Fair Juno by Stephanie Laurens Page B

the passing of the years has yet to turn that particular stone to dust.’ Martin smiled down into her large eyes, infusing his expression with as much innocence as he was capable. ‘How, then?’
    Helen narrowed her eyes and stared hard at him. ‘I had expected, my lord, that one of your reputation would have no difficulty in overcoming such a minor obstacle. If you put your mind to it, I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
    It was a decidedly impertinent speech and provoked a decidedlyaudacious reply. The gleam in the grey eyes gave her warning.
    ‘I’m afraid, my dear, that if you consult my reputation more closely you’ll realise I’ve never been one for placating the proprieties.’
    Realising her tactical error, Helen retreated to innocence. How silly to try to deflate a rake with outrageousness. ‘Don’t you really know? I confess, I’d thought you would.’
    For an instant, the grey eyes held hers, suspicion in their depths. Then their quality subtly altered. She was conscious of a stilling of time, of her surroundings dimming into blankness. His grey eyes, and him, filled her senses. Then his lips twisted in a gently mocking smile and he looked away.
    ‘As you say, fair Juno, my experience is extensive.’ Martin slanted another glance her way, and saw a slight frown pucker her brow. ‘I suspect it might be best if we try for one of the minor inns, just before Hounslow. I’ll hire a chaise and escort for you there.’ When the frown did not immediately lift, he smiled. ‘You may give the coachman instructions once you reach the outskirts of London.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Helen, struggling to preserve her calm in the face of the discovery that grey eyes of his particular shade seemed to possess a strange power over her. For a moment, she had been mesmerised, deprived of all will, totally at his mercy. And it had felt quite delicious. ‘I suppose that will do.’
    Her tone of reluctant acceptance brought a smirk to Martin’s lips, quickly suppressed. What a very responsive yet oddly innocent goddess she was. His interest in her, already marked, was growing by the minute. Just as well that they had agreed to part that evening. ‘We should reach Hounslow before dark,’ he said, eager to settle that point.
    They journeyed on in silence. Martin pondered how to broach the subject of her name; Helen pondered him. He was, without doubt, the most attractive man she had ever met. It was not just his physical attributes, though there was no fault to be found with those. Neither could his manners, polished and assured though they were, account for the effect. It was, she decided, something far more fundamental, like the raspy growl of his deep voice and the fire banked like coals in the smoky grey eyes.
    ‘Do you spend much of your year in the country, fair maid?’
    The question jolted Helen back to reality. ‘I often visit at—’ She broke off, then continued smoothly, ‘At friends’ houses.’
    ‘Ah.’
    The quality of the glance that rested fleetingly upon her face confirmed her suspicion. He was trying to learn more of her.
    ‘So you spend most of your year in London?’
    ‘Other than my visits.’
    Conversation rapidly degenerated to a game of quiz andanswer, he trying to glean snippets of information, she trying to avoid revealing any identifying fact while politely answering all his queries.
    ‘Do you attend the opera?’
    ‘During the season.’
    ‘In friends’ boxes?’
    Helen threw him a haughty look. ‘I have my own box.’
    ‘Then no doubt I’ll see you there.’ Martin smiled, pleased to have scored a hit.
    Realising her slip, Helen had no choice but to be gracious. She inclined her head. ‘Countess Lieven often joins me. I’m sure she’ll be only too pleased to meet you.’
    ‘Oh.’ Stymied by the mention of the most censorious of the patronesses of Almack’s, Martin looked suitably chagrined. Then his brow cleared. ‘A capital notion. I can sue for permission to waltz in