She shook her head. “We can’t keep sneaking around. And such things always become public knowledge.”
He frowned, more in puzzlement than anger. “Would that be so bad? You’re not a debutante, and you were faithful to Crewe when he didn’t deserve it. Society will cast a forgiving eye on a discreet affair.”
“I don’t want people talking about me. I had enough of that when I was married. Everyone gossiped about Crewe, and by default, me. I hated how they watched me all the time. I hated their pity and contempt.”
He didn’t bother contradicting her. They both knew she was right. Playing the part of the wronged wife had lacerated her pride to tatters. “Then come away with me. We can go to France or Italy. Or darkest Africa, for all that. I don’t care as long as we’re together.”
Wonderingly she stared at him. “West, you almost sound desperate.”
He gave a self-derisive grunt of laughter and dropped to sit on the steps leading to the Doric-columned doorway. “How the mighty have fallen.” He ran his hand through his hair, and his expression was rueful. “I’m sorry. I meant today to be an idyll, yet here I am haranguing you.”
For a moment, she studied him. He was by nature the king of the beasts, but she found these occasional hints of vulnerability so dangerously appealing.
Abruptly she turned away, as if she stared too long at the sun. She caught Artemis and took off her bridle, so the mare was free to graze on the sparse greenery. The Arab was too well trained to bolt. Even if she did, they were within walking distance of the house, however secluded this pretty haven seemed.
Only when she’d gained a grip on her rioting emotions did Helena face West again. He lounged in front of her. She’d always been conscious of his handsomeness, although as an adult, she’d had little difficulty resisting his practiced charms. But here where they’d roamed as children, without his shell of worldly sophistication, he seemed much more real. And much more perilous to her vow never to fall victim to another libertine.
Except right now, he didn’t look like a libertine. He looked like a man who could be well satisfied with the right woman. Even his clothes seemed honest. Shirtsleeves, fawn breeches, and scuffed boots that had seen better days.
Fearing that the battle to keep her distance was all but lost, she sighed. She sat beside him, taking his hand. “West, let’s enjoy our day. After tomorrow, we’ll have to be more careful. Amy’s back, and when it comes to secrets, she’s got a nose like a foxhound.”
“You know, we don’t need to hide our attachment at Woodley Park. It’s not as if the others are sleeping in chaste isolation.” He turned his hand to lace his fingers through hers.
Fear rippled through her anew. She could countenance incendiary passion. After all, that was why she’d entered into this affair. But these affectionate gestures reached deep into her soul—and her soul wasn’t up for negotiation.
“Yes, we do,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “If the others think you and I are interested in each other, they’ll nag us into the ground until we marry.”
“They already know I’m interested in you.”
“They don’t know I’m interested back,” she retorted, wondering if she betrayed too much. Although he must know she was helpless against his lures. “And if there’s even a hint of a scandal, the wedding guests will carry it back to London.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do.” And wondered why her words rang hollow.
He rose and extended his hand. “If you’re going to argue with me, come inside. I’m not dressed for outdoors.”
She accepted his hand, and the tacit request for a change of subject. “Surely you can’t be cold. Not after Russia. I remember in one of your letters, you said that the air was so freezing, it hurt to breathe.”
He gave a grunt of pleased surprise. “So you did read my letters?”
She shot him a teasing look. “One or two.”
“More than that, I suspect.”
She laughed. “All right. I’ll admit it.”
“So they didn’t end up fueling the drawing room fire?”
“No, of course not. They’re marvelous letters. I’ve read and re-read them. There’s one about racing troikas at dawn across the frozen steppes that I know by heart. I could almost hear the snow crunching under the runners, and the bells tinkling on the horses’ harness. For a careless libertine, you have quite a way with words.”
It had been a game, pretending to despise that copious, fascinating correspondence. But in the last two days, the game between them had changed forever, and she could never claim indifference again. Not that her indifference had ever convinced him. “There. Look as smug as you like.”
He did look smug. “I always knew you read them. After all, you occasionally replied.”
“I couldn’t let you get away with talking about breeding rights, could I?”
“For Artemis.”