault. He’d experienced human nature in all its rich variety. At
thirty, very little surprised him anymore.

Helena’s confession left him speechless. And
appalled.

That this glorious creature had never
experienced sexual pleasure was too cruel to be borne. His liking
for her drunken brute of a husband hadn’t much outlasted that
ill-fated visit to Shelton Abbey when Crewe met his bride. But this
went beyond all the evil he already knew of Gerald Wade.

“I won’t have you feeling sorry for me,” she
snarled, staring up at him like a deer surrounded by hounds. Except
even when she left herself vulnerable, Helena stayed fierce.

Not a deer. A lioness.

West studied
her taut, troubled features, and did the only thing he could.

He kissed her.

Her confession called for gentleness.
Kindness. Reassurance. But her fire had always lured him. The
knowledge that her fire had never had a chance to blaze into
magnificent conflagration made him seethe.

And crave.

So when he dragged her up from the chair into
his arms, his touch was ruthless. The lips he pressed to hers were
hungry, and made no concession to what remained an essential
innocence.

She cried out in protest, and her hands
clenched on his arms. When he’d caught her, she’d been too startled
to resist. Now she went as rigid as a block of wood.

Not as rigid as he was. He’d wanted Helena
for months. Years. Touching her, he went up in flames. As volatile
as the idealistic, untried boy he’d once been.

More. Now he was a man. His desire was a
man’s desire.

Her mouth was unresponsive. But her smoky
scent, familiar yet strange, made his head swim. She fitted against
him, created for his pleasure. She was a tall, slender woman, and
that lissome body drove him mad.

Drowning in heat, he took too long to realize
that she was pounding on his shoulders. “What the devil?” he
gasped, wrenching free.

Since her marriage, she’d masked her ardent
soul beneath intellectual detachment. Now she was incandescent with
emotion. Unfortunately the emotion wasn’t passion. Rage set her
black eyes glittering.

Her defiance only made him burn to kiss her
again. Once, he’d feared that Crewe’s betrayals might crush her
tempestuous soul.

Not in a million years.

“I begin to believe you,” he said in a drawl
meant to stoke her fury. He didn’t want her taking refuge in
defensive coolness. “Crewe didn’t teach you much about kissing. You
were better at this when you were sixteen.”

Temper flared in Helena’s eyes like an
exploding star. “I don’t want pity kisses,” she snapped. “You will
not laugh at me.”

“Idiot girl,” he said with fond impatience,
and swept her up, blatantly pressing her against him. “Does that
feel like pity?”

“You—” she stammered, drawing back.
Astonishment chased her anger away.

“Yes, I want you.” He answered the unfinished
question. “I’ve always wanted you. Even when you were another man’s
wife.”

Wonderingly she studied him. His candor
didn’t seem to have offended her, which was a surprise. “I had no
idea.”

“You’ve been locked away from life.” His grip
on her arms tightened. “Let me show you what you’ve missed.”

When her dark gaze settled on his mouth,
something sparked in those starry depths. Arousal jolted him. And
the beginnings of hope.

“What if I don’t like it?”

“I’ll stop.” He hoped to Hades he wasn’t
lying.

“I’m not sure I trust you.”

“If you shriek your head off, someone will
save you.”

Ironic amusement curled her lips. “You’re
convinced you can kiss any objections away, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had no complaints.”

She subjected him to the comprehensive
inspection she’d give a horse before she bought it. “I feel…I feel
that my education is lacking. Especially since Caro and Fen…”

“Have found their own satisfaction?”

“Yes.” To stop him gathering her closer, she
flattened her hand on his chest. “If we do this…”

“If?”
If
was better than an outright
refusal any day. Triumph beat inside him like a thousand wings.
He’d intrigued her—and Helena followed where her curiosity led.

“If we do this, I set the pace. After you’ve
kissed me, I decide whether we proceed.”

A grunt of incredulous laughter escaped him.
“You’re still a blasted managing wench. Do you want me to sign a
contract? In triplicate? In blood?”

His sarcasm didn’t amuse her. “Your word is
sufficient.”

“Damn it, Hel. I’m asking for a few days of
fun, not hiring an architect to build me a new townhouse.” Actually
he intended much more than a brief affair, but however heady her
nearness, he hadn’t lost his grip on strategy.

His levity earned him a disapproving glance.
“There’s more.”

He sighed and settled his hands at her supple
waist. “Of course there is.”

“You won’t tell anybody.”

“Not even Silas?”

“Silas in particular. If you tell Silas,
he’ll tell Caro. Then she’ll tell Fen. I don’t want any misguided,
if well-meant matchmaking. In public, we still act like
acquaintances.”

West arched his eyebrows. “When you’re
wandering around in a blissful daze, that will be difficult.”

This time she did push away. He didn’t try to
stop her. Right now, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“I hate to puncture your confidence, but it’s
possible there won’t be any bliss.” She paced as she spoke. Hers
was a restless soul, always had been.

He frowned as he watched her move. Those long
legs ate up the carpet, and everything about her expressed energy
and purpose. She was the most exciting woman he’d ever known. “I’m
not a brute like Crewe.”

The smile she cast him in passing was almost
fond. “I know you’re not.”

He gaped at her in shock. “What did you
say?”

She came to rest near the bed and curled her
hand around one of the carved posts. He gulped for air. The action
was a little too suggestive for his sanity. And the pity of it was
she had no clue.

As if ensuring he understood, she spoke very
clearly. “I said you’re a better man than my late, unlamented
spouse. Why else are we having this conversation?”

He frowned, struggling through the steam in
his brain to make sense of this momentous change. “You always said
we were cut from the same cloth.”

“Yes, well, I was hurt and angry. Just now,
when I asked you to stop kissing me, you did. Crewe would have
rushed on to find his swinish satisfaction.”

Did she know how much she betrayed about her
marriage? “Helena…”

She glowered. “I told you not to feel sorry
for me. When I decided I wouldn’t share him with his whores, I
started sleeping with a pistol under my pillow. You might recall
his
hunting
accident, back in 1811. The one that didn’t kill
him, but left him with his arm in a sling.”