Tempting the Bride - By Sherry Thomas Page 0,21
tomorrow morning the news will be all over town—there is nothing to be unsure about anymore. Lord Hastings and I have known each other a long time. We will deal favorably together.”
Perhaps her nonchalance wasn’t quite nonchalant enough, for a heaviness settled over the room, which only made her angrier with herself for having ruined what should have been a buoyant celebration.
She turned to Venetia. “Enough about Hastings and me. Let’s talk more about the baby. And do tell me why ladies Avery and Somersby knew about your condition before we did. I smell something juicy.”
CHAPTER 5
Unfortunately, the topic of conversation was not so easily changed. Venetia’s baby would not need any special consideration until it was born, but Helena’s “elopement” was very much a problem that had to be dealt with here and now.
Venetia sent an announcement to the papers right away. Millie and Fitz, who happened to have scheduled a dinner for the following evening, decided they would use the occasion to fete the “newlyweds.” Lexington, who’d originally intended to hold only a small house party in August, said he would now open the invitation list and throw in a country ball to mark Hastings’s entry into the family.
Their kindness made Helena feel twice as wretched. She’d not only betrayed their trust, she’d done so in the most incompetent manner possible. But they did not censure her; instead, they were throwing their combined influence behind her, so that no one would dare question her actions or her place.
None of it would have been necessary if only she’d—and this was the worst realization of all—if only she’d listened to Hastings’s repeated warnings.
When her siblings were at last satisfied that they had a workable strategy, Helena was allowed to leave with Hastings in the duke’s best town coach, a large portmanteau of her belongings having already been sent ahead on a lesser vehicle.
“You will need to do better at my house,” said Hastings as the carriage rolled away from the curb. “My staff, unlike your family, do not know you have been carrying on with someone else. They will expect far more enthusiasm from a pair of eloped lovers.”
He sounded bored, as if the novelty of having her for a wife had already begun to fade. It struck her: In three months’ time he’d grow entirely weary of her.
The thought should have brought her relief, yet it filled her with something akin to horror. “I will give every impression of being happy,” she said through gritted teeth.
“See that you do. I have a reputation to uphold: I am never seen with reluctant women.”
“No, those you save for fiction.”
“And closed doors, perhaps,” he murmured. “But you won’t be reluctant. You’ll like it too much, if anything.”
Not for the first time did the memories of their kiss resurface in her mind. She had not wanted to acknowledge it then—or ever—but her body had liked his, had enjoyed their contact most mindlessly.
She was afraid of that mindlessness, her own hidden sybaritic nature that would allow her to be enthralled with the intimate touches of a man whom she disdained intensely.
“Oh, I’m sure I shall enjoy myself well enough by pretending you are someone else.” She made her tone cutting.
He flicked away an invisible mote of dust from his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll take you only under strong light and with your eyes wide-open.”
He raked her with a slow, heavy-lidded glance. A point of infinite heat flared low in her abdomen—while chills spread everywhere else.
Helena had stepped into Hastings’s town house several times before—he hosted a dinner every Season and her siblings always dragged her along. It was a good house at a fine address, eminently respectable, well proportioned, and it gave an impression of comfort and durability rather than magnificent wealth, even though he did possess a great fortune. Or rather, he’d inherited one; he could have squandered it in the years since, for all she knew.
She entered the house on Hastings’s arm. His staff, lined up to congratulate and welcome her, was half bewildered and wholly curious. She acquitted herself with nods and a few half smiles, leaning into him the entire time—and becoming increasingly and uncomfortably aware of his body. Beneath her hand, his arm was hard as granite. From time to time, he placed his hand over hers with a possessive familiarity, the heat of his touch penetrating her glove. And worse, whenever he had something to say, he did so with his lips almost touching her ear, the caress of