Almack’s. With you.’
At the thought, Helen had to laugh. The vision of Martin Willesden stalking the hallowed boards, an eagle among the lambs, setting all the mother ewes in a flap, was intensely appealing.
It was Martin’s turn to look haughty. ‘Do you think I won’t?’
Abruptly, Helen found herself drowning in smouldering grey, warmed and shaken to the core. Dragging her eyes from his, she looked ahead. ‘I…hadn’t imagined you would be attracted to the mild entertainments of the Marriage Mart.’
‘I’m not. Only the promise of all manner of earthly pleasures could get me over its threshold.’
Helen was not game to try to cap that. She rapidly became absorbed in the scenery.
A slow smile curved Martin’s lips before he gave his attention to his horses. He could not recall ever enjoying thirty minutes of conversation with a female half as much. In fact, he could not recall any other woman he had ever favoured with half an hour of verbal discourse. Fair Juno was a novelty, her mind quick and adroit. Innocent though the information he had gained was, it confirmed his suspicion that she had attained a position in the ton normally reserved for older matrons. Or widows.
At the thought, he let his eyes roam in leisurely appraisal over the curvaceous form beside him. She felt his gaze and glanced up, a slightly nervous smile hovering on her rosy lips.
Helen saw the predatory gleam in the grey eyes and accurately read their message. Dragging her dignity about her, the only protection she possessed, she arched one brow in spirited defence, perfectly ready to continue their banter. But the reprobate by her side merely smiled in a thoroughly seductive way and gave his attention to his horses. Helen transferred her gaze to the scenery, her lips irrepressively curving in appreciation. Conversing with a rake while free of the normal strictures, protected from any physical consequencesby the fact he had both hands full of high-tempered horseflesh, was every bit as scandalously exciting as she had ever, as a green girl, imagined it would be. It was all deliciously dangerous but, in this case, completely safe. She had realised as much some miles back. It was a game that, in this particular instance, she could play with impunity. She was in his care and, instinctively, she knew he would honour that charge. While she remained under his protection, she was safe from him.
Heaven help her later.
But, of course, there would be no later. Helen stifled a sigh as reality intruded, impossible to deny. The future, for them both, was fixed. When he reached London, he would be the focus of the matchmaking mamas—with good reason. He was titled, wealthy and hideously handsome to boot. Their darling daughters would make cakes of themselves trying to catch his grey eyes. And, inevitably, he would choose one of them as his wife. Some well-dowered, biddable miss with an immaculate reputation. A widow, with no pretensions to property, with a murky marriage to a social outcast behind her and nothing more than her connections to recommend her, was a poor bargain.
Inwardly, Helen shook herself. Reality began in London. There was no need to cloud her day of adventure with such dismal forebodings. She tried to force the image of Martin Willesden paying court to a sweet young thing from hermind. In truth, the tableau was somewhat hazy. It was hard to believe that a man of his tastes, as demonstrated by their dalliance of the past half-hour, would settle to marriage with a sweet young thing. Doubtless, he would be the sort who kept a mistress or two on the side. Well, who was she to complain? Her husband had done the same, with her blessing. Not that her blessing would have been forthcoming had Martin Willesden been her husband.
With a determined effort, Helen redirected her thoughts. He wanted to know her name. She could tell him, but her anonymity was a comforting sop to her conscience. Besides which, when he reached London and
At the thought, Helen had to laugh. The vision of Martin Willesden stalking the hallowed boards, an eagle among the lambs, setting all the mother ewes in a flap, was intensely appealing.
It was Martin’s turn to look haughty. ‘Do you think I won’t?’
Abruptly, Helen found herself drowning in smouldering grey, warmed and shaken to the core. Dragging her eyes from his, she looked ahead. ‘I…hadn’t imagined you would be attracted to the mild entertainments of the Marriage Mart.’
‘I’m not. Only the promise of all manner of earthly pleasures could get me over its threshold.’
Helen was not game to try to cap that. She rapidly became absorbed in the scenery.
A slow smile curved Martin’s lips before he gave his attention to his horses. He could not recall ever enjoying thirty minutes of conversation with a female half as much. In fact, he could not recall any other woman he had ever favoured with half an hour of verbal discourse. Fair Juno was a novelty, her mind quick and adroit. Innocent though the information he had gained was, it confirmed his suspicion that she had attained a position in the ton normally reserved for older matrons. Or widows.
At the thought, he let his eyes roam in leisurely appraisal over the curvaceous form beside him. She felt his gaze and glanced up, a slightly nervous smile hovering on her rosy lips.
Helen saw the predatory gleam in the grey eyes and accurately read their message. Dragging her dignity about her, the only protection she possessed, she arched one brow in spirited defence, perfectly ready to continue their banter. But the reprobate by her side merely smiled in a thoroughly seductive way and gave his attention to his horses. Helen transferred her gaze to the scenery, her lips irrepressively curving in appreciation. Conversing with a rake while free of the normal strictures, protected from any physical consequencesby the fact he had both hands full of high-tempered horseflesh, was every bit as scandalously exciting as she had ever, as a green girl, imagined it would be. It was all deliciously dangerous but, in this case, completely safe. She had realised as much some miles back. It was a game that, in this particular instance, she could play with impunity. She was in his care and, instinctively, she knew he would honour that charge. While she remained under his protection, she was safe from him.
Heaven help her later.
But, of course, there would be no later. Helen stifled a sigh as reality intruded, impossible to deny. The future, for them both, was fixed. When he reached London, he would be the focus of the matchmaking mamas—with good reason. He was titled, wealthy and hideously handsome to boot. Their darling daughters would make cakes of themselves trying to catch his grey eyes. And, inevitably, he would choose one of them as his wife. Some well-dowered, biddable miss with an immaculate reputation. A widow, with no pretensions to property, with a murky marriage to a social outcast behind her and nothing more than her connections to recommend her, was a poor bargain.
Inwardly, Helen shook herself. Reality began in London. There was no need to cloud her day of adventure with such dismal forebodings. She tried to force the image of Martin Willesden paying court to a sweet young thing from hermind. In truth, the tableau was somewhat hazy. It was hard to believe that a man of his tastes, as demonstrated by their dalliance of the past half-hour, would settle to marriage with a sweet young thing. Doubtless, he would be the sort who kept a mistress or two on the side. Well, who was she to complain? Her husband had done the same, with her blessing. Not that her blessing would have been forthcoming had Martin Willesden been her husband.
With a determined effort, Helen redirected her thoughts. He wanted to know her name. She could tell him, but her anonymity was a comforting sop to her conscience. Besides which, when he reached London and
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