Her Husband's Harlot (28 page)

"Mrs.
Fines, how nice to see you again," Helena said warmly. "Please, call
me Helena."

A
flicker of uncertainty passed behind Mrs. Fines' spectacles. "Thank you
for gracing us with your presence. I was delighted to receive your note." She
looked over at Nicholas, her gaze warming. "We have not seen Nic—I mean,
Lord Harteford for quite some time."

Nicholas
took Anna's hand; the affection in the gesture was unmistakable. "In this
house, I will always be Nicholas Morgan," he murmured. "I am sorry I
have been away so long. How are you, Anna?"

"As
well as a woman of my advanced years can be," their hostess replied with a
tremulous smile. Her hands clasped Nicholas'. "Doing my best to attend to
home and hearth and the children, of course."

"Your
home is lovely. Thank you for having us," Helena said. "And I do look
forward to seeing Miss Percy and Mr. Fines again."

Anna
looked at Helena, then back to Nicholas. Her smile broadened. "You are
most welcome, my dear. The children will be back shortly from an errand. In the
meanwhile, do come in and refresh yourselves."

They
retired to a homey front parlor, where Lisbett had laid out a cold collation of
pickled meats, cheeses, and her famous apricot buns. Holding a surly-looking
pug in her lap, Anna expounded upon her plans for the small garden in the back.
Helena nodded and nibbled at one of the golden rolls. She noticed that beady
canine eyes followed her every movement.

"I
have been amiss in not paying a call sooner," Nicholas was saying.

Anna
answered with a charming laugh. "You are forgiven, dear boy. After all,
you are a newlywed and have more important matters to attend to."

She
slid a sly look at Helena, whose eyes dropped to the fringed edge of the seat
pillow.

"We
were blessed with Paul when I was about Helena's age and Percy not too long
after," Anna continued in that same coy manner. "The nursery is the
cornerstone to a happy marriage, I've always said."

At
the image of a black-haired babe with his father's eyes, Helena's breath
caught. A slow ache expanded in her chest. If only the barriers to her marriage
could be surmounted ... how magical it would be to hold a part of Nicholas in
her arms.

Beside
her on the settee, Nicholas cleared his throat. "And Percy, how is she?"

"She
is well, although lately she has gotten a bee in her bonnet about becoming a novelist. 
Can you believe it? A female writer, of all things." Anna gave a visible
shudder, her hand stilling on the pug's head. "It is all those dreadful
novels she reads. She visits the circulating library at least once a week."

"Percy
has a good head on her shoulders," Nicholas said. "I am sure she will
outgrow any foolish notions."

The
door bell chimed, and the pug issued two high-pitched yelps. Moments later the
two other Fineses appeared, their faces flushed from the outdoors.

"Nick!"
With a wild cry, the younger Fines hurtled on coltish limbs toward Nicholas,
who stood to receive her in a brotherly hug.

"Persephone
Fines, where are your manners?" Anna chided. "Her ladyship is here."

"Oh."
Percy stepped back, her heart-shaped face abashed. Helena thought she looked
exactly as Anna might have as a young woman, with wayward blonde curls and
lively blue eyes. Percy dipped into a pretty curtsy. "How do you do, my
lady?"

"It
is nice to see you again, Percy. And do let us forgo formalities—I am Helena."

"Delighted
to be graced with your charming presence, Lady Helena," Paul Fines drawled
as he sauntered over. He swept over Helena's hand with practiced flourish. "The
color of your gown is delectable. Like the ripest of peaches. It makes me quite
ravenous, come to think of it."

"Thank
you, Mr. Fines," Helena said, warmth tingling her cheeks.

"Paul.
We are nearly family, after all, and need not stand on ceremony." His
voice had a caressing quality to it.

"Fines,"
Nicholas growled.

"Yes,
Morgan?" Paul asked innocently.

"Haven't
you anything better to do but flirt with my wife?"

"Of
course not," Paul said. "What could be better than flirtation?"

"Keeping
all of one's teeth, perhaps?"

"Oh,
stop it, you two." Rolling her eyes, Percy plopped herself down on a chair
next to Helena. "They're even worse in the ring," she confided with
sisterly derision.

Still
aglow over Nicholas' rather husbandly reaction, Helena asked, "The ring?"

"You
know, sparring." As if to demonstrate, Percy tapped a seat pillow with her
fist. "Nick and Paul are mad over boxing. One time, they left Gentleman
Jackson's with eyes big as coal lumps, the both of them. Papa had a fit. He
said they looked like two bloody—"

"Percy,
haven't you anything better to talk about?" Nicholas asked with a frown.

"Not
really," Percy said. "My life is utterly boring."

"Lord,
so commences the melodrama." Paul yawned. "Someone call the Minerva
Press."

Percy
spared her brother a scathing glance. "I'm not being dramatic. It's true.
Nothing of interest ever happens around here."

"Really,
dearest, I do not know where this vulgar desire for excitement comes from,"
Anna said, her tone reproving. "You ought to show gratitude for the
comforts Papa has provided for us. There are so many less fortunate than you."

Percy
crossed her arms petulantly over her chest.

"Yes,
Percy, show some gratitude," Paul said.

"As
for you, young man," Anna continued, turning a steely eye upon her eldest,
"you would do well to change your attitude. All that debauched living can
lead to no good end."

"Mama,
let us not revisit this topic
again
," Paul said, groaning.

"You
cannot dispute that you have been nigh living at Boodle's these weeks past. I
cannot know where you have developed this penchant for cards—Heaven knows your
dear Papa never condoned gambling."

"Yes,
well, Papa was a saint."

"I
do not like your tone, young man." Beneath Anna's softly spoken words was
a core of iron. "If attitude is a prelude to behavior, then you had best
begin reforming your mind. You need something worthwhile with which to occupy
your time. Perhaps you should ask Nicholas for a position at the Company."

"Can
we not discuss this later?" A pleading edge entered Paul's voice.

"As
Nicholas is right here, I can imagine no better time," Anna said firmly. "Nicholas,
what think you about Paul at the company?"

"There
is always a place for Paul, should he wish it," Nicholas said.

"Excellent.
It is settled then. Paul will start next week." Anna patted the pug, who
turned belly-up in pleasure. "Now, Percy, perhaps you'd care to entertain
our guests on the pianoforte."

As
Percy rose to her feet with obvious reluctance, Paul's expression shifted from
sulky to devious. "Please, not the pianoforte," he drawled in tones
of abject horror.

Helena
saw that Paul's comment scored a direct hit.

"That
is not amusing!" Percy said, her hands on her hips. "I have been
practicing very diligently on the Concerto. It's not my fault if the instrument
is poorly tuned."

"'Tis
your ear that's poorly tuned, not the instrument," Paul said, calmly
helping himself to the collation.

A
cushion sailed through the air, the fringes spreading like a sunburst. It fell
several feet wide of the target, who smirked and bit into a slice of cheese.

"Your
aim is no better than your ear," he said.

Another
cushion whizzed by, knocking the plate of buns off the table.

With
a joyful squeal, the pug leapt from Anna's lap.

"Fitzwell,
no!" Anna exclaimed. "Paul, stop him! Buns will ruin his digestion."

Paul
reached gingerly toward the feasting dog. "Come here, you insipid beast
..."

Fitzwell
growled, the hairs rising on his neck. With a resigned sigh, Paul put down his
plate and lunged. At the same time, Fitzwell flung his stubby legs upward in a
desperate bid for freedom. Anna screamed. Before Helena's shocked eyes, man and
dog collided into the sideboard, sending a shower of food into the air. A
symphony of dishes and silverware crashed to the ground.

In
the general pandemonium that ensued, Nicholas waded in and picked the squirming
dog up by the scruff.

Fitzwell
issued a series of indignant snorts.

"Stop,"
Nicholas ordered.

The
pug stopped and was deposited back onto Anna's lap.

Helena
had remained quiet throughout. Flustered, Anna kept
one hand on the dog. The other went to her chest. "What you must think of
us, my dear!"

"Oh,
no ... I ..." Helena shook her head, her shoulders shaking.

"See
how you have shocked this poor lady with your disgraceful behavior." Anna's
reprimanding glare included both her children and Fitzwell, who blinked
innocently back.

Helena
felt her face turn red.

"Take
a deep breath, Helena," Nicholas said.

"I'll
fetch the smelling salts," Percy volunteered.

"Get
some for me, will you?" Wincing, Paul removed a bit of ham from his once
spotless waistcoat.

"What
you must think of us!" Anna repeated, wringing her hands.

It
was too much, really.

"I
think," Helena gasped, "you are all ... wonderful!"

She
dissolved into laughter.

What
the bloody hell was Helena up to?

Anna
had sent them to inspect her garden, so Nicholas found himself outside and alone
with his wife. He didn't give a damn about the romantic vista of flower beds
and well-trimmed hedges; what he wanted to know was Helena's intentions. Bending
to sniff a yellow bud, she was acting as if she hadn't a care in the world. As
if she hadn't spent the last hour enchanting the Fineses. As if she hadn't
charmingly milked them for stories about his past—details that Anna, Percy, and
Paul had offered up with great hilarity.

There
was the time Nicholas had tried to help Percy glue her broken doll and ended up
with his thumbs stuck together instead. Or when, as a lark, he and Paul had replaced
Jeremiah's whiskey, filling the decanter with tinted barley water. Or the time
they'd gotten into an overly vigorous sparring match and tried to hide the
evidence by covering Paul's black eye with Anna's face powder.

Nicholas
had sat there, listening to the fond reminiscing. Inwardly, he'd thanked God
that Anna, Paul, and Percy didn't know the ugly truths, the tales that couldn't
be shared over tea. The time before he'd met them. His crimes, his brutality
and cowardice—the past that had made him who he was.

As
Helena straightened, the sunlight fell upon her chestnut hair, gilding the
thick locks and the exposed skin above her neckline. Far too much skin, he
thought with a scowl. Heat rose in his loins at the same time that guilt
assailed him: what kind of a randy bastard was he, that the night with the
whore had not even touched his desire for Helena?

"You're
nearly falling out of that dress," he said before he could help himself.

Her
lashes lifted in his direction. The corners of her lush mouth tipped upward. "Thank
you for noticing, my lord."

"I
am not the only one who noticed," he said curtly. "Fines couldn't
keep his eyes off you the entire bloody tea."

"Mr.
Fines was merely being polite." Her head tilted. "You're not jealous,
are you?"

"Of
course not," he said between clenched teeth. "What you do is your
business. Which brings me to my point—what are you doing, meddling in mine?"

To his
shock, she linked her arm through his. Gave him a smile that was like a battering
ram to his defenses. Even his bones quivered with longing. "Come walk with
me, Harteford. There are private matters I wish to discuss with you. About our
marriage."

"I
thought I made myself clear the last time," he managed to say as he fell
in step beside her on the pebbled path. "We are going to get an annulment.
It is the best thing for both of us."

"I
disagree. I have decided I want to stay married to you. And I will not support
an annulment—if it comes to that, I will make the case for one extremely
difficult."

"What?"
he roared, before he remembered where they were.

"You
heard me," she said.

He
dropped her arm. Stared at her. "Why are you doing this?"

She
matched him look for look. With her hazel eyes spitting fire at him, her cheek
rosier than all the surrounding blooms, she was more beautiful than any woman
had the right to be. Damn her.

Her
chin lifted. "Because I love you, you idiot. Why else?"