Winning Lord West

by Anna Campbell

  “Nothing,” she muttered. “Go back to gazing into Caro’s eyes and whispering romantic inanities.”

  Caro gave a soft laugh. “She jests at scars who never felt a wound!”

  Helena slitted her eyes at her besotted friend and returned her attention to Fenella. This time, she kept her voice low. “What utter balderdash. He’s here as Silas’s groomsman. They’ve been friends since childhood.”

  For such a fairy-like creature, Fenella had a good line in unimpressed looks. “Don’t be a nitwit, Hel. He’s fond of Silas, but he crossed Europe to see you.”

  I don’t want you to be my mistress. I want you to be my wife.

  The words had haunted Helena since West had spoken them in the stables. They were no more acceptable now than they’d been then.

  “You’re wrong.” The last thing she needed was her friends promoting West’s asinine courtship. “We don’t like each other.”

  “He likes you.” Fenella picked up her tambour and calmly began stitching as though she discussed the weather and not the prospect of a lifetime of misery for Helena. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all evening.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” Helena’s hands clenched on her lap. “Since you’ve fallen head over heels with Anthony, you see romance everywhere.”

  “I see it when I look at you and West.”

  “Then your eyes deceive you. You’re living in a fantasy world where each of us finds true love and sails into the sunset clasped to a manly bosom.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, when it’s Caro and Silas, or you and Anthony. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  It was true, she told herself, even as she stifled an unworthy twinge. She’d never do anything to jeopardize Caro or Fen’s happiness, but it was no fun sitting on the sidelines at a party.

  As if Fen picked up her shameful envy, she went on. “You’d be happier if you had something new to look forward to. We’ll always be friends, but Caro and Silas will be away at least a year, and Anthony and I plan to live in Hampshire with the boys. You’ll be all alone in London.”

  “I have other friends,” Helena said, and cringed at how defiant she sounded.

  Anyway, it was true. A wealthy widow with a witty tongue could always find company. But since they’d met, she, Caro and Fenella had been inseparable. The other two Dashing Widows understood her in a way that nobody else, except perhaps Silas—and damn him, West—did.

  Her hand trembled as she lifted her brandy to her lips. Here on the family estate, strict propriety was relaxed. Even completely tossed out the window. She could have a drink after dinner without raising eyebrows. And while all six people under this roof had been assigned bedrooms, she’d lay good money that neither of the engaged couples slept separately. The only guests sleeping alone tonight were Helena Wade and Vernon Grange. And given a rake’s ability to find a bedmate, she wouldn’t wager on West remaining lonely.

  Stop it, Helena. You don’t care who West tups, as long as it’s not you.

  Sometimes being understood had its drawbacks. Fenella’s blue eyes softened with compassion. “You have your schools, and your work, and all the intellectual life of London to occupy you, too.”

  Oh, dear Lord. At this rate, she’d be sobbing into her brother’s best French brandy. She scowled at Fenella. “Don’t you dare pity me, Fenella Deerham.”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I’ll be happy.” She hoped that Fenella missed the hollow ring beneath her claim. “I have the world at my feet.”

  “You do.”

  “Gentlemen vie for my attention.”

  “Lord Pascal has been most attentive.”

  “He’s a very nice man.”

  “He is.”

  Helena’s eyes narrowed on her friend. “Stop agreeing with me.”

  Fenella bit back a smile. “But everything you say is true.”

  “I’ve always wanted to travel. Why should Silas and Caro have all the adventures?”

  “No reason at all.”

  “Fenella…” she warned.

  Fen shook her head. “There’s no pleasing you.”

  No, there wasn’t. And Helena didn’t know what in Hades was wrong with her. Life was good. She led a busy and useful existence. She was delighted her friends had found love—she’d all but cornered Caro into agreeing to marry Silas, hadn’t she?

  She blamed all this blasted love everywhere. It made a woman restless and discontented. Perhaps when she returned to London, she’d do something about turning her agreeable friendship with handsome Lord Pascal into something more. A lover might help to heal the scars left from her marriage.

  Pascal was kind and clever, and pleasant company. In subtle ways, he’d made it clear that he’d welcome a closer connection. Dear heaven, half London already thought they shared a bed—and the gossip about that had reached as far as Moscow.

  She’d take a lover. She’d see Italy and France and Greece. She’d meet interesting people and do exciting things. And she’d ignore the snide little voice that whispered in her ear that she’d do all those wonderful things alone.

  It was natural to feel out of sorts with so many changes around her. She’d find her balance again. And life would become the rich banquet she’d always hoped it could be.

  With sudden determination, she emptied her glass and set it on the side table.

  But shaky self-confidence dissolved into trepidation when she met West’s unwinking green gaze across the opulent room.

  Chapter Three

  It was late when Helena made her way to her bedroom by the light of a single candle. A headache pounded in her temples and she was so keyed up, she knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink. The familiar house, with its happy childhood memories, settled around her.

  Returning to Woodley Park was a bittersweet experience. Inevitably she remembered the lively girl she’d been, and her gentle, intellectual parents, and how close she’d been to her brothers and sisters. She also remembered her first fumbling forays into love with West. Except back in those days when every heartbeat had echoed his name, he’d been mere Mr. Vernon Grange.

  Compared to that vivacious, warmhearted girl, she felt old and tired and desiccated.

  She’d been looking forward to the house party before Silas’s wedding as a chance to spend time with her brother and her friends before everything changed forever. But if tonight indicated what lay ahead, she wished she’d stayed in London. West had made no secret of his interest, and not only had she needed to defend herself against Fenella’s matchmaking, Caro tore herself away from Silas long enough to weigh in on the subject, too.

  Helena placed the blame on West. Damn him for telling Anthony he wanted to marry her. In the way of lovers, Anthony had told Fenella, who told Caro, who told Silas. Now Helena heartily consigned all her dearest friends to perdition.

  When she pushed open the door, her room was aglow with candles. Without surprise, she looked across to the man sitting beside the tall window. Eleven years ago, a snake had poisoned her particular Eden, and his friend was still very much alive to cause trouble.

  “Lord West.” Her voice was cold.

  He bowed his head without standing. She supposed given he’d invaded her room, lesser courtesies hardly mattered. At least he remained fully dressed. “Lady Crewe.”

  His mockery of her formality was the last straw. “Get out.”

  “Helena—”

  Her hand curled around the doorknob behind her. She wished she hadn’t dismissed her maid for the night before going down to dinner. “You heard me.”

  He raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “I want to talk.”

  “We can talk. Downstairs. In the full light of day.”

  “Except you’ll go out of your way to avoid me again.”

  “Doesn’t that tell you something?” Her heart raced like a bolting horse. She wanted to say it was with fear, except she wasn’t really frightened. At least not that West intende
d to force his attentions on her.

  “It tells me I make you nervous.”

  “You’re making me nervous now. Please go away.”

  His lips twitched. “You know I mean no harm.”

  “It depends on your definition of harm. If I shriek for help, Silas and Anthony will hear me.”

  “They’re happily engaged in their own affairs. Pun intended.”

  “They’d still come to my rescue.”

  That prompted a quizzical look. “You don’t need rescuing.”

  He stood, and her large, luxurious bedroom turned into a trap. Any confidence that she could bring this unexpected encounter to a speedy end dissolved like sugar in hot water.

  “I’ll scream.”

  “You wouldn’t be so gauche.”

  She backed away until she hit the door. “I’m extremely gauche when it comes to ejecting undesirable intruders from my bedroom.”

  Except he wasn’t undesirable, blast him. Damn all the love in the air. It sparked reckless ideas in a girl’s head when she found herself alone with an attractive man after midnight.

  West sighed and brushed his hand through his thick black hair, making it tumble forward over his high forehead. “Hel, for pity’s sake, give me ten minutes, and if you still feel like a vile monster has cornered you, I’ll go.”

  Despite herself, she laughed shortly. “You’re not a vile monster, and you know it.”

  He’d been a beautiful boy and her first love. He’d grown into a striking man, the perfect picture of the dark, dashing aristocrat with his chiseled features and athletic body. Her husband had been another such classic English gentleman, but mature judgment found signs of character in West’s face that Crewe had lacked.

  When Crewe died at twenty-nine, debauchery had turned him into a wreck. He’d been fat and shaky and sick. Despite his recent illness, Vernon Grange at thirty was in the prime of life. He might be pale and too thin. But his eyes were clear, his jaw was firm, and his mouth expressed humor and intelligence, not petulant self-indulgence.

  His mouth…

  “Helena?”

  She blinked and realized that she’d drifted off. A bad idea when she shared a cage with a tiger. West mightn’t be as bad as Crewe—the fact that he was alive to pester her testified to that—but he was still dangerous. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

  “Please sit down and listen to me.” He gestured toward the bed.

  Helena cast him a narrow-eyed look and moved toward the chair on the other side of the window. “As long as there’s no marriage nonsense.” She blew out her candle and set it on the windowsill between them. “And I’ll hold you to the ten minutes.”

  “You don’t give an inch, do you?” He angled his chair so he could watch her. Which wasn’t what she wanted. He’d watched her all night, and she had the shredded nerves to prove it.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you’re missing out on so much.”

  Her sigh was longsuffering. “I can live very happily without marrying again. I can’t see why you’d think to ask me. We don’t get along.”

  “We used to.”

  “Maybe I should have married you at sixteen,” she retorted.

  To her disgust, he treated her sarcastic rejoinder as a serious suggestion. “We were too young. I needed to see the world to discover how special you are.”

  His compliment angered rather than pleased. She made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t talk such rubbish. That might work on your usual witless inamoratas, but I know you too well.”

  West’s regard was steady as he leaned back with every appearance of relaxation. “Knowing someone well is good grounds for marriage.”

  She shook her head. “Not when I don’t like what I know.”

  “Is that really true?”

  “Yes,” she said, and didn’t believe it herself.

  Curse him, why couldn’t he lose his temper and march out in a huff, instead of acting like a sensible man? She’d spent eleven years telling herself she despised him. Except that, if she was fair—as she very much didn’t want to be—he wasn’t quite the thoughtless brute she’d painted him. He took care of his estates, and he could sound intelligent when he felt like it. His negotiation skills had gained international respect. When the government sent him to Russia to sort out that diplomatic mess, it wasn’t the first time they’d turned to him for help.

  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, inte
rest 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.”