Winning Lord West Read Online Free PDF Page A

worse than that, my cranky Lady
Crewe.”
    “Nothing could be worse than that.” She
hardly heard what he said. “Let me take you back to the house. You
should be in bed.”
    “You’re still offering to join me?” But his
question lacked the usual spark.
    “It wouldn’t do me much good, by the look of
you. You don’t need excitement. You need a warm brick wrapped in
flannel and a dose of laudanum.”
    He leaned back and shut his eyes. “Don’t
fuss, Hel.”
    Her gaze narrowed. She might care about his
wellbeing—purely as one human to another—but she hadn’t forgotten
she was annoyed. “As far as I’m concerned, sir, you can curl up in
the straw and shrivel away to nothing. But I doubt if Silas wants
his best friend giving his last gasp a week before his wedding. It
would cast a pall over the celebrations.”
    West’s lips twitched. “So sharp tongued.”
    “Now aren’t you glad that I refused you?”
    “Your nagging doesn’t scare me.”
    “It should. No man wants a harridan for a
mistress.”
    He opened his eyes. The green was glassy, and
his shivering was worse. Dear heaven, this malady was nasty. “I
don’t want a harridan for a mistress.”
    She frowned. He must be delirious. “So what’s
all that nonsense about missing me?”
    He sighed. “Oh, all that is as true as I
live.”
    “Stop teasing, West. It’s not funny.”
    “I’m deadly serious. More serious than I’ve
ever been.” His voice was deep and slow, and terrifyingly sincere.
“Our timing has always been out of joint, Hel. We were too young
when we played at sweethearts. By the time I realized that I was a
blockhead to let you go, you’d married Crewe. I waited through your
year of mourning to make my move, then damned Liverpool sent me two
thousand miles away. But now I’m brooking no more delay. You’re
here, and I’m here, and no man will say me nay.”
    She scowled to hide her alarm. For someone on
the verge of collapse, he sounded remarkably self-assured. “No man,
perhaps. But this woman will never be your mistress.”
    “I told you I don’t want you to be my
mistress.” That burning gaze didn’t waver. “I want you to be my
wife.”
    Before she could respond to that astounding
statement, his eyes fluttered shut, and he slid to the ground as if
he didn’t have a bone in his body.

Chapter Two
     
    West cursed this damned inconvenient fever as
he sat beside the fire in Silas’s unpretentious drawing room. It
was two days since he’d crumpled into a humiliating heap after
announcing his intentions to the woman he’d decided to marry. This
was his first full evening downstairs.
    For nearly a day after blacking out, he
hadn’t returned to full awareness. When he did, he’d found himself
lying in the bedroom he always used at Woodley Park, going back to
his earliest boyhood. He’d grown up with the Nash children, and now
he hoped to bring that relationship closer, one of family instead
of friendship.
    At least his dead faint had saved him from
hearing Hel’s answer. He wasn’t optimistic enough to imagine she
appreciated his offer. Had ever man set himself to win such a
reluctant bride?
    The sight of his lady where she sat across
the room talking to Fenella Deerham would deter a weaker man. He
must have Helena to thank for getting him off the stable floor, but
she hadn’t come near him since. Caroline and Fenella had called to
see him. Even Fenella’s hulking lover Anthony Townsend—what a
dashed disparate couple that was—had stumped his way up to West’s
bedroom to wish him a brusque northern-accented recovery.
    But Helena’s absence had been eloquent. As
was the way she kept well out of his way tonight, and avoided
addressing him directly.
    She did her best to make her rejection clear.
Unfortunately for her, he knew her well enough to read beneath the
discouraging manner.
    Nobody who saw the striking black-haired
woman in an emerald gown that set off her olive skin and flashing
dark eyes to