“Aye. Like a champion. A right fine little mare she is.” His eyes sharpened. “Comes from Shelton Abbey, don’t she? Has the look of old Shah Persis.”
Helena’s sallow skin didn’t hold a blush, but unaccustomed heat burned in her cheeks. “I bought her from Lord West earlier this year.”
“The Granges don’t like to share their best horses. You was a lucky ‘un, then.”
“Yes, I was.” She hoped that West, when he returned, would reconsider selling the mare and change her lie into the truth. Lord West might annoy and trouble her, but Artemis was a joy.
Becket bobbed his head and trundled away out of earshot. When Helena entered the stables, Artemis stretched her neck over the loosebox door and whickered in welcome.
“Hello, lovely girl.” Helena extended half a wizened apple on her palm and smiled as Artemis’s velvety nose brushed her skin in equine greed. When she scratched behind the Arab’s ears, they pricked forward in encouragement. “Did you miss me?”
“Like the very devil.”
The baritone drawl made Helena jump and drop the other half of the apple. Artemis wasn’t pleased.
Nor was Helena.
She closed her eyes, inhaled a breath of hay-scented air, prayed for composure, and turned. A tall, dark man leaned one broad shoulder against a post in the central aisle. He watched her with unwavering concentration.
“Lord West,” she said coolly. “Still sneaking up on people, I see. You could give a cat lessons.”
Sardonic humor curled his mouth and made him dazzlingly attractive, damn him. Her silly heart had started to race the moment he spoke. Sheer surprise, she told herself staunchly.
“I’d rather give you lessons.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Better take the time to learn a little humility. I tol
d you I wasn’t interested.”
“Even after I wrote you all those fascinating letters?”
“You’re most welcome to go back to writing. I’ll go back to ignoring you.”
“A little difficult when we’re under the same roof until the wedding.”
Oh, no. Although she knew Silas had asked West to be his groomsman, the coward inside her had hoped that her bugbear would stay in Russia. “You make it sound so scandalous, when you know it’s perfectly respectable.”
“A man can live in hope.” He straightened and sauntered closer with that long, smooth stride that she remembered so well. Except now she had a chance to see him in stronger light, a gasp of dismay escaped her. “West, you’re not well.”
His winged brows drew together in annoyance. “Like hell I’m not.”
“You look dreadful.” It wasn’t altogether true. He’d lost a lot of weight in the months since they’d last met, and he was worryingly pale. But extreme thinness emphasized the purity of his bone structure, and in his striking face, the dark green eyes glittered with familiar wickedness.
“Why, thank you.”
She reached to take his arm before she remembered that they were no longer friends, hadn’t been friends in close to a dozen years. “You shouldn’t be prowling around, trying to prove your rakish credentials. You should be in bed.”
He was still smiling, but now she saw the effort it took. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Stop it, you fool,” she snapped, shoving hesitation aside and grabbing his arm. She tugged him toward a narrow bench against the wall.
“Ah, such a fond greeting, my love.” Despite his sarcasm, he couldn’t hide his relief as he sat and rested his head against the wall behind him.
He was a ghastly color, and he was breathing unsteadily. Helena couldn’t vanquish a feeling of unreality. West was a force of nature. He always had been. Surely no mere physical weakness could sap that titanic energy. “I’ll fetch a doctor.”
As he closed his eyes, his long mouth turned down. “Don’t you dare. I’ve seen more than enough damned quacks in the last few months.”
“When did you get back from Russia?”