Marrying Winterborne (12 page)

“Are we rich now?” Pandora asked.

“It's not polite to ask,” Kathleen said, lifting her teacup. But just before she took a sip, she winked over the rim and murmured, “But yes.”

The twins chortled.

“As rich as Mr. Winterborne?” Cassandra inquired.

“Silly,” Pandora said, “no one's as rich as Mr. Winterborne.” Noticing the scowl dawning on Devon's
face, she said apologetically, “Oh. We're not supposed to mention him.”

Devon steered the conversation back to Eversby Priory, and the girls listened avidly as he described proposed plans for a station in the village. They all agreed that it would be marvelously convenient to have access to the railway so close to home, rather than go to the station at Alton.

Teatime was a lavish affair, an indulgence the Ravenels had always maintained no matter what else might have to be sacrificed. A flowered porcelain tea service had been brought out on a heavy silver tray, along with three-tiered stands filled with crisp golden scones, mincemeat puffs, slices of sweet Damson cheese on toast, and tiny sandwiches filled with butter and cress, or egg salad. Every few minutes, a servant came to refresh the hot water or replenish the pitchers of milk and cream.

As the family laughed and chatted, Helen did her best to participate, but her gaze strayed frequently to the mantel clock. Half past five: only ninety minutes until acceptable calling hours would end. She broke off a portion of scone and carefully pressed a morsel of comb honey onto it, waiting until the comb was warm and melting before popping it into her mouth. It was delicious, but in her anxiety, she could hardly swallow. Sipping her tea, she nodded and smiled, only half-listening to the conversation.

“This was lovely,” Kathleen finally pronounced, setting her napkin beside the plate. “I'll believe I'll rest now—it has been a tiring day. I will see you all at dinner.”

Devon stood automatically and went to help her from the chair.

“But it's not yet seven,” Helen said, trying to conceal her dismay. “Someone may call. It is a visiting day, after all.”

Kathleen gave her a quizzical smile. “I doubt anyone will call. Devon has been away, and we've extended no invitations.” She paused, focusing more closely on Helen's face. “Unless . . . we're expecting someone?”

The mantel clock was absurdly loud in the absence of conversation.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Yes,” Helen said impulsively, “I'm expecting company.”

Simultaneously, Kathleen and Devon asked, “
Who?
”

“My lord.” The first footman had come to the doorway. “Mr. Winterborne is here on a personal matter.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Helen's nerves were rioting, her blood coursing as Devon glanced at her sharply. His expression drove Helen's heartbeat up into her throat.

He returned his attention to the footman. “Did you show him in?”

“Yes, my lord. He's waiting in the library.”

“Please don't turn Mr. Winterborne away,” Helen said with forced composure.

“There's no chance of that,” Devon replied. The words were hardly reassuring; on the contrary, they were uttered with soft menace.

Kathleen touched her husband's arm lightly and murmured to him.

Devon looked down at her, and some of the violence left his eyes. But still, an unsettling suggestion of ferocity practically radiated from him. “Stay up here,” he muttered, and strode from the room.

K
ATHLEEN 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.