“Actually I didn’t. You told me that of late, you’ve avoided stable liaisons.”
“Any liaisons at all.”
She surveyed him cynically, although the rational part of her brain squeaked in protest that she shouldn’t care who shared his bed. And worse, inte
rest would encourage his delusions that she was more than a childhood friend. “Even in Russia?”
“Even in Russia. By God, those nights were cold.”
“I assume you mean your uncharacteristic chastity as some sort of compliment.” Her voice sharpened. “Well, I don’t want it.”
He shrugged. “It’s not for you to decide.” The glint in his eyes changed to determination. “When there’s only one woman I want, it seems shabby to waste my time with substitutes.”
“Then you’ll be sleeping alone for a long time,” she snapped. Because despite everything she knew about rakes, including that they lied—and who was to say he’d been faithful during those chilly St. Petersburgh nights?—something inside her melted to think he’d turned away armies of women for her sake.
Which proved she wasn’t much smarter than the wide-eyed virgin who had fallen so disastrously under Lord Crewe’s spell.
“That’s what I’m here to talk about.” Before she could repeat that she’d never marry him, he rushed on. “An affair. I want an affair.”
A vibrating silence crashed down. Then Helena burst out laughing. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”
His grip on her hand firmed. “Hear me out.”
“Another ten minutes?”
“You have other plans for tonight?”
His audacity made her laugh again. He was impossible. “Oh, to Hades with you. All right. I’m listening. You told me in the stables you don’t want a mistress.”
Another charming, self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t, until I entered this bower of hearts and flowers. You and I are de trop amongst all the billing and cooing.”
“So because we’re at loose end, we should jump into bed?”
“I’ve bedded women for less valid reasons.”
She gasped at his impudence. “Perhaps now and again, you should try a good book instead.”
“That’s what you do—and it’s left you a bundle of nerves and frustration.” He tugged on her hand, but she resisted his attempt to bring her closer. “Come on, Hel. I know you. I know the passion simmering under all those thorns. Unless you’ve been unbelievably discreet, you haven’t taken a lover since Crewe broke his neck. Caro told me about you and Pascal. Poor sap’s hanging out for an encouraging word, but he’s not getting one. I know how he feels.”
Annoyance flattened her lips. “Caro’s a telltale.”
“She doesn’t like to see me suffer.” He paused. “Surely you want to revisit the pleasures of the flesh—two years of chastity must chafe.”
For a shocked moment, she stared at him. Then the ludicrous situation struck her with full force. She jerked away and collapsed back into her chair, laughing.
“Helena?” West asked when she didn’t stop. “What the devil is the matter?”
“I can’t—” she spluttered and set off on another peal of giggles. To think, this was the man who claimed to understand her. Yet everything he said was wrong, wrong, wrong.
He went down on his haunches and grabbed her shoulders. Genuine concern darkened his expression. “Helena, damn well calm down.”
She sucked in a breath, feeling better for the good laugh, however bitter its cause.
And because she felt better, she admitted the unvarnished truth. “There were no pleasures of the flesh in my marriage. Crewe was as useless with a woman as he was with everything else.”
Chapter Four
West had led a full and exciting life. He’d traveled. He’d indulged his sensual appetites, some might say to a fault. He’d experienced human nature in all its rich variety. At thirty, very little surprised him anymore.