Winning Lord West

by Anna Campbell

  She kissed him back with brazen enthusiasm. It seemed he wasn’t alone in craving more than kisses. When he’d come upstairs, he’d removed his coat and shoes. Now her frantic hands tore away his neck cloth and waistcoat.

  In between kisses, she gasped out a breathless explanation. “I’m sorry I took so long. Great Aunt Agnes cornered me in the drawing room. She definitely knows something’s up.”

  West tilted his hips forward. “Something is definitely…up.”

  “That’s a terrible joke.” But she moved closer, sending the blood crashing through his veins.

  “You laughed. I heard you.” That low, alluring chuckle always set every nerve in his body jumping.

  For the first time in years, she sounded carefree. “Only because I took pity on you. Seeing you’ve been ill, and all.”

  “I’m feeling much better.” He stepped back to admire the lovely creature he’d captured for himself. “Pretty dress. Take it off.”

  Helena offered her back. “Unlace me. I didn’t wear this with quick seduction in mind.”

  He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “And people call you a clever woman.”

  She flicked him a glance over her shoulder, as he deftly unfastened the extravagant crimson velvet dress. “Something’s interfering with my mental processes.”

  He kissed the shoulder bared under the sagging gown and went to work on her corset. Her undergarments sported more exquisite embroidery, but he was too desperate for her to pay much attention.

  Later. Next time. Tomorrow.

  The future shone bright as the sun.

  “Hmm, I wonder what that could be.”

  “No idea,” she said drily, slithering out of dress, corset, petticoat and shift.

  “You’ve been practicing,” he said in admiration.

  “I have no morals left.” She faced him. “It’s most distressing.”

  He paused to enjoy the lovely view, as she raised her hands to release her abundant black hair. In fine clothes, she did a fair job of acting the civilized creature. But he knew better. He always had. She was free and untamed, and her fiery spirit would light the rest of his days.

  He gave another disappointed tch. “You must still cling to a few morals. You’re wearing drawers.”

  Her narrow-eyed look didn’t hide her burgeoning excitement. “Not for long, I’m sure. Isn’t it time you removed a garment or two?”

  He laughed. Partly at her audacity. Mostly because he was just so bloody happy. “Devil take you, you’re a demanding wench. Don’t you want me to woo you?”

  Her smile was sizzling seduction. He’d thought he already tested the limits of arousal, but the wanton invitation in her expression made his cock swell massively against his trousers. “Of course.”

  He paused in pulling off his shirt. “Really?”

  With greedy hands, she reached for the buttons on his trousers. “Later.”

  He gasped as she opened the front fall and curled her fingers around him. She didn’t linger past a few breathtaking caresses. Soon he was naked, and her drawers lay white and sheer on the carpet.

  Backing her toward the bed, he kissed her. What a fool he’d been to imagine he could live without this. He pushed her onto the mattress and came down over her. Lacing his fingers through hers, he slid her hands high and pressed them into the pillows near her head.

  Helena raised her knees to frame his hips. Her eyes held no hesitation, just joy.

  “Don’t make me wait. I feel like I’ve already waited a century.” Her light tone cracked, and he realized that she, too, ached for the transcendent joining.

  West tightened his hips and plunged into her. She cried out and clenched hard around him. He went still, letting the radiance seep into his bones.

  He felt entirely possessed, united with Helena in a way not even their most passionate earlier encounters had achieved. Knowing that she gave herself without condition or limit transformed the physical act into a mysterious connection he’d never experienced before.

  At last, he moved, and on another cry, she convulsed. He rose on his arms to watch her swift climax. She arched against the sheets, quivering with ecstasy. As she started to come down off that shuddering peak, his kiss promised her forever.

  Then blindly he sought his own release. Driving into her hard to stamp his claim on her. She moaned and rose to meet every thrust.

  She was his. He was hers. At the height of the union, there was no difference.

  He released her hands to hold her hips. The rake of her nails down his back was like a streak of lightning through the storm.

  West didn’t last long. He wanted her too much, and he’d been too sure that he’d lost her. The mighty surge began in the soles of his feet, blazed up through his legs, and centered on his burning balls. He gave a guttural groan as his seed burst forth into her welcoming body.

  Gasping, he slumped over her, crushing her beneath him. Then with his last strength, he rolled to the side and separated their sweat-slicked bodies.

  Never before had he given so much to a woman. Masculine satisfaction flooded him as he relished the idea that they might have started a child.

  The air was thick with the scent of sex. In the early February dusk, Helena’s lithe form gleamed white and beautiful. Her hair snaked around her as she lay sprawled against the sheets. She looked exhausted and well used, but contented in a way he’d never seen her before.

  When his pulse had calmed, he caught the hand lying loose and open on the sheets and raised it to his lips. “I’ll use more finesse next time.”

  Her laugh was a soft puff of weariness. “I’m beginning to think finesse might be overrated.”

  “I’ll look forward to convincing you otherwise.”

  Her free hand gave a floppy wave. “I’ll have to marry you now.”

  “If you don’t, I want Artemis back.”

  “There is that.” Then contrary to her teasing, she turned to curve one arm around his neck and kiss him as if his presence was as necessary as air.

  “Come here,” he muttered, and drew her close. She rested her dark head on his chest and curled into his side.

  For a long time, they lay in the gathering twilight. Gradually West’s heart found its natural rhythm.

  He spoke the words he’d kept hidden for more than a year. “I’m sure a woman of your enormous intellect has already worked out that I love you.”

  The silence that greeted his declaration seemed to last a month.

  Then she rose on her elbow to study him through the shadows, her eyes like a starlit night. “Of course I hoped. Especially once you started acting like a hero, afire to save my honor and sacrifice yourself for my happiness.”

  He gave her a sheepish smile. “The result of temporary madness. I promise to return to being a selfish swine forthwith.”

  She smiled back and ran her hand down his jaw with a tenderness that made him ache. “The problem, West, is that for a woman of such vaunted intelligence, I’ve always misunderstood you. I think it’s because you stole my heart when I was a silly girl, and I never got it back.”

  Stole her heart? He brightened. That sounded damned promising.

  Attempting his old sardonic manner, he arched an eyebrow. “You weren’t a silly girl. You were smart enough to choose me.”

  She kissed him softly. “I was, wasn’t I? But not smart enough to see that under your arrogance, you were a man of honor. And I should have seen that. Even when I was sixteen and mad about you, you restricted yourself to a few kisses, although you must have known I was ripe for seduction. Crewe certainly knew.”

  West didn’t want to talk about her vile husband. Not now when she said things that made him hope. “You were my best friend’s sister.”

  “See what I mean? And you’ve verged on Sir Galahad in the last few days. Bone-headed, I think you’ll agree, but unwaveringly gallant.”

  “Would you rather have a clever cad?”

  Another of those bewitching, enigmatic smiles. “Ca
ds don’t go the distance, in my view. I’m all for knights in shining armor these days, even when they choose to wear a bedsheet instead.”

  With care, he picked his way through her words. This was too important for him to get wrong. “So you’ve decided you like me?”

  A brief laugh. “I’d better, given what we just did.”

  “And you want me?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s in no doubt.”

  Devil take her, why wouldn’t she say it? “And do you think you can bring yourself to call me Vernon?”

  She frowned. “That seems very intimate.”

  “Damn it, Helena,” he growled.

  Her hand rested above his thundering heart. “Will you give me Artemis?”

  “She’s been yours from the start.”

  She lowered her eyes. “In that case, there’s no hiding the sad truth.”

  Tension filled him. “Sad truth?”

  Helena shook the mane of hair back from her face and grinned at him with all the mischief of her childhood self. A mischief the years had almost ripped away from her.

  “Yes, the sad truth that I’m head over heels.”

  That was close, but not close enough. When he covered her hand with his, the contact radiated through him. He was counted a brave man, but it took all his courage to take the next step. “Say it, Helena.”

  His ruthlessness sparked a flash of excitement in her eyes. Then her expression turned serious, and at last she opened the gates of her soul to him. He read the answer in her face before she spoke. Although when they came, the words were sweeter than honey.

  “I love you, Vernon. I’ll love you forever.”

  Epilogue

  Grosvenor Square, London, February 1825

  In Caroline’s opulent drawing room, Helena sat in her usual place by the hearth and studied her friends. Dashing Widows no more, but vibrant, fulfilled women who had found love and happiness and purpose.

  “What is it, Hel?” Fen asked, sensitive as ever. She still took charge of the tea table to save the Meissen china, although these days, various offspring posed a greater threat to the porcelain than Caro’s dramatic gestures.

  Helena gave her a smile. “I was thinking that it’s almost five years to the day since we swore to set the ton on its ear.”

  “We succeeded,” Fen said, smiling back.

  “You certainly did, Lady Kenwick.”

  Not long after marrying Fenella, Anthony had received an earldom, and he was now acknowledged as a major power in government. Gentle Fenella had unexpectedly emerged as an influential political hostess. Her ability to bring warring sides together had become legendary.

  “We also swore never to marry,” Caro said drily from where she stood near the window. Against the blue and gold brocade curtains, her body was round with pregnancy.

  She’d returned from an exciting, sometimes dangerous year in China with the news that she’d conceived. Her daughter Roberta, a rambunctious two-year-old, played upstairs in the nursery with Fenella’s baby son Henry, and Helena’s three-year-old twins, Margaret and Silas.

  As her husband had suspected, Helena’s fears of barrenness had proven unfounded. In a secretive gesture, her hand dropped to where another child grew. It was so soon, she hadn’t told Vernon yet, although something in Fenella’s blue eyes hinted that she guessed the secret.

  “You can’t say you’re sorry,” Helena said. “We won’t believe you.”

  Caro and Silas split their time between Woodley Park and this house, when Silas wasn’t traveling with his family to lecture, or search out new species. His cherry tree, the Caroline Nash, promised to cause a sensation on its commercial release next year.

  Since her marriage, Caro’s dreams of seeing the world had become reality. This afternoon tea was a rare reunion. Caro and Silas had recently returned from Madagascar. Anthony was in London for meetings, and he’d brought Fen and the children up to Town with him.

  Caro stared out into the street with sudden interest, and she answered Helena without turning around. “I wouldn’t dare. I still run in terror of your sharp tongue.”

  Helena made a dismissive noise. “These days, I’m so domesticated, I can barely summon a critical word.” Proving herself wrong, she asked, “What on earth has you grinning like a loon into thin air?”

  “Our men are back.”

  Noise in the hallway outside heralded a tumble of vigorous masculine bodies into the feminine space. Silas, tall and rumpled and full of life. Anthony, large and steadfast. Brandon Deerham and his best friend Carey Townsend, both at sixteen on the verge of manhood.

  Last and most beloved of all, her dearest Vernon. Tall, dark, and devilishly handsome. The silver frosting his black hair added maturity to his spectacular features. Recurring bouts of fever had taken their toll, but, thank God, during the last two years they’d become more infrequent. He hadn’t suffered a relapse in six months, the longest respite they’d had. Helena cautiously hoped that the worst was over.

  His glinting green gaze found hers. The bond between them still thrilled her. She only had to think back to herself five years ago—to the others, also—to realize how generously the years had treated them. Anticipating his pleasure when she told him about the baby, she sent Vernon a private smile.

  “Mamma,” Brandon said, loping toward Fen on his long legs. Like his half-brother Henry, he was golden fair and bore the look of his mother. “Uncle Vernon is giving Carey and me our choice of colts from this year’s foals. Isn’t that grand?”

  “We trounced them into the ground, and that was the deal,” Carey stated emphatically. Along with his swarthy looks, he’d inherited his uncle’s forceful character.

  Fenella turned aghast to Helena’s husband. “Vernon, that’s too much.”

  He shook his head as he crossed to kiss his wife and lounge on the arm of her chair. “They had a devil of a convincing win at football. A bet is a bet.”

  Since marrying, Helena and Vernon had become infrequent visitors to the capital. They spent most of their time at Shelton Abbey, raising the best horses in the country. Or so Helena proudly believed. That opinion had some justification. Artemis’s first foal had won last year’s Derby by a length and a half.

  Nor had Helena given up her charity schools or mathematical work. Earlier this year, she’d started correspondence with an enterprising young man called Charles Babbage, who had plans to design a universal calculating machine. The possibilities were intriguing.

  “I hope you both said thank you.” When Fen glanced at Anthony, he shrugged his helplessness to interfere.

  “They played a right bonny game,” he said in his rumbling bass.

  “They must have,” Fen retorted.

  “Where are the holy terrors?” Silas asked, looking around.

  “Upstairs with their nurses,” Caro said. “We couldn’t get a moment’s peace with them here. And it’s such an age since I saw Fen and Hel.”

  “I’ll go up and release them from captivity,” Helena said, rising swiftly. Too swiftly. The room wavered in front of her, and she wobbled on her feet. “Oh, dear—”

  “Helena?” Vernon leaped to his feet and whipped his arm around her waist.

  She gulped for air as everyone crowded around, until Fenella, bless her, came to the rescue. “For heaven’s sake, step back, and let the poor woman breathe.”

  “Aren’t you well, darling?” Vernon asked in concern.

  Helena licked dry lips and struggled to form reassuring words, but Fenella beat her to it. “Of course she’s well. But now she’s in a delicate condition, she needs to stop bounding around like an overexcited kangaroo.”

  “Delicate—”

  Helena returned to herself in time to see his puzzlement vanish under a flood of delight. “Another baby?”

  She nodded, overjoyed with his joy. “In late August, I think.”

  “My love, you make me so damned happy.” Despite their audience, he caught her up in his arms and kissed her until she was dizzier than ev
er.

  THE END

  Don’t miss the first two installments in Anna Campbell’s sizzling Dashing Widows series, The Seduction of Lord Stone and Tempting Mr. Townsend.

  Continue reading for an excerpt from:

  The Seduction of Lord Stone

  Book 1 in the Dashing Widows series

  * * *

  For this reckless widow, love is the most dangerous game of all.

  Caroline, Lady Beaumont, arrives in London seeking excitement after ten dreary years of marriage and an even drearier year of mourning. That means conquering society, dancing like there’s no tomorrow, and taking a lover to provide passion without promises. Promises, in this dashing widow’s dictionary, equal prison. So what is an adventurous lady to do when she loses her heart to a notorious rake who, for the first time in his life, wants forever?

  Devilish Silas Nash, Viscount Stone is in love at last—with a beautiful, headstrong widow bent on playing the field. Worse, she’s enlisted his help to set her up with his disreputable best friend. No red-blooded man takes such a challenge lying down, and Silas schemes to seduce his darling into his arms, warm, willing and besotted. But will his passionate plots come undone against a woman determined to act the mistress, but never the wife?

  Prologue

  Grosvenor Square, London, February 1820

  The world expected a widow to be sad.

  The world expected a widow to be lonely.

  The world didn’t expect a widow to be bored to the point of throwing a brick through a window, just to shatter the endless monotony of her prescribed year of mourning.

  Outside the opulent drawing room, fashionable Grosvenor Square presented a bleak view. Leafless trees, gray skies, people scurrying past wrapped up beyond recognition as they rushed to be indoors again. Even inside, the winter air kept its edge. The bitter weather reflected the chill inside Caroline, Lady Beaumont; the endless fear that she sacrificed her youth to stultifying convention. She sighed heavily and flattened one palm on the cold glass, wondering if there would always be a barrier between her and freedom.