Winning Lord West (Dashing Widows 3)

The Challenge

Richmond Park outside London, May 1820

Helena, Countess of Crewe, arrived at Lord West’s picnic, determined to talk to her brother Silas. Since yesterday when she’d caught Silas on the point of seducing Caro Beaumont—in a greenhouse in full sight of anyone who cared to look, no less—he’d done an excellent job of evading her.

Well, his evasion ended right now.

With a purposeful step, Helena approached her brother as he rode in on his dapple-gray mare. She could already tell something was afoot. He looked brittle and alert, like a man on the eve of battle. She’d seen him like this when his botanical experiments verged on a major breakthrough.

While a groom led the gray away, Silas’s hazel eyes sharpened on Caroline’s flashy curricle rolling across the grass toward the extravagant festivities. West had taken great trouble to create his riverside idyll, with cushions and divans in open tents, fine wines and exotic delicacies to tempt jaded appetites, and boats for pleasure trips. There was even a string quartet scratching away at the latest tunes.

“You can’t run away from me forever, brother dear.”

Silas cast Helena a sheepish look. “Save the scolding. You couldn’t say anything that I haven’t already said to myself.” He sighed and ran his hand through his untidy tawny hair. “I don’t know what got into me.”

To her regret, Helena knew the answer to that. Overwhelming desire.

When she’d burst into the greenhouse, the lust in the air had woken long forgotten memories. From their first meeting, she’d been wildly infatuated with her late husband, Lord Crewe. Desire, however frustrated, had outlasted love by a long measure. Until her pride had sickened at sharing his attentions with any other woman who took his eye, and she barred him from her bed.

Catching Caroline and Silas in a torrid embrace had provided an unwelcome reminder that Helena hadn’t always despised her profligate swine of a husband. “Caro means to have West. I’ll tell you that much.”

Her friend wanted a lover and had set her sights on Lord West, Silas’s boon companion and Helena’s first sweetheart. Helena had tried to warn Caro that the dissipated West was a dangerous choice. But the lovely brunette had the bit between her teeth, and there was no stopping her headlong gallop.

Until yesterday in the greenhouse, when it seemed Silas might make a late run.

“You two are being dashed unsociable,” West said softly, prowling up on his long, powerful legs. His green eyes were watchful. “Save the family reunion for your own time. I’ve got a dozen footmen standing idle, ready to answer every whim. If you persist in loitering over here, you’ll hurt their feelings.”

Despite having long ago recognized West’s many faults, Helena couldn’t suppress a frisson of awareness. She reminded herself she didn’t like overly handsome men—Crewe had looked like a Greek god until debauchery took its inevitable toll.

Vernon Grange, Baron West, was another handsome man, if in a very different style. He was the classic English aristocrat, tall and elegant, and with features so crisp and perfect, they could be carved from marble. Glossy black hair under a stylish beaver hat. A commanding aquiline nose. An air of effortless authority that always made her bridle like a half-broken filly.

“West,” Silas said, and Helena searched in vain for any hostility in his greeting. With Caro’s preference turning to West, lately Silas had been grumpy with his childhood chum. “You’ve been devilish fortunate with the sunshine.”

That thin, expressive mouth curled in wry humor. “I have contacts in high places.”

West bowed over Helena’s hand and sent her a glinting smile from beneath his heavy eyelids. It was a rake’s trick, designed to make a lady’s heart beat faster.

“Down below more likely,” Helena muttered, struggling to hide how her pulses jumped at his touch. Knowing it was a trick didn’t seem to offer her immunity from its effects.

What the devil was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt an ounce of attraction for Vernon Grange since she was a sixteen-year-old ninnyhammer. Perhaps she should blame her unsettled reaction on seeing Caro and Silas so intimately connected on that bench.

“Put away your barbs, my prickly lady. It’s too nice a day for sniping.”

Coolly she withdrew her hand. “I’d imagined more guests, my lord.”

The gathering comprised West, Helena, Silas, Caroline, a couple of West’s rakish friends, and Fenella Deerham.

“The numbers are sufficient to my entertainment.” Under the winged dark brows that added a satanic touch to his good looks, West’s regard was searching. “Yours, too, I hope. You didn’t ride?”

“No.” Given the failure of her plan to quiz Silas on the drive to Richmond, she was sorry she hadn’t come on horseback. It was so long since she’d had a good run, and this wide field beside the Thames offered scope beyond anything in Hyde Park.

“I have a spare horse.”

Silas shuffled sideways to keep a better eye on his beloved. Caro glanced their way, stiffened, and headed swiftly in the opposite direction.