The Next Best Bride (3 page)

Helena shuddered. Was she so like the wicked earl? She was sure she was not, despite her lapse in judgment.

Carefully, she followed Ros's instructions on how to hail a hansom cab as if she were a man, not a woman alone. To her surprise, the cabbie seemed to take her gruff voice and masculine appearance at face value. Though she felt uncomfortable at first traveling without a chaperon, she found herself growing to like having the cab to herself.

Before she had truly credited her own audacity, she was at the door to the earl's apartment. His man greeted her with a familiar, "Welcome, sir. His lordship is awaiting you." Without ceremony she was ushered into the small anteroom that apparently served him as parlor, sitting room, and dining space. Though she doubted that he dined in often.

He did not stand when she entered the room, and for a second she struggled at the offense. Did his knowledge of her indiscretion make him behave so rudely?

Oblivious to her dismay, he asked bluntly, "Well? Did she agree? Or has she more sense than a pea goose and refused you out of hand?"

It struck her then. She was dressed as a man, so of course he would not stand. His tone and the familiar way he gazed at her made clear he thought her Ros. She opened her mouth to correct his mistake, but for some reason only said, "She hasn't the sense to say no, under the circumstances."

His expression was maddeningly unreadable. "A lover is not the disaster she seems to think it is. You have told her that, I trust."

At first his comment puzzled her, but then Helena realized with a shock that Rand knew of her lover, but not of the possible consequences. Ros had not told him that, drat her. Somehow, it was easier as Ros, to say carelessly, "It is not the lover she laments, but the possibility that in a few months there can be no doubt that she is no longer a virgin." She threw herself into a chair as she had seen her brother do at his most casual.

He did not seem overly shocked. "Poor mite. Truly worried that her lover left her a parting gift, is she?"

As herself, Helena might have waved her finger under his nose and chided his carelessness over something so important. As Ros, however, she affected a shrug. "The question is, why aren't you?"

"What do I care where the brat comes from, as long as I can wave it under my grandfather's nose and get control of my life at last?"

She could see no sign that he lied. Still, she prodded. "Most men care. What if she bears a son, an heir for you who doesn't share your blood?"

Rand shrugged and looked away toward the fire. "I won't know, will I? If we're married and I plow my own row, who's to say whose child it is, even if it were to come a few weeks before time?"

"Plow your own row?" Helena found herself dizzy with rage at the crude statement. How could her sister have ever thought it a sound idea that she should marry this man? "Isn't that rather heartless?"

"Heartless?" Rand was surprised at the outrage that made Ros's voice quaver. He would have expected her to be amused at the thought, if she remarked upon it at all. "Of course it is, Ros. Do you think I could have survived this long in life if I had a heart? You did warn the girl not to expect love or devotion, or any—"

"She knows." The answer came quickly and flatly.

Was that the sticking point, then? "She is not the sort to believe in love and fairytales, is she?"

Ros was uncharacteristically hesitant. "Under the circumstances—"

"She does not want her lover to return and marry her, does she?" The thought horrified him. He did not want to tie himself to a woman who pined after another man.

"No!" The answer was vehement enough that he did not doubt she spoke the truth.

"Good." He watched Ros, puzzled at the unusually indecisive expression on her face.

"Why? What if she did? Surely you expect her to take lovers, with this unconventional arrangement you desire. Why not the man to whom she foolishly gave herself?"

"I don't know. The thought seems…. A woman who loves another man, who hopes for a match and is cruelly disappointed, does not make for a good wife."

"I did not think you wanted a good wife."

"I suppose you are right." Rand put his head in his hands. "I don't want a wife at all. I thought I had found the perfect woman for me in you, Ros. Why did you have to decide against the match?"

She looked away, her blue eyes focusing on the fire as she did not answer immediately, and her fingers plucked idly at her sleeves, until she said abruptly, "Perhaps I am in love with another."

His impulse to laugh aloud died as he saw that she was not smiling. Rand raised his head and contemplated her carefully. "Love? You? I cannot imagine you saying the word without a curl to your lip."

"In lust, then," she answered impatiently, turning the brilliant blue of her eyes upon him. She drew her knees together and sat as primly as a woman, as she added, "Do you not imagine I could lust after a man?"

A suspicion popped into his head. He gave her a lazy, seductive grin. One that usually made the lady of the moment melt to his will. "Was I not lover enough for you, then?"

She licked her lips and said with only a hint of stammer, "Perhaps I want more adventure."

"More adventure than we have found in our nights together?" He rose, amused to see her cross her arms tightly as he approached. "I am hurt. Perhaps I should remind you of what you will lose."

"How?" Her voice was a whisper, her eyes wide as she watched him.

He was so close, he could see how her throat worked as she swallowed dryly. He reached out his hand, not surprised when she eased away until her head rested against the back of the chair. "A taste of the past, Ros."

He placed his fingertips against the soft skin of her throat, so that he could feel the pulse beating wildly there. He knew that she wanted to pull away. He knew just as well that she would not. Gently, slowly, he drew his fingers up her neck to trace the line of her jaw. He grasped her chin without warning and bent down until their faces nearly touched.

She shrank away from him, and then forced herself to remain still. He took hold of her arms and pulled her to stand before him, slowly, reluctantly, inexorably. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her chastely. Still, she did not pull away. "Open your mouth for me," he ordered. He had thought he would stop the game then, whether she obeyed or not.

But when her lips parted under his, he found himself compelled to kiss her. To brand her mouth with his. His kiss was not soft, and when she would have pulled away, he reached for her hips and held her to him, trapping her arms so that she could not push him away. A primitive rush of triumph filled him when she softened to him. He brought his lips to her ear then, and whispered gently, like a true lover, "Ros would have slapped me as soon as I reached for her throat, Helena."

The softness of a moment before disappeared as she pushed away. He let her. He did not want his body to betray his own response to her. She was not an uninformed virgin; she had had a lover and knew the feel of a man's ardor. It would not do to have her know how much he desired her. Not if they were to have the kind of marriage he needed.

Hectic color still flooding her cheeks, she asked, "You and Ros are not lovers?"

Resuming his casual position in the sofa opposite her chair he waved her to be seated. "Our arrangement was much more practical. Surely she told you?"

Helena did not resume her seat, but stood staring down at him with fierce anger. "She agreed to bear you a child. Was I to think you would manage that without touching each other?"

His reply was without heat, though he knew it would sting. "It seems I can do so with you, so why not with your sister?"

She flushed in anger as she dropped into the chair with a defeated air. He felt a faint breath of shame for his petty attack as she replied acidly, "Ros is not nearly as foolish as I am."

"It would have been ungentlemanly of me to try to get a child upon her before the marriage — after all, being the reprobate I am, I might not have made it to the altar alive, and then where would she be?"

She dropped her head into her hands, making a hissing noise that most likely meant she did not believe him. Rand tried to reassure her that he spoke honestly. "I do not obey all the codes of a gentleman, but that one seems most sensible to me. Ros does not deserve to be treated so shabbily just because I couldn't wait for the parson's trap to close upon us before I made love to her." Now that he thought of such a thing, he realized with a start that he had never even contemplated kissing Ros. The idea did not rouse him, like another kiss with Helena did.

"How decent of you," she answered with a touch of bitterness. He realized his mistake then. After all, hadn't her lover left her in the very predicament they discussed? And he, apparently, had not wanted marriage. "Still, I find myself unable to believe that you do not care about the paternity of your potential heir."

He did not know how to convince her. "When did you conceive?"

"I don't know that I have—"

He interrupted her denial. "When were you last with your lover?"

She blushed, but he waved away her discomfort.

"Come, I am a man who has seen and heard much worse than an intemperate love affair." He had a dawning suspicion, "Were you with him only the once?"

She shook her head.

"Many times?" He wondered how she had found the time to sneak away from her family.

"No. I ..." Her pale skin grew red under her false whiskers and she looked toward the fire. "Twice, my lord. If I had had Ros's will, I would have refused him the second time."

He found himself growing quite angry at this bully lover of hers. "Did he force you, then?"

She turned away from the fire and met his eyes, shocking him with the unflinching directness of her gaze. "I was eager to please him. He had no need to force me. I was a fool, but I will not make that mistake again."

She'd always seemed such a meek and proper girl to him. How had he failed to see the steel in her spine was a match to Ros's own? "I assure you that your lover was the fool, not you." He saw that she wanted to argue the point, so he cut her off. "How long since your last menses?"

She blushed. "My lord!"

Rand decided that pointing out how ridiculous she appeared dressed as a man and blushing like a woman would not help him sort out matters between them. He had often forgotten that Ros was a woman when she dressed as a man. That was impossible with Helena. "It is a simple enough question between us if we are to be man and wife. Pretend for a moment you are the man you are dressed as and we are simply chums discussing the weather."

She looked at him doubtfully. He realized he would have to see her home. She could convince no one who gave her a second glance that she was a man.

"You can do it," he urged. "Nice deep voice. 'The rain is miserable today.' 'I long for some good shooting weather.' 'My courses are two weeks late.'"

His foolery cut through her embarrassment. She said curtly, in a distinctly feminine voice, "Five weeks, my lord."

He hid his dismay at the length of time. "That is hardly a cause for concern. Your reason for the delay could be worry or ill health, could it not? Are you always regular?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. He felt a need to defend his knowledge. "A man must know these things if he wants to make certain any bastards he chooses to support are truly his own and not some other man's seed."

She made a choked sound of dismay, but did not address his comment directly. "By the time of the wedding, if I am ..." She could not bring herself to say the word.

"You will be as much as two months gone. I see. We will just say that the child was premature. It is done all the time; surely that does not shock you?"

As if she were instructing a backward child, she said slowly, "You will know the child is not your blood." She paused for a moment, and then blurted miserably, "How can I trust that you will not denounce a male child?"

"Is my word not enough for you?" He found himself absurdly hurt at the skeptical glance that was her only response. "Is that your only concern? That I will change my mind and send the child away because I am certain it is not mine?"

She nodded.

"Then why don't we remedy the matter now."

"Plow your row, you mean?" She shrank back from him subtly, even though he had made no move toward her.

He had made the suggestion merely to ease her mind. And perhaps, he admitted to himself, to seal the bargain. Once he had made love to her there was much less chance she would change her mind. But her words jolted through him, sending an unbidden image of her naked hips working rhythmically against his.

He hoped his answer gave no hint as to the blinding surge of desire he fought. "If we make love tonight, there will be no way to tell whether the child — if there is one — is mine, or that of one of the footmen on the duke's estate."

Chapter Three

Helena closed her eyes against the dizzying feel as her face drained of all blood and then heated to what she knew was a fiery blush. Had he truly just proposed ...? He had. And was she going to agree?

She found, as she rose without conscious command, that she was. Only to seal a bargain, nothing more. To make any child she carried less likely to be called a bastard by her husband.

She did not look at him as she crossed over to where he reclined quite casually on his small sofa. She thought for a moment of sitting beside him and easing into the act with a few kisses. She had liked his kisses. His green eyes were too hard to read, though. She did not know what he thought of her. Of them together.

His right brow rose like a dark wing when she walked behind the sofa and gripped the carved back for support. She looked away from him, down to her hands, and was surprised to see that her knuckles showed white. Not wanting to see his face in case his expression became suddenly readable, she closed her eyes. She did not want to face his contempt.

He did not move. She knew by the silence and fought the temptation to open her eyes and see what held him still. Tersely, she said, "Get on with it, then, my lord. I have to be home soon."