Cold-Hearted Rake

West regarded them both sourly. “I’ve had enough of this. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a tavern where I can pay an underdressed woman to sit in my lap and look very pleased with me while I drink heavily.”

As he left, he closed the study door with unnecessary force.

Folding her arms across her chest, Kathleen glowered at Devon. “Helen will never admit what she wants. She’s spent her entire life trying not to be a bother to anyone. She’d marry the devil himself if she thought it would help the family – and she’s well aware that Eversby Priory would stand to benefit.”

“She’s not a child. She’s a woman of one-and-twenty. Perhaps you didn’t notice just now that she behaved with far more composure than you or I.” On a callous note, he added gently, “And although it might surprise you, a lifetime of living under your thumb may not appeal to her.”

Kathleen stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find words. When she was finally able to speak, her voice was thick with loathing.

“I can’t believe I ever let you touch me.”

Unable to bear being in the same room with him for another minute, she fled the study and rushed upstairs.

For more than an hour afterward, Kathleen and Helen talked intently in the small anteroom adjacent to the drawing room. To Kathleen’s dismay, Helen seemed not only willing to be courted by Rhys Winterborne, but she was actually resolved to it.

“He doesn’t want you for the right reasons,” Kathleen said in concern. “He wants a wife who will advance his ambitions. And no doubt he thinks of you as an aristocratic broodmare.”

Helen smiled slightly. “Isn’t that also how men of our class judge the value of a potential wife?”

An impatient sigh burst from her lips. “Helen, you must admit that you and he are worlds apart!”

“Yes, he and I are quite different,” Helen admitted. “That’s why I intend to proceed with caution. But I have reasons of my own for agreeing to the courtship. And while I don’t wish to explain all of them… I will tell you that I felt a moment of connection with him when he stayed at Eversby Priory.”

“While you were nursing him through the fever? Because if so, that was pity, not connection.”

“No, it happened after that.” She continued before Kathleen could offer more objections. “I know very little about him. But I would like to learn more.” Taking Kathleen’s hands, she pressed them firmly. “Please, for the time being, don’t object to the courtship. For my sake.”

Kathleen nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”

“And about Lord Trenear,” Helen dared to say, “you mustn’t blame him for trying to —”

“Helen,” she interrupted quietly, “forgive me, but I can indeed blame him – for reasons you know nothing about.”

The next morning, Devon escorted the Ravenels to the British Museum. Kathleen would have preferred West to accompany them, but he was staying at his private terrace apartment, which he had maintained even after moving to Eversby Priory.

Still outraged by Devon’s deception, and his hurtful remarks of the previous night, Kathleen avoided speaking to him any more than strictly necessary. This morning they both wielded polite words and razor-thin smiles like weapons.

Faced with the museum’s enormous quantity of art exhibitions, the Ravenel sisters elected to visit the Egyptian gallery first. Clutching pamphlets and guidebooks, they spent most of the morning examining every object in the exhibit… statues, sarcophagi, obelisks, tablets, embalmed animals, ornaments, weapons, tools, and jewelry. They lingered for a long time at the Rosetta stone, marveling at the hieroglyphs incised on its polished front surface.

While Devon browsed over a nearby exhibit of weaponry, Helen wandered to Kathleen, who was looking at a glass case of ancient coins. “There are so many galleries in this museum,” she remarked, “that we could visit every day for a month, and still not see everything.”

“Certainly not at this rate,” Kathleen said, watching as Pandora and Cassandra opened their sketch tablets and began to copy some of the hieroglyphs.

Following her gaze, Helen said, “They’re enjoying this immensely. So am I. It seems we’ve all been starved for more culture and stimulation than Eversby can offer.”

“London has an abundance of both,” Kathleen said. Trying to sound light, she added, “I suppose Mr. Winterborne has that on his side: You would never be bored.”

“No, indeed.” Helen paused before asking cautiously, “Regarding Mr. Winterborne, may we invite him to dinner? I would like to thank him in person for the music box.”

Kathleen frowned. “Yes. Lord Trenear will invite him if you wish. However… you are aware of how inappropriate that music box is. It was a lovely and generous gift, but we should give it back.”

“I can’t,” Helen whispered with a frown. “It would hurt his feelings.”

“It would hurt your reputation.”

“No one has to know, do they? Couldn’t we consider it as a gift for the family?”

Before she replied, Kathleen thought of all the rules she had broken and the sins she had committed, some small, some far more egregious than accepting an inappropriate gift. Her mouth curved in wry resignation. “Why not?” she said, and took Helen’s arm. “Come help me stop Pandora – she’s trying to open a mummy case.”

To Helen’s mingled consternation and excitement, Winterborne accepted an invitation to dinner the very next evening. She wanted very much to see him, almost as much as she dreaded it.