Regency Mistresses: A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride. Mary Brendan
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she misjudged and berated George unfairly? Her brother might think her too naïve, but unbeknown to him she had personal experience of the negotiations between rich men and poor women.
Two years ago she had received, and rebuffed, a proposition from a gentleman wanting to offer her his protection. Colin Bridgeman had written to her of his respectful admiration and of how he was confident that something could be arranged between them. Helen had felt at the time quite angry when Mr Bridgeman had ignored her curt note of refusal and written again, coaxingly, of the benefits she would receive. She had been on the point of telling George to speak to the insufferable lecher. Now, of course, she was glad she had kept the matter private—doubtless George would have insisted that she take up Mr Bridgeman’s kind offer.
Helen shot a wary glance at Jason’s face. He returned her regard with quite pleasant directness.
She had spoken to him once before in a blunt way that would guarantee her ostracism by polite society should they ever know of it. Taking a deep, inspiriting breath Helen blurted out, ‘I must beg your pardon, sir, and your forbearance, but I find I must again speak to you in a way that will be considered shockingly improper.’
‘Please say what you must. I’d rather there was no misunderstanding between us.’
But having boldly got that far, even his gentle prompting could not bolster her courage. Looking up at his worryingly handsome face, she decided first to try and prise some clues from him. ‘When you arrived here today … I expect you overheard … that is … I’m sure you know George and I were arguing.’ Large amber eyes peeked up through a web of inky lashes to discern his reaction.
‘I admit I was aware of a heated exchange.’ Jason’s mouth tilted, but he seemed unwilling to elaborate.
‘I’m not sure how much you overheard …’ Helen probed.
Jason felt tempted to smooth back the lustrous strand of hair that clung stubbornly to her soot-smudged cheek. Instead he murmured, ‘Please don’t embarrass yourself by mentioning it further, Mrs Marlowe. Suffice to say that I was not disappointed on hearing your opinion of me.’
Helen felt fiery blood rush beneath her complexion.
Seeing he had heightened her confusion, Jason soothed softly, ‘My intention was not to embarrass you, Mrs Marlowe. Let’s say no more of it.’
Helen cleared her throat. ‘I find I cannot just dismiss it, sir, for I’m not now sure that George deserved the ticking off I gave him.’
‘And what has changed your mind?’
‘Something you have said …’
Jason twisted a slight smile. ‘Ah, I see. You no longer think me a principled rake … just a rake. Will you enlighten me as to how I have disgraced myself in such a short while?’
Helen nodded, but his mild mockery had made words again awkwardly clutter her throat.
Jason walked to the cold marble mantel and braced a lean hand against it. ‘Let me hazard a guess and save you the ordeal of telling me. You think that any benefits I have offered will be subject to unpleasant conditions. Let me reassure you. I do not need to coerce widows in straitened circumstances into sleeping with me.’
Helen’s beautiful eyes shot to his face as the awful truth registered. He thought she was hinting he found her attractive.
‘Me?’ Helen gasped in a voice that hovered between ridicule and outrage. ‘Oh, no! I don’t think you want me at all. I think it is Charlotte you’re after.’
Chapter Seven
‘Charlotte? Your younger sister?’
Helen had to admit that his astonishment seemed genuine. His brow, visible beneath a fall of dark hair, had furrowed, and he looked ready to laugh. Feeling unaccountably nettled by his reaction, she gave a curt nod.
‘You think that I have designs on your sister’s virtue.’ It was a toneless statement and he now looked far from amused.
Helen felt her pique wilt beneath his latent anger. She chewed nervously at her lower lip and tried to avoid the ominous glitter in his eyes. But still she wanted to hear his denial. ‘Are you saying you didn’t intend to attach strings to your generosity?’
‘Is there any point in saying anything at all? It seems I’ve already been found guilty as charged.’
‘No! That’s not true. I told George I did not think you capable of callously seducing a chaste young woman.’ She had come closer to him in her agitation and a small hand raised as though she would clasp his forearm in emphasis.
Just for an instant their eyes coupled, travelled together to her outstretched fingers. Helen quickly curled the slender digits into her palm and the fist dropped to her side.
‘But you think my leniency extends only to untried maids,’ he stated quietly.
‘I do not think you a callous man at all,’ Helen briskly said with a crisp back-step. ‘I’m sorry if I have offended you, but I did warn you I had nothing pleasant to say. Charlotte is just nineteen and hoping soon to get engaged. A hint of scandal would ruin her reputation and her future.’ She hoped that her apologetic explanation had sweetened his temper, but received no such sign.
A finger fiddled a bothersome curl behind a small ear. ‘I’m sorry I mentioned any of it. It is just that … someone said you were showing an unusual interest in Charlotte.’
‘I wonder who it was?’
The question was soft, sardonic, and Helen knew that trying to shield George was pointless. Jason was perfectly aware who had sown that particular poisonous seed in her mind.
The best form of defence is attack, her papa would have counselled had he known her predicament. And she did have a grievance of her own to air! ‘I know you went to see my brother after you left here last week. He told me so this afternoon.’ She gave him a reproachful look. ‘I had already apologised to you for being impertinent that day. Perhaps if you had not gone off telling tales to him my sister’s name would not have arisen and thus no misunderstandings either.’
‘So I’m not only suspected of being a brute, but a tattler, too.’
Jason shoved his hands deep into his pockets and slanted a searing look at her from beneath curved black lashes. ‘Do you seriously think I would waste an hour of my time bleating to your brother about how horrid you had been to me?’
Helen winced at the dark irony in his voice. ‘I realise you had other matters to discuss with George, too,’ she tartly allowed.
‘Indeed, I did,’ Jason drawled. ‘Actually, I must thank you, Mrs Marlowe, for bringing something to my attention. It seems that a comment from me was long overdue on a slanderous rumour going around. I have not cuckolded your brother and have no intention of doing so.’
Helen’s heart jumped a beat, then started an erratic tattoo beneath her ribs. She had certainly not expected that to be one of the topics he had discussed with George. ‘Be that as it may, sir,’ she breathed, ‘you have only yourself to blame that people have assumed differently. If you flirt outrageously with my sister-in-law, you ought know gossip will ensue.’
‘I abandoned flirting a decade or more ago, Mrs Marlowe. And you ought know that, where I am concerned, your brother is a regular mischief-maker. I suspect his wife is, too.’
He was correct, of course, in his assessment of her kin. Moreover, she believed he had been wrongly maligned, and thus could have made much more of a complaint than a taciturn observation on the devious natures of her brother and sister-in-law. Nevertheless, Helen instinctively bristled at receiving even a mild rebuke from him. She blinked and moistened her dry mouth by delicately tracing her lower lip with her tongue tip.
His steady, penetrating appraisal flustered Helen and she fought to equal his calm demeanour. She wished he