by Mary Brendan
He was watching her, a slant to his mouth, and she knew he was amused to see how she would react to this unexpected meeting; whether she would stop and talk or simply nod and walk on by. But then he had not yet received her schematic note and had no idea that, in fact, a meeting between them was exactly what she wanted. It was merely the time and place that were wrong.
Her chin tilted and she boldly traversed the pavement to stand before him. ‘Good day to you, Sir Jason. How are you?’
Jason inclined his head. ‘I’m very well, thank you. And how are you, Mrs Marlowe?’
‘I’m well, too, sir, thank you.’
‘And the weather seems quite fine for this time of the year,’ he added smoothly. Slate-grey eyes skimmed the perfect oval of her face as she attempted to gather the loose strands clinging to her complexion. ‘Though it is perhaps a little too windy.’ It was a murmured observation.
Helen felt her face burn where his darkly humorous gaze lingered.
‘Why did you not stay longer at the Goodes?’
‘Anne mentioned to you that I had called?’
‘No. I saw you leaving from the drawing-room window.’
‘Oh …’Helen caught her lower lip in small perfect teeth. She settled on being honest. ‘I … I wanted to speak privately to Philip about something, but it didn’t seem that I had chosen an appropriate time.’
‘I thought perhaps Anne mentioned my name and you sped away to avoid seeing me.’
‘Yes, she did. But, no, I didn’t … run away, that is. Actually, I have wanted to see you and have today sent you a letter.’ Helen abruptly pressed her lips together. She had not meant to so boldly disclose that fact. But he had guessed correctly her evasive action, and it had nettled her into rashness. She strove to limit the damage. ‘I … I wrote to you because there is something on my mind … but please don’t ask me to explain now,’ she quickly besought as his eyes became narrow with interest.
‘Perhaps I can guess what it is,’ he softly said. ‘You want to know what ulterior motive prompted me to settle your grocery bill. Is that it?’
He was not quite correct, but his thoughts were certainly travelling in the right direction. She backed away a step, said in a strangled tone, ‘It is not a good time or place to talk, sir.’ She glanced about, noticing that people passing by were sliding inquisitive looks at them. No doubt they were wondering why an elegant gentleman, in possession of an expensive equipage, would be in tense conversation at the side of the road with an unstylish young woman. As Helen noticed two plump matrons give her a scandalised stare, then put their heads together, a shocked breath filled her lungs. Surely nobody thought her to be soliciting! The thought that next jolted into her mind crushed her indignation and her pride. Procuring this man’s protection was exactly her intention; she had simply hoped to proposition him out of sight of prying eyes.
Jason’s head tilted so he might study her lowered face. ‘If you have taken the trouble to write to me about your concerns, they are obviously important.’ He held out an arm to her. ‘Come, if you will allow me take you home, we can talk there—’
‘No …’ Helen swiftly interrupted, her eyes glancing on his. ‘Charlotte is at home today and I would rather not …’
‘I understand. I’m sure I can find a place en route to Westlea House that is neither too secluded nor too public. A drive through the park is sure to turn up a quiet spot. We can stop there and look at the view without attracting attention.’
Helen needed little persuasion to agree. As soon as he returned home he would have her note … and her measure. It would be best to surge ahead with what she’d started. If she had misjudged his interest in her, and her forwardness irritated rather than pleased him, she might never see him again. She knew that he found Diana Tucker desirable and, Heaven only knew, she was as far removed in face and figure from her as a woman could be. As Helen took his arm to be courteously assisted aboard his phaeton, she drove down any regrets at having despatched the letter at all. The deed was done, and done after much inner debate that had kept her restless throughout last night.
She had been expecting that, once on the move, he would immediately try to prise some snippet from her. But she was wrong. It was several minutes later that Helen abruptly broke the silence. She had become far too conscious of a muscular thigh encased in fawn fabric close to her hip. Feeling flustered by his proximity, she slid a few inches away on the seat before angling to face him. Briskly she marshalled her courage and her thoughts. She might just as well open proceedings and contrive to lead their conversation towards revealing herself … as a brazen hussy. Quickly she blurted, ‘I know that you are related to the Goodes, sir; forgive me for asking, but what prompted you to visit them after so long an estrangement?’
Without losing speed, Jason skilfully manoeuvred a path between two weighty coaches. Once the road was clear he reined back the plunging horses and gave her a glance. ‘Are you asking whether the friendship between your sister and Philip Goode might have spurred me to go there?’
There was very little hesitation from Helen before she owned up to that. ‘Yes, sir, I suppose I am.’
Jason smiled his appreciation that she’d not prevaricated. ‘I suppose I could say I simply thought a family feud of some decades’ duration had run its course, and it was time to extend an olive branch.’
‘But?’
‘But it wouldn’t be the whole truth.’
Emboldened by his honesty, Helen continued to probe. ‘Did you know that Philip has been quietly courting my sister, Charlotte?’
‘I had heard something of the sort.’
‘From George, I take it.’ Her spontaneous response was curt enough to make Jason frown.
They had passed through the gates of Hyde Park. The earliness of the hour and the buffeting wind ensured that few other people were about to enjoy the spring sunshine. Jason drew the phaeton to a smooth halt in a quiet avenue. Soft afternoon sun filtered through swaying branches to lightly gild them.
‘I first learned of it from my brother, Mark,’ he eventually answered her.
‘Your brother?’ Helen echoed in surprise.
Jason turned on the seat to face her. He leaned back against the side of the vehicle. ‘Mark witnessed a rather unpleasant scene in this park. It involved your brother and sister and our cousins. Mark interpreted what he saw as George displaying disapproval of Philip Goode squiring your sister.’
Helen looked at her gloved fingers, regretting having spoken snappishly before. ‘That is exactly what did occur and Charlotte was mortified by the incident. She told me that George made a spectacle of them all in front of passers-by. You have confirmed our fears that gossip might ensue.’
‘And are you about to confirm my fears? I get the impression you think I might have today gone, at George’s behest, to tell my cousin to stay away from your sister.’
‘George is determined to kill their love and find Charlotte a wealthy man. He will do whatever it takes to achieve that.’
‘And you think I might help him in his ambition?’
‘You do business together,’ Helen said crisply, unwilling to appease the anger she sensed in him. They were being truthful with each other and she had no wish to deviate from that.
‘I don’t consider my cousin’s courtship to be my business. But Philip and Anne Goode are kin and I take against their being made to look ridiculous. Mark was annoyed at what he saw and was tempted to intervene.’
Helen winced at the grit in his voice. ‘I’m sorry if I have jumped to a wrong conclusion, sir,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad that your brother did not become involved. It would undoubtedly have resulted in more of a rumpus.’
‘Indeed,’ Jason agreed drily. ‘Mark felt exactly that way.’ He gazed upon her sculpted profile for a moment, fighting down an urge to reach out and feel beneath his fingertips skin that looked pale and pure as alabaster. Abruptly his gaze sought the horizon. ‘Today I let Philip know I’d heard about the incident and t
hat I deplored Kingston’s conduct.’
Helen immediately swerved her golden eyes to him. She might not have had an opportunity to speak to Philip, but perhaps she could discover what Charlotte wanted to know from another source. ‘Is Philip still feeling humiliated? He has every right to be angry.’
‘He seemed philosophical. If you went there today to discover if he still carries a torch for your sister, the answer is that he certainly does,’ Jason told her softly.
A small sweet smile from Helen displayed her gratitude at knowing it. ‘Charlotte will be very happy. She was sure George had succeeded in destroying Philip’s devotion.’
‘If he had, perhaps it was infatuation and not worth having.’
‘Oh, it’s true love, I’m sure,’ Helen said earnestly. ‘But even so, I wouldn’t blame Philip for giving it up as a lost cause. He needs George’s consent to a betrothal and you’ve no idea how abominably rude our brother can be to him.’ Helen smiled ruefully. ‘A stoic temperament and an unflinching love are minimum requirements for a gentleman of limited means wishing to wed a sister of George’s.’
‘Was Harry Marlowe just such a man?’
‘Indeed, he was, sir.’ Helen felt a surge of shame that her beloved Harry be mentioned at such a time. What would Harry think of her wanton plan? A moment later she said briskly, ‘Of course, my brother was then much younger and much different.’ She suddenly realised that they had not yet touched on the subject of the note she had sent him.
‘Are you going to tell me what is in your letter or would you rather I read it?’ Jason asked as though his thoughts were in tune with hers.
Despite willing herself not to, Helen sensed a blush stain her cheeks. ‘I can tell you the gist of it.’ She drew in an inspiriting breath. ‘First I must apologise for Mr Drover’s behaviour. It was unforgivable of him—’
‘But understandable. If he spoke honestly, he has been a patient man.’
Helen nodded her acceptance of that truth.
‘Have you eaten well since?’
He was awaiting her reply as though her nourishment was of serious concern. ‘Yes … thank you, sir, we have eaten very well. The house is warm, too.’
Jason nodded and was absently looking over parkland when he murmured, ‘Good.’
‘The comfort you have provided is what prompted me to write to you.’ Her opening gambit was out, if uttered in an unsteady voice.
Jason picked up the leather reins from where they had rested on the seat and idly transferred them from hand to hand. ‘I’ve explained, Mrs Marlowe, that George is due a payment from me following our recent business. Any sums I settle on your behalf will be deducted from his account. That is all there is to it. You don’t owe me a damned thing.’
He was obviously irritated by this conversation to have used strong language in front of a lady. Or … perhaps he had guessed she was about to disclose she wasn’t a lady. Helen drew in a breath and blurted, ‘I don’t think that is absolutely true, sir.’
‘What is true, then?’ It was a terse demand that terminated on a laugh that sounded hollow and humourless.
Helen knew it was time to choose between acting the jade or the coquette, but unplanned words just tumbled out. ‘I … I think that you have been generous to us because you have a liking for me. My reason for writing to you is … I want you to know that I have no objection to your interest. In fact, I should like to encourage it.’ Her proposition ended on a soundless sob of relief that it was done.
She felt her heart thundering and inwardly she blenched—she knew her solitary attempt to win a protector had been extremely amateurish. He seemed unimpressed, too, for he remained silent, studying the leather reins crossing his palms for some while before replying.
‘Perhaps if I tell you something else, Mrs Marlowe, you might reconsider some of what you’ve said. During our talk today I learned from Philip that he is seeking a position. I know of an opportunity in the city that might suit him. In short, if he takes up the offer, his prospects ought to improve enough for him to take a wife.’
‘I am very pleased about that,’ Helen said huskily, with some understatement, for her heart was soaring. ‘But still I am prepared to—’
‘Put yourself at my disposal?’ His tone veered more to anger than irony.
‘No …’ Helen finally turned to look directly into his eyes. In their profound blackness she discovered a glow that calmed her. She managed a shy smile. ‘No …’ she repeated softly. ‘I am prepared to shun modesty and propriety. Virtue has its merits, but not for someone like me; I shall not regret its loss.’
She prayed that enough was now established between them for him to take over and allow her some pride and gentility. But her hopes were dashed.
‘I’m not about to make this easy for you, Helen. If it’s what you want, ask me….’
Chapter Ten
‘Would you make me your mistress?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you not want to think about it for a moment?’ Helen offered quietly.
‘No. Do you?’
‘No,’ Helen murmured, barely faltering.
‘Are you sure about that, Helen?’
‘Yes …’
She had been a schoolgirl when last he had used her given name. She had always liked the way it sounded spoken in his gruff, cultured voice. Far back in her mind stirred a memory of how he would smile at her and make her feel at the same time awkward and elated and intuitive of a promise of excitement hovering between them.
But he was no longer her brother’s friend, welcome in their home, and she was no longer a fanciful maid of fifteen.
She might be unpractised in such negotiations, but she knew that a gentleman was encumbered financially when he took a woman under his protection. She had anticipated that such an arrangement would necessitate a conversation between them lasting longer than a few minutes. But he seemed to have settled into staring moodily into space.
Helen was obliquely aware of his detachment whilst reasoning on what must come next flitted through her mind. Unless he intended keeping her in the background, a mistress was usually a social companion, too. Once it became common knowledge that they were lovers she would be barred from some areas of his life, but accompanying him to the theatre or a shopping trip and so on would be in her scope. Her clothes were dated and shabby. She would need an allowance for new garments in order to look acceptably stylish when partnering him. And, of course, they would need a discreet place to meet. Although he now owned the property, visiting her at Westlea House would be out of the question. Her teeth settled painfully into her lower lip as she came to shameful awareness of how naturally mercenary thoughts had occupied her. But, of course, such practicalities kept at bay the apprehensiveness that was making moist her palms and parching her mouth.
Sir Jason Hunter was to be her lover, to know her body as intimately as would a husband. Goose bumps rippled fierily over her limbs in response to the wild images that ran amok in her mind. Although they were not touching she felt intensely conscious of his muscular physique and the clean fresh scent that emanated from him.
She took a glimpse at his profile, acutely conscious of his silence. Perhaps his odd humour sprung from the fact that he had been the quarry. He had a reputation as a womaniser. Was he a Hunter by name and by nature—a man who liked being a predator? She might have pricked his male pride by audaciously approaching him. That train of thought lead to something else. Perhaps a woman brazen enough to start the chase was expected to bestow an appropriate token of gratitude for her victory. She glanced swiftly about; there was certainly nobody in the vicinity to witness a little wanton behaviour. ‘Would you like me to kiss you?’ she softly volunteered.
Jason tipped up his head and barked a hoarse laugh at a canopy of dancing branches. ‘Of course … though perhaps not here …’
But Helen had already slid dutifully towards him to comply.
She had pressed her body close to his, so close that his thigh felt like
immovable rock against her soft yielding flesh. She heard a muttered oath and was lifting her face to investigate what now had vexed him when her jaw was cradled between his palms. That first softly sensual caress caught her breath in her throat. For a lengthy moment their eyes met, then Helen’s lashes dropped and she felt his mouth cover hers.
It was so long since a man had touched her in passion that his virility overwhelmed her. His kiss was confident and clever; her mouth was parted and his tongue stroking its silky warmth before she had fully accepted their intimacy. But she participated when he led her to do so. A hand deftly infiltrated her cloak, caressing her midriff through her dress and she curved closer. She felt his thumb sweep the underside of her breast, then extend upwards until it brushed against her nipple. A surge of warmth enveloped her as his hands and mouth worked their devious magic. She felt her head eased back against his arm by the increasing pressure of his kiss. Her lips clung, widened when he urged them to do so and a throb low in her pelvis instinctively made tight her abdomen whilst relaxing her thighs. The core of her femininity felt hot and dewy and a rasping breath was welling in her throat. But within a moment the exquisite tension was ebbing. He had taken up the reins and set the vehicle in motion.
Inwardly Jason cursed Peter Wenham to damnation even as he wryly acknowledged that his friend’s inopportune arrival was probably a godsend. He had been on the point of losing control and Hyde Park was certainly not the best place for an al fresco romp with a respectable woman. Helen wasn’t a seasoned harlot, she wasn’t even right as a mistress, but her sweet seduction had swept from his mind any noble thoughts he’d had of saving her from herself. He wanted her. His loins were afire and, no matter how he strived to be rational, what dominated his mind was finding another quiet place to take her … so he could finish what she’d started….
When Helen observed the smart curricle approaching she was still dazed with heady languor. Slowly she came to vague awareness of the occupants who looked to be a modish young couple. She blinked as Jason and the gentleman acknowledged each other with a word and a nod as the vehicles passed. Then they were out of the park and Jason calmly tooled the horses to a trot on a busy street.