The Next Best Bride (20 page)

He would hear shortly, Rand had no doubt. Griggson would keep silent until death, but Mrs. Robson had greeted him when he entered the dower house. Her serene gaze had taken in his dishevelment without comment. But her report to his grandfather would be meticulously detailed. The only question to be answered was how his grandfather would choose to interpret those details.

His grandfather's gaze was sharp. Calculating the truth of Rand's answers? The emotion behind Helena's silence? The old man flicked a glance between the two of them. "She draws and you watch."

"I find her ability to capture the essence and dimension of her subjects fascinating. Have you looked at any of her work?" He knew the old man must hate the way Helena guarded her sketchbook so closely. Had one of his spies stolen a sketch from the book? Surely Helena would have noticed. "You must show my grandfather your drawings, Helena."

"Which do you think would interest him most?" she asked smoothly, stirred out of her silence at last. "My sketches of the countryside, or of its inhabitants?"

Rand was dismayed by the threat implicit in her question. He remembered the sketch he had glimpsed of himself asleep — the air of ridiculous innocence her fancy had imparted to him. What would the old man make of such a thing? She wouldn't dare show those sketches. Would she?

"Surely you have grown tired of our landscape by now?" His grandfather was not pleased at the suggestion that Helena might be truly talented. "You must have dozens of sketches of the countryside by now. My grandson accompanies you through the gardens each morning and evening."

Rand was alarmed at the old man's persistence. "The cool of the morning is peaceful. And the evening walk helps to stir her blood." He didn't like the sound of excuse that threaded through his words.

"Stirs her blood, does it." His grandfather nodded. "Then that is why you retire early with her."

"You watch us closely, my lord." Helena regarded his grandfather with something less than her usual sympathy tonight. Had she seen through the man? He didn't dare hope so. So few ever had. He felt a chill of warning along his spine and drained his wineglass yet again. The few who had were gone. Banished from his life.

Playing the role of overprotective guardian, his grandfather sighed gustily. "Forgive me, my dear. It is a habit I learned long ago, to keep my headstrong grandson from losing his life — or his sanity — in his foolish games. It is a debt I owe his parents."

"I understand." Helena's sympathy was restored. Rand tamped down his chagrin. Helena was safer not knowing the truth of the old man's games.

His grandfather, satisfied that he had once again beguiled Helena, turned his attention back to Rand. "I don't believe you've gambled once since you've been here."

"There you would be wrong, grandfather. I gamble at least once a day — sometimes more." He winked at Helena, who looked as though she might slay him.

"And you have no care whether you win or lose, I sometimes think," his wife said sharply. "Or even what the stakes might be." She deplored his behavior once again. Life was good.

Her prim austerity lasted throughout dinner. But Rand was certain he could cajole her out of it with a moonlight walk back to the dower house. Remembering her pique with him last time, he asked her, "Do you mind if I dismiss the carriage so that we may enjoy the night air?"

"As you wish, my lord," she answered stiffly, still without looking at him.

He took the coachman's lamp to light their way. When he turned, he found that she had already started on the path. Worse, she refused his arm when he offered and strode down the path as if the hounds of hell were after her.

He matched her pace easily, but had no clue how to begin to unravel her anger. She had not been this cold to him when he had forced her to choose between marrying him or exposing the fact that she had taken a lover. What had he done?

Rand had the sense that he had made a grave error in judgment. But he was not certain exactly what the error had been. "I did not mean to fall asleep so soundly. Did you try to wake me?"

Now that they were away from his grandfather's watchful gaze, she did not bother to keep her bitterness from him. "Why would I disturb your rest? Didn't you deserve it after your feat?"

His feat. He tried to puzzle out exactly what had angered her. A suspicion dawned on him, but he found it hard to credit. Helena could not object to having had an orgasm at last. Could she? Perhaps she would have preferred him to wait, until they were indoors, in his bed?

He found the cold silence intolerable. He did not deserve to be treated so just because she didn't like knowing he had the power to make her lose herself in orgasm. "What is the matter. What have I done but give you a little pleasure?"

"Nothing, my lord. You have done nothing but what you said you would. And so decisively, too. Not even a month into this bargain of ours that I didn't want in the first place and you have taken me where I never wanted to go. It is a pity we did not think to wager on the matter, for you would have won handily."

"Wager on what —" Abruptly he remembered what she had asked him in the bower. Whether he had bet on how quickly he could bring her to climax. Obviously, she had not spoken in jest, but in true concern.

She stopped abruptly. "I am the fool. I thought it meant something, that you would take me to your secret place." The lamp swung so that the light illuminated her pale face. He could see tears glinting on her cheeks. "Share a part of your past, your childhood, with me."

He was appalled at the depth of her misery. "You look for deeper meaning where it does not exist."

"Apparently so."

He saw in an instant that the wall he had tried to break through — that he had broken through this afternoon — had been meant to guard her heart. And having breached that barrier, what had he done but fall asleep and compound the damage. What a bumbling fool he had been.

He set down the lantern in the pathway and took her in his arms. She stood stiffly in his embrace. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He could not love her. He could not love anyone. "Remember the bargain we made." He put his lips tight against her forehead and whispered, "Don't fall in love with me, Helena. I couldn't bear it."

"You couldn't bear it? What of me? How am I to laugh with you, make love to you, live with you — and not fall in love with you?" Her sad smile might have broken his heart — if he had one.

"Don't mistake pleasure for love. Live in the moment Helena. Attach no more meaning to what we did — I could be any man in your bed."

"And I could be any woman in yours?"

"Helena, this is new to you, I know. But you will see, in time. You will grow bored with me. You will take a new lover. When you grow bored with him, you will move on. That is the way of things. Unless you make the mistake of letting your heart get involved. Of thinking of love where there is only desire. I would not see you hurt for the world."

She made a choked noise of disbelief.

"Don't fall in love with me, Helena. If you do, you can only be hurt."

She turned away from him. "I won't fall in love with you Rand, I promise." He wished, for both their sakes, that there was more conviction in her voice.

"It is best that way," he said, as if he believed her.

* * * * *

"Don't fall in love with me, Helena." His voice had not been unkind. But there had been a gentle implacability in the words. As if he knew that coming to her that night would be a final cruelty, he left her to her bed, to her solitary sleep. She told herself not to read meaning into his absence. He still had his wager to win.

Helena had not been an unwitting dupe. She had accepted the marriage bargain when she chose not to reveal the truth to Miranda and Simon. She had known even then that she could escape him by revealing the truth. And she had chosen to keep her secret. She must learn to live with her bargain marriage. To come to terms with it the way he had. She tossed fitfully in sleepless contemplation. How had he come to terms with it so easily?

In the morning, a wagon load of supplies were delivered, to Dibby's delight and Mrs. Robson's consternation. "What shall I do with all this?" the housekeeper asked Helena.

"What is it?" Helena, muddled from her sleepless night, disinterestedly surveyed the goods. Her heart began to pound as the neatly packed objects became clear to her. Frames. Canvas.

"Where did this come from?" she asked the delivery driver sharply.

"London, milady." He doffed his cap with an impatient air, as if he would rather dump the lot and be on his way.

Helena inventoried the goods again quickly. Frames and canvas for every size painting she could wish to do. Oils of every imaginable hue and brushes with bristles so fine he must have asked a true artist's aid in choosing them. Spirit gum. A sharp set of knives. All that she would need to stock her own studio was here before her.

Rand had shown her the long neglected music room when he finally took her through his childhood home. He had said the room would make a fine studio, and she had agreed. He had not said he had ordered... She turned to Mrs. Robson. "I think we will put these things in the music room."

"That room hasn't been used in years." Mrs. Robson's eyes were dark with disapproval.

"I know. It has the best available light," Helena replied firmly. "If it will not be used for music, it can serve me well as a studio."

"I don't know what his lordship will say —"

"I will speak to my husband, but I assure you now he will let me do as I like."

"I meant the marquess, milady," Mrs. Robson answered stiffly.

"The earl is master here, Mrs. Robson. Best you remember that."

The housekeeper curtseyed. "As you say, milady. I did not mean to give offense. Just everyone knows the earl ain't got the sense of a flea. The marquess handles all his affairs so he won't get them in a tangle again, like he did before..." The housekeeper broke off, horrified by what she had said.

"The earl is married now. He handles his own affairs." Helena said firmly, wondering if it were possibly true.

"Yes, I do." He had come up behind her.

She did not turn. She did not know what to say to him. How to act, after their discussion last night.

Mrs. Robson ducked her head and said quickly, "Yes, milord."

When the housekeeper had bustled off to find help to unload, he kissed her neck. "Thank you for your support. I do handle my own affairs, as you can see." He picked up a sack of fine nails. "Have I not handled this affair well?"

Taking her cue from him, she acted as though they had never had a serious conversation about love. "Did you order this for me?"

"I did. It is my wedding gift to you." He cocked his head to the side and regarded her seriously. "Am I forgiven for my clumsiness yesterday?"

"There is nothing to forgive." Helena hoped her words did not reveal that she had spent the night coming to terms with the bargain she had so heedlessly struck with her life. "In fact, I believe it is I who should beg your forgiveness."

"Never."

"As you noted, I am new at this business of marriage and physical intimacy without love." She hesitated, embarrassed and unsure of what she should say. "If I could ask a favor of you?"

"Anything."

He spoke so quickly, so glibly. She did not think what she asked of him would be easy. "Give me time to adjust. A few months." By then, she hoped, she could convince her stubborn heart not to hope for love.

He stared at her in consternation. "I cannot forbid myself your bed for months, Helena. Not if we wish a child."

"I am not asking you to forsake my bed," she clarified. "Only your desire to see me...go over the edge. Just until my heart understands our bargain as well as my head does."

As she had foreseen, he had difficulty coming to terms with the idea. She stopped his objections with a kiss and heard Dibby let out a scandalized gasp behind her as the girl returned from the main house.

But she could not concern herself with the girl's shock now. She kissed him again, lightly, twined her arms about his head so that he could not escape her gaze. "Please. This gift would mean more to me than even all this." Her arms swept wide to indicate the art supplies piled around them.

He stared at her for a long moment and then nodded reluctantly. "As you wish."

"Thank you." She was tempted to put her arms about his neck again and kiss him in gratitude, but she thought better of it. Somehow the feel of him made it harder for her to separate love and desire as she must learn to do.

A fleeting sign of sorrow crossed his features. Or was that her wishful imagination at work? For he was deviltry incarnate as he grinned at her and said in a low voice, with a quick glance at the appalled maid watching them. "You'll thank me with that portrait we discussed." His dimple was a deep curve in his cheek. "I will be more than delighted to pose for you in your new studio. But perhaps we should lock the doors for the servants's sakes."

"Perhaps," she agreed, thinking of how much safer it was to sketch him from a distance than it was to allow him near enough to touch.

"Excellent. I shall clear a space in the entry for the work, when it is done. Do you think we shall have fewer guests, or more when I hang in rivalry with David himself?"

"As we have had no guests at all yet, I cannot say." Surely he was not seriously contemplating hanging a nude portrait of himself in the entry? Well, even if he were, she would not paint a nude of him for all the world to see.

The men from the main house arrived to help Dibby and Mrs. Robson unpack the newly delivered equipment. Soon all her supplies littered the floor of the music room, pushing the scratched and out of tune piano into one corner and the rest of the neglected furnishings into the others. Helena supposed she would have to supervise a thorough cleaning.

But first she set up her easel and framed a canvas large enough to hang gracefully over an elegant mantelpiece. She had decided what she would do as thanks for her husband's gift. Both his gifts.

Helena set about preparing the canvas for an oil painting of her husband. Not a nude, as he had suggested. Surely he could not want that...and even if he did, she did not want other women to enjoy the view that was her right as his wife. He could not object. Her enjoyment had all to do with desire, not love.