Winning Lord West (Dashing Widows 3)

West’s regard was steady as he leaned back with every appearance of relaxation. “Knowing someone well is good grounds for marriage.”

She shook her head. “Not when I don’t like what I know.”

“Is that really true?”

“Yes,” she said, and didn’t believe it herself.

Curse him, why couldn’t he lose his temper and march out in a huff, instead of acting like a sensible man? She’d spent eleven years telling herself she despised him. Except that, if she was fair—as she very much didn’t want to be—he wasn’t quite the thoughtless brute she’d painted him. He took care of his estates, and he could sound intelligent when he felt like it. His negotiation skills had gained international respect. When the government sent him to Russia to sort out that diplomatic mess, it wasn’t the first time they’d turned to him for help.

West didn’t take offense at her rudeness. Of course he didn’t. He knew she didn’t hate him, whatever self-serving lies she told. “That’s a pity when we have so much in common. Our childhoods, our friendships, our love of horses.”

“It doesn’t matter, West. I’m not interested in marrying again. Even if I was, I’d never choose another man who I couldn’t trust to stay in my bed.”

His tone hardened and he straightened in his chair. “I haven’t had a mistress in more than a year.”

“Making do with casual encounters, are you?” she asked, while the more generous side of her nature stood appalled at how crabbed and snide she sounded. Crewe had changed her so powerfully, and in ways that she hated, but couldn’t seem to overcome.

He shook his head. “You’ve become so bitter, Hel. I hate to see it.”

The fact that he was right didn’t mean she had to agree. She shrugged. “Do you blame me?”

“Crewe has been dead two years. Your best revenge is to rise above his sins against you and lead a fulfilled life.”

She loathed that a man she wanted to deride as a self-centered lightweight was so perceptive. “As your wife?”

He surged to his feet and moved to stand over her, bracing his elegant hands on the chair arms. “Yes, if you like. But I’d give my right arm to see you experience some real happiness. I don’t believe you’ve had one moment of unsullied joy since you married that toad.”

Helena pressed back against the chair’s brocade upholstery and fought to control angry, anguished tears. She wanted to protest that she was happy when she and Artemis galloped fit to outrun the world. But that would only make her sound more pitiable.

“Stop it,” she said in a choked voice.

He grabbed her shoulders in adamant hands. “I’d like to shake some sense into you.”

His touch made her stiffen. “How irresistible that makes the idea of marrying you,” she forced through lips that threatened to tremble.

She’d survived the last ten years by pretending nothing could hurt her. Be damned if she’d cry in front of West.

He sighed, and the anger drained from his face. Lifting his hands, he stepped back with a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry, Hel. I swore I’d be civilized. But I care too much.”

She was seriously rattled now. If his emotions were engaged, it would be almost impossible to discourage his pursuit. She tried to speak lightly, but her voice emerged high and unnatural. “You’re feeling nostalgic because we’re back in old haunts.”

“No.”

He sounded so sure. As another wave of fear rippled through her, she raised her chin. “You’ve had your ten minutes.”

His smile was wry. “Damn me, so I have.”

Crewe hadn’t possessed an ounce of self-awareness. West’s self-mockery reminded her again that he was a better man than her late husband. “So good night.”

Self-aware West might be. Malleable he was not. He drew himself up and stared at her with a green-eyed glint she didn’t trust. “I haven’t got to what I want to talk about.”

“I won’t marry you.”

“That wasn’t it.”

She frowned, curious despite herself. “Wasn’t it?”

“No.” He reached for her hand and pulled her up—and far too close. “You asked about the women in my life.”