Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress\The Wanton Bride (11 page)

‘I also realise you will one day marry a nobleman’s daughter and wish to start your family. I have
promised already not to make a fuss when it is finished between us.’

‘You have given it a lot of thought,’ Jason murmured. ‘What makes you think I’ll marry a nobleman’s daughter?’

Helen did not want to reveal that George had told her of Jason’s ambition to marry for pedigree. It might stir more enmity between the two men. She gave a vague shrug. ‘It seems sensible to me to conclude that a rich gentleman would choose to do so.’

‘It seems sensible to me to conclude that a rich gentleman would not need to do so … unless he was in love with the lady.’

‘Are you in love with someone?’ Helen blurted.

‘I’m not sure,’ he answered, seemingly unaffected by her impertinence in asking.

Helen swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She was not so naïve as to suppose that a wealthy bachelor would not keep a mistress simply because he was in love with a débutante. But she felt a fool for not having anticipated that might indeed be the case. He obviously socialised with the best families. ‘I’m sorry to pry, but if your affections are engaged and you soon will take a wife, I’m not sure that I—’ Helen clamped together her lips for she had been about to blurt that she might not be able to bear it.

‘You’re not sure how philosophical you would still be about it all?’ Jason suggested mildly.

Helen nodded and found she could not look at him.

‘If I decide I am in love, Helen, I promise you’ll be the first to know. Likewise if I decide to marry.’

‘Thank you,’ Helen murmured.

‘As you have concluded I will tire of you, I take it you have a plan for what to do next?’

Inwardly Helen winced at his ironic tone. Outwardly she gave a single nod. When she could no long avoid looking at him she turned, chin up, to face him.

‘And?’

‘I will ask you for a settlement. I believe that is not unusual or avaricious in these cases,’ she said levelly.

‘As we are being very honest and practical, shall we discuss it now?’

The question was equable, almost gentle, but far back in his eyes was laughter and Helen felt her fingernails score her palms. He had the benefit of wealth and security and found her lack of those things amusing. She snapped her head up and gazed into the budding trees. ‘I should like the deeds to Westlea House and a sum that I might invest for income … say, one hundred pounds per annum for three years.’ She slid him a glance. ‘Is that fair?’

‘If you’re satisfied with that, I’m concerned that I’ve been vastly too generous in the past.’

‘It’s enough … all I need,’ Helen said quickly.

She suddenly felt anxious to be home—she craved respite from his latent mockery. ‘I really ought go now. Charlotte has been alone for some time and she is poorly.’

‘You were going to tell me your reasons for instigating all this,’ Jason reminded her. ‘But I dare say it will wait for another day. I’ll start to make the necessary arrangements, shall I?’

Helen vigorously nodded whilst frowning into the distance.

He took up the reins, but hesitated in sending leather undulating over the backs of the beautiful chestnut horses. He addressed her without turning his head. ‘Just tell me this … did you decide to offer yourself to protect your sister from me?’

Helen swiftly looked at his unflinching profile.

‘Tell me the truth. Do you still believe I have nefarious intentions towards Charlotte?’

He was still staring straight ahead and Helen put a light hand on his arm to make him turn to her. ‘I’m very sorry I ever was taken in by such a ridiculous tale. Certainly it has no bearing on my proposition.’ She glanced down at her lap, for his steely gaze was now upon her. ‘You know, of course, that George
sowed that seed in my mind. I want to believe his motive was not all bad. I expect he hoped I would persuade Charlotte to quickly marry someone of influence and forget Philip.’ She tipped up her head and an involuntary little sigh escaped her. ‘George is right in one respect: until she is married Charlotte is vulnerable. She does need a husband to provide for her and protect her reputation. George might be her guardian, but he has no shame in letting it be known she cannot rely on his care.’

‘And neither can you.’

‘And neither can I …’ Helen echoed and turned to look over the lake as the phaeton left the park.

Jason watched Helen slide a swift peek over a shoulder at him before disappearing into the sanctuary of Westlea House. A rueful smile touched his mouth as he regarded the front door being rapidly closed. Then he set the phaeton in motion, but instead of heading towards Grosvenor Square he turned again towards Hyde Park. For the third time that afternoon he brought the vehicle to a stop in the same spot. It was fast approaching the fashionable hour for the beau monde to parade within the environs of the park. Although strollers and vehicles were more in evidence, Jason sat gazing out over the greensward oblivious to the company.

His brow furrowed with the intensity of his thoughts. Having decided just a short time ago that he would approach Helen Marlowe and offer her his protection, he was not sure why her timely proposition had unsettled him. Certainly he wanted her. Just a ghost of her scent and warmth remained on his clothes from when they had kissed, yet the pulse in his groin was unabated. The torment was keen and, with a frustrated mutter, he bowed his head towards hands that were clasped close to his knees.

He could have approached her some time ago, but had hesitated without giving proper thought to why he was delaying. Now he understood that he had never fully accepted the decision he had made regarding Helen’s role in his life. At the back of his mind had always been an idea he might ask her to marry him. Now he didn’t know whether he was regretful or thankful that he had kept those thoughts to himself.

Barely an hour ago she had made it perfectly clear that being his mistress was preferable to being his wife. Helen had no wish to remarry, for she was still in love with her dead husband. But she would sleep with him. Not only that, she would not interfere in his life. Nor would she make any demands on him other than he keep her until she had earned the deeds to her home and a sum to scrape by on. And just in
case he wasn’t convinced that she was seriously prepared to humble herself in such a way, she had attempted to act the wanton.

And it had worked; despite her nervousness, despite him knowing she was simply behaving in a way she thought was expected, he had been enchanted by her artless seduction.

Jason sighed and abruptly tipped up his head to watch clouds travel over cerulean sky. He imagined his conscience was bothering him … or perhaps it was his pride. He didn’t believe himself egotistical, but he knew there were several young women of good family and fortune who would be elated to have him propose marriage. Yet an impecunious widow would rather have him as her lover than her husband. If he thought she desired him, it would be easier to bear; but he feared she would tolerate making love with him as she would any other duty to be discharged.

To retain pride and dignity and some control over her life, she had come to him rather than await his approach. Yet despite knowing it all he still wanted her, and inner demons taunted him with the knowledge that, in any case, he could seduce her into lust and after that … why care?

‘I
t is quite beautiful, Charlotte.’ Helen swept a thumb across a cluster of rubies adorning her sister’s finger.

‘Philip just took me to the terrace where we could be private and presented it to me.’ Charlotte’s eyes glistened with happiness. ‘It was enough for me that we were today officially betrothed. I did not expect such a wonderful surprise as this splendid ring.’ She wiggled her finger to admire the gem. ‘He bought it without any idea what I would like. Yet it is perfect! I could not have chosen better myself.’

‘Philip has excellent taste, my love.’ Helen gave her emotional sister a soothing little hug. ‘One can tell that from his choice of wife.’

Iris Kingston was with her husband, a little way distant from her sisters-in-law, and making scant attempt
to mask her boredom. But George had insisted they both attend Charlotte’s modest engagement party, held in the prospective bridegroom’s drawing room.

Now Iris’s expression livened, for she had noticed Charlotte proudly displaying her hand. She sidled closer, manoeuvring into position for a better view of what glittered on Charlotte’s finger. A buxom hip was interposed between the slender figures of her sisters-in-law. Snatching hold of Charlotte’s wrist, she elevated it to inspect her ring. A disdainful grimace took her plucked eyebrows beneath a fringe of blonde curls. ‘It is sweet. But personally I would have expected a love token to be a trifle larger.’ Charlotte’s arm was released as though it had become hot. Iris flexed her fingers so her jewellery caught candlelight. It was an ostentatious display that shaped her lips into a moue of satisfaction.

Helen fixed feral eyes on her vicious sister-in-law. ‘Of course, your build is not so delicate as Charlotte’s. Something of less elegance and more substance is needed for a big hand, else there is too much flesh on show.’ Helen ignored the glaring blue eyes boring into her; her attention was devoted to admiring her sister’s rubies.

Charlotte was too blissfully ebullient to have taken much notice of Iris’s cattish remark. Her
creamy cheeks were rimmed with excited colour. ‘I’m so happy, Helen, I feel fit to burst.’

‘Well, I beg you will not!’ Helen said with mock alarm. ‘Your guests are still arriving. Emily Beaumont is here … and Heavens! It looks to be her brother, Tarquin, accompanying her. I’m sure Emily will be dying to see your wonderful betrothal ring.’

Charlotte pivoted about, her auburn curls jaunty about her shoulders. With a parting smile for her sister, she was soon gliding serenely towards the newcomers, stationed just inside the doors of the drawing room, chatting to Philip and Anne Goode.

Iris peered that way too and a look of distaste puckered her face as she stared at Tarquin, a tall gentleman of about Helen’s age with a distinctive shock of flaxen hair. ‘I’m sure I have heard about that wastrel,’ Iris announced waspishly. ‘Is he not the fellow who was lately residing in the Fleet for unpaid debts?’

‘Yes,’ Helen succinctly confirmed. ‘But I do not consider him a wastrel. It is an affliction he has, for he desperately wants to curb his tendency to gamble.’

‘What very odd company you sisters do keep.’

‘Do you think so?’ Helen said. ‘Our relatives, then, are probably equally strange. I recall George fretting the duns would have him thrown in debtors’
prison. Perhaps he might have shared a cell with Tarquin. But I expect you would have pawned a bauble or two to keep your husband from such ignominy, Iris. Wouldn’t you?’

Iris’s lips formed a carmine bud. She flicked an encompassing glance about the faded appointments of the Goodes’s drawing room. ‘It is a nice house Philip has here. Such a pity the interior does not quite match the fine address. One can rarely estimate a person’s standards.’

‘Philip has done an admirable job in retaining the property and caring for his mother and sister since his father died.’ Iris seemed unwilling to let her escape and kept step with Helen as she tried to distance herself.

‘A betrothal ball would have been more befitting to people of our standing. This is rather a shabby little affair. But then nothing about this entire episode is
comme il faut.’

‘I agree,’ Helen said coolly. ‘Were things
comme il faut,
George would have shared the cost of this celebration and not left the entire burden of it to Philip.’

Friends who had come to congratulate the newly betrothed couple were laughing and chatting, creating a buzz of good humour throughout the drawing room. Helen revelled in the atmosphere for a moment,
then turned to her sour-faced sister-in-law. ‘In this instance, I think I’m grateful for George’s parsimony. I’m thoroughly enjoying this shabby little affair …’

Helen’s lavender skirts were given an ungentle twitch. ‘Ungrateful! George paid for
this
and for Charlotte’s new gown.’

‘He has certainly taken the credit for doing so, yet I think the sum involved is less than what we are owed in unpaid allowance.’

Iris’s complexion glowed beneath her powder. ‘And George has been unwisely generous in allowing Charlotte to marry beneath her,’ she snapped.

‘He has not, for Charlotte is not marrying beneath her,’ Helen returned icily. ‘Philip is of excellent family. He has had hard times, but his fortunes are now improving. Were they not, I doubt George would even have consented to listen to Philip’s suit.’ Helen turned to move swiftly on, but bumped straight into George. He immediately held aloft two glasses to prevent the drinks spilling. One was given to his wife and he sipped from the other. ‘I ought have fetched you a drink, Helen. Sorry …’ he absently remarked.

‘You are wasting any such consideration.’ Iris gave Helen a significant stare. ‘She was just complaining how meanly you treat her and Charlotte.’ Iris turned an elevated shoulder on Helen. ‘Surely we
have done our duty and can now go,’ she muttered peevishly to her husband. ‘We have been here above an hour already. Sonia Lancaster is having a card party in Hertford Street. It starts late …’

‘I’ll fetch your cloak.’ George watched golden wine swirl in his glass, then speared a look at the doorway. ‘That is, if you’re sure you don’t want to stay and greet our future brother-in-law’s patron. It seems he has after all graced us with his presence.’ He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I suppose I should make a point of thanking him for easing my burden.’ He deliberately slid a look at Helen. ‘Perhaps I might yet lose it entirely,’ he added slyly. His next comment carried more volume. ‘I just hope Goode hasn’t frittered the whole of the salary Hunter advanced to him on those rubies.’

Iris immediately swivelled towards the doorway. Her blue eyes took on an excited gleam and she nipped her lower lip between her teeth.

‘You don’t seem quite so bored … or so keen to leave, my dear,’ her husband remarked cynically before strolling away.

Helen deserted Iris too, but walked swiftly in the opposite direction to her brother. Once by the wide doors that opened on to a small terrace she hesitated and let the cool evening air soothe her feverish skin.

Philip had mentioned that he had issued an invitation
to his benefactor. Helen had imagined Jason would decline it due to the delicacy of the situation between them. He had made a point of telling her that there would be occasions when it would not be appropriate for them to socialise together. She knew he had been referring to times when their families would be present. Although news of their relationship was not yet out, she imagined he would start as he meant to go on. But not only had he come this evening, he had brought his brother with him, too. It had been a few weeks since she had propositioned him in Hyde Park and, although they had communicated by letter, she had not again seen him. They had parted, she thought, in an atmosphere of subdued harmony that sunny afternoon. After a few days she had received a letter from him enquiring whether she would like an advance on her allowance. Helen had considered that carefully before putting pen to paper to decline his premature generosity. The following week another missive arrived, asking if she desired choosing her own residence and staff or whether she would want him to deal with it. His mode of writing echoed his wry speech and she had managed a little chuckle on reading his assurance that she could trust him to spare her Rowan Walk. She had dashed off a note to him instructing him to please go ahead.

Certainly they had not exchanged
billets-doux,
but Helen had sensed a fragile amity burgeoning between them. She also had realised the clandestine nature of the prologue to their affair was piquantly thrilling. But, of course, it would not always be just a game, or a secret. At some time they would be lovers, sharing bed and board on occasion, and everybody would know it.

But when? As the weeks had passed, it had occurred to Helen that Jason might be purposely postponing because he was satisfied with things the way they were. He had made it woundingly apparent that Mrs Tucker’s services were not to be dispensed with. Had his current mistress got wind of developments and coaxed him to keep the status quo? Once or twice Helen had considered again writing him a note to probe for clues as to the delay, but her pride would not let her. She had humbled herself to proposition him—she certainly would not chivvy him to make a date to sleep with her.

‘Charlotte’s rubies are beautiful.’

Helen started from her introspection to swirl about in a rustle of lavender satin. Emily Beaumont’s eyes were on a level with her own for they were of similar height. She gave the pretty young woman a smile. ‘Indeed, it is a magnificent betrothal gift.’

‘I’m glad it came right for them both,’ Emily said.
‘And so expeditiously! Anne told me weeks ago that she feared your brother had taken against Philip and would never give his consent to the match.’

‘In truth, I did, too,’ Helen wryly admitted. ‘But as soon as George learned of Philip’s improved situation … well, suffice it to say he has undergone quite a wondrous change of heart. He is keen for them to set an early wedding date.’

Emily cocked her head in the direction of the two distinguished dark-haired gentlemen who stood beneath the room’s central chandelier, encircled by a group of people. ‘Tarquin tells me Sir Jason Hunter has taken his cousin under his wing and made all this possible. I had no idea that the Goodes were related to the Hunters.’

Helen glanced that way too and immediately noticed that her sister-in-law had lost no time in pressing close to their honoured guest who, she had to admit, exuded magnetism. His dark jacket was excellently tailored in fine raven cloth that enhanced his impressively broad shoulders. The tailcoat was significantly narrower where it skimmed over his lean waist and hips and complemented his grey trousers. He looked, Helen mused, as though his muscular physique owed a lot to strenuous masculine pursuits. An irrepressible image of certain nocturnal exercise had stolen into her mind, making her cheeks
warm. She forced her thoughts to fencing and sparring whilst recalling how well toned George had once been when keen to participate in sporting bouts.

‘Did you know of the connection?’

Emily’s sweet voice infiltrated her mind. She was looking curiously at her … probably to divine the reason for her blushing cheeks, Helen guessed.

‘Ah … indeed … I was aware of it,’ Helen quickly confirmed. ‘It is a distant kinship and one, I believe, that is not widely known, for it has been rather strained in the past.’ Her eyes darted again to Jason to see that he was now watching her.

An astute look from Emily veered between Sir Jason and Helen’s quickly averted face. ‘Sir Jason seems interested in you. Are you acquainted with the family?’

‘Our family lived by the Hunters’s estate of Thorne Park … many years ago now,’ Helen quickly answered, then neatly evaded answering any more of Emily’s questions by asking one of her own. ‘I think
I
ought ask whether you are acquainted with the Hunters.’ She gave Emily a teasing smile. Helen liked Miss Beaumont. Charlotte socialised more than Helen and so was more of a friend to Emily. But Emily was, at twenty-four, nearer Helen’s age. Helen had always thought her a personable and attractive young woman and had wondered why Emily was
still single. ‘Philip’s sister told me that you hanker after Mark Hunter.’

‘Cheek! I do no such thing.’ Emily’s eyes had darkened in annoyance. ‘Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. I do hanker after wringing his neck!’ Her fair head dipped towards Helen’s ebony tresses. ‘He is the
gentleman
who set the duns on Tarquin and landed him in the Fleet.’

Helen’s amber gaze flicked anxiously towards Tarquin. She certainly did not want her sister’s betrothal party ruined by any hostilities. ‘I expect Tarquin must feel quite bitter about that,’ Helen whispered back.

‘But he does not,’ Emily spluttered with a perplexed frown. ‘Tarquin said a gentleman is entitled to call in his vowels. I think he quite likes him. Heaven knows why! Last time I spoke to Mark Hunter I found him vastly arrogant and—’

‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’

That softly ironic query put space between blonde and black locks. Both young women had snapped their heads up to see a gentlemen smiling at them.

‘Mr Hunter … I … it is a very long time since last we met,’ Helen said quickly. She politely met his extended fingers. ‘And I believe you are acquainted with Miss Beaumont?’ Helen exchanged a subtle smile with Emily.

‘Of course … Tarquin’s sister. I’m pleased to see you again, Miss Beaumont,’ Mark said mildly.

Emily refused to touch his hand and slipped into a bob. ‘I’m afraid I cannot echo that sentiment, sir. It seems the pleasure is all yours.’ Her blonde ringlets rippled as she swung her head to the side. ‘Ah, I see Tarquin is beckoning me. I hope he does not already want to go. But his health was not improved by his odious incarceration in the Fleet. He probably feels unwell.’ With a smile for Helen and glaring insolence for Mark, Emily was soon on her way.

‘Tell me, Mrs Marlowe, am I being overly sensitive or did you also find Miss Beaumont’s attitude towards me a tad frosty?’

Helen bit her lip to quell her smile. He shared his brother’s sense of irony as well as his striking good looks. ‘I believe there is an icicle thawing above your head even as we speak, sir.’ More soberly Helen added, ‘Emily is very loyal to Tarquin and rightly or wrongly will defend him.’