Winning Lord West by Anna Campbell

here where they’d roamed as children, without his shell of
worldly sophistication, he seemed much more real. And much more
perilous to her vow never to fall victim to another libertine.
    Except right now, he didn’t look like a
libertine. He looked like a man who could be well satisfied with
the right woman. Even his clothes seemed honest. Shirtsleeves, fawn
breeches, and scuffed boots that had seen better days.
    Fearing that the battle to keep her distance
was all but lost, she sighed. She sat beside him, taking his hand.
“West, let’s enjoy our day. After tomorrow, we’ll have to be more
careful. Amy’s back, and when it comes to secrets, she’s got a nose
like a foxhound.”
    “You know, we don’t need to hide our
attachment at Woodley Park. It’s not as if the others are sleeping
in chaste isolation.” He turned his hand to lace his fingers
through hers.
    Fear rippled through her anew. She could
countenance incendiary passion. After all, that was why she’d
entered into this affair. But these affectionate gestures reached
deep into her soul—and her soul wasn’t up for negotiation.
    “Yes, we do,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
“If the others think you and I are interested in each other,
they’ll nag us into the ground until we marry.”
    “They already know I’m interested in
you.”
    “They don’t know I’m interested back,” she
retorted, wondering if she betrayed too much. Although he must know
she was helpless against his lures. “And if there’s even a hint of
a scandal, the wedding guests will carry it back to London.”
    “I don’t mind.”
    “I do.” And wondered why her words rang
hollow.
    He rose and extended his hand. “If you’re
going to argue with me, come inside. I’m not dressed for
outdoors.”
    She accepted his hand, and the tacit request
for a change of subject. “Surely you can’t be cold. Not after
Russia. I remember in one of your letters, you said that the air
was so freezing, it hurt to breathe.”
    He gave a grunt of pleased surprise. “So you
did read my letters?”
    She shot him a teasing look. “One or
two.”
    “More than that, I suspect.”
    She laughed. “All right. I’ll admit it.”
    “So they didn’t end up fueling the drawing
room fire?”
    “No, of course not. They’re marvelous
letters. I’ve read and re-read them. There’s one about racing
troikas at dawn across the frozen steppes that I know by heart. I
could almost hear the snow crunching under the runners, and the
bells tinkling on the horses’ harness. For a careless libertine,
you have quite a way with words.”
    It had been a game, pretending to despise
that copious, fascinating correspondence. But in the last two days,
the game between them had changed forever, and she could never
claim indifference again. Not that her indifference had ever
convinced him. “There. Look as smug as you like.”
    He did look smug. “I always knew you read
them. After all, you occasionally replied.”
    “I couldn’t let you get away with talking
about breeding rights, could I?”
    “For Artemis.”
    She shot him a skeptical look. “If you say
so.”
    He put on a theatrically innocent look. “I
was lonely in Russia. You can’t blame me for pondering…natural
matters.”
    A huff of ironic laughter. “I’ve reached the
conclusion that you think about natural matters most of the
time.”
    He caught her close for a quick kiss, an
explicit promise of more to come. “A man needs a hobby.”
    Helena caught his hand, and they ascended the
stairs together. “Do you remember we used to come here that summer
before you went to Oxford?”
    “I do. Those are among my most precious
memories.”
    She frowned as they stepped through the tall
door. “I’m sure that’s not true. We were very innocent.”
    “That was part of the charm.” He smiled with
that singular sweetness that she found increasingly difficult to
withstand. A sweetness he seemed to direct at her alone.
    She tore her gaze from