and the coal in the bunker. Charlotte and she could swallow their pride and scrape an existence on Rowan Walk instead of in Westlea House.
Helen felt tranquillity trickle through her as an inner battle ebbed. In her mind it was settled, and there was nothing new or daring about her plan. A host of women before her had resorted to a discreet liaison to keep themselves and their families clothed and fed. He seemed honest and generous and there was nothing about his person that revolted her … quite the reverse … As to her part, she was sure that she could adopt a brazen attitude and willingness. She glanced at her dowdy appearance and gave a wry smile. Perhaps a little artifice with a needle and a rouge pot might not go amiss either.
A little breath caught in her throat as she contemplated the decision she’d made. She might try to be rational and practical, but there was no denying Sir Jason was a powerful and exciting man. What if her proposition was rebuffed, or worse, mocked? Helen felt a fluttering in her abdomen as she imagined dealing with the humiliation of his rejection. The feeling strengthened as she imagined dealing with his agreement to her suggestion! She felt heat seep into her complexion at the haunting memory of making love with Harry. Would she want to again have the sensation of a man’s hot skin welded to hers when, perhaps, he might not even like her very much? She quickly concentrated on Jason’s kindness to her, the intensity of his grey gaze when he looked at her. He liked her at the very least, she was sure of it!
‘It looks as though Bridgeman has forgiven George for not selling him Westlea House.’
Mark Hunter’s cynical observation drew his brother’s interest. Jason dropped the opera glasses from his eyes and turned to look to his left.
Colin Bridgeman and George Kingston were indeed looking very cosy together in one of the boxes. Bridgeman had his head tipped back and was guffawing. Of Iris Kingston there was no sign, although Jason had seen George and his wife arrive together. Jason’s coach had drawn up outside the opera house at the same time as had George’s. The gentlemen had coolly acknowledged one another with a nod. The ladies had exchanged disdainful summarising stares. Diana’s audible aside that a far superior harlot would be needed to put her in her place had made Jason inwardly smile as they proceeded to the stairs in the King’s Theatre.
The house had been scintillating with light and laughter as Jason and Diana took their seats in one of the green boxes just before the performance started.
Now the curtain had fallen on the first act and a buzz of conversation was again growing louder in the auditorium. The performance had been pleasing, but now the main entertainment had begun as people flitted from place to place to pose with friends and gossip over the latest on dits. Mark Hunter had moments ago ambled in to speak to his brother, leaving behind in his own box his current amour. The abandoned actress was with her gallants, yet her soulful eyes were constantly straying to Mark despite the fact that he appeared oblivious to her attention.
Soon after Mark had arrived in Jason’s box, Diana had left it. Jason had made no objection when one of his mistress’s young admirers had entered his domain. The fresh-faced boy had politely asked if he might escort Mrs Tucker to Lord Frobisher’s box where her friend Mrs Bertram was holding court.
The appearance of the eager young buck hovering behind him had started Jason reminiscing on his own youth. For the past few minutes he had been idly training his glasses on the pit to watch the boisterous gentlemen congregating there. Fifteen or more years ago it would have been he and his friends—George Kingston included—laughing and joking whilst fixing a lascivious eye on the elegant females up in the boxes. It had been a game amongst young bloods then, as he imagined it was now, to compete for a lady’s signal. Wagers had regularly been laid on who would be first to be beckoned by a society beauty to indulge in a little flirtation … perhaps more than that before the night was out.
Jason had been following, with some lazy interest, the interaction between Michael Langham and Lady Corbin. The ageing countess had finally given up on subtlety. Her bosom was spilling from her gown as she hung over the edge of her box, frantically jiggling her fan at the object of her desire.
But now Jason lounged back in his chair, bored with the mating rituals of the beau monde. His eyes narrowed on the two gentlemen to one side of him, still deep in conversation.
‘I’d not be surprised if George were negotiating some sort of deal with Bridgeman,’ Mark suggested with a quirk of a dark eyebrow. ‘Can’t be selling him his wife, though.’ He gave a coarse chuckle. ‘I hear Bridgeman’s had Iris for free.’
‘As have above half the gentlemen here tonight,’ Jason murmured on extending his muscular legs comfortably in front of him.
‘I saw those two together in Hyde Park yesterday. Kingston made quite a spectacle of his youngest sister, and the people she was with, much to Bridgeman’s amusement.’
Jason slowly drew himself up in his chair again and rested his elbows on his knees. He turned his face to Mark and gave him his full attention. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
Mark shrugged. ‘At a guess I’d say George was casting aspersions on the worth of the young gentleman taking his sister for a drive. I don’t know why, he seemed mannerly, and there was another lady present so the niceties seemed to be in order.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I was ready to intervene when I eventually recognised the poor fellow’s identity, but it would have simply prolonged the hubbub. We may not be close, but there is a family connection. Goode looked ready to explode with embarrassment and his sister, Anne seemed to be crying. Kingston can be damned insensitive.’
Jason stared at his linked fingers, then slanted a steady gaze at his brother. ‘Philip Goode was taking Charlotte Kingston for a drive?’
Mark gave a nod. ‘For the last time, I’d say, judging by Kingston’s reaction. If the lad had ideas above his station where George’s sister was concerned, I’d say he’s been knocked severely back into place.’
‘Which means that Kingston must have another candidate in mind or he wouldn’t stir himself to bother,’ Jason muttered. He took a thoughtful look at George Kingston’s box.
Mark read his brother’s mind. ‘I’ve heard that Bridgeman is in the market for a wife.’
At that point Diana swept into Jason’s box in a haze of cream muslin and gardenias. She pouted her thanks at her ardent gallant for safely returning her whilst keeping an eye on Jason to detect a reaction. The fact that there was none, and Jason continued conversing in a low voice with his brother, made spots of colour burn in her cheeks. She settled herself in her chair with much rustling and sighing.
The curtain began to open on the second act and Mark took his leave to return to his own seat.
Jason looked at Diana; she rewarded his indolent attention with an extremely seductive smile.
‘Mrs Bertram and I were just saying that the soprano sounds shrill tonight.’
‘Do you want to go?’ Jason suggested bluntly.
Diana’s lashes lowered to screen a sudden brightness in her blue eyes. ‘I’m not bothered if we do leave. I know you’ll always find us something pleasing to do. Are you bored? Have you something nice in mind?’ She whispered huskily.
Jason straightened his spine against the chair-back, then lithely gained his feet. Courteously he extended a hand to Diana. ‘Nothing in particular,’ he said lazily, his eyes on the dim outline of George Kingston’s box. ‘But I’ve seen enough….’
