Free Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway

afford fifty pounds for a whore, he can
certainly provide his wife carte blanche ."
    Helena grimaced. Marianne was never one to mince words.
    The
barouche turned onto Upper Brook Street and
rolled to a stop in front of the townhouse. On impulse, Helena threw her arms
around her friend. "Oh, Marianne, however am I to thank you?"
    "Dearest,
your happiness is thanks enough," the other said in amused tones, even as
she extricated herself from the hug. "Besides, I am not finished with you
yet."
    "What
do you mean?"
    "Today
was mere window dressing. Surely you do not think a few dresses will be enough
to win your husband's interest."
    Helena
bit her lip. She had hoped ... she chided herself for being naive. "What else
do you suggest, Marianne?"
    "You
will have to learn the secrets of flirtation, of course. And I think you could brush
up on your knowledge of the sexual arts," Marianne said matter-of-factly. "I
know just the place for you to learn both. The proprietress throws parties of
such depravity that even I blush—"
    "Oh,
no! I c-couldn't," Helena stammered. "I mean, I could never go back
to such a place."
    Her
friend gave her a long look. "Why ever not?"
    Because
I am not a harlot, I'm not. The
thought of engaging in further wicked escapades made her heart race. With a
nervous little laugh, she said, "I am done with that, Marianne. That night
at the Nunnery was an exception. I was not my usual self—I did it only out of
desperation. From here on in, I shall try to win my husband's affections with
more, er, conventional means."
    "You
are certain of that?"
    Helena
gave an empathic nod.
    "Have
it your way, then." Marianne sounded indifferent. "Good luck with
Harteford. And send me a note if you have need of anything."
    Before
Helena could say anything further, Marianne summoned the footman with a rap
on the door. The servant appeared instantly, and Helena found herself being helped
to the ground. She turned around to reiterate her thanks, but the door was
already closed. Within seconds, the silver barouche glided away.
    Sighing,
she entered the townhouse. She returned Crikstaff's greeting and inquired if
Lord Harteford was at home. She did not let disappointment weigh her down when
the butler replied that the master was not, nor had he left a message about his
plans or whereabouts. Truly, she was not prepared to see Nicholas; how would
she react to him, knowing what had transpired between them?
    More
to the point, how was she to go about seducing an unwitting, perhaps even unwilling bridegroom? As Helena ascended the staircase to her dressing room, worry began
to fray the edge of hope. The beautiful clothes would help, of course. But that
still left a great deal unaccounted for. Perhaps she should not have rejected
Marianne's suggestion out of hand ... she shivered. She could not risk exposing
herself to such licentiousness again. Look at what had happened the last time.
How immodestly she'd acted. No, the way to win her husband's heart was to entice
him ... with her wifely skills.
    Gnawing
on her lip, Helena entered her chambers. Bessie, her lady's maid, stopped in
the task of tying a ribbon on a straw bonnet to bob a curtsy. Helena nodded absent-mindedly
and settled down at the secretaire by the window. Pushing aside the stack of Shakespeare's
plays she'd recently purchased, she placed a sheet of parchment on the polished
walnut burl and picked up her quill.
    Nibbling
on the tip of the feather, she considered the task at hand. Really, planning a
seduction was little different than planning anything else, was it not? And she
was an excellent planner. After the death of her brother, her mother had
entertained very little; by default, Helena had been left in charge of
organizing any occasions that merited celebration. Thinking of her preparations
for her father's fiftieth birthday festivities, Helena scribbled a list.
    Feeling
better already, she contemplated the categories one by one. The first was the
guest list. Well, that