Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels #2) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,87
handles.”
“Mr. Winterborne said we could,” Pandora mumbled.
“I daresay he knows little about the proper deportment of young ladies.”
As Rhys settled into the seat next to the countess, he replied in a sober manner, but the outer corners of his eyes had creased slightly. “Forgive me, my lady. When I saw their interest, I thought to show them how the mechanism worked.”
Mollified, the countess said in a quieter tone, “One must exert restraint on active young minds. Too much thinking will excite the sparks of vice.”
Helen pressed her elbow against Pandora’s side, warning her to stay silent.
“My parents were of the same opinion,” Rhys said easily. “An overactive mind, my father said, would make me insolent and unsatisfied. ‘Know your place,’ he told me, ‘and keep to it.’”
“Did you heed him?” Lady Berwick asked.
He laughed softly. “If I had, my lady, I would be keeping shop on High Street at this moment—not sitting in a carriage with a countess.”
Chapter 22
TO HELEN’S DISAPPOINTMENT, THERE was little opportunity to see Rhys during their first week in London. After the days he had been absent from his office, work had accumulated and there were many matters that required his attention. When he paid a call to Ravenel House one afternoon, his interaction with Helen was limited to small talk, with the countess and the twins seated nearby. Lady Berwick’s rules about visiting were explicit and unyielding: Calls must be paid during specified hours, and the visitor should stay no longer than fifteen minutes. After a quarter of an hour had passed, the countess glanced meaningfully at the clock.
Rhys’s gaze met Helen’s in a moment of shared impatience and yearning, and the corners of his lips twitched as he stood. “I believe I’ve stayed long enough.”
“We’ve quite enjoyed your visit, Mr. Winterborne,” Lady Berwick said, rising to her feet also. “You are welcome to dine with us the evening after next, if your schedule can accommodate it.”
“Friday?” Rhys frowned in regret. “I would love nothing better, my lady, but I’ve already committed to attending a private dinner with the prime minister.”
“Mr. Disraeli?” Helen asked, her eyes widening. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“An acquaintance. He wants my support for a labor law reform bill, to allow workers the legal right to go on strike.”
“I didn’t realize it was illegal,” Helen said.
Rhys smiled at her interest. “Only a handful of craft societies—carpenters, bricklayers, iron founders—are legally allowed. But many other union members do it nevertheless, and are jailed as a result.”
“Do you want them to have the right to strike?” Helen asked. “Even though you’re a business owner?”
“Aye, the working class should enjoy the same rights as everyone else in society.”
“It is not for women to concern ourselves with such matters,” Lady Berwick said, waving away the matter. “I shall endeavor to find a mutually acceptable date for dinner, Mr. Winterborne.”
“I will see him out, ma’am,” Helen said, striving to tamp down her frustration at not having even a second alone with him.
Lady Berwick shook her head decisively. “My dear, it is improper to accompany a gentleman all the way to the door.”
Helen sent her sisters a pleading glance.
Instantly Pandora nudged her chair with the back of her leg, toppling it over. “Blast,” she exclaimed. “How did that happen?”
The countess turned to face her. “Pandora, that word!”
“What should I say when I knock something over?”
There was a brief silence as Lady Berwick considered the question. “You may say ‘alas.’”
“‘Alas?’ Pandora echoed in distaste. “But that’s such a flabby word.”
“What does it even mean?” Cassandra asked.
While the twins kept Lady Berwick occupied, Helen slipped out into the hallway with Rhys.
Without a word, he slid a hand to the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to his, devouring her with heat and pure male hunger. She inhaled sharply as he pulled her hard against him, his breath striking her cheek in scorching rushes.
“Helen?” The countess’s voice came from the front parlor.
Rhys let go of her instantly. He stared at her, his hands opening and closing as if they itched for the feel of her.
Dazed, Helen tried to steady her wobbly knees. “You should probably leave,” she whispered. With an attempt at humor, she added lamely, “Alas.”
Rhys gave her a sardonic glance before going to fetch his hat and gloves from a demilune table. “I can’t call again during visiting hours, cariad. For the past fifteen minutes, I’ve suffered like a starving man outside a bakery window.”