In Bed with a Rogue

Helena swallowed a resigned sigh. Hiding was pointless given he would be standing in her drawing room before the night was over. Carefully, she replaced the lid on her lip rouge, slid it into her beaded reticule, then slowly gained her feet.

The retiring room door swung open and Celeste, Baroness Lovelace, entered. Her step faltered when she spotted Helena, but she covered her hesitation with a pretty smile. “Lady Prestwick, I thought you had gone.”

“I will be leaving soon.” Helena avoided looking in the mirror. If she didn’t see the blood rushing to her cheeks, she could deny she was blushing. She had definitely spent too long loitering in the retiring room if a mere acquaintance had noticed her absence.

Lady Lovelace strode to the dressing table, and Helena shuffled out of her way. The widow’s regal bearing caused a sick tumble inside Helena. Even though she knew Society saw her as one of them, she couldn’t help from time to time still seeing herself as the common girl her father had cast away.

She rolled her shoulders and held her head high. Her dealings with Wickie had taught her never to show weakness. It’s like blood in a shark-filled ocean, he’d said when she asked to come to London. The ton will pick your flesh from their teeth.

Her experiences so far suggested her husband had held a skewed view of Society. The ladies of Mayfair extended many kindnesses to her, but she was always cautious, never speaking of anything controversial and keeping her opinions to herself. Her aim was survival.

“I saw you dancing with Lord Thorne.” Lady Lovelace plopped onto the tufted stool and smoothed a hand over her hair. “If you’ve a rendezvous with Sebastian, you will not regret it.”

Helena’s breath hitched.

The widow’s eyes gleamed in the looking glass. “Just as I suspected. He is worth the risk, so long as no one else finds out. Most every lady desires him in her bed, but she would be mortified if others knew she’d been bedded by a Bedlamite.”

She twittered at her joke, but Helena didn’t find her amusing in the least.

“Forgive me, my lady, but you are mistaken about Lord Thorne and me.” Helena headed for the retiring room door, brushing past the attendant who wasn’t even bothering to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping. Her owl-like eyes blinked several times at Helena.

“Oh?” The widow swiveled on the seat. “You haven’t succumbed to his charms yet? You would be the only woman whose skirts he has chased but failed to lift.”

“I don’t know what you are babbling on about.” Helena stalked from the retiring room. But she did know what the widow meant.

Obviously, Lady Lovelace had been Lord Thorne’s lover at some point—perhaps even now he paid her visits—and she thought Helena would be his next conquest.

God help her, she wished her association with the man was as simple as that, but Lord Thorne wanted something more than a tumble between the sheets. What that was, exactly, she didn’t know. Money? A special favor? She could pay for his silence, but the true cost would be surrendering her pride. She’d vowed never to be at a man’s mercy again, and Sebastian Thorne had her at a decided disadvantage.

***

Sebastian searched for Lady Prestwick inside the crowded ballroom. The Countess of Eldridge’s theme for the evening was “excess.” Rivers of lavender silk flooded the great room, and there were enough white gardenias to choke a man. The concentrated aroma clawed at his throat. He covered a cough with his fist as he circled the dance floor.

Lady Prestwick wasn’t with her kin or among the ladies gossiping together. She wasn’t visiting with Gabrielle either, who stood surrounded by her brothers’ wives, the current Duchess of Foxhaven, Lady Phoebe, and Lady Lana. He had little doubt his former betrothed would recover from scandal no worse for the experience, thanks to the support of her kinswomen.

He felt a pinch in his chest. That was what his sister lacked, a powerful circle of women to protect her. A man could only do so much. Eve could have had that if he hadn’t failed in his bid for Gabrielle’s hand.

When he was certain Lady Prestwick had taken her leave, he sent a footman to call for his carriage. Lady Lovelace, an attractive widow he’d spent a few entertaining nights with early in the Season, was standing in the foyer with her prim and very respectable mother-in-law. He understood the widow’s reluctance to let on they knew one another and didn’t expect her to acknowledge him, but she surprised him.