Fair Juno (Regencies 4)

Helen considered the suggestion. She could see no alternative. Raising her napkin to wipe her lips, she raised her eyes to his. ‘How will we explain our disreputable state— and our lack of servants and luggage?’

The instant she asked the question, she knew the answer. Deliciously wicked, but, she reasoned, it was all part of her adventure and thus could be viewed with a lenient eye.

Pleased by her tacit acceptance of the only viable plan he had, Martin relaxed. ‘We can tell the same story I edified our host with—that we’ve had an accident and our retainers are following behind with the luggage.’

Still a little nervous of the idea, Helen nodded. Did he intend to claim they were wed?

‘Which reminds me,’ said Martin, sliding the gold signet from his right hand. ‘You had better wear this for the duration.’ He held the heavy ring out and dropped it into her palm.

Helen studied the ring, still warm from his hand. Obviously, they were to appear married. She slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand. To her surprise, its weight, in that remembered place, did not evoke the expected horror. Instead, it was strangely reassuring, a source of strength, a pledge of protection.

‘Very well,’ she said. She drew a deep breath and purposefully added, ‘But we’ll have to have separate rooms.’ Determined to be clear on that point, she raised her eyes to his darkly handsome face and beheld a haughty expression.

‘Naturally,’ returned Martin repressively. It would undoubtedly be safer that way. Aside from anything else, he would need to get some sleep. He studied Juno’s fair countenance and the need to know her real name grew. Given that they were to masquerade cloaked in wedded bliss, he felt that their increasing intimacy justified a request for enlightenment. ‘I rather think, my dear, that, given our new relationship, it might be appropriate if I knew your name.’

Engrossed in fantasies revolving around their new relationship, Helen gave a start. ‘Oh.’ She thought once more of the matter, inwardly acknowledging her reluctance and her reasons for it. Eyeing the handsome face, the strangely compelling eyes fixed on hers, she admitted to an urge to tell him, to confide in a man so transparently at ease in her world. But hard on the heels of that feeling came a premonition of how he would look when he heard her name. He would know of her husband; they would likely have met. What would he feel—pity? Revulsion, albeit carefully cloaked? Doing anything to damage the closeness she sensed between them was repugnant.

Letting her gaze fall, she picked up her napkin, creasing the folds between her fingers. ‘I…really…’ Her words trailed away. How to explain what she felt?

Martin smiled a little crookedly. He would have liked her to confide in him but the point was not worth disturbing her over. ‘You really feel you shouldn’t?’

Helen threw him a grateful look. ‘It’s just that the adventure seems more…complete—and,’ she added, determined at least to have some of the truth, ‘my behaviour more excusable if I continue incognito.’

Smiling more broadly, Martin inclined his head in acceptance. ‘Very well. But what should I call you?’

With a gentle smile that, unbeknown to her, held an element of sweet shyness quite at odds with her years, Helen said, ‘You choose. I’m sure you can invent something appropriate.’

Her smile very nearly overset Martin’s much tried control. He had thought it strengthened by the years, but fair Juno was temptation beyond any he had ever faced. Invent something? His mind was seething with invention, did she but know it. But, as knowledge of his thoughts would hardly be conducive to allowing her to continue with reasonable calm in his company, he could only be thankful that they did not show in his face.

They did show in his eyes. Even with the table between them, Helen saw the smoke rise and cloud the grey. Stormy heat caressed her. Mesmerised, she sat and waited, breathless and trying to hide it. Heaven forbid that he ever realise how much he affected her!

‘Juno,’ Martin said, just managing to keep his voice within acceptable range. ‘Fair Juno.’ His smile was entirely beyond his control, laced with wicked thoughts and scandalous suggestion.

Helen lifted one brow, trying to pour cold water on the flames she could feel flickering around them. ‘I hardly think, my lord, that such an allusion is appropriate.’

His smile only gained in intensity. ‘On the contrary, my dear. I feel it entirely appropriate.’

Helen tried to frown. Juno—queen of the goddesses. How could she argue with that?

‘And now, having settled our immediate future, I suggest we get on our way.’ Martin rose and stretched, letting languid grace cloak his haste. If he did not get out of here soon, and back to the relative safety of the curricle’s box seat, he would not answer for the consequences. Exposure to fair Juno was sapping all will to resist his rakish inclinations. And he had dinner with her, alone, to look forward to. He had need to recoup what strength he could.

He went around the table and helped her to her feet. Tucking her small hand into the crook of his arm, he led her to the door. ‘Come, my lad

y. Your carriage awaits.’

Chapter Four

They had chosen the Bells at Cholderton as their overnight stop. The small town nestled just south of the London road, the major traffic passing by without pause. The Bells was an old house, less frequented in these days of rapid travel but still in sufficiently good state to hold promise of a comfortable night.

Shown into a private parlour, Helen glanced about at the faded elegance. She nodded in approval, her haughty demeanour supporting their fiction. Martin had told their story, his natural arrogance wiping out any possibility of disbelief. Lord and Lady Willesden required rooms for the night. The landlord found nothing amiss with the request; he was, in fact, only too pleased to see them.

‘My good wife will have your supper ready directly, m’lord. There’s duck and partridge, with lamb’s-foot jelly and a wine syllabub to follow.’

Languidly superior, Martin nodded. ‘That should do admirably.’

When the door closed behind the little man, Martin glanced her way, laughter lurking in his grey eyes. ‘Just so,’ he said, his smile warming her every bit as much as the fire in the grate.

Feeling her nervousness increase as he drew nearer, Helen turned to hold out her chilled fingers to the blaze. When the sun had slipped beneath the horizon, he had insisted she don his greatcoat. Her fingers went to the heavy garment to ease it from her shoulders. Instantly, he was beside her. His fingers brushed hers.