Marrying Winterborne (The Ravenels 2)

“None of whom would have been willing to spend a minute in my company if I had no dowry. And I don’t need them for comparison: Mr. Winterborne is the man I would choose above all others.”

Kathleen was obviously struggling to understand. “Only a week ago you were in tears, telling me how he’d frightened you when he kissed you.”

“He did. But you gave me the perfect advice, as usual. You said that someday, with the right man, kissing would be wonderful. And it is.”

“He . . . you let him . . .” Kathleen’s eyes widened.

“I have no illusions about Mr. Winterborne,” Helen continued. “Or at least, not many. He’s ruthless, ambitious, and too accustomed to having his way. Perhaps he’s not always a gentleman in the formal sense of the word, but he has his own code of honor. And”—Helen felt a wondering smile tug at her lips—“he has a soft spot for me. I think I’ve become a weakness of his, and he’s a man who desperately needs a few weaknesses.”

“How much time did you spend with him yesterday?” Kathleen asked distractedly. “Were you at the store, or his house? Who saw you together?” She was already calculating how to minimize the damage to Helen’s reputation. Undoubtedly Devon’s reaction would be the same.

It was becoming clear to Helen that Rhys’s insistence on sleeping with her, although manipulative, had made perfect sense. It was the perfect weapon to cut through any number of arguments.

There was no choice now but to use it.

“Kathleen,” she said gently, “I’ve been compromised.”

“Not necessarily. There may be rumors, but—”

“I have to marry him.” Seeing her sister-in-law’s perplexed expression, Helen repeated the words with quiet emphasis. “I have to marry him.”

“Oh,” Kathleen faltered, understanding. “You and he . . .”

“Yes.”

Kathleen was silent, trying to take in the revelation. Her golden-brown eyes glimmered with concern. “My poor Helen,” she finally said. “You didn’t know what to expect. You must have been frightened. Please tell me, darling, did he coerce you, or—”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Helen said urgently. “You must believe that I was completely willing. I had every opportunity to refuse. Mr. Winterborne explained what would happen. It was not at all unpleasant. It was—” She dropped her gaze. “I found pleasure in it,” she finished in a small voice. “I’m sure that’s wicked of me.”

In a moment, Kathleen patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s not wicked,” she said. “Some claim that women shouldn’t enjoy the act, but in my opinion, it certainly makes the process far more appealing.”

Helen had always loved Kathleen’s pragmatic nature, but never so much as at that moment. “I thought you would disapprove of me for having slept with him,” she said with relief.

Kathleen smiled. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m happy about it. But I can hardly fault you for doing exactly as I have done. As long as we’re speaking frankly . . . I’m expecting Devon’s child.”

“Are you?” Helen asked with delight. “I thought that might be the reason why you and he married so quickly.”

“It is. That, and I love him madly.” Kathleen reached for the bowl of sugar, picked out a medium-sized lump, and began to nibble on it. Tentatively she said, “I have no idea how much you know about these matters. You understand the possible consequences of sleeping with a man?”

Helen nodded. “There might be a baby.”

“Yes, unless he . . . took preventive measures?” At Helen’s blank look, Kathleen continued, “Dear, may I ask something quite personal?”

Helen nodded cautiously.

“Did he . . . finish . . . inside you? At the last moment?”

Bewildered, Helen said, “I’m not sure.”

Kathleen smiled ruefully as she saw Helen’s confusion. “We’ll have a talk later. It appears that Mr. Winterborne didn’t quite explain everything.” Absently she picked up the little gold timepiece that hung on a long chain around her neck, and tapped the smooth metal casing against her lips. “What are we to do?” she asked, more to herself than Helen.

“I was hoping that you and Devon would withdraw your objections to the match.”

“I’ve withdrawn them already,” Kathleen said. “In practical terms, no one is in a position to object to it now. And I owe you my support after the way I meddled in your relationship. I’m sorry, Helen. I truly was trying to help.”

“Of course you were,” Helen said in relief. “Don’t give it another thought. Everything has turned out beautifully.”

“Has it?” Kathleen regarded her with a wondering smile. “How happy you seem. Can Mr. Winterborne really be the reason?”

“He is.” Helen put her hands up to her flushed cheeks, and laughed breathlessly. “I’m all pangs and palpitations, just knowing that he’s downstairs. I feel hot and cold, and I can scarcely breathe.” She hesitated. “Is that what love feels like?”

“That’s infatuation,” Kathleen said. “It’s love when you can breathe.” Occupied with her thoughts, she repeatedly folded and unfolded a table napkin on her knee. “The situation must be handled with care. Devon must not find out that you and Mr. Winterborne slept together—he won’t be nearly as reasonable as I am about it. He’ll take it as an affront to the family honor, and—oh I don’t want to contemplate it. But I’ll talk him into accepting the match. It may take a few days, but—”