Winning Lord West by Anna Campbell Page A

his face, if only to
hide how close she came to giving him everything he asked. And
released a gasp of delight. “West, this is magical.”
    The marble summerhouse wasn’t designed for
February days, even fine ones like today. But he’d set braziers
around a circular table covered in cream silk. Savory scents rose
from porcelain dishes, and a bottle of champagne sat in an ice
bucket.
    West helped her remove her vermillion riding
jacket. Another light kiss, before he stepped away to lift the
champagne bottle. “I’m glad you approve.”
    Helena shifted closer to the table, battling
the urge to cry, silly as it was. “You took such pains.”
    His eyes were disconcertingly perceptive. “I
ordered a few servants around. They were glad of the occupation.
With Silas and Caro so wrapped up in each other, they’re at a loose
end.”
    “No, you devoted real thought to this.” Her
voice was husky.
    “Perhaps a moment or two. And don’t worry—I
told the staff I wanted to give you a treat before I took you over
to my stables. I made everything sound aboveboard.”
    Pleasure and surprise vanquished reticence.
“It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
    His smile was tender. “That’s a crime. A
woman like you should have swains scattering roses in front of her
wherever she goes.”
    She gave a cracked laugh. “That doesn’t sound
very practical.” She took in the massed flowers adorning the table
and set in vases around the room. “Anyway, I prefer lilies.”
    The champagne cork popped, and he filled two
crystal glasses. “You always did.”
    He’d remembered her favorite flower? She’d
thought this morning’s lily was just a happy accident. God in
heaven, she was in dire trouble. If he hadn’t gone to such
effort—and if she wasn’t completely under his spell—she’d take to
her heels.
    She swallowed and tried to sound relaxed and
amused. But the hand she curled around her glass trembled. “I hope
you left a few flowers. There’s a wedding next week.”
    West raised his glass to her, and while his
tone was cheerful, something momentous swam in his eyes. “One or
two. Caro won’t lack for a bouquet.”
    “No lilies, though.” The champagne was cold
and crisp on her tongue, and did nothing to combat her
giddiness.
    He pulled out a chair for her. “There’s
plenty of other flowers.”
    Helena sat, unfolded her damask napkin, and
placed it across her lap. “One of the benefits of marrying a
botanist is that Caro will never lack for floral tributes.”
    West dropped a kiss on her shoulder, making
her shiver with anticipation. So far, his caresses had remained
circumspect, but the promise of pleasure hummed around them. This
meeting in the temple would have a very different end from those
clandestine encounters when she was sixteen.
    “Nor should you.” He sat and caught the hand
she’d laid on the table, bringing it to his lips. “Be happy, sweet
Helena. Everything will work out one way or another.”

Chapter Ten
     
    West leaned back from the table and raised a
glass of excellent claret to his lips as he studied Helena. Right
now, she didn’t look like the self-contained countess with the
formidable brain, who had alternately awed and fascinated London
society. Nor did she, thank God, look like the unhappy Lady Crewe
who had held her head high through the shambles her repugnant
husband had made of her life.
    She didn’t even look like the adorably unsure
beauty who had succumbed to his seduction.
    Was that only two nights ago? He’d lived a
lifetime since.
    He smiled at her in delight. “My dear Lady
Crewe, you’re foxed.”
    Helena smiled back with bleary affability. “I
fear, my lord, you are right.”
    With impressive steadiness, she raised her
claret and took a sip. Between them, the ruins of their meal spread
across the table. Silas’s kitchens had done them proud, with
oysters, chicken à la perse, salads—courtesy again of the
greenhouses—exotic fruits, fresh and