Wanton Widows: Three Short Regency Romps Read Online Free PDF Page B

appeared
promptly at her side. “My dance, I believe, Lady Helena?”
    She set her hand on his strong forearm and
proceeded to the dance floor.
    “Tomorrow, I think we should go to the opera,”
he said.
    “My thoughts entirely. I have a box
organised.”
    “Do you indeed?” He spun her around the floor
in his warm embrace, making her feel she was the centre of his universe.
    At supper he fetched a plate of dainty
pastries and a glass of ratafia for her. She remembered Mr Basingthwaite, who
had imbibed too much wine and spilt the glass he fetched her all over her gown.
That put him on the “The List” also. Sir Hercules appeared as sober as a
clergyman, although she knew he had drunk wine with his dinner.
    He accompanied her home and kissed her
chastely on the forehead before walking off down the street. Would he ever try
to take any liberties with her? She was torn between wanting that to happen
and knowing it would mean his disqualification as a suitor.
     
    At the opera the next evening he sat attentive
throughout the long strident performance. Such a contrast to Baron Farthington,
who had fallen asleep before the end of the first act and had snored so loudly
that the theatre manager had arrived to ask them to leave! Sir Hercules even
conducted a knowledgeable conversion about the opera and its composer, and
related his past visits to the opera houses of Italy.
    At the door to her house he again kissed her
hand and bid her goodnight.
    Helena said, “I ride in Hyde Park each
morning. Would you care to join me tomorrow morning … this morning? Seven
o’clock?
    “I would be delighted.” He smiled and touched
his tall hat in salute before striding down the street.
     
    He arrived promptly on a tall black mount that
looked well-groomed. It must have been borrowed from a friend, because it
certainly wasn’t a hired hack. He rode well and made no complaint about her
cantering ahead of him when they first arrived. An hour later, their faces
flushed from the exertion and their horses exercised, they rode home in time
for Lady Helena’s breakfast.
    “Join me for a meal and the newspapers?” she said.
    He readily agreed and they shared a lively
debate on the effects of regulated corn prices. An hour later, Helena closed The
Times and announced, “Tonight we go to Vauxhall Gardens.”
    “Do we?” A corner of his mouth twitched
upwards.
    “Would you please escort me? I have a desire
to see the fireworks again. It is a very long time since I’ve visited there.”
    “If you so desire, my lady. Have any of your
other suitors taken you to Vauxhall Gardens?”
    “Just one.”
    “His name?” Some emotion … could it be
jealousy? … flickered across his face.
    Jealousy would be re-assuring. She couldn’t
help but smile and answer cheekily. “Confidentiality must be maintained, Sir
Hercules.”
     
    They shared an enjoyable meal in one of the
private boxes then strolled the gardens. Sir Hercules did not take her down the
narrow paths that led to secluded spots where gentlemen were want to take
liberties with their companions. Instead he kept them on the main paths and,
when the fireworks were expected, ensured she had the best position for their
viewing.
    In fact, he was the epitome of a gentleman and
she was beginning to become frustrated with him on that hand, although grateful
that he did repeat the bad behaviour of Major Nash, who had passed all the
previous tests and she had thought would sail through the last, only to have
him steer her into a dimly-lit grove and attempt to seduce her.
    Her footman, whom she had brought for her
protection, had been very much needed. Major Nash had turned rather nasty when
he was sent on his way. It was a salient lesson that her tests for suitors
could be fallible, but reassuring that the final test had fulfilled its
purpose.
    At the conclusion of the evening, in the early
hours of the morning, Sir Hercules helped Helena from the carriage and escorted
her to the front door. She