“He is.”
Helena’s eyes narrowed on her friend. “Stop agreeing with me.”
Fenella bit back a smile. “But everything you say is true.”
“I’ve always wanted to travel. Why should Silas and Caro have all the adventures?”
“No reason at all.”
“Fenella…” she warned.
Fen shook her head. “There’s no pleasing you.”
No, there wasn’t. And Helena didn’t know what in Hades was wrong with her. Life was good. She led a busy and useful existence. She was delighted her friends had found love—she’d all but cornered Caro into agreeing to marry Silas, hadn’t she?
She blamed all this blasted love everywhere. It made a woman restless and discontented. Perhaps when she returned to London, she’d do something about turning her agreeable friendship with handsome Lord Pascal into something more. A lover might help to heal the scars left from her marriage.
Pascal was kind and clever, and pleasant company. In subtle ways, he’d made it clear that he’d welcome a closer connection. Dear heaven, half London already thought they shared a bed—and the gossip about that had reached as far as Moscow.
She’d take a lover. She’d see Italy and France and Greece. She’d meet interesting people and do exciting things. And she’d ignore the snide little voice that whispered in her ear that she’d do all those wonderful things alone.
It was natural to feel out of sorts with so many changes around her. She’d find her balance again. And life would become the rich banquet she’d always hoped it could be.
With sudden determination, she emptied her glass and set it on the side table.
But shaky self-confidence dissolved into trepidation when she met West’s unwinking green gaze across the opulent room.
Chapter Three
It was late when Helena made her way to her bedroom by the light of a single candle. A headache pounded in her temples and she was so keyed up, she knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink. The familiar house, with its happy childhood memories, settled around her.
Returning to Woodley Park was a bittersweet experience. Inevitably she remembered the lively girl she’d been, and her gentle, intellectual parents, and how close she’d been to her brothers and sisters. She also remembered her first fumbling forays into love with West. Except back in those days when every heartbeat had echoed his name, he’d been mere Mr. Vernon Grange.
Compared to that vivacious, warmhearted girl, she felt old and tired and desiccated.
She’d been looking forward to the house party before Silas’s wedding as a chance to spend time with her brother and her friends before everything changed forever. But if tonight indicated what lay ahead, she wished she’d stayed in London. West had made no secret of his interest, and not only had she needed to defend herself against Fenella’s matchmaking, Caro tore herself away from Silas long enough to weigh in on the subject, too.
Helena placed the blame on West. Damn him for telling Anthony he wanted to marry her. In the way of lovers, Anthony had told Fenella, who told Caro, who told Silas. Now Helena heartily consigned all her dearest friends to perdition.
When she pushed open the door, her room was aglow with candles. Without surprise, she looked across to the man sitting beside the tall window. Eleven years ago, a snake had poisoned her particular Eden, and his friend was still very much alive to cause trouble.
“Lord West.” Her voice was cold.
He bowed his head without standing. She supposed given he’d invaded her room, lesser courtesies hardly mattered. At least he remained fully dressed. “Lady Crewe.”
His mockery of her formality was the last straw. “Get out.”
“Helena—”
Her hand curled around the doorknob behind her. She wished she hadn’t dismissed her maid for the night before going down to dinner. “You heard me.”
He raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “I want to talk.”
“We can talk. Downstairs. In the full light of day.”
“Except you’ll go out of your way to avoid me again.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Her heart raced like a bolting horse. She wanted to say it was with fear, except she wasn’t really frightened. At least not that West intende