by Mary Brendan
‘I would be grateful if you would arrange for my settlement to be dealt with as soon as possible. And I trust that what happened between us yesterday evening will in no way affect Philip’s future prospects. That is all I have to say. Good day to you, sir.’ Helen’s husky speech had barely concluded before she was stepping past him. She was fumbling to open the huge door when Jason joined her there and smoothly performed the office.
Wordlessly he indicated she should go out. She did so, hastening down the steps. As she reached the bottom and turned towards home, a hand gripped her arm, halting her.
‘Get in,’ Jason ordered in an uncompromising tone whilst yanking wide his carriage door.
Helen tried to liberate her elbow but his fingers tightened.
‘Get in, Helen … please,’ he added hoarsely. ‘Don’t make me abduct you.’
With a sob of frustration Helen gave him a glare but allowed him to help her climb up. With an agile spring that belied his look of enervation, Jason was soon in and sitting opposite her. Storm-grey eyes lingered on her face before he instructed the driver to take them to Hyde Park.
‘Why are we going there?’ Helen demanded.
‘Why not? You seduced me there, it’s fitting you discard me there, too.’
His darkly ironic tone brought a tinge of pink to Helen’s ivory cheeks. ‘I do not find anything amusing in this. You may take me home and nowhere else.’
‘Philip and Anne are visiting Charlotte. Are you sure you want to talk there?’
Helen’s eyes whipped to him as he settled back into the squabs. ‘You have been to Westlea House?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you go there to advise me my settlement is being arranged?’ Helen whispered.
‘No.’
‘Why, then?’
‘I promised you’d be the first to know if ever I fell in love or wanted to marry.’
She had not for a moment anticipated that. A hand spontaneously sprang to her abdomen to subdue a nauseating lurch. After a long moment she managed to whisper, ‘And which is it? Love or marriage?’
‘Both.’
‘I see. You need not feel obliged to elaborate.’ Helen kept her face turned to the street scene. Children playing with a hoop seemed to her quite fascinating. She craned her neck to keep watching them, even though the happy tableau had splintered into fragments. ‘I can walk from here, please put me down …’
‘Don’t you want to know who she is?’
Helen shook her head, fiddled with her bonnet so the brim shielded her face. ‘I can guess.’ A little laugh bubbled in her aching throat. ‘Gossip has started, I’m afraid. This morning my sister-in-law told me she saw you kissing Diana Tucker at Vauxhall.’
‘It’s not her.’ His voice hinted at contemptuous disbelief. ‘And I didn’t kiss her. It’s true she kissed me, and asked me to take her home. I refused and went off on my own.’
Helen swallowed and stole a glance at him. Just as quickly she dragged her eyes away. What did any of it matter now? Nevertheless she could not prevent an acid observation. ‘You have the look of a man who has not yet this morning seen his own bed … or his razor or his valet.’
Jason smiled ruefully. ‘That’s all perfectly true, Helen. But I have seen your brother and Bridgeman this morning. And I have seen Charlotte.’
‘You have been to see George? Why?’
‘To impress on him how much he disgusts me.’ Jason absently flexed the fingers on his right hand.
Helen noticed his scraped knuckles. ‘You’ve hit George? Why? Because of the way he treated Beatrice?’
‘No; because of the way he’s treated you. And before you ask, yes, Bridgeman felt my displeasure, too.’
‘You should not have,’ Helen murmured, aghast, simultaneously becoming aware that the coach had drawn to a halt in the park. Sunbeams filtered through branches to warm her face. ‘Bridgeman might be vile, but he did not force me to go with him.’
‘But he forced his attentions on you.’
‘You would not believe my word yesterday evening when I told you that, but you believe him!’ Helen angrily blinked teary eyes. ‘Is your conceit soothed from knowing I didn’t willingly endure that kiss?’
‘I know I’ve been a fool, Helen,’ Jason quietly admitted. ‘But I was jealous.’
‘Jealous of Bridgeman?’
‘No … not really.’ Jason’s tousled head dropped forward and a hand spanned his brow. ‘It’s not him.’ The words emerged through muffling fingers that massaged at his face
‘Who, then?’ Helen demanded in shock.
‘Harry Marlowe.’
Helen stared searchingly at him. When he continued to rub his weary features, she reached to pull his hand away. ‘Why? Why are you jealous of Harry?’ she asked as her golden eyes scanned his beautifully dissolute face.
‘Because you love him, and you were his wife, and that’s what I want.’ Jason suddenly flung himself back against the seat. ‘Don’t look so petrified, Helen,’ he said with quiet self-mockery. ‘I know I can’t make you love me, or marry me. I’ll marry you on your terms, or continue to protect you. But if you want me out of your life for good, I won’t bother you again.’ He fell silent, staring through the carriage window. A muscle leaped by his mouth, then he turned to her. ‘I’ll arrange for the transfer of the deeds.’ With that gruff proclamation he abruptly opened the door. ‘Graves will take you home. I’ll walk.’
Helen slid speedily towards him on the seat. Quickly she closed her fingers over his on the handle. Their faces were so close now she could see the glisten of moisture in his eyes. ‘You went to Westlea House this morning to tell me that you love me and want to marry me?’
He said nothing, just continued to look at her. But she could read the truth in his soulful long-lashed eyes.
Helen gave him a shy smile and a hand fluttered to cup his stubbly cheek. ‘I won’t ever love Harry less … but I think, in time, I might love you more.’
Jason’s eyes closed and his face sought the shelter of her cradling palm.
It was when the hot salt stung her skin that she launched herself at him, forcing him back onto the seat. She clung fiercely to his neck and covered his face with tiny kisses. Settling herself on his lap, she murmured, ‘I love you, Jason. I love you so much. You’ve been so kind and generous …’
Helen felt herself unceremoniously tipped on the seat behind him and Jason loomed over her. ‘I don’t want your gratitude. Just tell me again that you love me,’ he demanded in a voice that was rough with need.
‘I love you … I think I always have … even when I was a girl.’
His mouth plunged on to hers, hard and warm. It was a kiss like no other they had shared … not skilful or calculated. It was, Helen realised, with a sense of serenity, simply raw adoration.
Jason raised his head, his self-conscious smile betraying that he knew he’d been clumsy.
Helen wound her arms about his neck, keeping him reassuringly close.
‘I’ll get a special licence. Do you mind if it’s a quiet affair, and soon?’
Helen shook her head. ‘I’ve nothing planned for tomorrow,’ she said teasingly.
‘Tomorrow might do,’ he said quite seriously. ‘Do you want to go for a walk? Or to Westlea House? We must make arrangements,’ he continued in a husky, urgent voice.
Helen nestled her head against his shoulder, feeling utterly content and blissful. ‘I’d rather you took me to Chelsea, Jason,’ she suggested softly.
Chapter Eighteen
‘You’re very good at this.’
‘You bring out the best in me, sweetheart.’
Helen gave him a speaking look and turned her head on the pillow.
Jason supported his weight on brawny forearms, dipping his head to nudge Helen’s face up to his and take her lips in a wooing kiss. His eyes, dark with desire, meshed with hers and he smiled crookedly. ‘It’s true …’ he softly emphasised. ‘You bring out the best in me … just you … no one
else.’ His thumb traced gently where his mouth had plundered hers and plumped the skin to dual scarlet bows. ‘Do you believe me, Helen?’ Jason asked gently. ‘This is unique, I swear.’
She swung back her head, coating his fingers with the black silk of her hair. ‘Yes, I believe you. But …’
‘But …?’
‘I’ve been jealous, too,’ she quietly admitted whilst watching one of her fingers caress the lean flesh of his hand. ‘It was silly of me to say that I would not care if you did not devote yourself exclusively to me.’ She curled the stroking finger back into her palm. ‘In fact, I have been tormented, thinking of you doing this with someone else.’
‘I have not, Helen.’ Jason’s voice was thick with reassurance. ‘I swear to you that since we first went to Hyde Park together I’ve not been with another woman.’
Helen swung her face back and her eyes clung to his. ‘Mrs Tucker still lives in one of your houses.’
‘Who told you that? Was it George making more mischief?’
‘No. Bridgeman taunted me with it. He said Diana was still ensconced in one of your houses.’
‘Bridgeman knows nothing,’ Jason said with a scornful laugh. ‘Had he bothered to check his facts, he would have found out that the property is now Diana’s. I gave it to her as a parting gift.’ Jason’s mouth set grimly. ‘I wish now I had not let Bridgeman off so lightly when I saw him earlier. Just for upsetting you over that he deserved another—’
Helen placed a finger on his lips. ‘Hush, or I will think you a ruffian to get into two scraps in one day.’ She suddenly chuckled. ‘But I’m glad you hit Bridgeman, he deserved it … horrible man. He would have tried to coerce Charlotte into marriage and thought nothing of it. And he tried to intentionally hoodwink George with his contract. I don’t want George to go to gaol.’
‘He won’t. I’ve paid Bridgeman his money.’
Helen hugged him in gratitude then ran loving fingers over the ridges on his chest, luxuriating in the touch of silken skin sheathing rough muscle. ‘So a notorious rake has been faithful to me, has he?’
‘Absolutely.’
Helen undulated unconsciously beneath him in cat-like contentment. Their slick skin was bonded, their sated bodies still in congress, yet she felt the stirring inside her that told her he was ready to love her again. She felt the warm rush of excitement that made her breasts heavy and her hips instinctively tilt. ‘I’m a wanton,’ she sighed huskily and nipped his shoulder with teasing teeth.
‘Obviously I bring out the best in you,’ Jason murmured suggestively.
‘You do … but Harry will always have a place in my heart. Do you mind?’
Jason shook his head. ‘I’m glad you were happy with him. But I’ll make you happier …’
‘I wish George was happy.’ Helen sighed. ‘I know he is a selfish schemer, but it is hard to hate one’s own kin. And now I know what it is that has made him so sour.’ She met Jason’s smouldering eyes. ‘I never guessed about him and Beatrice, you know. I had heard that you fell out over a woman, but that was all I knew.’ She frowned. ‘I imagined Beatrice stayed away from Charlotte’s betrothal party because she had guessed about us and wanted to avoid me. It was George she didn’t want to see, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Jason twisted a smile. ‘In fact, as soon as she heard George was in town with his wife, she found an excuse to return home.’
‘Does she hate him?’
‘Actually, I think she still has a scrap of tender feeling for him. Perhaps I was wrong and I should have let them be.’ Jason grimaced indecision. ‘At the time my mother was distraught and imagining all sorts of ruination and disaster. I couldn’t be sure George would act honourably and, had the marriage not taken place, Beatrice’s reputation would have been irreparably sullied. She was only sixteen.’ Jason gave a sigh. ‘He should not have done it … and it is pointless dredging it up—nothing can be changed. But I hope, as brothers-in-law, we might again be friends.’
‘I would like that,’ Helen said, a little wistfully, for something else was troubling her. ‘When Iris told me of it this morning she said you were bitter over it all and that’s why you took me for your mistress … as an act of revenge.’
‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
Jason’s voice held such arrant scorn that Helen quickly shook her head.
Jason forked long fingers over Helen’s sharp little chin, keeping her facing him. ‘It’s utter rubbish, not least because, if I’m truthful, I never held George wholly responsible for what went on.’
‘Beatrice happily went with him?’
‘Yes … but that is not exactly what I meant.’ He slanted her a crooked smile. ‘George didn’t start the madness of lusting after teenage sisters, I did. I told him during a drunken spree, sometime in our misspent youths, that I found you attractive. He then declared that he felt the same way about Beatrice.’ He gave Helen a wry smile. ‘I wanted you, but I would never have acted on it. George took it further. He and Beatrice started meeting secretly. Then one night they eloped.’ A gentle finger traced a curve on Helen’s cheek. ‘Had I never admitted to that secret yearning for you, perhaps George would have controlled his feelings until Beatrice was older.’
Helen gazed up at him with wide golden eyes. ‘You wanted to marry me when I was fifteen?’
Jason subdued a wolfish smile. ‘No … when I was twenty-four I never thought about marriage. But I certainly thought about—’
Helen gave his arm a silencing thump to spare her further blushes. ‘I had a crush on you, too. My intentions were honourable,’ she said, mock-prim. ‘I dreamed of marrying you.’
‘And now you are.’
‘And now I am,’ Helen echoed softly, wondrously. A wounding memory haunted her mind. ‘Bridgeman called me Hunter’s whore and said other people were saying it, too. He never imagined you would make me your wife.’
Jason dipped his head to tenderly kiss away her sadness. ‘I think I fell in love with you from the moment you opened the door to me at Westlea House. You looked like a little waif.’ He threaded his bruised fingers through the silky black tresses crumpled on the white linen. ‘It didn’t matter that you were shabbily dressed or had your hair loose. I thought I had never seen a woman as beautiful. I delayed making you my mistress because I intended you to be my wife, Helen.’ He kissed her with seductive sweetness. ‘Why worry what’s been said? We know you’ve always been Hunter’s Lady….’
Epilogue
‘Miss Beaumont.’
Emily turned her head on hearing her name. Her heart started to thud as she saw the identity of the gentleman approaching. Not that her odd excitement sprung from liking him, rather he unsettled her.
‘Mr Hunter,’ she greeted him and sketched a polite bob.
Mark Hunter studied the fair face turned up to his. ‘I haven’t seen you since the wedding. I think we ought take a little credit for bringing about that very happy occasion.’
Emily immediately smiled at the reference to Helen and Jason’s nuptials, and the prior events at Vauxhall Gardens. ‘The whole day was wonderful, was it not? Even the weather was glorious.’
‘They deserved the best.’
Emily nodded vigorously, her blonde hair rippling prettily. ‘Oh, indeed,’ she agreed. A silence developed between them so she made conversation as they walked on towards the water in Hyde Park. ‘I hope Charlotte’s wedding next month is just so blessed with everything good.’
Mark smiled. ‘They have Westlea House as a wedding gift. That’s certainly good.’
‘It will be quite a beautiful home when the work is finished. Charlotte and Philip are lucky indeed to have such a generous brother-in-law.’
‘I think perhaps the pair owe thanks to Helen for their good fortune. I know she wanted the newly-weds to have a home of their own.’
‘It must be hard to start married life with no privacy, surrounded by one’s family.’ Emily had said that quite pensively and her eyes instinctively slanted to
her brother, who was grouped close by with his friends. She frowned and began to turn away.
Mark glanced at Tarquin, too, and understood why Emily had suddenly withdrawn from him. Tarquin Beaumont was in the company of a notorious gamester and money was clearly changing hands.
Emily was about to fly to her brother’s side to attempt to keep him from more trouble. Annoyed that he was to lose her enchanting company, Mark said gruffly, ‘Your brother must discipline himself and learn what company to avoid. It is not something you can do for him.’
Emily whipped her head about to give him a haughty stare. ‘I quite agree he should pick his friends carefully. I recall you were the Judas who had him thrown in the Fleet.’
‘If you will let me explain, there are things you don’t know about that,’ Mark said on a sigh.
‘I know enough,’ Emily countered icily. ‘I certainly know I do not like you, Mr Hunter, and no sweet talk will change my mind.’ Within a moment she had spun on a heel and headed off towards her brother.
Mark Hunter watched her go, an odd expression, part amusement, part exasperation, on his face. ‘And I know, Miss Beaumont, that if I wanted to change your mind, it wouldn’t be through conversation….
The Wanton Bride
Chapter One
‘Nonsense, my dear! There is nothing sinister in it. Boys like to go off gallivanting once in a while. You’re worrying unnecessarily, I tell you!’ Mr Cecil Beaumont gave his beautiful blonde daughter a beaming smile. ‘Don’t look so glum. He’ll turn up when he’s good and ready.’
‘Tarquin is not a boy, Papa,’ Emily Beaumont pointed out quietly. ‘He is a man of twenty-seven and I suspect he has got himself into one scrape too many. Perhaps he has not succeeded in stalling his creditors and is in trouble.’ Her silver-blue eyes took on a faraway look as she pondered on instances when her older brother had brought himself close to ruination through gaming and wild ways. But he had never yet disappeared for more than a few days before turning up, like the proverbial bad penny, sober and remorseful. ‘Perhaps we ought to check with the authorities in case he is again in the Fleet.’