Winning Lord West (16 page)

She glowered back. “I won’t go.”

He flinched as though she’d hit him. “Have
you no pride?”

It was her turn for an unamused laugh. “Of
course. Too much.” She shot him a straight look. “But unlike you,
I’m not stupid with pride.”

His expression turned shifty, which bolstered
her optimism that she was on the right track. “You’re talking utter
rubbish.”

She folded her gloved hands in her lap and
fixed him with an unwavering regard. “No, you are. You should know
me by now, West. I’m steadfast and true. For pity’s sake, I
remained faithful to that swine Crewe. Now I’ve chosen you, and I
won’t be fobbed off.” Impatience roughened her tone. “As if your
illness makes a shred of difference to my affection.”

More than affection. But while she was brave,
she wasn’t brave enough to set her whole heart out before him. Not
when she still wasn’t sure whether he meant to surrender, or crush
all her chances of happiness. And all his chances, too, the
stiff-necked wretch.

A long, prickling silence extended.

Suspense tightened her belly until bile rose
in her throat. Was she wrong? Had she pushed him too far?

Then he dragged in a shuddering breath. He
slumped as the resistance drained out of him. And with it, the
rage-fueled vigor.

Relief flooded her, and she leaped to her
feet, helping him back to the bench. “Should I fetch someone?”

“A keeper to take you away and lock you up,”
he said, although the words lacked venom. He leaned against her,
heavy and trembling and dear.

She wasn’t complaining. At least they’d
bridged the cruel distance. She turned her head to kiss the ruffled
dark hair. “Make your heroic declaration of self-denial. Then I can
argue it away, and we can get on with the rest of our lives.”

Despite physical discomfort, a grunt of
laughter escaped him. “You’re bloody sure of yourself.”

“That’s your fault.” Her embrace tightened.
“You make me feel like a goddess.”

“I should have been more careful,” he
muttered, but his arm snaked around her waist to draw her closer.
“It’s all very well to sound so confident. I saw doctors in Russia,
and again in London. These fevers could go on for the rest of my
life. There’s no cure. I might get better, but it’s quite possible
I won’t.”

She’d been right about what troubled him.
Relief made her dizzy, but she stiffened her shoulders against any
weakness. The fight wasn’t over yet. “So like a gallant fool, you
decided to fall on your sword, and throw me to the wolves for good
measure?”

He shifted to level somber green eyes on her.
“You deserve my best.”

Heaven save her from stubborn masculine
pride. “And it didn’t occur to you to share these ramshackle
ideas?”

“I know your stalwart soul, Helena. I’ve
known it all my life. You’d insist on standing by me.”

“Now who’s sure of himself?”

“I know you’ve…become attached. It seemed
easier to let you go back to thinking I’m a worthless cad.”

“Easier for whom?”

“Hating me helped you cope with Crewe’s
betrayals. I thought it might help again this time.” Obstinacy
squared his jaw. She realized with a sinking feeling that she
hadn’t won yet, although victory hovered close. “I can’t bear to be
a burden on you.”

“So your vanity is more important than my
happiness?”

“Vanity?” he snapped, sounding much more like
himself.

Fear that even now, she still might fail,
added an edge to her voice. A wonderful future opened up before
them. She could see that so clearly. Why in Hades couldn’t he?

“Yes. Vanity. I don’t care if you’re ill—oh,
that’s not right, of course I care—but it doesn’t change my
feelings. In the past days, you’ve brought me alive. Surely you
know that.” Tears stung her eyes, and this time she didn’t force
them back. “For heaven’s sake, West, don’t let your conceit shut me
away in the dark.”

“I was right—you do intend to stand by me.
Blast you, I won’t have it. I won’t tie you to a wreck of a
man.”

“You’re not a wreck of a man.” A tear
trickled down her cheek. How things had changed. Once he’d been so
certain, and she’d been the one to hold out. “You’re everything I
want.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “A week ago,
you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Well, now I can’t go on without you. If
you’re intent on self-sacrifice, be self-sacrificing by my side.
I’m not the easiest person in the world.” She yielded the very last
of her own pride. “Lover or wife, I don’t care which. As long as we
stay together.”

A familiar mulish expression settled on his
features. “No. I want to marry you.”

More relief rose to choke her. She caught his
intense, dark face between her hands and met eyes still brimming
with uncertainty. “Then don’t consign us both to a lonely life,
just because you sometimes get the shakes.”

He studied her. “Helena, I’m trying to do the
right thing.”

She dredged up a smile. “Then make an honest
woman of me. Really, Lord West, have you no scruples?”

Reluctant amusement tugged at his lips. “More
than I ever realized. But you seem to have talked me out of most of
them.”

Closing her eyes, she sent a thankful prayer
heavenward. She was terrifyingly aware of how close she’d come to
losing him. “Really?”

“Really.” The clumsy eagerness in his kiss
showed as nothing else could that he was hers at last.

By the time he raised his head, she was
befuddled and happy and shaking. Sniffing, she fumbled for a
handkerchief in the satin reticule tied to her wrist.

“My dear Lady Crewe—” With difficulty, West
shifted out of her arms and dropped to one knee before her.

Immediately she forgot what she was looking
for. “Get up, West. That stone’s too cold for you.”

Despite her efforts to avoid him, he caught
her hands. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be a nagging wife.”

“Probably.” She tried to break free. “I’ll
take the romantic proposal as read.”

“No, you won’t.”

“For a decrepit ruin, you’re very
highhanded,” she grumbled.

“You had your chance to run, and you didn’t
take it.” His tight grip contradicted the humor. “My dear Lady
Crewe—”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. Now be quiet and listen, curse
you.” His voice lowered to a velvety sincerity that made her
tremble. “My dear Lady Crewe, I’ve long admired your beauty and
kindness.” He ignored her soft snort. “You are everything a man
could want in a lifelong partner. I’ll count myself the most
fortunate of men if you accept me as your husband.”

“I will,” she said quickly.

“There’s more.”

She leaned down and kissed him. She’d
expected resistance, but his mouth was eager. When she raised her
head, her heart overflowed with happiness. “I don’t need pretty
words.”

“Yes, you do.” He raised her hands to his
lips. “Helena, I’m not the perfect choice.” He ignored the emphatic
shake of her head, disagreeing with him. “Life will send us
challenges. But you’re the bravest and best woman I know, and I
swear I’ll cherish you until the day I die.”

Oh, dear. A lump settled in Helena’s throat,
and moisture turned her vision misty. She should have found that
handkerchief while she had the chance.

“Maybe I do need pretty words after all.” She
curled her fingers around his and struggled for the answer he
deserved. “West, I pledge myself to you. I’ll be proud to be your
wife. Nobody has ever made me as happy as you have today.”

This time the kiss lasted much longer, and
ended in the two of them entwined on the narrow bench. West no
longer objected to her crowding him.

When he tucked her under his chin, she’d
never felt so safe in her life. “The others will be pleased that
we’ve made up our difficulties.”

Helena gave a gurgle of laughter. “I have a
suspicion they already know. My fellow Dashing Widows have an
uncanny ability to sniff out a wedding in the wind.”

“Now the Dashing Widows will all be cherished
wives.” Despite the wedding breakfast, he seemed content to linger
in the shadowy porch. “Will you miss your wild ways, my
darling?”

“My dear Lord West, how very wrong you are.”
She raised her head to meet his glowing eyes. “My dashing days have
only just begun.”

West stood behind Helena on the steps of
Woodley Park. Below them, Silas and Caro stepped into their
traveling carriage in a flurry of farewells. But West’s attention
wasn’t on his best friend and his bride. Instead his thoughts
dwelled on the glorious woman who had at last consented to be his
wife. His younger self had been wiser than his years when he’d set
his sights on Silas’s pretty sister.

How miraculous that in such a short space,
despair could transform to joy. He’d been convinced that he was a
hopeless invalid with nothing to offer her. And these last days
with her had confirmed something he’d always known—that Helena
deserved the best of everything.

While he mightn’t be the best, he swore by
everything he held holy that he’d do his best by her. Her hope was
contagious. He felt better already.

By God, he’d beat this damned fever. He had
something to live for now.

He stepped closer to catch the drift of her
scent. Damn him if this surreptitious connection didn’t give him an
illicit thrill.

She cast him a quick glance, one knowing
flash of bright, black eyes. Under cover of crimson skirts, her
fingers tangled with his. Odd that her presence lent his soul such
peace. She wasn’t by nature a peaceful woman.

Of course if he announced their betrothal,
there would be no need for subterfuge. An engaged couple holding
hands might rouse interest but little disapproval, especially on
such a romantic occasion. But this was Caro and Silas’s day,
however much West longed to shout hallelujahs and turn somersaults.
He’d have the banns called next Sunday, but for now, his betrothal
remained a delicious secret between Helena and him.

He leaned forward. “Can you slip away?”

She didn’t look back, but her grip on his
hand tightened. “Once I’ve made an appearance at the staff dinner,
and farewelled the guests leaving today. Any family staying on can
amuse themselves this afternoon, I’m sure. And Mary or Sally can
play hostess if need be.”

“Come to my room.”

“Someone will see.”

“Not if they’re all cuddled up in their own
rooms.”

“What about Amy?”

She wouldn’t see his smug smile. “Ah, I’ve
planned a treat for your inquisitive little sister. She’s got an
appointment at Shelton Abbey to talk to my agent about crop
rotation.”

Helena muffled a laugh. Not well enough. Her
Great Aunt Agnes cast her a curious glance. “How Machiavellian.
She’ll be in alt. The poor fellow won’t get away until
midnight.”

“Suits me.” West inhaled her fragrance and
felt her shiver with awareness. “I’ve missed you.”

Helena directed a sharp eye at her elderly
relative as she murmured, “Give me an hour.”

“An hour will feel like eternity.”

The familiar wry smile twisted her lips.
“Goodness me, West. Are you sure you’re feeling better? That
doesn’t sound like you at all.”

He shrugged, unashamed of his ardor. “You’ve
rumbled my secret. Under my rakish manners, I’m a sentimental
fellow, my darling.”

With visible reluctance, Great Aunt Agnes
shifted her attention to Caro and Silas, who waved as their
carriage rolled down the drive. But West predicted when he
announced his betrothal, few would be caught unawares. Great Aunt
Agnes was an inveterate gossip.

With everyone’s backs turned, West dared to
lift Helena’s fingers to his lips. “Don’t be too long,
sweetheart.”

***

At the soft click of his bedroom door, West
sprang from the chair where he’d been trying to read. Trying and
failing. How could printed words occupy him, when he waited in a
lather of impatience for Helena?

The moment she stepped inside, he caught her
up against him for a famished kiss. Fumbling to shut the door, he
pressed her back until she bumped into the wooden panels.

He was starved for her, and still not quite
convinced that they’d won through to a happy ending. Only this
morning, he’d been sure she was lost to him forever. The few kisses
outside the church hadn’t come near to quenching his mighty
need.

She kissed him back with brazen enthusiasm.
It seemed he wasn’t alone in craving more than kisses. When he’d
come upstairs, he’d removed his coat and shoes. Now her frantic
hands tore away his neck cloth and waistcoat.

In between kisses, she gasped out a
breathless explanation. “I’m sorry I took so long. Great Aunt Agnes
cornered me in the drawing room. She definitely knows something’s
up.”

West tilted his hips forward. “Something is
definitely…up.”

“That’s a terrible joke.” But she moved
closer, sending the blood crashing through his veins.

“You laughed. I heard you.” That low,
alluring chuckle always set every nerve in his body jumping.

For the first time in years, she sounded
carefree. “Only because I took pity on you. Seeing you’ve been ill,
and all.”

“I’m feeling
much
better.” He stepped
back to admire the lovely creature he’d captured for himself.
“Pretty dress. Take it off.”

Helena offered her back. “Unlace me. I didn’t
wear this with quick seduction in mind.”

He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.
“And people call you a clever woman.”

She flicked him a glance over her shoulder,
as he deftly unfastened the extravagant crimson velvet dress.
“Something’s interfering with my mental processes.”

He kissed the shoulder bared under the
sagging gown and went to work on her corset. Her undergarments
sported more exquisite embroidery, but he was too desperate for her
to pay much attention.