She growled just a little but turned the knife in her hand again and sawed off a piece of goose.
Another glass of mulled wine and another slice of the goose breast later, Helen toyed with the stem of her goblet.
“Jack,” she said. She was not looking at him but at some place in the middle of the table between them, her eyes a little hazed.
“Jack Pike,” she said again.
“Helen Boyd.”
“Ye never answered me yesterday.”
“About what?”
“Is John MacNaughton married? Will he bring a duchess with him to Dunmore?”
Jack wiped his mouth and threw his napkin down. “He is not married.”
“Oh.” She was looking at him now. Her jaw jutted just a bit. “He is nae married?”
“No.” Jack didn’t bother to hide his irritation, but Helen didn’t seem to notice.
“Is he engaged to be married?”
“No.”
“Does he . . . will he . . . do ye know if . . .”
“What?”
“Is he very particular, do ye think?”
“Particular?”
“About his women.”
“John MacNaughton rarely meets a woman he doesn’t like.”
She looked down. “Oh. He is a scoundrel, like ye.”
“In London, they call us rakes.”
“Rakes?”
“Short for rakehells. As we will wind up in hell and be raking the coals there.”
The mulled wine must have had a very great effect on her because she giggled. Helen Boyd giggled.
Jack hated giggling. Such a vapid sound, indicating a tedious woman. A woman who offered no excitement in her love-making, a woman unable or unwilling to release despite the most valiant efforts of his tongue, his hand, his cock. A woman he would shed as soon as possible.
But a giggle coming from Helen was like a little spring bubbling up. A small gladsome noise. A harbinger of a bigger laugh to come.
“Aye, I can imagine ye in hell already with yer rake, Jack.”
When she said that and giggled, he laughed, too, despite himself and his growing disappointment in her. He didn’t like her questions about the duke, the duke’s unmarried state, the duke’s taste in women.
She hiccoughed and her face became serious. “But surely, when he is duke, yer master would settle down to one woman. A wife. He needs an heir.”
Now Jack was more than disappointed. He was angry. He had thought Helen Boyd was something unusual. Something different. But just like every other woman, she was only interested in what she could get. And in this case, it was a duke. Yes, maybe he could excuse it partially because of her poverty. She likely hungered for security, a tight roof, something to eat besides groats.
