She didn’t even look like the adorably unsure beauty who had succumbed to his seduction.
Was that only two nights ago? He’d lived a lifetime since.
He smiled at her in delight. “My dear Lady Crewe, you’re foxed.”
Helena smiled back with bleary affability. “I fear, my lord, you are right.”
With impressive steadiness, she raised her claret and took a sip. Between them, the ruins of their meal spread across the table. Silas’s kitchens had done them proud, with oysters, chicken à la perse, salads—courtesy again of the greenhouses—exotic fruits, fresh and candied. All that remained in one piece was a meringue fancy molded in the shape of the summerhouse.
West wasn’t anywhere near tipsy, although an enjoyable warmth simmered in his blood. He had a strong head for liquor. The only man able to drink him under the table was Anthony Townsend, who had clearly led quite a life, running his shipping line.
The only man in England. In Russia, the locals and their vodka had trumped him.
Helena, on the other hand, was three sheets to the wind.
“Do you want to lie down?” He waved his glass toward the low divan under the window, where the servants had set out cushions and rugs.
Salacious anticipation broadened her smile. “Yes.”
When her foot curled over his knee in unmistakable invitation, he jumped like a virgin. During the meal, she must have kicked off her half-boots.
His cock reacted with predictable enthusiasm. Never had he been as desperate for a woman as he was for Helena. She merely had to look at him sideways, and he was upright as a ship’s mast. He’d long believed they’d prove a physical match, but the sizzling reality of holding her in his arms surpassed all his imaginings.
Still, a gentleman didn’t take advantage of a lady’s inebriation.
And he remained a gentleman. Just.
“You’ll feel better after a nap.”
She pursed her lips and lowered her eyelids until thick, black lashes shadowed her cheekbones. “I’m feeling rather fine right now.”
With unmistakable intent, her foot slid further up his thigh. His grip on the glass tightened as explosions set off behind his eyes. “Helena, you’re in no state to make decisions.”
He wished she’d stop smiling at him as though she meant to gobble him up for dessert, instead of the sugar and cream confection. “That charming bower screams sin. You can’t mean to waste it.”
“We’ll use it when you’ve got a clear head.”
With a soft laugh, she curled her toes against his leg. “I’m never clearheaded when I’m with you.”
Astonishment, as much as burgeoning arousal, had him sitting straight in his chair. From Helena, that was a major admission. Unfortunately, it also proved that she wasn’t herself.
He caught that brazen stockinged foot before it ventured higher. “We’ve got all afternoon. Silas and Caro are visiting the neighbors, and Fen and Anthony are looking at property in the area.”
“Then let’s not waste time.”
“I can’t seduce a woman who’s drunk,” he said tartly. Despite his tone, he couldn’t help caressing the long, elegant foot in his lap. He loved that she was built like a greyhound, all slim speed and grace.
In response to his touch, her lids lowered further. “Very well.”
Curiosity stilled his stroking hand. “Very well?”
“Yes.” A beat of silence. “Because I intend to seduce you.”
West’s heart crashed into his ribs, and the world went black. That low, husky voice should have a danger sign posted on it. He blinked to bring her back into focus. “Hel…”
With taunting languor, she untied the masculine cravat around her neck and dropped it to the tiled floor. Her index finger strayed down her throat to pause at the high collar of her white shirt. All the moisture dried from West’s mouth, as his gaze fastened on that teasing hand.
“I’m not drunk, West,” she murmured. “Just nicely merry.”