Page 60 of From Rakes to Riches

Miss Fanning began to cry then, and Lady Codswaddle to scold, and every voice in the anteroom rose to a fever pitch, half the ladies shouting out suggestions while the other half shook their heads and pronounced the fete finished, for certain.

Helena didn’t say a word.

She sat quietly in the midst of the chaos, turning an idea over in her mind.

Could it work? She’d have to set it in motion quickly, right this minute, and Lord Hawke was likely to be utterly furious with her, but then, what was the worst that could happen? He’d be angry, yes, but it would keep him here for a few more days, at least.

A great deal could happen in five days.

It would be an excellent way to draw him back into the community, as well. Perhaps by the end of it the lure of London and that dreadful Lady Pamela would fade, and he’d make up his mind to stay at Hawke’s Run for good.

It would be a great deal of fuss and bother, of course, but if she could see the thing done, it would help everyone. Surely, he’d recognize that, once he got over his pique?

She rose to her feet, her mind made up. “I beg your pardon, Lady Goodall, but Goodall Abbey’s ballroomisn’tthe only place in Steeple Barton large enough to accommodate the fete.”

“Ladies, ladies!” Lady Goodall rapped her cane on the floor to get everyone’s attention. “For pity’s sake, I can’t hear myself think! Do endeavor to remember that you are in fact ladies, if you please. Now, Miss Templeton, did you have something you wished to say?”

“Yes, thank you, my lady. I merely wish to point out that the ballroom at Hawke’s Run’s is quite large enough to fit all the residents of Steeple Barton, and the surrounding area besides.”

“Hawke’s Run!” Lord Hawke shot to his feet. “You can’t mean to suggest?—”

“Indeed, I do, my lord.” Helena turned her most ingratiating smile on the surrounding ladies. “I move that the St. Mary’s Ladies’ Benevolent Society Christmas Fete be held at Hawke’s Run this year.”

11

Adrian wasn’t a lady, nor was he particularly benevolent, yet somehow, he’d just become the newest and most generous member of the St. Mary’s Ladies’ Benevolent Society.

Helena Templeton might look innocent, with those wide blue-gray eyes, but she was as wily as a fox. Hers wasn’t the first trap that had ever been laid for him, of course. Lady Pamela’s failed attempts to lure him into her bed came to mind, but her ladyship’s wits were, alas, no match for Miss Templeton’s.Hertrap was so subtle, so diabolically clever the steel teeth of the thing had snapped closed before he even realized he’d stepped into it.

“It’s dreadfully unfair of us to impose on you at such a late date, Lord Hawke, but if youcouldsee you way clear to hosting the fete at Hawke’s Run this year, we’d be ever so grateful to you.” Lady Goodall gave him a hopeful smile.

“Oh, my lord, it would be ever so good of you!” Miss Fanning breathed, her hands clasped under her chin, her tear-streaked face pleading. “Itisfor the poor, you know.”

There was no way out, was there? No, the steel teeth were tightening around his leg with each moment that passed. He was surrounded on every side by Steeple Barton’s godliest ladies, all of them holding their collective breaths, their faces bright with expectation. Unless he wished to be known as the man who turned his back on Steeple Barton’s wretched poor—atChristmas, no less—then he hadn’t any choice but to invite the good ladies of the St. Mary’s Benevolent Society to flood Hawke’s Run with Christmas pies and kissing balls.

Heshouldbe furious with Helena over this. His jaw should be clenched, his extremities rigid, his entire person seething with outrage at such a trick, but all he could manage was a dazed sort of admiration for her.

Good Lord, he was a fool, but even her tricks charmed him.

The thing was as good as done now, in any case, and there was nothing for it but to submit with the graciousness that became an earl. So, he turned his most engaging smile on the assembled ladies and swept into a deep bow. “Ladies, you do me a great honor, permitting me to serve Steeple Barton in such a pleasurable manner. Hawke’s Run is at your disposal.”

The delighted squeals and explosion of excited feminine chatter would surely have sent him home with his head ringing if Lady Goodall hadn’t stepped forward and held up her hand for silence. “Now, ladies, of course we’re all extremely grateful to Lord Hawke for his generosity—really, my lord, you’ve quite saved the day—but we’ve rather a lot to accomplish still if we’re to see this thing done properly, so let’s get back to it, shall we?”

The ladies scurried back to their places and the meeting went on, with Lady Goodall droning on about something to do with Hawke’s Run and an emergency meeting of the decorations committee, but she went on at such tedious length about wreaths and candlelight and kissing balls he gave up, and let his attention wander.

There was no need forhimto listen, after all. He didn’t know a damned thing about wreaths or kissing balls, and God knew there’d be no shortage of ladies about to tell him what to do.

Instead, his attention wandered to Helena, who was seated in the chair directly in front of him. If he looked closely, he could just glimpse a sliver of her white neck between the edge of her sensible bun and the collar of her drab gray dress.

It was a lovely neck, it must be said, long and graceful, though one had to gaze at her rather intently to notice it, so effectively had she hidden it underneath her tightly-bound hair and severe gown.

So, he gazed—and gazed, and gazed—until a flush stained that delicate skin, and she pressed a self-conscious hand there, as if she could feel the heat of his eyes on her, and dear God, he wanted to touch her, trace that wash of pink with his fingertips and his tongue, then pull those wretched pins from her hair one by one so the heavy locks fell over her shoulders as they’d done that dark morning she’d gone in search of Hestia and foundhimas well, the wayward golden-brown curls tickling her neck, and…

Ahem. Church was hardly the proper place for such heated fantasies, and his breeches were growing uncomfortably tight, so he tore his gaze away from that tempting sliver of skin, cursing silently to himself as the meeting went on and on, mainly due to Lady Codswaddle, who seemed to love nothing so much as the sound of her own voice.

Finally, when he was ready to tear his hair out by the roots, it came to an end, and the ladies began to disperse. Helena jumped to her feet and darted for the door without so much as a glance in his direction, but he let her go, following along at a leisurely pace.

They both knew he’d catch her eventually?—

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