It had all been the impression of a moment, and then they were reining in at the end of the alley in front of the formal parterres of the Augarten. He glanced over at Helena as loosening her grip on the reins, she tried to catch her breath without appearing to do so. A slow grin spread over his face. “There is nothing you can do to convince me that you are not just as winded as I am.”
She chuckled. “As if I have the strength left to do so. You ride very well. Major.”
He snorted. “And so I should. But you, on the other hand. Miss Devereux, are something of a miracle.” The grin faded and his eyes grew serious. “I have never been so tested as I was just now, nor have I ever enjoyed a challenge more.”
“Why, thank you.” The warmth of his approval and appreciation was like a kiss itself, leaving her as weak and breathless as if his lips had actually touched hers. She could not remember ever having shared a moment so precious or so intimate, with another human being. For an instant, the communication and the understanding between them was so complete that it felt as though they were one in the same person instead of two.
They remained fixed to the spot, smiling at one another until the pounding hooves of another horse intruded upon their solitude and broke the spell.
Helena looked up at the passing rider, flushing self-consciously. “I have tarried too long, and though Mama is accustomed to my morning rides, she will wonder at my tardiness. I must go.” And with a flick of her heels, she was off, leaving Brett and Rex to stand there, like a statue as they watched her go.
A slow smile spread across Brett’s face. Helena Devereux might scorn the notion of pinning her hopes for happiness on men, but she was certainly not immune to them. He had been with enough women over the years to know when one was attracted to him, consciously or not. The very abruptness of this one’s departure gave him good reason to believe that this particular woman was beginning to be drawn to him just as he was to her. It was certainly not something he had wished for—quite the opposite in fact, for it complicated matters considerably. But the effect she was beginning to have on him was too tantalizing to ignore. He had never experienced such a tug of attraction to any woman, an attraction that was more mental than physical; though, after this morning, the physical attraction was beginning to be as disconcertingly real as the mental. Brett shook his head wryly at the thought as he beaded slowly back to the British delegation.
Chapter Twelve
“Well, you must have had an enjoyable ride; you look positively invigorated.” The Princess von Hohenbachern set down her cup of morning chocolate to examine her daughter’s flushed face more closely. In fact, Helena looked more than invigorated, she looked radiant in a way that she had not since they had left the rolling hills of Hohenbachern and the schloss far behind. The princess’ eyes narrowed speculatively. Now that she thought about it, she could never remember her daughter looking quite that way—vital and alive. Helena’s eyes sparkled, her face glowed, and the customary serious expression was replaced by an air of happy expectancy as though she had been privy to some wonderful piece of news or a special secret.
If it were any other woman but her daughter, the princess would have said that she had been meeting a lover, but she was well enough acquainted with Helena’s view on men and the women whose happiness revolved around them to know that something as farfetched as a romantic assignation was simply not possible.
“It was such a glorious day. Nimrod and I galloped the entire length of the Prater.”
And enjoyed a most delightful interlude with an intriguingly attractive and charming gentleman,
an uncomfortably truthful voice inside her added.
“Ah. That was nice for you.” The princess reached for the copy of
La Belle Assemblée
that she had been perusing. For the moment she would leave it at that, but her curiosity had been piqued and she was not about to accept a facile explanation of the fineness of the day. Almost every day that season had been exceptionally and uncharacteristically fine, but none of them had managed to kindle the glow in her daughter’s face that this particular day had.
“What do you think of this? I am considering having something similar made up with a blue satin slip under Urling’s net, though I shall wear my sapphire bandeau with it instead of a turban. Turbans may be all the rage, but I have yet to see one that does not add years to a woman, no matter how youthful her countenance. Perhaps you would like Madame Albert to make something up for you as well?”
“Mmm,” Helena replied vaguely as she perused the pictures, wondering what the results would be if she were to put as much time and effort into her appearance as her mother did. Could she be as lovely as the Princess von Hohenbachern? Definitely not. Uninterested as she was on the subject of female beauty, as well as uninformed, Helena still knew enough to be aware that she lacked the requisite softly rounded lines and lush curves needed to be considered a true diamond as her mother was. But would more time and effort make her more attractive, at least to certain people? Quite possibly. She sighed and nodded slowly. “Yes, perhaps I would.”
The princess stared at her daughter for the second time that morning. Something definitely had come over the girl. Ordinarily Helena vigorously resisted all attempts to embellish her wardrobe. It had been a fight to get the first ball gown made up before they left Hohenbachern, for she had insisted that someone who was not planning to attend any balls had no need for a ball gown. And even when it had become abundantly clear that there were functions where she needed such a gown, and more than one, she cheerfully maintained that her serviceable white lace gown over a white satin slip was perfectly suitable for any and every occasion if it were varied now and again by a change in trim or the addition of a shawl.
“Very well, I shall see that she comes this very afternoon.” Not one to miss such an opportunity or to give her daughter time to think better of such a rash step, the princess rang for her maid and directed her to send a footman immediately to Madame Albert’s fashionable establishment in the Kohlmarkt with the message that the Princess von Hohenbachern and her daughter were in urgent need of her services.
The instant she had spoken, Helena regretted it. What did she care if she was attractive—to anyone? And now, because of her imprudent tongue, she would be spending her afternoon being poked, prodded, twisted, turned, and subjected to hours of critical examination, when she could have been peacefully ensconced in the library perusing the newspapers and poring over the latest political tract. What madness had made her agree to such an uncomfortable program? The warmth of the blood rising in her cheeks gave her an answer that she did not want to know.
But a week later, as she gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, Helena was forced to agree with her mother that, while the sessions with the dressmaker and seamstress had been as interminable as they were uncomfortable, and as uncomfortable as she had feared, they had produced admirable results. The pale pink satin slip under a rich blond lace dress brought out the color in her cheeks and emphasized the fineness of her eyes.
“It is a lucky thing that we are in Vienna, where they are less nice about such things, and not in London, where you would be constrained to wear white,” the princess had remarked critically as she had surveyed the finished product. “The styles of a young miss in her first Season would not become you so well as this. Madame Albert has done very well indeed. However, the true measure of any costume is its effect on others. We shall see how successful her creation is at the Hofburg tomorrow evening.” Again, the princess awaited the usual cry of protest from her daughter, or at least a modest demur. Again she was intrigued to note that there was none.
And indeed, though she took herself severely to task for such frivolous preoccupation, Helena herself was curious to see if her finery produced any of the effect that her mother anticipated.
As she and the princess entered the brilliantly lit ballroom at the Hofburg that evening, Helena could not help gazing across the richly dressed crowd gathered in the vast imperial ballroom, but the sea of heads was of a distressingly uniform height. There was no tall dark-haired Englishman in a cavalry officer’s uniform towering over the rest of the European delegates, and she was beginning to ask herself why she had come, when suddenly she became acutely and uncomfortably aware of a tall figure making its way through the press of the ballroom.
Her heart began to pound. Telling herself that her attack of breathlessness and the warm flush rising to her cheeks were only the natural results of trying to make a passage through the crush of people, Helena drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly and deliberately, and summoning up what she hoped was a calmly serene smile, joined her mother in welcoming the major.
Brett was far too experienced an observer not to notice the pinkness of her cheeks or the rapid rise and fall of the lace trimming on Helena’s décolletage, and he struggled to stifle a grin. It was sufficiently unusual to discover the scornfully intellectual Miss Devereux at such a large and purely social gathering in the first place, but to discover her in a state that could almost be construed as flustered was rare indeed.
What, Brett wondered, could be the reason behind it? The grin widened as, giving in to the devilish impulse that prompted him, he decided to test his theory, “Good evening.” He bowed to both ladies. “I expected to find you, Princess, gracing such an illustrious assembly, but you. Miss Devereux, are a most unexpected and welcome sight indeed. And from what I can see, it would appear that you are
not,
as I would have predicted, here under duress.”
He watched with a great deal of satisfaction as Helena’s pink cheeks grew pinker. He was glad he had this effect on her, for he had been thinking far too much about her since their ride in the Prater. When Brett had entered the ballroom, he had been looking for the Princess von Hohenbachern, or at least that is what he had told himself, but in reality, he had been more curious to see if the princess’ daughter were there with her than he had been in seeing the princess herself.
And now, having found them, he only had eyes for the daughter. Not only was Miss Devereux uncharacteristically flushed and breathless, she looked unusually fine. The glossy brown hair was not ruthlessly drawn back into its customary severe coiffure, but a few curls had been allowed to escape to frame and soften the delicate oval of her face. And the pink ball gown, cut lower and more provocatively than anything he had seen her wear, revealed a figure that was certainly as elegant, if not so voluptuous as her mother’s. Even in his unwelcome visions of Helena swimming naked in the pool in the Prater, Brett had always pictured her as being slender to the point of boyishness, but her décolletage proved him wrong, very wrong indeed.
Swallowing hard, Brett forced himself to speak to her mother. “I do not know how you contrive to do so, Princess, but you always appear to greater advantage than anyone else at these affairs. Perhaps it is because you rely on your own natural charms to attract rather than a veritable treasure chest of jewels.” He glanced significantly in the direction of a dumpy German countess whose masses of diamonds completely obscured the bodice of her gown. “One is left with the impression that these European ladies, and the men as well, are wearing their entire fortunes.”
The princess laughed. “It is true that they favor more display than the English do. Madame Albert at least has brought her French sense of style to Vienna. There is nothing like one of her creations to show a woman off to her best advantage. Why, even Helena has been so impressed with her skill that I was able to convince her to order a new gown as well.”
“A rare accomplishment indeed.” Brett laughed as he asked himself why he should feel so enormously gratified at the self-conscious look in Helena’s eyes. Why did he want so much to think that it was his remarks about her mother that caused the daughter to order a new and most becoming gown? Why did he hope that the unwilling attraction to her that he had struggled against in the Prater had also driven Helena to pay more attention to her appearance? Did she wish to prove to him that if she put her mind to it, she too could attract the admiring glances that were the very stuff of her mother’s existence?
As he looked down at her, the dark fringed hazel eyes widened and he read the answer in their honest gaze. Yes! She was too open, too forthright to look away or indulge in the coquettish dissimulation designed to drive a man wild with uncertainty. But had she done it only for him? That was the question. “A rare accomplishment indeed,” he repeated slowly, his eyes still fixed on Helena’s, “but well worth the effort.”
If Helena’s cheeks had been hot before, they were positively burning now. Her tongue felt glued to the top of her mouth, and she could do nothing but goggle at the major like a simpleton. Just the sight of him had made her feel weak and dizzy, though she had told herself that it was simply in anticipation of his possible reaction to her presence and her unusually fashionable appearance. Deep down inside, however, she knew that it was the major himself who caused her knees to feel wobbly and her heart to beat so loudly that she could not even hear the buzz of conversation around her.
Now he was looking at her with a half-admiring, half-teasing glint in his eyes that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Yes,
the look told her,
I
know it was our conversation that prompted you to go to such lengths over your appearance, and, yes, those efforts have succeeded even beyond your expectations.
She shivered. Something about the expression in his eyes sent a sensation akin to an electric shock tingling through all the nerves in her body. So this was what it felt like! This was the feeling that her mother and so many other women were constantly seeking. Helena was glad she had spent her life concentrating on other things, for she found it unnerving in the extreme to imagine what it would be like to feel those arms around her, to trace the line of his jaw with her fingers, to feel the warmth of his skin under her hands, to press herself against the strength and solidity of the broad chest instead of merely sensing it as she was now.