KATHLEEN LOOKED REMARKABLY COLLECTED AS she sat in her upholstered chair. “Helen, will you have another cup of tea?”
“Yes.” Helen sent a quick, beseeching glance to Pandora and Cassandra. “Perhaps you should take the dogs out to the garden?”
The twins hurried to comply, snapping for the spaniels, who bounded after them as they departed.
As soon as they were alone, Kathleen asked urgently, “Helen, why on earth is Mr. Winterborne here, and how did you know he was coming?”
Slowly Helen reached to the high neck of her dress and hooked her forefinger around a thin silk ribbon tied around her neck. The comforting weight of the moonstone ring dangled beneath her bodice, hidden in the space between her breasts. She pulled it out, tugged the ring free of its tether, and slid it onto her finger.
“I went to him,” she said simply, laying her hand lightly over Kathleen’s to display the moonstone. “Yesterday.”
Kathleen stared down at the ring in bewilderment. “You went to see Mr. Winterborne alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did he arrange it? Did he send someone for you? How—”
“He knew nothing about it. It was my idea.”
“And he gave this ring to you?”
“I asked for it.” Helen smiled wryly. “Demanded, rather.” Withdrawing her hand, she sat back in her chair. “As you know, I never liked the diamond.”
“But why—” Kathleen fell silent, staring at her in confusion.
“I want to marry Mr. Winterborne,” Helen said gently. “I know that you and Cousin Devon have my best interests at heart, and I trust your judgment. But since the engagement was broken, I haven’t had a moment’s peace. I realized that I had formed an attachment to him, and—”
“Helen, there are things you don’t know—”
“I do. Yesterday Mr. Winterborne told me that he behaved in a coarse and insulting manner to you. He regrets it very much, and he’s come here to apologize. It was a mistake born of impulse—you must believe that he didn’t mean it.”
Kathleen rubbed her eyes wearily. “I knew the moment he said it that he didn’t mean it. The problem is that Devon walked into the room and overheard enough to send him into a rage. He still hasn’t had sufficient time to view the situation in its proper perspective.”
“But you do?” Helen asked anxiously.
“I can certainly understand and forgive a few rash words. My objection to Mr. Winterborne has nothing to do with what happened that day, it’s the same as always: You and he have nothing in common. Soon you’ll be out in society, and you’ll meet a score of very nice gentlemen, cultured and educated and—”
“None of whom would have been willing to spend a minute in my company if I had no dowry. And I don’t need them for comparison: Mr. Winterborne is the man I would choose above all others.”
Kathleen was obviously struggling to understand. “Only a week ago you were in tears, telling me how he’d frightened you when he kissed you.”
“He did. But you gave me the perfect advice, as usual. You said that someday, with the right man, kissing would be wonderful. And it is.”
“He . . . you let him . . .” Kathleen’s eyes widened.
“I have no illusions about Mr. Winterborne,” Helen continued. “Or at least, not many. He’s ruthless, ambitious, and too accustomed to having his way. Perhaps he’s not always a gentleman in the formal sense of the word, but he has his own code of honor. And”—Helen felt a wondering smile tug at her lips—“he has a soft spot for me. I think I’ve become a weakness of his, and he’s a man who desperately needs a few weaknesses.”
“How much time did you spend with him yesterday?” Kathleen asked distractedly. “Were you at the store, or his house? Who saw you together?” She was already calculating how to minimize the damage to Helen’s reputation. Undoubtedly Devon’s reaction would be the same.
It was becoming clear to Helen that Rhys’s insistence on sleeping with her, although manipulative, had made perfect sense. It was the perfect weapon to cut through any number of arguments.
There was no choice now but to use it.
“Kathleen,” she said gently, “I’ve been compromised.”
“Not necessarily. There may be rumors, but—”
“I have to marry him.” Seeing her sister-in-law’s perplexed expression, Helen repeated the words with quiet emphasis. “I have to marry him.”
“Oh,” Kathleen faltered, understanding. “You and he . . .”
“Yes.”
Kathleen was silent, trying to take in the revelation. Her golden-brown eyes glimmered with concern. “My poor Helen,” she finally said. “You didn’t know what to expect. You must have been frightened. Please tell me, darling, did he coerce you, or—”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Helen said urgently. “You must believe that I was completely willing. I had every opportunity to refuse. Mr. Winterborne explained what would happen. It was not at all unpleasant. It was—” She dropped her gaze. “I found pleasure in it,” she finished in a small voice. “I’m sure that’s wicked of me.”
In a moment, Kathleen patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s not wicked,” she said. “Some claim that women shouldn’t enjoy the act, but in my opinion, it certainly makes the process far more appealing.”
Helen had always loved Kathleen’s pragmatic nature, but never so much as at that moment. “I thought you would disapprove of me for having slept with him,” she said with relief.
Kathleen smiled. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m happy about it. But I can hardly fault you for doing exactly as I have done. As long as we’re speaking frankly . . . I’m expecting Devon’s child.”
“Are you?” Helen asked with delight. “I thought that might be the reason why you and he married so quickly.”
“It is. That, and I love him madly.” Kathleen reached for the bowl of sugar, picked out a medium-sized lump, and began to nibble on it. Tentatively she said, “I have no idea how much you know about these matters. You understand the possible consequences of sleeping with a man?”
Helen nodded. “There might be a baby.”
“Yes, unless he . . . took preventive measures?” At Helen’s blank look, Kathleen continued, “Dear, may I ask something quite personal?”
Helen nodded cautiously.
“Did he . . . finish . . . inside you? At the last moment?”
Bewildered, Helen said, “I’m not sure.”
Kathleen smiled ruefully as she saw Helen’s confusion. “We’ll have a talk later. It appears that Mr. Winterborne didn’t quite explain everything.” Absently she picked up the little gold timepiece that hung on a long chain around her neck, and tapped the smooth metal casing against her lips. “What are we to do?” she asked, more to herself than Helen.
“I was hoping that you and Devon would withdraw your objections to the match.”
“I’ve withdrawn them already,” Kathleen said. “In practical terms, no one is in a position to object to it now. And I owe you my support after the way I meddled in your relationship. I’m sorry, Helen. I truly was trying to help.”
“Of course you were,” Helen said in relief. “Don’t give it another thought. Everything has turned out beautifully.”
“Has it?” Kathleen regarded her with a wondering smile. “How happy you seem. Can Mr. Winterborne really be the reason?”
“He is.” Helen put her hands up to her flushed cheeks, and laughed breathlessly. “I’m all pangs and palpitations, just knowing that he’s downstairs. I feel hot and cold, and I can scarcely breathe.” She hesitated. “Is that what love feels like?”
“That’s infatuation,” Kathleen said. “It’s love when you can breathe.” Occupied with her thoughts, she repeatedly folded and unfolded a table napkin on her knee. “The situation must be handled with care. Devon must not find out that you and Mr. Winterborne slept together—he won’t be nearly as reasonable as I am about it. He’ll take it as an affront to the family honor, and—oh I don’t want to contemplate it. But I’ll talk him into accepting the match. It may take a few days, but—”
“Mr. Winterborne is going to tell him tonight.”
Kathleen looked at her alertly, setting aside the napkin. “What? I thought you said he’d come to apologize.”
“Yes, but after that, he’s going to ask for Devon’s approval of our engagement. If Devon refuses, he’ll tell him that he has no choice but to consent since I’m no longer a virgin.”
“Good God,” Kathleen exclaimed, leaping to her feet. “We have to stop him.”
“Mr. Winterborne may have told him already,” Helen said in dismay.
“He hasn’t yet,” Kathleen said, striding from the room while Helen dashed after her. “If he had, we would hear bellowing and things breaking, and—”
At that moment, an unholy clamor erupted downstairs: swearing, shattering, cracking, rattling, a heavy thud, a violent tumble. The walls of the house vibrated.
“Hang it,” Kathleen muttered, “he’s told him.”
Together the two women rushed downstairs, crossed the entrance hall, and ran full bore to the library. By the time they reached it, the room was already in a shambles, with a small table overturned, books strewn across the floor, and a porcelain vase shattered. Belligerent grunts and muffled curses thickened the air as the two men grappled viciously. Managing to gain traction, Devon shoved Rhys with enough force to slam his back against the wall.
With a hoarse sound, Rhys dropped to all fours.
Crying out in alarm, Helen ran to him as he collapsed slowly to his side.
“Devon,” Kathleen shouted, running into her husband’s path.
“Get out of my way,” Devon snarled, his face dark with bloodlust. He was in a fury, the kind that grew exponentially the more one tried to calm it. His kinswoman had been defiled, and nothing less than murder would suffice. There were only two people on earth who could handle him in this state: his brother West, and Kathleen.
“Leave him be,” Kathleen said, positioning herself between her husband and Rhys. “You’ve hurt him.”
“Not enough.” He moved as if to push by her.
“Devon, no.” Kathleen stubbornly stood her ground. Without realizing it, she slid a hand over her abdomen. Later she would confide to Helen that it had made no sense, the impulse to shield her stomach long before the baby had even begun to show, before she’d even accustomed herself to the idea of it.
However, that small, unconscious action was all it took to disarm Devon completely. His gaze shot to her stomach, and he halted, breathing heavily.
Comprehending her advantage, Kathleen told him promptly, “I shouldn’t be distressed in my condition.”
Devon gave her a glance of mingled rage and protest. “Are you going to use that against me for the next nine months?”
“No, darling, only for the next seven and a half months. After that, I’ll have to find something else to use against you.” Kathleen went to him, hugging herself against his rigid form. As his arms went around her, she slipped a soothing hand over the nape of his neck, coaxing him to relax. “You know I can’t let you murder people before dinner,” she murmured. “It throws the entire household off schedule.”
Rhys was in too much pain to pay attention to the exchange. He remained on his side, half-curled, his healthy bronze complexion bleached of color.
Sitting on the floor beside him, Helen eased his black head into her lap. “Where are you hurt?” she asked anxiously. “Is it your back?”
“Shoulder. Dislocated . . . this morning.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Aye.” Letting go of her skirt fabric, Rhys flexed his fingers experimentally. “It’s all right,” he muttered. Moving stiffly, he began to sit up, and paused with a groan of agony.
Helen moved to help him, wedging herself beneath his good arm. She felt him jolt as she accidentally pressed against a sore place on his side. “It’s more than your shoulder,” she said in worry.
Rhys let out a scraping laugh. “Cariad, I haven’t a single moving part that doesn’t ache.” He struggled to a sitting position and propped his back against the edge of a nearby settee. Closing his eyes, he let out an unsteady breath and tried to accommodate the multitude of pains that assailed him.
“What do you need?” Helen asked urgently. “What can I do?” A few locks of heavy dark hair had tumbled over his forehead, and she stroked them back with tender fingertips.
His lashes lifted, and she found herself staring into hot, black-brown eyes. “You can marry me.”
Smiling in spite of her worry, Helen laid her palm against his lean cheek. “I’ve already said I would.”
Devon, who had come to stand behind her, asked irritably, “What the devil is the matter with you, Winterborne?”
“You slammed him against the wall,” Kathleen pointed out.
“I’ve done worse in the past, and it’s never sent him to the floor.” The two men routinely boxed and trained at a club that taught both pugilism and Savate, a form of combat that had originated on the streets of Paris.
Helen twisted to glance at them as she explained. “Mr. Winterborne’s shoulder was dislocated this morning.”
Devon looked surprised and then furious. “Damn it, why didn’t you say anything?”
Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “Would it have made a difference?”
“Not after the rubbish you were spouting!”
“What rubbish?” Kathleen asked in an excessively calm tone, stroking her husband’s arm.
“He said that Helen went to visit him yesterday. Alone. And they—” Devon broke off, unwilling to repeat the offensive claim.
“It’s true,” Helen said.
It was rare to see Devon, who’d become accustomed to frequent surprises over the past year—caught so entirely off guard. But his jaw sagged like the lid of an unlatched valise as he stared at her.
“I’ve been ruined,” Helen added, perhaps a bit too cheerfully. But after twenty-one years of being shy and predictable and sitting quietly in corners, she had discovered an untoward enjoyment in shocking people.
In the stunned silence that followed, she turned back to Rhys and began to unknot his silk necktie.
Rhys reached up to stop her, but flinched in agony. “Cariad,” he said gruffly, “what are you doing?”
She pushed back the lapels of his coat. “Having a look at your shoulder.”
“Not here. I’ll have a doctor see to it later.”
Helen understood his desire for privacy. But there was no way that she could allow him to leave Ravenel House while he was injured and in pain. “We must find out whether it has been dislocated again.”
“It’s sound.” But he grunted in pain as she pulled the coat carefully off his shoulder.
Immediately Kathleen came to help, kneeling by his other side. “Don’t move,” she cautioned. “Let us do the work.”
They began to divest him of the garment. Rhys steeled himself, but as they tugged at the coat, he shoved them back. “Argghh!”
Helen paused and looked at Kathleen in worry. “We’ll have to cut it off.”
Rhys was trembling, his eyes closed.
“The devil you will,” he muttered. “I’ve already had a shirt cut off me this morning. Let it be.”
Kathleen cast an imploring glance at her husband.
With an explosive sigh, Devon went to pick up something from the library table, and returned to the group on the floor. As he approached, he flicked open a silver folding knife with a long gleaming blade.
The sound, quiet as it was, caused Rhys to flinch reflexively, his eyes flying open. He moved to confront the threat, and cursed with pain, sitting down hard on his rump.
“Easy, arsewit,” Devon said acidly, sinking to his haunches beside him. “I’m not going to kill you. Your valet will do that for me when he realizes you’ve ruined two bespoke shirts and a coat in one day.”
“I don’t—”
“Winterborne,” Devon warned softly, “you’ve insulted my wife, debauched my cousin, and now you’re delaying my dinner. This would be an excellent time to keep your mouth shut.”
Rhys scowled and held still while Devon employed the blade with meticulous skill. The knife slid along the seams of the garments until they began to peel from his body like bark from a silver birch. “My lady,” he said to Kathleen, and paused, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth. “I apologize. For how I behaved that day. For what I said. I”—a groan escaped him as Kathleen gently pulled the sleeve from his aching arm—“have no excuse.”
“I’m equally to blame,” Kathleen said, folding the coat and setting it aside. Meeting Rhys’s surprised gaze, she continued resolutely. “I acted on impulse, and created a difficult situation for everyone. I knew better than to go to a gentleman’s house alone, but in my worry over Helen, I made a mistake. I accept your apology, Mr. Winterborne, if you’ll accept mine.”
“It was my fault,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have insulted you. I didn’t mean a word of it.”
“I know,” Kathleen assured him.
“I’ve never been attracted to you. I couldn’t desire a woman less.”
Kathleen’s lips quivered with a repressed laugh. “The repulsion is quite mutual, Mr. Winterborne. Shall we cry pax and start over?”
“What about what he’s done to Helen?” Devon asked in outrage.
Rhys watched warily as the knife sliced through his shirt.
“That was my fault,” Helen said hastily. “I went uninvited to the store yesterday and demanded to see Mr. Winterborne. I told him that I still wanted to marry him, and I made him exchange my ring for a new one, and then I—I had my way with him.” She paused, realizing how that sounded. “Not in the store, of course.”
Straight-faced, Kathleen said, “Dear me, I hope he didn’t put up a struggle.”
Devon gave his wife a sardonic glance. “Kathleen, if you would be so kind, have Sutton fetch one of my shirts. One of the looser-fitting ones.”
“Yes, my lord.” Kathleen rose to her feet. “Perhaps he should also bring—” She broke off as the shirt fell away, revealing the broad expanse of Rhys’s bare chest, and the violently discolored shoulder. It looked intensely painful, the muscles visibly knotted beneath the flesh.
Helen was silent with anguish at the sight. She let her fingers curl gently over the knob of his wrist, and felt the subtle inclination of his body toward her, as if he were trying to absorb her touch.
“What caused this?” Devon asked curtly, nudging Rhys to lean forward so he could glance at his back, where several more black bruises marked the smooth amber skin.
“I went with Severin to look at a block of property near King’s Cross,” Rhys muttered. “Some debris fell from a condemned building.”
Devon’s scowl deepened. “When did you become so damned accident-prone?”
“Since I began spending more time with my friends,” Rhys said acidly.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that debris fell on Severin as well?” Devon asked.
“Not a scratch on him.”
Sighing, Devon turned to Kathleen. “We’ll need brandy and ice bags as well as the shirt. And a camphor poultice—the kind we used on my cracked ribs.”
Kathleen smiled at him. “I remember.” She strode to the door and flung it open, and halted abruptly as she discovered a crowd eavesdropping at the threshold. Her gaze moved over three housemaids, a footman, Mrs. Abbott, and Devon’s valet.
The housekeeper was the first to react. “As I was telling all of you,” she said loudly, “it’s time to go about your work, and mind your p’s and q’s.”
Kathleen cleared her throat as if trying to choke back a laugh. “Sutton,” she said to the valet, “I shall need you to bring a few items for our guest. Did you overhear Lord Trenear quite clearly, or should I repeat the list?”
“Brandy, ice, a poultice, and a shirt,” the valet replied with great dignity. “I will also obtain a length of fabric to fashion a sling for the gentleman’s arm.”
As Sutton left, Kathleen turned to address the housekeeper. “Mrs. Abbott, I’m afraid a porcelain vase has been accidentally overturned.”
Before the woman could reply, all three housemaids excitedly volunteered to sweep up. One couldn’t help but question whether their enthusiasm was for their work, or the desire to be in the same room with the half-naked Winterborne. Judging from the way they were craning their necks to glance at him, definitely the latter.
“I’ll do it myself, my lady,” the housekeeper declared, shooing the housemaids away. “I’ll return momentarily with the broom.”
Kathleen turned to the twins, who had remained at the threshold. “Is there something you would like to ask, girls?”
Pandora looked at her hopefully. “May we say hello to Mr. Winterborne?”
“Later, darling. He’s in no condition for that right now.”
“Please tell him we’re so very sorry that a building fell on him,” Cassandra said earnestly.
A smile wove through Kathleen’s voice as she replied. “I’ll convey your kind wishes. Now, off you go.”
Reluctantly the twins trudged from the library.
After closing the door, Kathleen headed back to the group near the settee. Along the way, she retrieved a lap blanket that had been draped over the arm of a chair.
Devon was examining Rhys’s shoulder, palpating it carefully to discern whether or not the bone had come loose from the socket. “You should be at home in bed,” he said brusquely, “not traipsing across London proposing to young women you’ve ruined.”
Rhys scowled. “First, I don’t traipse, and second, Helen’s—devil take you, that hurts!” Exhausted, he dropped his head to his chest.
Helen regarded him sympathetically, knowing how he hated not being in control. Rhys was always well dressed and in command of himself. His very name connoted success, luxury, and elegance. None of that was consistent with finding himself on the floor, battered, bruised, and forcibly divested of his clothing.
“And second?” she prompted gently, bringing him back to his unfinished thought.
“You’re not ruined,” he said gruffly, his head still down. “You’re perfect.”
Helen’s heart twisted with painful sweetness. She wanted badly to comfort and cradle him. Instead she had to settle for stroking his black hair very lightly. He pushed his head against the caress, like an affectionate wolf. Her palm moved along the side of his face to his jaw and down to the firm, perfect line of his good shoulder.
“It seems stable,” Devon said, sitting back on his heels. “I don’t think it’s been reinjured. Helen, if you continue to fondle the bastard right in front of me, I’ll have to dislocate his other shoulder.”
Helen withdrew her hand sheepishly.
Lifting his head, Rhys gave Devon a baleful glance. “She’s leaving with me tonight.”
Devon’s face hardened. “If you think—”
“But we would rather have a June wedding,” Helen interrupted hastily. “And above all, we would like to have your blessing, Cousin Devon.”
“Here you are, Mr. Winterborne,” Kathleen said brightly, coming forward to drape the lap blanket over his tawny exposed torso. “Let’s help him up onto the settee—the floor is too drafty.”
“I don’t need help,” Rhys grumbled. With effort, he managed to hoist himself onto the leather upholstery. “Helen, go pack your belongings.”
Helen was filled with consternation. She couldn’t bring herself to oppose Rhys, especially when he was injured and vulnerable. But she didn’t want to leave Ravenel House on these terms. Devon had been extraordinarily kind, letting her and the twins stay at Eversby Priory, when anyone else in his position would have cast them out without a second thought. Helen had no desire to divide the family by eloping and excluding them all from her wedding.
She glanced at Kathleen, silently pleading for help.
Understanding at once, Kathleen spoke to Rhys in a placating tone. “Surely there’s no need for that, Mr. Winterborne. You both deserve a proper ceremony, with family and friends around you. Not some hasty slap-and-dash affair.”
“Slap-and-dash was good enough for you and Trenear,” Rhys retorted. “If he didn’t have to wait for a wedding, why do I?”
Kathleen hesitated before replying with amused chagrin. “We had no choice.”
It took approximately two seconds for Rhys’s agile brain to process the implications. “You’re expecting,” he said flatly. “Congratulations.”
“You didn’t have to tell him,” Devon muttered.
Kathleen smiled at him as she seated herself. “But my lord, Mr. Winterborne will be part of the family soon.”
Devon rubbed the upper half of his face with one hand, as if the statement had caused an instant migraine.
“The same circumstances may soon apply to Helen,” Rhys said, deliberately provoking him further. “She could also be with child.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Helen said, reaching out to arrange the blanket over his chest. “If it turns out to be the case, the plan must change, of course. But I would rather wait until we find out for certain.”
Rhys stared at her, making no effort to conceal the desire smoldering beneath his stillness. “I can’t wait for you,” he said.
“But you will,” Devon said coolly. “That’s the condition of my consent. You’ve treated Helen like a pawn in a chess game and manipulated the situation to your advantage. Now you’ll bloody well have to wait until June, because that’s how long it will take before I’ll be able to look at you without wanting to throttle you. In the meantime, I’ve had enough of Ravenels running amok in London. Now that our affairs are in order, I’m taking the family back to Hampshire.” He glanced at Kathleen with an arched brow, and she nodded in agreement.
At the same time, a distant wail came from the farthest threshold of the double library. “Noooo!”
Kathleen glanced quizzically toward the sound. “Pandora,” she called out, “do not eavesdrop, if you please.”
“It’s not Pandora,” came the disgruntled reply, “it’s Cassandra.”
“It is not,” another young voice said indignantly. “I’m Cassandra, and Pandora is trying to land me in trouble!”
“You’re both in trouble,” Devon called back. “Go upstairs.”
“We don’t want to leave London,” one of them said, while the other added, “The country is so drear-itating.”
Devon glanced at Kathleen, and in the next moment they both struggled to hold back grins.
“When am I going to see Helen?” Rhys demanded.
Devon seemed to relish his former friend’s suppressed wrath. “If I have my way, not until the day of the wedding.”
Rhys returned his attention to Helen. “Cariad, I want you to—”
“Please don’t ask that of me,” Helen begged. “A June wedding is what we had planned before. You’ve lost nothing. We’re betrothed again, and this way, we’ll have my family on our side.”
She saw the struggle on his face: fury, pride, need.
“Please,” she asked gently. “Say you’ll wait for me.”