Sheri Cobb South by The Weaver Takes a Wife Page B

carriage, her spirits somewhat dashed. She was on her way to Almack’s, the one place in all of London to which all Mr. Brundy’s wealth could not buy him entrée. Furthermore, she was going there in the company of no less a personage than the Earl of Waverly, a man whom, had circumstances not decreed otherwise, she might have married. Her husband should have been beside himself, but instead he merely wished that she might have a pleasant evening.
    In the twenty-four hours since the Pickerings’ ball, she had had ample time to reflect on Mr. Brundy’s treatment of her, and her response to it. True, he had ignored her shamefully, but even more disturbing was the fact that she had been so bothered by his neglect. The man was a weaver, for heaven’s sake! His attentions would have been an embarrassment which she was thankful to have been spared.
    More disturbing than all was the recollection of that moment when he had practically snatched her out of her partner’s arms, and the mortifying discovery that she had been trying to provoke this reaction from the moment she had first allowed the earl to escort her onto the floor.
    In the light of these alarming revelations, it was perhaps not surprising that a pall had been cast over her evening which even the exclusive company at Almack’s did little to lift. Her companion, noting her uncharacteristic reserve, plied her with cakes and lemonade and, at the first available opportunity, waltzed her into a secluded alcove.
    “Alone at last,” he said, without releasing his hold on her.
    Lady Helen firmly disengaged herself from his embrace. “You seem to forget, my lord, that I am a married woman.”
    “On the contrary, no one is more acutely aware of that fact than I, excepting, perhaps, your esteemed husband. And your marriage, as you must know, changes everything.”
    This, certainly, was no lie. Three weeks ago, she would have never have concerned herself with anyone so insignificant as the Cit to whom she had been introduced that night at Covent Garden.
    “I am well aware that my life has changed, my lord, but how that can affect you, I cannot imagine.”
    “Can you not? And I had thought you awake upon every suit! I refer, of course, to freedom, my dear. As a married woman, you are allowed certain, shall we say, privileges, that unmarried ladies are denied. Should you decide to avail yourself of them, I would be most happy to assist you.”
    “I’m sure you would—right into divorce and scandal.”
    “Scandal?” echoed the earl. “ ‘Tis done all the time, I assure you. I’ll wager half the men of the ton are raising one another’s bastards. In the case of your weaver, why, he should be grateful to me for doing my humble best to improve his bloodlines.”
    Lady Helen stiffened. “You are offensive, Waverly,” she said frostily.
    The earl’s eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon; I never realized Mr. Brundy had so ardent a champion. But if you fear to lose all that lovely money in a divorce, my dear, you may set your mind at ease. Your husband has, by whatever means, aligned himself with the family of a duke. I assure you, he will gladly turn a blind eye to his wife’s indiscretions rather than lose the connection.”
    “How little you know him, if you believe that!” scoffed Lady Helen. “Mr. Brundy fancies himself the equal of any Radney ever born.”
    “Ah! Then this little jaunt to Almack’s is meant to put the upstart in his place?”
    There was no point in denying it. “I suppose so,” she shrugged.
    Lord Waverly chuckled. “ ‘Tis a pity, for you are wasted on the weaver, my dear. You deserve a man who is your equal—in every way.” His long slender fingers cupped her chin and tipped her face up toward his. “I could be that man, Helen.”
    Lady Helen had never questioned her ability to handle Lord Waverly—nor any other man, for that matter. But she was suddenly aware that his tall figure blocked the way to the heavy curtain which separated