Helen winced on noticing a definite mocking slant to his lips. She feared he knew of her regret at having acted with such spontaneous vulgarity.
Iris had succeeded in her ambition to become his mistress. George had said they had been openly flirting earlier in the week … blatantly flaunting their affair. Such behaviour was sure to invite comment, thus Helen’s face was beautifully prim as she announced, ‘I am afraid I cannot pretend ignorance of your liaison with my sister-in-law. I have heard the rumours …’ A hideous idea made her falter and demand, ‘I hope you do not imagine I intentionally set out to impersonate Iris in the hope such a ruse would get me over your threshold.’
‘Had you announced yourself simply as Mrs Marlowe, it would have guaranteed that you not only got over my threshold, but got my immediate attention.’
A cluck of disbelief dismissed that. ‘You would not have known who on earth Mrs Marlowe was. When last we conversed, I was Miss Kingston.’
‘Be assured, I would have known who you were.’
Helen’s eyes darted to his at that husky affirmation. But still he made no remark about her impropriety. No doubt he considered it beneath his dignity to do so. But she could tell the matter had affected him. His composure could not completely camouflage that he was annoyed.
A tense silence ensued and Helen was conscious that he might now take himself off without questioning her further. Perhaps he had deduced from her attitude that she had gone to his house with the intention of interfering in his affairs. Sibling loyalty—however inappropriate—could conceivably propel her to confront the man who was making a cuckold of her brother. He had apologised and soothed his conscience, something she had yet to achieve for her own.
She was alert to a slight movement he made, sure it meant he was making ready to leave. ‘I must say sorry, too,’ Helen blurted. ‘I was rude. I should not have been quite so explicit … that is … I accept that your association with George’s wife is none of my concern. My brother is able to fight his own battles.’
‘Is he? It occurs to me that perhaps he sent you to see me.’
Helen tensed at that observation and a surge of guilt stained her cheeks. It had indeed been her brother’s angry challenge—whether uttered in jest or not—that had prompted her visit.
‘Why would he do such a thing?’ Helen flicked a nervous gesture. ‘You would be hardly likely to pay attention to my opinion.’
‘I’m doing so now….’
Tawny eyes sought to read his expression in the half-light. He had not sounded sarcastic, but it was hard to tell. ‘If you are being sincere, sir, I must take advantage of the opportunity to … to …’ She faltered, frowned at her fingers with the strain of being diplomatic. Her opinion, should she honestly give it, was hardly likely to be well received. How much attention would he want to pay to the fact that Charlotte and she endured hardship because his mistress was avaricious and selfish?
The loss of their allowance, and Charlotte’s dowry, the imminent sale of Westlea House—all had come about since George took a gold-digger to wife. The thought that now she must petition the gold-digger’s lover in order that she and her sister could have some basic necessities made ire burn in her blood. But she would not again make mention of the dratted woman. Rather she would concentrate on keeping her home.
‘My brother is being dunned by his creditors and that is why he wants to sell this house. It is home to me and my sister Charlotte.’
Jason gained his feet in a lithe movement. ‘And you have heard that I want to buy it.’ It was a neutral statement.
‘Yes,’ Helen said, very conscious of the height and breadth of him as he passed her chair.
‘You don’t want me to have it?’
‘It is rather that I do not want to lose it,’ Helen said carefully.
Jason turned his back to the empty grate and cast up a glance at a ceiling meshed with cracks. ‘I expect you will prefer living elsewhere. The upkeep of a property such as this is high.’
‘It suits us to stay,’ Helen interrupted firmly.
‘George has arranged other accommodation for you and your sister, yet you’d rather stay here?’
‘Indeed I would.’ Helen breathed fiercely. So he knew that George wanted to locate them in a seedy neighbourhood. ‘Our home might be rather shabby, but I am afraid even a flash house on Rowan Walk would be unacceptable. In fact, I have no intention of being dispatched there.’
Jason moved closer to the petite figure that had jumped to its feet. He could tell from her raised chin and tight fists that she was furiously embarrassed. And he understood why. ‘Rowan Walk?’ he echoed in disbelief. ‘What the devil is he thinking of housing his sisters in such an area?’
‘He is thinking of what he can afford,’ Helen retorted immediately. ‘I am sure he would have chosen somewhere more salubrious had his wife not squandered so much on gowns and hats and other selfish whims in order to hook you—’ She abruptly bit at her lower lip to stem further angry complaints.
‘Go on …’ Jason quietly invited.
‘Very well, I shall.’ The declaration was child-like in its defiance. ‘My brother is being dunned and I am to lose my home because your mistress is a selfish spendthrift. Whether you know it or not, sir, indirectly you are a reason we suffer.’
It was too late to perhaps phrase things more tactfully, but there was less volume to Helen’s voice when she continued, ‘George has dressmakers’ accounts and so on that he simply cannot pay …’
‘And I am to blame?’
‘I have just said so.’
The impenitent statement elicited a mirthless laugh. ‘You are a very loyal sister, if blinkered to your brother’s faults.’
‘On the contrary, I have no illusions as to George’s character. He is weak and foolish to allow his wife to constantly manipulate and humiliate him. It is to my sister, Charlotte, that I owe my loyalty.’ Helen moved closer to him, hoping the blaze in her eyes and the tenor of her voice would impress on him the strength of her outrage.
She looked into a face of raw-boned masculinity. Even as she glared at him, prepared to continue her tirade, she could not block the thought that he was breathtakingly handsome. ‘You are aware that Westlea House has been owned by Kingstons for generations. It was Papa’s intention that it should be home to Charlotte and me for years to come. Even had we both settled elsewhere with husbands, my father would have expected George to keep it in the family. He would be distraught to know his son married a shameless adulteress and, as a consequence, the house his wife loved must be sold for a paltry sum.’
‘You think I intend to cheat you of its true worth?’
Helen was very aware of his grey gaze lowering to her face with that remark. ‘You are a businessman, and very successful I have heard. I can’t pretend to know much of commerce, but I’m sure you will want to negotiate terms favourable to you.’
‘I’ll pay a fair price for the property and George cannot withhold what is due to you and your sister from the proceeds.’
‘We
