to improve her lot in life, but he desired her, too, and she knew it.
He gave a lopsided smile at the ceiling as he recalled the way she had instinctively leaped to defend him when the grocer got belligerent. Feelings of tenderness had engulfed Jason as she’d stood before him like an intrepid waif prepared to do battle. He’d also felt a sense of relief, for she had proven—unintentionally, he imagined—that she was not completely set against him. She was indebted to him through no fault of her own and she sensed that made her vulnerable to his lust. In just a short while she had displayed wit and courage and dignity. She had also showed her selfish brother more loyalty than George would merit in his lifetime. But acknowledging Helen had fine qualities had not subdued the throb in his loins.
He had a perfectly adequate mistress. Why would he want the trouble of wooing into bed a well-bred woman who thought him a rake and seemed unwilling to trust him to act ethically? Something else was nettling him. Jason knew he was playing too easily into George Kingston’s hands. He was allowing George to manipulate him, yet seemed unable to put a stop to it. George wanted him to take over the financial burden of his sisters’ keep and he was achieving his aim with such ease that he had begun to dispense with the need to be subtle. Filling the empty grates and larders at Westlea House was not his responsibility. But he had taken on the task, just as George intended he should. George had gambled on a meeting between Helen and him paying spectacular dividends, and he had won. George was now basking in his victory. He was goading him, blatantly challenging him to choose between pride and lust.
Jason knew that soon he would have to make a decision before gossip started. Evicting Helen and her sister from Westlea House was out of the question, but it would not be long before it was common knowledge he owned the property. Risking a stain on Charlotte’s reputation was also out of the question. The obvious solution would be to establish a position in his life for Helen.
Wife or mistress? George Kingston would not care either way. If Mrs Marlowe became a kept woman, polite society would be provided with a tasty morsel of gossip for a week or two, but they would not ostracise her. Helen’s reputation was protected by the status conferred by her late husband.
Thus, it was his choice which role he offered to her after such a limited renewal of their acquaintance. Certainly she fascinated him and he was sure he liked her, but he had felt that way before about young women who now he could barely recall to mind.
Jason got to his feet, only half-aware that he had come to a decision as he stretched out his stiff muscles. A rueful smile tugged at a corner of his mouth as he realised that the only objections he was likely to receive to an offer of carte blanche was from the lady herself.
Chapter Eight
‘What on earth is the matter?’
Helen had been attempting to compose a letter of apology to Jason Hunter while Charlotte was out. The scuffed leather surface on the bureau was littered with crumpled scraps of paper, testament to the difficulty of the task she’d set herself.
But now Charlotte was back and looking very dejected. Pushing away pen and paper, Helen swivelled on her seat. Charlotte was plucking at her hat strings with vibrating fingers. Once free of her thick tresses, the bonnet was forcefully discarded on to the sofa. Charlotte sank down beside it, her red-rimmed eyes concealed by her palms.
‘What is it, dear?’ Helen immediately went to her. She crouched by the side of the chair with an anxious frown crinkling her ivory brow. Charlotte’s hands were gently eased from her face and Helen comforted them with her own. ‘What has happened? Is Philip not with you?’ Helen glanced at the door. Philip invariably came in for a short while when he brought Charlotte home from an outing. ‘Have you argued?’ It was a doubtfully tendered possibility. Charlotte and Philip usually seemed a very harmonious couple.
Charlotte raised her watery brown eyes to Helen’s face. ‘Philip won’t ever come here again. He won’t marry me now. Why would he when I have such a hateful brother?’ she gritted out through small pearly teeth. Charlotte again hid her freshly streaming eyes with her fingers.
Helen sank forward on to her knees as an inkling of what might be ailing her sister put a guilty sigh in her throat. So obsessed had she been with dwelling on her fraught encounter with Jason Hunter and Mr Drover that she had neglected to give any more thought to a worrying incident that had occurred before either of those gentleman had arrived.
Helen cast back her mind a few hours. Charlotte had been from the room, collecting her coat, when George had cruelly curtailed Philip’s attempt to make formal his suit. No doubt Philip had felt injured enough by George’s churlish rejection to tell Charlotte of it.
Helen remembered, too, with heavy heart, that George had not been content to leave it at that. Once their sister had quit the house with the Goodes, George had more doom to deliver on the subject of the courting couple. Or rather, he had anticipated that she would do his dirty work for him. His curt dictate echoed in her mind: I do not want Charlotte seeing him any more. Make that clear to her or I will make it clear to him. And, as you have just noticed, I shall not stand on ceremony when I do so.
‘Was Philip annoyed that George was short with him? He had every right to be …’
‘What did he say to Philip?’ Charlotte interrupted, scrubbing the heel of a hand across her eyes. ‘Tell me, please! I sensed something unpleasant had occurred while I was getting ready to go out. Philip is too agreeable to make a fuss, but I guessed something was wrong, even before George came over and was horrible to us in the park.’
‘You saw George whilst you were out?’
Charlotte nodded. ‘I’m sure George only turned up in Hyde Park because he guessed we had gone there. Why does he hate Philip? He has never taken the trouble to get to know him.’
Helen tightened her grip on Charlotte’s shivery hands. ‘I’m sure he does not hate him,’ she soothed. ‘It is just that our brother is …’ She struggled to find words that might mitigate George’s boorishness. ‘I know our brother has an unfortunate manner at times,’ she lamely concluded.
‘Unfortunate manner?’ Charlotte shrieked and stamped a foot to emphasise her outrage. ‘He is a swine! He deliberately humiliated Philip in front of his sister and me! The park was quite crowded too and a lot of people witnessed what went on. A horrible fellow started laughing at us.’ Charlotte’s voice wobbled as she recounted, ‘Poor Anne was so upset she started to cry, although she pretended she just had a speck in her eye.’
Helen’s wide eyes revealed her astonishment at what she’d heard. Usually George sought to keep his shameful behaviour out of public display. ‘What exactly did he do?’ she demanded to know.
‘We had stopped by the lake to watch the swans and George just appeared with one of his cronies. George got out of his carriage and stormed over to us. With no more ado he ordered me home. Philip was startled by his rudeness, but took it in good part, I thought. I’m sure he knew George was slighting him because he doesn’t deem him good enough for me.’ She paused to wipe a hand across her feverishly flushed cheeks. ‘Philip offered to immediately bring me back, but George stared at him as though he was dirt beneath his shoe. He snapped out that he would directly take me safely home himself.’ Charlotte pulled a scrap of linen from a pocket. She furiously applied it to her glistening dark eyes. ‘Philip was … he looked so mortified when George made me get out of the gig. That’s when I heard his friend laughing.’ She gurgled a sob, then wiped her dewy nose. ‘I tried to reassure Philip that I was disgusted too by George’s behaviour. I said I would be pleased to see him again later in the week. But he avoided my eye and
