And another. Another. His kisses were very sweet. Delicate. Helene relaxed. He had very large hands: without question he would be able to span one-and-a-half octaves.

"Do you play?" she said, against his mouth.

"All the time," he answered. He went back to his brushing kisses, without seeming to be in any hurry.

Helene found that she was quite enjoying it. Then she realized that perhaps he hadn't understood her question. "I mean, do you play music?" she asked.

"That too." He moved closer and put a finger under her chin to tip it up. "May I play with you?"

Helene could feel her heart pounding so hard it was likely visible through the thin fabric of her gown. That was the important question, wasn't it. And yet-she couldn't do anything of that sort. "It isn't the right time," she managed.

He bent his head again and his lips drifted across hers. She wouldn't mind if he tried to kiss her a bit more... intently. But he didn't. Instead his mouth drifted off to the corner of her lips. "Curiosity is my besetting sin," he said silky. "Also a ruthless wish to have things absolutely clear between playfellows. Is it not the right time because you are, alas, attached to that shaggy husband of yours, or is the issue a rather more ephemeral one?"

Helene opened her mouth to answer but he took advantage of it and slid inside. She found her arms around his neck without conscious volition. I don't like this kind of kissing, she thought to herself, rather wonderingly. But she liked Mayne's kiss. He was so debonair and restrained.

Finally Mayne himself drew back, and Helene was startled to see that he was looking at her with distinct hunger. No man had ever looked at her with that expression, although she'd often seen them looking at Esme that way.

"I want you, Helene Godwin," he said, and there was a dark throb in his voice that made Helene's legs feel weak.

"I couldn't-I've never-" she stumbled, and then pulled herself together. "I've never done such a thing before."

His hands were holding her face lightly. "You are so exquisite," he whispered. "Was I blind before last night?" His fingers ran over her cheekbones. "I must have been blind not to see your beauty."

"Thank you," Helene said awkwardly.

Then his mouth came to hers again, and this time it was easier; this time she sank more naturally into the circle of his arms, and her mouth opened up to his with a little gasp. And when he let her go, Helene found that her hands were trembling.

"I hope that you will give me a place in your life," Mayne said, and Helene registered the hoarse note in his voice with a feeling of pure triumph. "I generally do not think myself a fool," he continued, with a rueful tilt of his eyebrows. "But I've been a fool. In the last few years, I've ranged far and wide amongst the ladies of the ton, Helene. Frankly, I've stopped caring very much if a particular lady refused my attentions. And yet I find myself caring a great deal about your answer. And that is a truth."

Helene knew that he was, indeed, telling the truth.

Chapter Fifteen.

In Which Helene Finds Herself Unaccountably Desirable.

Helene was having one of the most thrilling mornings of her life. The Earl of Mayne had left her with her heart beating quickly, stooping over her for one second before he left and kissing her cheek. "You are utterly enchanting," he whispered.

Helene had grinned like a fool. No one had ever called her enchanting. Mayne had left only when the butler announced that there were fifteen ladies crowded into the library, and then he strolled out so slowly that everyone knew exactly why she was pink and slightly breathless. All of which gave her a sense of power that went to her head like fizzy wine.

She didn't even blink when he kissed Lady Winifred's hand, and complimented Mrs. Gower on her reticule. He was hers. He turned back, for just a moment, before he took his cloak from Harries, and she saw it in his eyes.

Thus Helene greeted her guests with the smile of an utterly confident woman. "How lovely to see you, Lady Hamilton!" she said. "Your ball last night was a remarkable success."

"Due to you," Lady Hamilton replied cheerfully. "There's nothing like a sensation to give one's ball polish. I came to thank you, my dear..."

And so it went. The whole morning was a series of delightful conversations. Even Mrs. Austerleigh's waspish comment that the Earl of Mayne was nothing more than a rakehell didn't disturb Helene. She knew as well as anyone that Mrs. Austerleigh was lucky to have gained the earl's attentions for one evening. She should have been happy with that, instead of lamenting his supposedly wandering eye.

"I find him a pleasant companion," Helene assured her. "Nothing more."

"But your husband!" Mrs. Austerleigh tittered. "Do you find him a pleasant companion as well? You could have knocked me to the ground with a feather when I saw Lord Godwin stride into the ballroom last night. I had to ask dear Patricia whether she actually invited him. An odd decision on her part, to be sure."

"Rees and I are comfortable together," Helene said cautiously.

"You must be!" Mrs. Austerleigh laughed shrilly. But her laugh broke off in midair as Rees himself strode into the room.

He ignored all her guests and walked straight over to her, with his usual lack of common courtesy. To Helene's mind, his behavior presented an eye-opening contrast to that of the Earl of Mayne.

"Rees," she said, holding out her hand for a kiss. It was a bit odd knowing that his legs were as muscled under those breeches as she had discovered last night. The very thought made her want to giggle.

"Helene," he said, "I must-"

But then he seemed to realize that fifteen pairs of eyes were watching him with keen curiosity. "Perhaps we could speak in private for a moment?"

"Alas, this is not a convenient moment," she said, her smile not slipping an inch. "If you send me a note, we could fix on a mutually agreeable time... next week, perhaps?" He frowned, probably thinking that she was acting like a recalcitrant servant.

Actually, Rees was making a rather unpleasant discovery that had little to do with servitude. He had forgotten, again, that this Helene wasn't the girl he married. He seemed to have to make that discovery over and over: he had married a hysterical, high-strung young girl, easily driven to tears by a few strong words. But in the last few years, she had utterly changed.

"I would prefer to speak to you now," he said. He turned and gave a hard-eyed stare to the madams twittering with each other, their teacups halfway up to their mouths, fairly trembling with curiosity. Finally Lady Hamilton put down her cup, hopped to her feet, and made a quick apology to Helene. The others followed suit like a flock of chickens running from a rainstorm.

"There," he said with satisfaction, when the room was empty. He strode over and sat down on a comfortable looking couch. There was a cup of tea in front of him likely not even tasted, so he drank it.

"You are revolting," Helene said, sitting opposite him. "I'll pour you your own cup of tea if you'd like some."

"I loathe tea," he said. But he was interested to hear from her voice that she wasn't really that angry with him. Perhaps tupping on a couch was the key to wifely good temper. He wouldn't mind a few more sessions, if they resulted in a peaceful household. She was wearing another one of those gowns like the one she wore last night. He could see the long line of her thigh. Suddenly his breeches felt a bit tight.

"Why are you here, Rees?" Helene asked him.

"I've come to bring you back to the house," he said bluntly. There were two cucumber sandwiches left, so he ate them. He'd been up since five in the morning, working on those damn orchestrations, and he was famished, even given the coddled eggs he ate for breakfast.

There was silence, so finally he looked up. Helene was looking rather amused.

"Don't tell me you actually think I'm taking you seriously?" she asked.

"You're my wife. I want you back. Tell your maids that I'll send over a couple of footmen to carry your boxes."

"You must be cracked!"

"No. Unless I'm much mistaken, we have decided to have an heir, and we may already have begun the process. Under those circumstances, obviously you have to move back into the house."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't move into that house for a million pounds. And you cannot have really expected that I would do so!"

"I know you, Helene. You'll want what's best for the child. And living in his family home with a father on the premises is by far the best." Darby had been absolutely right. He could see in her eyes that fatherhood was a potent argument.

"I see no reason why we should live under the same roof," she said.

"Because the child will be my son or daughter."

"Mine as well!" Helene snapped.

"Of course. I may be a rakehell," he said, unconsciously echoing Mrs.

Austerleigh's condemnation of his rival, the Earl of Mayne, "but I'm growing old. I seem to be gaining some measure of responsibility towards my name."

"That's the first I've heard of it!" Helene scoffed. Then she asked the question Rees was rather dreading: "Is one to suppose, then, that you are planning to reorder your household to accommodate my presence? Won't that be a sacrifice?"

The delicate irony in her voice made his stomach churn. He picked up a half-eaten cucumber sandwich.

"Don't eat that!" Helene screeched. "It belonged to Lady Sladdington, and she has very bad teeth."

Rees shrugged. "Do you think they're catching?" But he put the sandwich down. "At any rate, no, I haven't."

"You haven't what?"

"Told Lina to leave the house." This was harder than he thought, now he was looking right at Helene. "I told Leke to clean out the bedchamber-the large bedchamber-next to the nursery for you."

"You must be joking," she said, staring at him with what appeared to be fascination.

"I'm not." This was the tricky part. "You want a child, Helene, am I right?"

She laughed. "Not under those circumstances."

"I want an heir as well. I hadn't really thought about it until you brought up the question, but now I realize that I do. Tom shows no sign of marriage; he's about as wet as a waterlily, and he's never shown any interest in women that I know of. If neither of us has issue, the title and the estate would revert to the crown, you know. My father was an only child and as far as I know, there aren't any far-flung cousins waiting for my obituary in the Times."

"Why would you care?" she asked. "You've never shown any interest in the honor of your name. The very suggestion is laughable."

"Well, now I do," Rees said, picking up the sandwich and eating it. Who cared if all his teeth fell out? Not his wife.

"This is all very well," Helene said impatiently, "but I fail to see that it has any relevance to the presence of a strumpet in my bedchamber, not to mention your absurd suggestion that I take over the nursemaid's quarters."

"You want a baby," he said shrewdly, meeting her eyes. "Don't you, Helene? All these-" he waved his hand at her "-these changes in your hair and dress, they're because you want a baby."

"Yes, although," she said with a little smirk, "they have compensations of their own."

"Mayne, I would gather."

"Precisely," Helene replied, noticing with appreciation that the idea seemed to irritate him. Esme had said that Rees was jealous and while Helene thought it was unlikely, the idea of causing her husband any sort of annoyance was too pleasurable to ignore. "Mayne was here this morning, and his attentions are most marked."

"If you have a child with Mayne," Rees said deliberately, "I'll make its life a misery. I will divorce you, of course. Did you know that I keep your dowry in the event that we divorce on grounds of adultery? How will you raise the child, Helene?"

Her heart was sinking, but she kept her chin high. "My mother and I shall live together, just as we do now."

"Now you have an extremely generous allowance from me," he snapped. "As a divorced woman, you will have to live in the country, of course, but I believe your mother's dower estate includes only this house in town. So you'll rent some small house somewhere. Your child will go to the parish school, if there is one, and if they allow bastards to attend these days. I'm not sure about that. I am certain that he will be ostracized though. And what if you have a daughter, Helene? Who will she marry? What will her life be like?"

She stared at him, lips pressed together.

"She'll live a life like yours, I suppose," he continued ruthlessly. "She'll grow old living with her mother-you. Except there won't be very much money, especially after your mother dies and the dower estate reverts to your father's cousin." He didn't feel good about what he was doing. She still hadn't said a word, but he remembered something else that had to be said.

"And don't think that Mayne will obtain an Act of Parliament to marry you," he added. "Even if he stayed with you through the divorce proceedings. The man may be rich, but he's slept with most of the wives of the men sitting in the House of Lords. They're just waiting for some miserable cuckold to up and shoot the man, and believe me, they'll pardon the offence as justifiable."

"Why?" she asked between white lips. "Why would you do such a cruel thing, Rees?"

"Because I want you in the house," he said coolly. "You're my wife."

"I'm not your property!"

"You're my wife," he repeated. "It's that simple. You merely need to decide how much you want that child. We made a dog's breakfast of our marriage, but we can surely pull ourselves together long enough to get this taken care of."

"You just want me to be wretched," she said flatly. "You must be out of your mind to even come up with this plan. Never mind my feelings about the matter: my reputation would be ruined!"

A great surge of resentment rose in his chest at the very mention of reputation. "Of course, your name is all important to you. It remains to be seen whether it's more important than having a child. And may I point out, Helene, that your reputation will also be ruined if you have a bastard with Mayne? All the ton will watch the two of you like hawks on a pair of frolicking mice."

She seemed to be huddling in her chair, and Rees had a terrible feeling, as if he'd wounded a bird in flight. He stood up to go, but he couldn't quite make himself leave. She looked like a wounded sparrow, all shorn of its feathers now that she'd cut her hair.

"This bombast on your part doesn't explain why you want me in the house alongside that woman," she said, looking up at him. "If indeed you want an heir, get rid of her."

"No." Rees knew he was being stubborn, but he didn't care.

"Then you wish it merely to force me to live in a house of sin due to some perversion in your character. You're a devil, Rees."

"It's no house of sin," he said brusquely. But he could feel a wave of guilt coming. "Tom arrived yesterday. We have our own resident vicar."

"Your brother Tom? What does he think of your domestic arrangements? And did you even dare to tell him of this scheme?"

Rees's lips twisted. "He's worked up some sort of idea that blames my father for all my excesses. He didn't seem to mind Lina too much, but he said you wouldn't come to the house."

"He's right!"

"And I told him," he continued, staring down at her with that fierce look he had, that seemed to look into her very soul, "that he had no idea how desperately you want that baby. Or am I underestimating you, Helene?"

"You're mad," she said, standing up. "You were always odd, and now you've gone stark, raving mad. I'm actually glad that we didn't manage to create a child yesterday, because I wouldn't want to pass on any sort of dementia."

"We didn't?" he asked, staring at her. "You already know?"

"Yes," Helene said, glaring back. She had gone from shock, to rage, to despair, and she was back to rage again. But threads of rational thought were stealing back into her mind. He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing. It wasn't truly in Rees's nature to act in such a cruel-nay, almost wicked-fashion.

He took her arm, stopping her from leaving the room. "How much do you want a child, Helene?"

"Enough so that I accepted the fact that it may look like you," she said coolly. "And enough to know that you're not the only man capable of making one."