Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress\The Wanton Bride (10 page)

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 that 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….’

‘W
ould 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.

Helen touched two vibrating fingers to her pulsing lips. For her, their first kiss had been unexpectedly shattering, the memory of it consumed her mind. Jason seemed undisturbed by their intimacy and that stirred a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The phaeton soon got up quite a speed and Helen pulled her cloak closer about her to ward off the chill of fast-flowing air. Her gloved fingers tweaked her small hat forward to shield her face.

‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

‘Grosvenor Square is not far.’ A ghost of a smile touched Jason’s mouth as he realised that lust had, after all, surrendered to decency. He’d settle for conversation this afternoon. ‘We can go there and resume—’

‘No.’ Her sharp interruption made him arrow a look at her. Her apology was limited to a wavering smile. ‘I fear I might be colder still if your butler again shuts me in that cupboard,’ she weakly joked.

‘That was very bad of Cedric,’ Jason said, matching her levity, but his eyes were delving deeper into her brusque refusal.

Helen quelled her misgivings. In fact, she inwardly mocked herself. Had she expected a notorious rake to go into raptures over a quick kiss in the park? Suddenly she felt rather silly to have instigated it at all. He had told her he had done with flirting years ago; clandestine embraces in public places probably provoked in him similar ennui. Inwardly she squirmed for she was never more aware of her lack of womanly sophistication. ‘I ought return
home immediately. I expect Charlotte will wonder where I am.’ Her defensiveness made her sound rather haughty.

‘I shan’t keep you long at my house.’ His tone was adamant and her tawny eyes widened in alarm.

Abruptly he reined back the horses to a slower pace. ‘I make it a rule never to ask a mistress to entertain me in my own home, especially not when my sister is in residence. Yesterday she came up from Surrey with her husband.’

‘I didn’t mean … that is, I know you would not expect …’ Helen frowned as she vainly scrabbled to find words to smooth the situation.

‘You don’t know what I expect, Helen,’ Jason softly emphasised. ‘And that is one reason why we need to resume our conversation. Had you not distracted me …’ he shot her a lightly amused look ‘… we might have concluded our talk in the park. Another thing we need to speak about is your ulterior motive in all this.’

Helen blushed to the roots of her silky black hair. He sounded as though he was about to accuse her of being a crafty harlot. ‘I know you must think me shockingly brazen to proposition you … but I have my reasons.’

‘I’m not that easily shocked, sweetheart,’ he said on a dry laugh. ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to hear your reasons.’

Her wind-parched lips were moistened with a flick of her small tongue. She had not been expecting an inquisition. He knew her husband was dead and that she lived frugally. Surely he could use his imagination as to her motives? She had assumed that, if he desired her, little else about her circumstances would bother him. Perhaps he was used to women hinting at having an uncontrollable
tendresse
for him or flattering him over his handsome looks and social position.

‘I have no objection to explaining myself, but I would rather not go home with you and meet your sister. It would be unseemly, when soon we will …’ Her explanation faded away.

‘Beatrice would remember you as an old friend she has not seen in a long while. As of yet there is nothing unseemly to fret over.’

Helen sank back against the seat. Humiliation stung colour again into her cheeks—suddenly it occurred to her that he might have changed his mind. Perhaps he had been little impressed by her seduction and was trying to wriggle free of his agreement to care for her. A penetrative glance at his profile was not enlightening, but she felt her pride rally. ‘If you think you made too hasty a decision and want to reconsider, I would understand and never again mention the matter.’

His muttered oath was inaudible to Helen for her gasp of alarm had filled her ears. Without warning, but with expert skill, Jason had turned the phaeton in the road. Helen found herself clinging to the side of the spinning vehicle that was soon hurtling back towards Hyde Park.

A few minutes later Helen was glancing about to see that the phaeton was stationed in the same quiet spot as previously. The avenue was once more deserted.

He turned to look at her with stormy eyes. ‘If we can’t go to your house or to mine, we shall need to stop here a while longer. What have I said to make you think I no longer want to sleep with you?’

Helen blanched and slid him a glance that appealed for a little more delicacy.

‘Don’t be coy about it, Helen,’ he said quietly. ‘We both know what this entails. I shall provide you with
carte blanche
in return for the privilege of sharing a bed with you whenever I so desire. Or is it that you are only now giving serious thought to the consequences of being my paramour?’

‘Of course I have given it serious thought!’ Helen cried with stifled indignation. ‘If you think I would have lightly humbled myself to proposition you, sir, then you are wrong!’

‘Jason.’

Helen glanced at him in confusion.

‘My name is Jason. We’re now on familiar terms, aren’t we?’

‘Yes,’ Helen breathed. ‘Jason.’

He grunted a laugh at her mutinous expression. ‘Far from not wanting you, my dear, you’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse. But I need to be sure you understand the ramifications of becoming my mistress.’

‘I do understand,’ Helen readily affirmed. That brave statement was not entirely true and her mind pondered on latent messages. The more she pondered, the more she was sure their brief kiss had disappointed him and he was implying she might prove an inadequate lover. ‘I expect you know I was not married for long. But I am not too unpractised in the passion and pleasure to be had between a man and a woman. I recall enough to—’

‘It’s not that,’ Jason brusquely interrupted. Then added in a soft drawl, ‘But thank you for such delightful news.’

‘Don’t mock me!’ Helen’s voice held both a plea and a command.

Jason simply smiled and lazily shifted position on the seat. ‘I was referring to the impact this will have on your present way of life. When it becomes obvious that you’re my mistress, gossip will ensue, although
it should not last long. Some of your present neighbours and acquaintances might shun you if feeling fastidious. There will be social events to which it would not be appropriate to take you.’

‘I have thought of all of that.’ Helen said. She squarely met his grey eyes. ‘And in case you are too gallant to mention it so early on in our dealings, I shall say it for you. I know you will tire of me eventually. And even before then I expect you will be reluctant to remain faithful. You need not fear that I will nag or become fretful if you do not devote yourself exclusively to me.’

Jason threaded the reins through his fingers. ‘I’m not sure you are suited to be my mistress, Helen. You sound to me like the perfect wife, my dear.’

‘I would rather you did not make of it a joke, sir. I am simply trying to be fair and practical.’ She had thoughtlessly reverted to using a formal address and it made him quirk an eyebrow at her. ‘If I seem calculating, Jason,’ she deliberately, stiltedly, used his name, ‘I do not mean to appear so. But neither do I want to be accused of being a hypocrite.’

‘And what about love and marriage?’

Startled, Helen glanced at him. She had certainly not expected him to bring up any such emotive subject. Briskly she put his mind at ease. ‘I promise not to embarrass you with any such declarations or demands.’

A private little smile sweetened her solemn demeanour. ‘I feel fortunate to have known the love of a fine gentleman. I was a wife just a short time, but I was very happy and have no wish for another husband. I am content with my memories.’

Jason’s expression remained unreadable a moment longer, then he gave her a slow smile. ‘And what about me? Or perhaps you think love and marriage pass rakes by.’

Helen blushed at that mild sarcasm. ‘Not at all, sir … Jason,’ she glibly corrected herself. ‘I know you have a … lady friend … and I assumed that, if you had a deep affection for her, you would decline to take me in her place.’

‘In her place?’ Jason echoed so quizzically that further words were unnecessary.

Helen twisted together her fingers. He was starting to needle her, quite deliberately, she imagined. On a deep breath she said, ‘I imagined that if you loved Mrs Tucker you would not want to hurt her by giving her a rival.’ She was unsure why his response was so important, but found herself awaiting it with bated breath. But he remained uncommunicative and his ruthless gaze made her seek something else to say to shatter the silence.