Sophie had risen from the table, and Helen took her cue, as did the other ladies, to leave the gentlemen to their port. She followed the others to the drawing room. Most of them immediately clustered around the pianoforte. Helen would have sat down close to the fire had not the marchioness done so first. Helen had no desire for a t?te-a-t?te with that lady. She lingered close to the others while it was decided that Melly should play first and Emmy sing.

They were still arranged thus when the gentlemen joined them. Mr. Simms immediately singled out Helen.

"Do you play?" he asked. "I am sure we would all like to hear you."

"Yes," she said, "I do play, but only for my own amusement, sir."

Lord Harding was standing close, having approached the instrument to congratulate Emily on the song she had just finished. "I'll wager you are being too modest, Lady Helen," he said. "Your sisters are both accomplished musicians. I would expect that you are in no way inferior. Please favor us with a piece."

"I would rather not," she said. "Really, I have not been used to playing in public as my sisters have."

"Then sing for us at least," Mr. Simms persisted. "I am sure you must have a sweet voice. Your sister will remain at the pianoforte and accompany you, I am sure." He smiled at Melissa, who still occupied the stool.

Helen's hands were opening and closing at her sides. She was trying hard to maintain her control, though she felt as if the nightmare of the day were reaching a climax. "I don't sing," she said.

"Perhaps a duet," he suggested. "I sing a little myself. Surely we can find a song that we both know. You can play while I sing."

Her hands were clenched into fists now, her knuckles white against the sides of her gown. "I think not," she said, forcing a smile. She could feel her control slipping.

Mr. Simms smiled back and opened his mouth to continue his persuasions.

A hand grasped Helen lightly by the arm. "Lady Helen is tired, I believe," William Mainwaring said. "It has been a long and busy day." He turned to smile down at her. "Perhaps you are ready for that walk in the garden we talked about earlier? Or are you too tired?" He would allow her a way out if she wanted it.

She looked blankly back at him for a moment, but he felt the muscles of her arms relax as she unclenched her hands. "No, I am not too tired," she said. "Fresh air and a walk are just what I need."

"Go and fetch your cloak, then," he said. "It will be chilly outside, I think."

She went from the room in a daze.

Chapter 13

He held the front door open for her, waving aside the footman who jumped forward for the purpose. It was not a dark night. The sky was still as clear as it had been all day, and the nearly full moon and the stars gave enough light that they did not need to stay on the terrace that circled the house. When they had descended the stone steps to the cobbled courtyard before it, William Mainwaring took Helen's arm and linked it through his.

She felt herself grow tense. He had touched her briefly before, when they were introduced at the ball and when he had helped her into and out of his curricle the afternoon they had driven together. But those had not been prolonged contacts. Now she could feel the muscles of his arm through the thickness of his greatcoat, and her shoulder rested against his upper arm. She felt small and fragile again, as she had when they had become lovers. And she wanted above everything else to close her eyes and lay her head against his shoulder and trust to his strength to bear all her burdens.

She had very nearly cracked back there in the drawing room. One moment more and she would have been screaming with fury at poor Mr. Simms and Lord Harding. And over what? Just a small matter of playing the pianoforte and singing. It was too ghastly a thought to bear contemplation. She would have horribly embarrassed both herself and everyone else present. But more serious than that, she might have jeopardized Emily's chances with Lord Harding. He might not want a bride with a sister who could so lose all sense of propriety. Though soon enough he would know anyway. William had saved her on this occasion. There could be no doubt that he had sensed her mood and had done what he could to avert trouble. She had to feel some gratitude.

They walked in silence for several minutes, threading their way slowly among the graveled walks of the formal gardens that stretched for several hundred yards before the house. He was the first to speak.

"What is it, Nell?" he said quietly. "What is it that is making you so very miserable?"

She wanted to give him a tart answer. She opened her mouth to do so. But the words would not come. The fight had gone completely out of her for the present. She hung her head and said nothing.

"Is it me?" he asked. "Have I caused all this change? I can hardly recognize in you the carefree little wood nymph that I once knew."

"Don't," she murmured.

"What?"

"Don't," she repeated. "Don't, don't!" She tried to pull her hand free of his arm, but he would not let her go-

"Nell, you are not crying, are you?" he asked, turning to her and trying to see into her face.

"No," she said, but her voice came out on such a quaver that she gulped and made matters worse.

"You are crying!" he said, aghast, and he finally let go of her arm and drew her into his arms, cradling her head against the capes of his coat. "Don't. Oh please, don't. Tell me what I can do, Nell. I know I have hurt you dreadfully, but I do not know what I can do to make amends."

"There is nothing," she said into the cloth of his coat. He had to bend his ear closer to hear the words between her sobs. "There is nothing you can do for me, William. Neither of us is quite the person I thought, and it is too late now to change that. There is nothing you can do. Take me back, please."

"You are in such pain," he said, laying his cheek against the top of her head. "And you have been like this since I met you here. I have to do something, Nell. I cannot see you destroy yourself like this. Will it help if I tell you something about myself and why I left you as I did in the summer?"

"No, it would not help at all," she said, pulling her head away from his coat, though he still held her firmly against him. "I do not want to talk about that."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I was planning to leave for Yorkshire to find you and ask you to be my wife before ever I met you here and discovered who you really were?"

"Oh, no," she said wildly. "Don't say that. Don't lie, William. I have little enough to admire you for as it is."

"You have cast me in the part of the villain, I see," he said sadly, "and I can say nothing to redeem myself in your eyes, Nell." He reached up a hand and put behind her ear a lock of wayward hair that had worked loose from her braids. "We were friends once."

She stared back at him, feeling more miserable than she could ever remember feeling. He could be so convincing when one was close to him. She was suffocated by regrets for what might have been.

And then he was kissing her. And she was quite powerless to resist him. She was too tired and too weak to do anything but put one arm up on his broad and strong shoulder and thread the fingers of the other hand through his wind-ruffled hair. And she relaxed her body full against his and surrendered to his embrace. He was so much bigger than she, so much stronger. His hand on the back of her head was warm and steady. His mouth covered hers with firm assurance, and his tongue gently caressed her lips before taking warm possession of her mouth. In a moment she would begin to think… in a moment she would push away from him.

"Nell," he said, his lips against her throat, "let us put the past behind us. Let it be as if we met but today. We will start anew and I shall court you as I should. Let us forgive and forget. Shall we?"

The words were hypnotic. More than anything else in the world she wanted to agree with him, to look up and abandon herself to her love for him. But she could not, dared not trust him again. He could not love her. He wanted to do what was proper because she was Lady Helen Wade. She hardened her heart.

Helen pulled her head back from him so that they were looking into each other's eyes. Hers were clear again. Gone was the languor of a few moments before. "The past is with us whether we wish it to be or not, William," she said. "I at least can never be free of it. And I can neither forgive nor forget. I did not meet you today. I met you several months ago and I know too much about you to wish for any courtship."

He took a deep breath. "I see you are inflexible," he said. "You want someone perfect, Nell, and perfection does not exist in this life. Can you not make allowances for my weakness when you have been weak yourself?"

Her eyes flashed. "My only weakness was to be deceived by a man like you," she said.

"No," he said. They were standing facing each other now, no longer touching. "Your upbringing must have taught you that even to be alone with a man without your parents' close chaperonage was unacceptable behavior. Yet you did not avoid a second private meeting with me. You did not try to prevent me from kissing you, and when I gave you the chance to avoid lying with me, you did not take it. You quite knowingly gave me your virginity, Nell. You did wrong according to the code by which our society lives. A serious wrong. Can you not, then, have more sympathy with me?"