Читать книгу Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 2 - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 22

‘Is it a chance meeting?’ Helen bluntly demanded to know.

Colin Bridgeman’s bulbous lower lip protruded in amusement. ‘I see you’re a lady who knows when not to act coy. I like that.’ He eyed her appreciatively from beneath stubby lashes. ‘I take it from your attitude that George has revealed he is heavily in debt to me. Do you understand how perilous is his predicament?’

‘Indeed I do, sir,’ Helen breathed in a voice made virtually inaudible by wrath.

‘He is a hair’s breadth from a stay in gaol. But I can be persuaded to be lenient … did he tell you that?’ Bridgeman asked whilst his eyes lowered to Helen’s pert bosom, and his wet tongue crawled on his lips.

‘He did tell me that. And I will relate to you my response. I have no intention of saving him by becoming your harlot.’

‘You’d rather remain Hunter’s whore, would you?’ Bridgeman’s top lip lifted in a sneer. ‘That’s what people are calling you … did you not know?'he enquired with mock surprise.

Helen swallowed and glanced about, her face white and strained. ‘Other than to let you know I despise you, I have nothing more to say to you,’ she whispered hoarsely and took a step away from him.

‘And I have nothing more to say to you,’ Bridgeman echoed carelessly. ‘Now I think on it, I’d sooner speak to your sister. Charlotte is younger and has the full figure I like. I’ll warrant the sweet maid is more tenderhearted where her brother is concerned, and anxious to keep him from the Fleet.’ His pale eyes swerved to slyly study Charlotte. ‘A virgin, too …’ he reminded himself, but with sufficient volume for Helen to hear.

‘You will leave my sister alone!’ Helen fiercely gritted out. Bridgeman simply winged a ginger eyebrow at her, and made to strut in Charlotte’s direction. Helen blocked his path. ‘You will not bother Charlotte! She is betrothed and is soon to be married.’

‘Betrothals have been broken before when a family crisis demands it.’

Helen darted a furtive look about to see if they were drawing attention. Her golden eyes pulled to the spot where Jason and his brother had been standing, but they had gone. Next she glanced in Charlotte’s direction and was relieved that her sister still seemed happily oblivious to Bridgeman’s presence. George appeared to be flirting with a young lady in the pavilion upon which he was still supported, negligently, by an elbow.

Helen’s attention moved to the odious man close to her and for a moment she simply glared at him. She didn’t want to spend another minute in his company, but she feared he was not bluffing. Should Bridgeman carry out his threat to approach Charlotte so soon after her hysterical outburst this afternoon, chaos was likely to ensue.

Sensing her imminent capitulation, Colin purred, ‘Come, my dear, we ought not be bad friends. Let us take a little walk along the paths and be free from prying eyes. It will only take a few minutes more to establish if we might arrive at a mutually acceptable arrangement.’

About to reject his suggestion out of hand, Helen hesitated. There was scant chance of them finding common ground. Nevertheless, going with him would prevent him bothering her sister and might even, if she was astutely eloquent, gain George some time to pay up. She allowed her hand to hover above his sleeve—the idea of touching him was repugnant. A moment later a graceful raven-haired woman and her dandified escort could have been mistaken for a couple out for a romantic stroll as they merged into the shadows on the pathway.

Helen’s hope that they had departed unseen was far from realised. In fact, several people had noticed her slip away with Colin Bridgeman, and reactions to their disappearance were varied.

Charlotte had been sharing a joke with Emily Beaumont when Emily suddenly began frowning over her shoulder. Charlotte had turned to see what interested her friend and had been agitated to see her sister with the horrible man who wanted to usurp Philip as her husband.

George had also been keeping a sly eye on the proceedings between his sister and his main creditor. His heart had soared as he saw Helen take Bridgeman’s arm. But it was short-lived euphoria; his conscience began to worry him at about the same time he noticed the disquietingly saturnine demeanour of the imposing fellow a few yards away.

Jason had moved towards the orchestra podium to greet Peter Wenham and some other friends, but had nevertheless kept an eye on Helen’s progress towards her sister. From the moment Bridgeman had intercepted her, Jason had been ready to intervene if necessary.

Helen was an independent woman and Jason was not a character to stalk a mistress and be thought overly possessive. Nevertheless, at one point, when Helen seemed flustered, he had started towards her. A moment later he retraced that step, for Helen had moved very close to Colin before glancing about as though to check they were unobserved. She had obviously felt reassured by her furtive survey—he’d watched relief smooth her brow as she took Bridgeman’s arm. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d gone willingly with him into the dark.

Jason had never liked Colin Bridgeman. Since Mark had told him of the incident when Kingston had humiliated Philip in Hyde Park, and Bridgeman had found it amusing, he liked him even less. The man was renowned to be callous and lecherous.

Jason accepted he was hardly fit to judge, for he had long been ruthless in business and predatory with women. But if recent events were anything to go by, he was in danger of becoming not only a reformed character but content with his mellow persona.

Thus he stood for several minutes more, surrounded by his jovial friends, attempting to control the gnawing jealousy he felt. Helen had every right to promenade with her admirers and flirt with whomsoever she pleased. She had promised him nothing more than her body in his bed and that she would not interfere in his life. And she had been true to her word. If she cared what he did, or whom he saw, those evenings they were apart, she gave no sign. It had never occurred to him that perhaps he ought ask what she did whilst he sat quietly at home, thinking of her.

Abruptly he excused himself from his brother and his friends and strode towards the walkway. As he passed George Kingston, their eyes briefly met before George shifted his gaze. The wine within George’s fist was so abruptly upended into his throat that, some distance on from him, Jason could still hear him choking. A humourless smile tugged at Jason’s tight lips. George had looked guilty and if there was any skulduggery afoot, George was certain to be embroiled in it.

Thus, some minutes after Helen and Colin Bridgeman disappeared, Jason did, too.

‘I think we have come far enough, Mr Bridgeman.’ Helen’s fingers recoiled from proximity with his hairy knuckles and swiftly she removed herself to a spot some distance away. The pretty globe lamps swayed high up in the hedge, illuminating the rustic bench framed by an arbour. ‘I have but a few minutes to spare, then must return or I will be missed.’

‘Come … let us be seated,’ Bridgeman coaxed whilst sidling close.

Helen immediately evaded him and moved the other side of the seat. ‘I must first ask you to please show my brother a little tolerance. George told me that he was negligent in checking the terms you offered when you made him the loan. Had he wholly understood the document—’

Colin interrupted her with a theatrical sigh. ‘You do George no kindness in making him sound such a fool, my dear.’ He took a surreptitious step, then another, craftily penning Helen into a corner of yew. ‘Do me a little kindness, however, and I promise it will pay dividends for that doltish brother of yours.’

‘I have made myself clear over that,’ Helen reminded icily. She attempted to dodge behind the bench, but it was set too far back into greenery to permit her to escape both him and injury. ‘I will never sleep with you.’ She put up her chin, intrepidly confronting her persecutor. ‘So, if you have no sensible arrangement to offer, you are wasting my time.’

‘But I think my arrangement is sensible,’ Bridgeman cooed. ‘And perhaps when Hunter is finished with you, you might not be so precious over it all.’ He grinned as he saw her reaction to that. ‘I know your rent at Westlea House is waived courtesy of your trips to Chelsea.’

Helen nipped her soft lower lip between her teeth.

‘Ah … I see you thought nobody wise to your little love-nest.’ Colin’s eyes glowed with satisfaction, for he understood what provoked her stricken expression. ‘I made it my business to find out,’ he admitted with a flick of a limp wrist. ‘I followed you there when you and Hunter left the Beaumonts’ musicale. Extreme tactics I’ll own, but that’s how you affect me, Mrs Marlowe. I want you and, now I know you’re not too prudish to be bought, I will have you.’ He eyed her, his head cocked in consideration. ‘I could soon ensure the drawing rooms are abuzz with details of how you earn your keep.’ He chuckled lewdly. ‘I know you don’t stare at ceilings in Chelsea every night. On those occasions Hunter prefers the company of a blonde, I could take his place.’ He hooted in derision. ‘Don’t look so melancholy, my dear. Did you not know that Diana Tucker is still firmly ensconced in one of his houses?’

Helen felt her throat throb in anguish, but nevertheless whispered, ‘My brother is less of a fool than are you if you expect me to stay longer and listen to your—’

Her scorn was not fully expounded, for, with surprising strength and agility, Bridgeman suddenly leaped the space between them, forcing Helen back against the hedge. His moist mouth pounced on to hers and a few fingers delved forcefully into her bodice.

‘Am I intruding on a tender moment?’

Colin pivoted about on hearing that glacial sarcasm. His chest was heaving with exertion and thwarted lust. A foul curse scratched his throat; next came a gasp of triumph as he identified the silhouette in the gloom. ‘I think you ought ask the lady that … or judge from what you saw with your own eyes, Hunter.’ He leered at Helen’s shocked countenance. ‘Will you tell him about our tête à tête, my dear, or shall I? He will know it all soon enough, in any case.’

Snapping free of her daze, Helen pushed past Bridgeman, the back of a shaking hand wiping the residue of his slimy kiss from her mouth. She took a few faltering steps towards Jason, gazing up appealingly into his shadowy face. He was smiling at her, she glimpsed a gleam of white teeth, but it was his lack of comfort in words or deed that turned her heart to stone. ‘It’s not what it might seem,’ she whispered. ‘I … I hope you do not believe I wanted him to kiss me.’ Still he said nothing, and she knew that his silence stemmed from a suspicion that she had been enjoying Bridgeman’s nauseating attention.

Anger and hurt mingled in her, churning her thoughts to nonsense. But one vital fact surfaced to again torment her: Diana Tucker still figured in Jason’s life.

So many times she had been tempted to ask Jason about her. Pride had kept the words locked in her mind, as had the memory of her naïve vow not to pry or to nag or to demand his fidelity. She had thus taken comfort from her certainty that she would know if he slept with another woman. Although he did not see her every night, she had convinced herself that the passion and affection they shared was special and fulfilling. When making love he was tender and patient, even when self-imposed duress corded his muscles and betrayed that he would rather plunge headlong to his own release.

Invariably their parting kiss outside Westlea House would be followed by her sound sleep, not simply got from sensual satiation, but from the tranquillity of knowing their intimacy sprang from them being friends as well as lovers. Now she knew how badly she had misjudged the reality.

She sensed that, despite Bridgeman’s malice, he had not lied about Diana being still under Jason’s protection. Her dream that they might build a future together had been shown as a silly fantasy, not just by knowledge of his inconstancy, but from knowing he could be so cold and aloof. Far from being her good friend, Jason might have been a callous stranger.

Now she felt a fool for having attempted to appease her faithless lover because a lecher had forced a kiss on her. She had done nothing wrong, yet Jason immediately suspected she had. She gazed defiantly into the glittering depths of his eyes.

A pitiless smile from Jason broke their combatant gazes, then he looked past Helen to where Colin stood.

‘I’m not concerned with how you managed to persuade Mrs Marlowe to accompany you, Bridgeman. But I am anxious that you understand you’re now de trop,’ Jason said with eerie placidity. ‘Why don’t you run along … while you’re still able …?’

The smirk writhing on Colin’s lips began to wither. Jason Hunter was not a fellow to make idle threats of violence. He had an impressive record with both pistols and sword and was not averse to an impromptu bout of sparring. Colin clearly recalled that Peter Wenham had once riled this fellow enough, by a bit of shabby chicanery, to end sporting a shiner that took the gloss off their friendship for some while.

Bridgeman tilted his head to an arrogant angle, but was already subtly retreating. With a mocking bow for Helen, he turned and began bowling back along the path.

‘Do you want me to defend your honour over it? I’ll call him out if you like.’

‘No …’ Helen’s eyes were still challengingly fixed on his rugged features etched hard and dark as granite against a backdrop of dusk.

‘Did I arrive at an inopportune moment, just as you were sealing the deal with a kiss? Or perhaps you received rather than offered a seduction this time. Is that it?’

Helen flinched beneath his mordant tone, yet answered crisply, ‘Yes.’

‘Yes … on both accounts?’

‘I don’t know how you have the nerve to interrogate me over it,’ Helen whispered hoarsely. ‘Since we became lovers, I have thus far slept only with you.’

Jason strolled closer to her, halting beneath a little lamp that misted a pale halo above his devilishly dark features. ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he drawled. ‘I would be irritated to find I’d been paying for another man’s pleasure.’

Helen was stunned by his careless attitude and her glistening eyes lingered on his face.

He gave her an impenitent smile. ‘My apologies for being blunt … but, as I recall, we speak plainly, don’t we?’ he remarked with just a hint of sneering. ‘I know his terms won’t be more generous than mine. So, tell me, were you preparing to end things between us to claim Westlea House as your own?’

Helen shrivelled inside beneath his ruthless gaze, but managed a controlled response. ‘As you have cast me in the role of shameless hussy, I imagine you have already made a decision on it.’ She lifted teardewed eyes to his face, then blinked furiously. ‘I am not about to weep and strive to defend myself,’ she whispered with shaky pride. ‘I didn’t want to take a walk with him. I certainly didn’t want him to kiss me, but you may believe what you will about what you saw.’ She pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders and made to sweep past before the mist in her vision became water on her cheeks.

A hand shot out as she came level with him, jerking her close. ‘And what I saw was you willingly taking Bridgeman’s arm and disappearing with him. You might be naïve, my dear, but even you know men don’t invite women to walk these dark pathways so they might talk to them.’

‘Talking was exactly my intention,’ Helen retorted in a shaky tone whilst trying to wrestle her wrist from his grip. ‘And if I am naïve, then you must take some of the blame! Having kept company for some weeks with a notorious rake, I imagine that by now I ought be quite jaded!’ With a final wrench she freed her wrist and made to bolt past.

‘Don’t run off, sweet,’ Jason said with specious charm as he blocked her path. ‘Bridgeman might have abandoned you, but the night’s not over yet. If it’s corruption you want, I’ll give it to you.’

Helen shook her head at him in mute appeal as unbridled lust made dark coals of his eyes. He merely crooked his five fingers at the back of her head, bringing her close. The pretty string of pearls entwined there scattered to bounce like hailstones on parched earth. Momentarily she fought him, then his mouth took possession of hers with the sensual savagery she remembered from that first night in his coach. This time Helen intended tolerating none of it. But traitorous desire, swift and potent as liquid fire, had started to streak through her veins. She sensed the tightness in her abdomen and the drugging pliancy that stole bone from her limbs. Her body was ready to succumb to the expectation of the pleasure he gave her. Her jaw was softening, widening to receive his tongue. Familiar fingers began loosening her bodice and his hands moulded over the soft mounds of her breasts. In instinctive response her back arched in unmistakable invitation.

His palms were circling over the hard nubs of her nipples and despite her weak protestations, her breath was coming in little gasps. She pleaded for his decency with one tortured word. ‘Jason …’

He laughed against her mouth. ‘That’s right … it’s Jason,’ he breathed harshly. ‘Not Marlowe, not Bridgeman. At least you remembered my name.’

A taunting humour in his voice gave Helen strength to push him away. When he reached for her again with insolent confidence, a small hand traced an arc to crack hard against a lean cheek.

He certainly had not been expecting that and Helen took immediate advantage of his surprise to dart past. She flew back along the path in the direction of the sound of serenading violins.

As the dark and quiet were diluted by light and laughter she slowed her pace. Her vibrating fingers forced the buttons on her bodice back into their hooks as she continued to walk out into the milling crowd.

Of the people who had noticed Helen’s disappearance, only one now saw her return.

With a twinge of sadness Emily Beaumont watched Helen emerge from the path, quite alone. Her friend’s distress was not immediately obvious, but Emily sensed it nonetheless, even before she saw Helen swiftly cuff at her face, then slip into the midst of the throng to lose herself within it. With a murmured excuse for her brother, Tarquin, Emily picked a path towards her.

Emily linked arms with her friend and spontaneously angled her head comfortingly close to Helen’s as her fears were confirmed. Helen’s lashes were still wet with tears.

Helen gave Emily a faint smile and asked huskily, ‘Have you any idea where my brother might be, Emily?’

Emily nodded. ‘I have. I’ll lead you to him.’ She gave Helen’s hand a sympathetic pat. ‘And you need not fret over Bridgeman’s whereabouts. I saw him leave the Gardens looking quite subdued.’

Helen shot Emily a searching look. ‘Who told … how did you …?’ she stiltedly began.

‘Charlotte told me about … the problems,’ Emily admitted quietly and gently urged Helen to keep walking. ‘You must not blame your sister. She was quite distressed on seeing you go into the walkway with Bridgeman, and blurted it all out to me.’ She paused. ‘Charlotte was keen to get George to rescue you. She was sure Bridgeman was abducting you. I persuaded her you would be safe, for I had noticed Sir Jason had immediately set off to act knight errant.’ Emily slanted a glance at Helen’s averted face. ‘Sir Jason did send Bridgeman packing, didn’t he?’

Helen simply nodded and frowned into the distance.

‘But … perhaps didn’t act very knightly?’ Emily suggested, angling her head to see Helen’s expression.

‘How could he think I was enjoying that horrible man’s attention?’ Helen bit at her trembling lower lip. ‘Is Charlotte somewhere hereabouts with Philip?’

‘She and Philip have taken a walk towards the grottoes.’

Helen gave an unconscious little sigh of relief.

‘You may tell me to mind my own business if you want to,’ Emily said gently. ‘But … I know what it is to be the butt of gossip. I also know what it is to be burdened with a brother’s selfishness. People might think that I happily tolerate Tarquin’s faults. It’s not the truth. But he is my brother and I do love him despite all the heartache he causes us.’

Helen turned to give her a wavering smile. ‘Where would we be without our families?’ she ruefully murmured.

‘I think I would be … contentedly raising a brood of children.’ Emily divulged that in an ironic tone but Helen sensed it veiled a poignant truth.

Emily answered her unspoken question with a single nod. ‘Yes … I would have married a gentleman but for Tarquin spoiling things … Oh, it doesn’t matter!’ she said briskly. ‘It was some years ago now.’

They walked in silence for a moment, then Emily nodded her blonde head. ‘There is George and his devoted wife,’ she commented acidly. She tugged gently on Helen’s arm to slow their pace. ‘Before you go, Helen—and I know you will make George take you home—I want you to understand that there is very little that you could tell me that would shock or offend me.’

Helen gave her a long and searching look before saying quietly, ‘You are kind, Emily, but, if you knew more about me, I think you would be shocked.’

‘And if you knew more about me, I think you would be shocked,’ Emily returned. She unlinked their arms and gave Helen a smile. ‘So, if you want to talk to someone about any burdensome topic such as … sisters, brothers, lovers …’ She caught Helen’s eyes in a meaningful gaze. ‘You know who to choose.’ Quickly she gave Helen’s arm a squeeze. ‘George has seen us and is coming over.’ Helen’s brother received a little wave before Emily turned and set off back the way she had come.