“Helena?” West said when she didn’t respond. “I brought you a horse to ride.”
She stopped watching her brother and met West’s amused eyes. He was a man society fawned over—handsome, rich, from an old family. People were more inclined to hang on his every word than drift off in his presence. But he’d always worn his consequence lightly. A lesser person might find her erratic attention an insult to his vanity. Vernon Grange merely thought it funny. She’d always liked his lack of conceit, thorny as relations had become since she’d abandoned her girlish tendre.
“I can’t ride astride. Even in Richmond that would cause talk.” She fought to rise above the antagonism he always stirred. Crewe and West had been bosom bows
at Oxford. She’d never forgiven West for introducing her to the man she’d so disastrously married. “But thank you for offering.”
“You used to ride astride when you were a cheeky schoolgirl in plaits and a muddy pinafore.”
“I used to do many things.” A chill entered her voice. “But wisdom has a grim habit of following after reckless decisions.”
His amusement faded. “Not always.”
“No, not always.” The ghost of her late husband hovered. Charming, deceitful, self-centered. And destructive—to himself most of all.
“I’ve missed seeing you on a horse, Hel,” Silas said absently, still watching Caro, who had joined Fenella on the far side of the field.
West made an effort to lighten the tone. “I arranged this picnic purely for the pleasure of seeing you flying across the grass on the back of a galloping horse.”
Oh, dear, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She’d imagined he’d put this party together to further his pursuit of Caro. Helena didn’t want West noticing her. For years, he’d been content to treat her as a distant acquaintance. “Really?”
“Yes, really. It’s been a fancy of mine since I saw you restricted to a trot in Hyde Park. The experience was most uncongenial for an observer. You looked like someone was strangling you. Slowly.”
She frowned, resenting that West made her the focus of his attention. And that his conclusions were so accurate. “Town isn’t the place to ride neck or nothing. I’ll soon be back at Cranham.”
West signaled to a groom. “Such a pity.”
“That I’m leaving London?”
“No, that you don’t want a good gallop, when I went to such trouble to bring you a suitable mount—and a suitable saddle.”
The groom led a pretty chestnut mare toward them. Helena immediately noted the gleaming sidesaddle. Her hand curled at her side as if it already held a crop. Despite her misgivings about the man offering the favor, she itched to throw herself onto the lovely horse. The groom passed the reins to West, bowed and left.
West’s smile was mocking. “If you deny me, I’ll think that you don’t like me.”
She ran a gentle hand down the Arab’s jaw and bit back a sigh of longing. The mare truly was a darling. “I don’t.”
That wasn’t completely true. Her feelings for West had always been more complex than mere antipathy. When they were children, he’d been her hero. Shreds of that fondness lingered, although she’d long ago recognized that he was cut from the same cloth as her depraved husband.
“Ouch.”
She studied West, as with unconvincing nonchalance, Silas wandered off in Caro’s direction. “You don’t believe me?”
West shrugged. “Explaining exactly what I believe requires more time and privacy than we now enjoy. Even if you insist on seeing me as the enemy, I hope you’ll still accept Artemis as a gift.”
“Gift?” Helena stared at him, appalled. “What on earth do you mean? I can’t take such an extravagant present. Have some sense, West.”
He stood unmoved by her refusal, tall and lean in his immaculate dark green coat and fawn breeches. “Nonetheless, she’s yours.”
“That’s…” Helena struggled to understand what lay behind this ridiculous and inappropriate gesture. West had been out in society all his adult life. He knew how the world would interpret his generosity.
His gaze remained unwavering on her face. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” she snapped, although she had a sinking feeling she knew.
“Yes, it’s a declaration of intentions.”
Horror flooded her. She faltered back across the grass as if he’d made an unwelcome physical advance. “This isn’t funny.”