Huxley quietly removed himself from the entry hall as she walked toward Maxwell.
He watched her intently the whole way. His gaze sweeping over her features and lingering on her mouth before coming back up to her eyes. “It was right to tell them,” he said when she came to a stop before him. “Thank you for suggesting it.”
“I’m glad we were able to convince them without having to tell the whole thing. If August ever suspected . . .” She drifted off, unable to finish that.
He gave her a nod of understanding. “You really do care for them, don’t you?”
“Yes, they’re almost like my own sisters.” Only that was too close to the trick they were playing, and it reminded her of how she had behaved last night. Her entire body felt as if it were flushing in humiliation, though her face burned the brightest. “I want to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have . . .” But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word. To acknowledge the kiss out loud seemed to be a sort of sacrilege.
“Don’t, Helena. You have nothing to apologize for.” And just that quickly his eyes seemed to darken as they settled on her mouth briefly. “I liked it.” There was no hint of a smile on his lips or in his gaze as it met hers. The fire that always burned beneath the surface of their exchanges began to crackle, making itself known. It felt as if an electric current had come to life, buzzing between and around them.
“You liked it, too.” There was that hint of a smile around his lips.
She opened her mouth to refute the statement even though it was true. Her first instinct always seemed to be to counter him, but what if she didn’t? What if she acknowledged the heat between them? Then he might kiss her.
She shouldn’t kiss him again. It would be foolish in the extreme, but already she wanted to feel his mouth on hers, and this time she wanted to touch her tongue to his, to taste him, to know what it was like to have some small part of him inside her.
Huxley cleared his throat from where he stood near the base of the stairs, and she realized she had been leaning toward Maxwell. The butler had returned with Maxwell’s coat and held it ready for him to slip it on. Maxwell didn’t seem very affected by her lapse in decorum. He moved around her and allowed Huxley to help him into the coat. How had she been thinking of kisses while Huxley was so near?
“Will you be available for the theater tomorrow evening?” His voice was bland and formal.
She had to fight to find her voice. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
He gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Good afternoon, Helena.” And with that, he left, but not before she caught the wicked gleam in his eyes as he turned away.
This was all part of the plan, she told herself. There was no reason to look forward to seeing him tomorrow or to even be particularly concerned about what she would wear. But she was too busy cataloging her wardrobe in her mind to listen to good sense.
Chapter 10
There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.
Oscar Wilde
Max had seen Helena twice over the course of the next week. They were never completely alone on those outings. August and Evan had accompanied them to a dinner, while Violet and Christian had attended the ballet with them. They had been seen together enough times to start people talking about them.
Even he had seen a few of the mentions in the papers. Mother had helped this along in her unadulterated joy at their supposed mutual interest. Just this morning she had spent a considerable amount of time at breakfast delighting over how often their names were mentioned together in various gossip sheets. One brave speculator had even wondered if there might be a wedding announcement in time for Christmas—a conjecture that was so on the mark Max wondered if they had overplayed their hand. Perhaps they should take a break for a week to whet the appetites of the gossipmongers.
Yet tonight, sitting next to Helena in the music room of his parents’ rented townhome, he realized that he only had a few weeks to spend in London, and he didn’t want to waste one away from her. He enjoyed the way she would verbally spar with him. It wasn’t excessive, but enough to give him a glimpse at the passion lurking beneath her placid surface. Enough to make him fixate on their kiss at the ball. Though it had barely been a kiss, it had been enough to make him want it again, to want a deeper taste of her. As the music swirled in the air around them, he couldn’t pay attention to it because he was filled with her.
The scent of lilies wafted over to him when she politely clapped at the end of each song. A wisp of hair had come loose from her otherwise impeccable chignon. The golden curl touched the soft skin where her neck met her shoulder. He could imagine how silky it would feel if he took it between his thumb and forefinger. Would she like it if he gave it a tug? Was she the type to enjoy a bit of rough play, or would she prefer touches that were soft and sensual?
Helena glanced over at him, catching him watching her. Her brow rose and the corner of her mouth tilted upward, as if she knew his thoughts. Rough, he realized. The passion he suspected lurked within her would crave a little wildness mixed in with the tenderness. He shifted with the tightening deep in his groin. Her smile tried to widen, but she bit the inside of her lip to stifle it. He nearly groaned as an ember smoldered inside him, brought to life by her attention.
The soprano hit a high note, drawing his attention to the front of the room where she stood next to the piano and accompanist. Mother had planned this evening of musical entertainment as a way to slowly ease Papa back into their social life now that his doctors had consented to allow him to leave his bed for a couple hours per day. Close friends of the family, including Helena’s parents, had been invited for the performance with a light supper to follow. The aria was beautiful, but Max could hardly concentrate enough to listen.
He kept going back to that afternoon in her home. He was certain that Helena would have kissed him again right there in the middle of her house if Huxley hadn’t interrupted them. The memory of the way she had looked at him had stayed with him all week, coming back to him during the odd moments he had alone with his thoughts. It was always accompanied by his resolve to kiss her properly before he left for New York. He’d promised her that he wouldn’t do anything untoward in this counterfeit courtship, but he’d already plotted a hundred different ways to get her alone. And each one ended with them doing a hell of a lot more than kissing.
He glanced over at her again, only to meet eyes with his mother. She sat on Helena’s other side, leaning back slightly to watch him with speculation running rampant across her face. He gave her a harsh glare, subtly indicating that she should mind her own business. Her bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout, but she did as he bid her and faced forward. Lord Farthington sat in stony profile farther down the row, the fact that he hadn’t looked over nearly as obvious as his mother’s attention. The man had to have heard about their outings this week. Max wondered if he would let his feelings about them be known tonight. Max had already concluded that he’d find another way if their courtship would make things more difficult for her charity.