Which she promptly ignored, opting instead to leverage herself into a sitting position on her own, and then to rise to her feet. Her silken skirts were wrinkled from their tussle on the floor. His self-loathing was on the rise once more, rather in the fashion of the tides. Threatening to consume him.
She shook out her skirts. “I do not require your form of aid, Huntingdon. If you carry on in this fashion, you will be the one to ruin me. And what will your precious Lady Beatrice think of that?”
What indeed?
Up until their interview earlier that day, he would have sworn she would have been outraged. Now, he was no longer so sure. What he did know, however, was that his actions had been inexcusable. And wrong.
Before he could muster a response, Helena swept past him, leaving him alone in the lady’s withdrawing room, wallowing in equal parts shame and lust. What the hell had he done?
More importantly, how was he going to make amends this time?
Chapter Seven
There are those who would argue that women should be denied Parliamentary franchise because involving us in politics will prove damaging to our constitutions and characters. One cannot help but to wonder what people of such an opinion think of the characters and constitutions of men…
—FromLady’s Suffrage Society Times
“You look utterlymiserable, darling.”
The words took Helena by surprise, and for a moment, she feared they had been directed at her. But much to her relief, Callie, Lady Sinclair, had issued her pronouncement to Lady Jo Decker instead.
The women were both newly married, and they were leading members of the Lady’s Suffrage Society. She had become fast friends with them through their shared work, and Helena was keen to introduce Julianna to them now that she had returned to London. But first things first—they had gathered over tea.
And Helena was relieved for the much-needed distraction her friends brought her. Because those stolen moments in the lady’s withdrawing room with Huntingdon had been…
Thrilling.
Wonderful.
Terrible.
Yes, all those words would be quite apt descriptors. Her unexpected kisses with him had left her once more in a hopeless state of inner turmoil. She wanted him, but he was betrothed to another. He seemed to want her, and yet he hated himself for doing so. Either way, she was not any closer to ridding herself of her impending marriage to Lord Hamish. As it was, she had all but fled the dinner at Lord and Lady Hartstock’s, and she had not seen him since.
She forced herself to study Lady Jo now, who did seem rather Friday-faced for a new bride.
“You do look as if you just watched a carriage run over a puppy,” Helena added.
Jo frowned at both Callie and Helena. “Et tu, Brute? The two of you are supposed to be my friends.”
“It is because we are your friends that we are telling you that you look as if you are about to attend a funeral,” Callie said.
“Or as if someone has just drowned your favorite kitten,” Helena chimed in, fearing she looked little better herself.
Her future loomed before her, a forbidding pastoral of misery.
“What a grim lot you are,” Jo grumbled. “Cease with your bleak similes, if you please.”
“You ought to be on your honeymoon,” Callie observed. “And yet, you are here in London. Is that the reason?”
“Of course that is not the reason,” Jo said.
“Then what is the reason?” Callie frowned. “Is anyone else famished? I am going to ring for a tray of cakes and biscuits. Is it wrong to suddenly be beset by the urge to eat quail eggs at this time of day? Do not answer that. Tell us what has you so distressed, dearest.”
Callie was expecting her first child, though one could not tell to look at her. She was a petite, dark-haired beauty with a slender frame and an inimitable sense of fashion.
“I could eat quail eggs at any time of day,” Helena offered as Callie went to the bell pull, not as much because it was true as because she had no wish for her friend to feel uncomfortable.
“I am in love with my husband,” Jo blurted, surprising Helena, for Jo’s marriage had been rushed and, as she claimed, not a love match. It had instead been another case of an overbearing lord browbeating a lady into doing her familial duty. If only someone would browbeat Helena into doing her familial duty with Huntingdon. She would more than happily accept.
