Likely what he thought of himself. That he was an abysmal rogue.
Still, whilst he knew he needed to put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible, he felt the need to explain himself. Not that he could.
“I will go, then. But first, I must apologize for acting in such a dishonorable fashion.” He paused, attempting to gather a proper excuse when there was none to be had, save that she hopelessly enthralled him although she was the last woman who should. “I cannot think what came over me. You are like a sister to me, and I was so overcome by my need to comfort you that I acted irrationally. I should never have been so familiar, and I can promise you, such a loathsome, unworthy action will not occur ever again betwixt the two of us.”
He heard himself and inwardly winced at how bloodless he sounded. How cruel and cutting. It was a brutal lie to suggest he had kissed her for any reason other than that he had wanted to feel her lips beneath his more than he had wanted his next breath. But he could never admit as much to her.
Hell, he could not admit it to himself.
The truth was terrifying, and better left buried. But as he railed against himself for what he had done, for giving in to this desperate, terrible weakness he possessed for her, he noticed she had gone pale, all the color leaching from her expressive face.
“You are forgiven, of course, Lord Huntingdon,” she said coolly. “Naturally, I would never expect such a loathsome, unworthy moment to happen again. And mayhap I, too, should ask for your forgiveness. I never meant to force my attentions upon you, and I assure you it is not my intention to entrap you into scandal. Which is why it is imperative that you go before Lady Clementine arrives.”
Damn it, he had mucked that up, had he not? He had somehow managed to act the cad and then insult Helena as well in his attempt to make amends for his lack of control. Gabe would go, because what other choice had he?
He bowed, feeling like the world’s greatest ass. “I shall take my leave.”
With that, he hastened from the library, hating himself more than he ever had before.
Chapter Five
One need only look to the territory of Wyoming, where women have enjoyed the right to vote since 1869, for an example of how women’s suffrage benefits the community.
—From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times
Helena’s closest, dearest, oldest friend, Lady Juliana Somerset, had finally returned from abroad. The much-awaited reunion had thrilled her when she had first received word of Julianna’s arrival in London. She had thrown every other social obligation out the window for the opportunity to see her friend once more.
Now that the day had arrived, she should have been overjoyed. Instead, Helena was fraught with agitation as she awaited Julianna for afternoon tea.
All because Huntingdon had kissed her.
Because his lips had been hot and firm and insistent upon hers.
Because his tongue had been inside her mouth.
The moment in the library had been electric, and she had relived it at least a thousand times—possibly more—in the hours since.
But then, he had promptly taken the best moment of her life and ground it beneath his heel by calling their kisses loathsome and unworthy and by claiming he only viewed her as a sister.
Yet again.
A lady could only sustain so many blows to her hope and pride.
She paced the length of the salon, consulting the ormolu mantelpiece with each pass. Julianna was not due to arrive for another ten minutes. With a sigh, she turned back toward the open door. A shadow in the shape of her brother passed.
“Shelbourne!” she called, eager for distraction. And the opportunity to sway her brother in her favor.
Thus far, he had remained immovable as a stone, insisting she should accept a marriage of convenience and that love matches were the stuff of fiction and fantasy.
The shadow retraced its steps and paused on the threshold.
Her brother’s appearance shocked her. He had the Davenport height and their father’s dark hair, coupled with an aura of perpetual brooding. But this afternoon, he was still dressed in his rumpled evening wear—presumably from the day before, with purple crescents bruising the skin beneath his green eyes. His countenance was pale as well.
She wondered if he had slept.
For the past two years, her brother had become increasingly reckless. She could not understand the change, which had been sudden rather than gradual.
He bowed. “Hellie. You are looking well this morning.”
She dipped into a brief curtsy, mimicking his formality, so at odds with his pet name for her. “It is afternoon, Shelbourne.”
His brow furrowed. “Ahem, yes. So it is. Forgive me for misspeaking. Shall I join you for tea, then?”
“You may,” she said, “if you wish to listen to feminine chatter.”
He grimaced. “One of your Suffrage Society ladies joining you, then? I do believe I shall pass. I support your cause, but I am hardly in the mood for entertaining just now.”
Shelbourne, for all that he was in their father’s uncompromising mold, was also beloved to her. She confided in him. Not everything, of course. Certainly not her inconvenient and unrequited love for his friend the Earl of Huntingdon, for instance. It was one of the reasons his refusal to take her side in the matter of her betrothal to Lord Hamish was such a betrayal.
“Not a member of the Lady’s Suffrage Society yet, as it happens,” she answered him lightly, doing her utmost to cast all thoughts of Huntingdon—and his kisses—from her mind. “However, I do have hopes she will join us in our efforts soon. Rather, it is an old, dear friend of mine, Lady Julianna Somerset. She is newly returned from abroad. You do recall Lady Julianna, do you not?”
If possible, her brother’s skin turned a shade nearer to pale, milky white. His jaw tightened, his entire bearing changing. Stiffening. “I do not think I remember her. I will leave you to your chat. Father has demanded an audience, and I was just on my way to him when you stayed me.”
There was something suspicious about his reaction, about his manner. Helena could not quite determine what. Or why. She did not think Julianna and Shelbourne had ever had cause for much interaction. She and Julianna were quite a few years younger than Shelbourne, and Julianna had gone to America just after her comeout to live with her mother.
Although her friend had written dozens of letters during her absence, she had never explicitly explained—at least, not to Helena’s satisfaction—the reason for her abrupt departure from London. However, for today, Helena would simply focus upon the happy event of her friend’s return.
“Will you not remain for a moment?” she asked her brother, when he seemed almost itchy to flee. “I was hoping we could speak.”
Shelbourne tugged at his necktie as if it had suddenly fashioned itself into a noose. “I dare not keep Father waiting.”
“A minute here or there shan’t make a difference,” Helena tried, although it was hardly the truth when it came to Father.
He despised tardiness. But she needed her brother’s help.
“Hellie, I haven’t the time for this,” he bit out, his voice possessing the lash of a whip.
She was taken aback by his vehemence. “Just a moment, please. I am begging you to help my cause and plead with him on my behalf. I cannot bear to marry Lord Hamish, and the announcement of our betrothal is imminent.”