Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(96)

Faced with the museum’s enormous quantity of art exhibitions, the Ravenel sisters elected to visit the Egyptian gallery first. Clutching pamphlets and guidebooks, they spent most of the morning examining every object in the exhibit… statues, sarcophagi, obelisks, tablets, embalmed animals, ornaments, weapons, tools, and jewelry. They lingered for a long time at the Rosetta stone, marveling at the hieroglyphs incised on its polished front surface.

While Devon browsed over a nearby exhibit of weaponry, Helen wandered to Kathleen, who was looking at a glass case of ancient coins. “There are so many galleries in this museum,” she remarked, “that we could visit every day for a month, and still not see everything.”

“Certainly not at this rate,” Kathleen said, watching as Pandora and Cassandra opened their sketch tablets and began to copy some of the hieroglyphs.

Following her gaze, Helen said, “They’re enjoying this immensely. So am I. It seems we’ve all been starved for more culture and stimulation than Eversby can offer.”

“London has an abundance of both,” Kathleen said. Trying to sound light, she added, “I suppose Mr. Winterborne has that on his side: You would never be bored.”

“No, indeed.” Helen paused before asking cautiously, “Regarding Mr. Winterborne, may we invite him to dinner? I would like to thank him in person for the music box.”

Kathleen frowned. “Yes. Lord Trenear will invite him if you wish. However… you are aware of how inappropriate that music box is. It was a lovely and generous gift, but we should give it back.”

“I can’t,” Helen whispered with a frown. “It would hurt his feelings.”

“It would hurt your reputation.”

“No one has to know, do they? Couldn’t we consider it as a gift for the family?”

Before she replied, Kathleen thought of all the rules she had broken and the sins she had committed, some small, some far more egregious than accepting an inappropriate gift. Her mouth curved in wry resignation. “Why not?” she said, and took Helen’s arm. “Come help me stop Pandora – she’s trying to open a mummy case.”

To Helen’s mingled consternation and excitement, Winterborne accepted an invitation to dinner the very next evening. She wanted very much to see him, almost as much as she dreaded it.

Winterborne arrived punctually and was shown to the main floor drawing room, where the Ravenels had gathered. His powerful form was dressed with elegant simplicity in a black coat, gray trousers, and a gray waistcoat. Although his broken leg was still healing, the cast had been removed and he walked with the use of a wooden cane. One could have easily singled him out in a crowd, not only from his distinctive height and size, but also from his raven hair and swarthy complexion. The coloring, thought to be the result of Spanish Basque influence in Wales, was not considered aristocratic… but Helen thought it very handsome and striking.

His gaze came to Helen, dark heat framed with black lashes, and she felt a nervous flutter. Maintaining her composure, she gave him a neutral smile, wishing she had the confidence to say something charming or flirtatious. To her chagrin, Pandora and Cassandra – two years younger than she – were both far more comfortable with Winterborne. They amused him with nonsense such as asking whether there was a sword concealed in his cane (regrettably, no) and describing the mummified dogs in the Egyptian gallery.

As the company went in to dinner, a moment of perplexity ensued when it was discovered that the twins had written the name cards in hieroglyphics.

“We thought everyone might want to guess which one was theirs,” Pandora informed them.

“Thankfully, I’m at the head of the table,” Devon said.

“This is mine,” Winterborne said, gesturing to one name card, “and I believe Lady Helen is seated next to me.”

“How did you know?” Cassandra asked. “Are you familiar with hieroglyphics, Mr. Winterborne?”

He smiled. “I counted the letters.” Picking up the name card, he regarded it closely. “It’s cleverly drawn, especially the little bird.”

“Can you tell what kind of bird it is?” Pandora asked hopefully.

“Penguin?” he guessed.

Cassandra told her sister triumphantly, “I told you it looked like a penguin.”

“It’s a quail,” Pandora said to Winterborne, heaving a sigh. “My penmanship is no better in ancient Egyptian than it is in English.”

After everyone was seated and the footmen had begun serving, Helen turned to Winterborne, determined to overcome her shyness. “I see your cast has been removed, Mr. Winterborne. I trust you’re mending well?”

He gave her a guarded nod. “Quite well, thank you.”

She repeatedly smoothed the napkin on her lap. “I can hardly find words to thank you for the music box. It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.”

“I hoped it would please you.”

“It does.” As Helen looked into his eyes, it occurred to her that someday this man might have the right to kiss her… hold her in intimacy… They would do whatever mysterious things occurred between a husband and wife. A terrible blush began, the pervasive, self-renewing color that only he seemed to inspire. Desperate to halt its progress, she lowered her gaze to his shirt collar, and then a bit lower, tracking the perfect straight line of a hand-stitched seam.