appeared to have taken advantage of a fleeting moment of privacy with an untried girl whose heart was vulnerable to his entreaties.
"Two weeks and you will both have what you want, then," Ros said, rising easily to her feet. He watched, trying to see her without the familiarity of the last two years. To his mind she looked the part of a man, even upon close scrutiny. Not just the sideburns, but the walk, the way she looked as if she commanded the room.
Not at all like Helena in the same getup. Watching Helena, he had had the urge to divest her of the foolish men's clothing she wore and demonstrate how a man made proper love to a woman. Only the sense that he must be cautious with her after her experience had made him return to the sofa, careful to keep his expression neutral despite his natural anger. "Who was her lover?"
Ros shook her head at him as she slipped out the door. "That is a question you must ask Helena."
"She won't tell me," he said to the empty room.
Lover. He snorted. She had not had a lover; she had been the victim of a libertine of the worst order. Her lover no doubt had considered himself a stallion mounting a mare. He wondered if there were tales being told about her somewhere. He had heard none as of yet. And once she was his wife ...
He sat up with an uneasy exclamation that brought Griggson in with a concerned, "Yes, my lord?"
"Nothing," he said, dismissing the man. Nothing except that he had already started thinking about Helena as someone to protect and defend. A wife. He needed one, there was no doubt. He would simply have to avoid becoming too involved in her life.
Helena had watched Ros take care of herself all her life. She would just have to learn how to follow her sister's example. How difficult could it be? He was giving her what most married women wanted, after all. She had agreed to his bargain. Now he just had to make certain he kept to it as well.
* * * * *
The dressing room was filled with steam and excited voices. Helena lay immersed in hot scented bathwater and watched her sisters maneuver about in the small room, each one eager to offer a piece of advice — even Kate who knew little of men or marriage.
Miranda, the eldest of them all, a regal duchess who looked nothing like one, with her hair flying wildly about her head and her silk dressing gown buttoned crookedly, sat on the edge of the tub. "Rosaline, you always professed that you would stay unmarried. And now here you are, the morning of your wedding day."
Helena responded as she knew Ros would have.
"The earl will let me have my head. How many men will I find who'll do that? I had to snap him up quickly."
"You do not love him?"
"I respect him." Helena knew that Ros would have jeered at love, but she could not bring herself to do so, even playacting as Ros.
"That is enough, I suppose. You have always been clearheaded enough — and of all people, you are the one marrying properly — courtship, engagement, a proper three-month lapse before the ceremony. After all our scandals, Simon has said he hoped the tide has turned and we'll have no more hasty, havey-cavey marriages in the family."
Miranda looked so sincere. What would she say when she found out what had been done? What would the duke say when he found out he had another havey-cavey marriage to deal with? The deception of what they were doing was all too clear, even in the misty air of the bathroom. For a moment Helena felt as if she might cry.
Fortunately, Ros stepped in to say briskly, "I need a moment alone with my twin, please."
Everyone left to attend to dressing themselves, and they were alone together. The last time. Helena sank into the water until it touched her chin. "I can't believe no one noticed that we switched places."
Ros glared down at her. "They won't as long as you don't do something silly, like weep."
Helena had changed her mind about the switch several times over the last two weeks. Each time, Ros had reminded her that with each day her
"Two weeks and you will both have what you want, then," Ros said, rising easily to her feet. He watched, trying to see her without the familiarity of the last two years. To his mind she looked the part of a man, even upon close scrutiny. Not just the sideburns, but the walk, the way she looked as if she commanded the room.
Not at all like Helena in the same getup. Watching Helena, he had had the urge to divest her of the foolish men's clothing she wore and demonstrate how a man made proper love to a woman. Only the sense that he must be cautious with her after her experience had made him return to the sofa, careful to keep his expression neutral despite his natural anger. "Who was her lover?"
Ros shook her head at him as she slipped out the door. "That is a question you must ask Helena."
"She won't tell me," he said to the empty room.
Lover. He snorted. She had not had a lover; she had been the victim of a libertine of the worst order. Her lover no doubt had considered himself a stallion mounting a mare. He wondered if there were tales being told about her somewhere. He had heard none as of yet. And once she was his wife ...
He sat up with an uneasy exclamation that brought Griggson in with a concerned, "Yes, my lord?"
"Nothing," he said, dismissing the man. Nothing except that he had already started thinking about Helena as someone to protect and defend. A wife. He needed one, there was no doubt. He would simply have to avoid becoming too involved in her life.
Helena had watched Ros take care of herself all her life. She would just have to learn how to follow her sister's example. How difficult could it be? He was giving her what most married women wanted, after all. She had agreed to his bargain. Now he just had to make certain he kept to it as well.
* * * * *
The dressing room was filled with steam and excited voices. Helena lay immersed in hot scented bathwater and watched her sisters maneuver about in the small room, each one eager to offer a piece of advice — even Kate who knew little of men or marriage.
Miranda, the eldest of them all, a regal duchess who looked nothing like one, with her hair flying wildly about her head and her silk dressing gown buttoned crookedly, sat on the edge of the tub. "Rosaline, you always professed that you would stay unmarried. And now here you are, the morning of your wedding day."
Helena responded as she knew Ros would have.
"The earl will let me have my head. How many men will I find who'll do that? I had to snap him up quickly."
"You do not love him?"
"I respect him." Helena knew that Ros would have jeered at love, but she could not bring herself to do so, even playacting as Ros.
"That is enough, I suppose. You have always been clearheaded enough — and of all people, you are the one marrying properly — courtship, engagement, a proper three-month lapse before the ceremony. After all our scandals, Simon has said he hoped the tide has turned and we'll have no more hasty, havey-cavey marriages in the family."
Miranda looked so sincere. What would she say when she found out what had been done? What would the duke say when he found out he had another havey-cavey marriage to deal with? The deception of what they were doing was all too clear, even in the misty air of the bathroom. For a moment Helena felt as if she might cry.
Fortunately, Ros stepped in to say briskly, "I need a moment alone with my twin, please."
Everyone left to attend to dressing themselves, and they were alone together. The last time. Helena sank into the water until it touched her chin. "I can't believe no one noticed that we switched places."
Ros glared down at her. "They won't as long as you don't do something silly, like weep."
Helena had changed her mind about the switch several times over the last two weeks. Each time, Ros had reminded her that with each day her
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