Free A Wild Pursuit by Eloisa James Page B

mischief. She looked like a girl just out of the school room. The next second she turned around and threw Stephen another languishing look.
    â€œAh,” Esme said with some satisfaction, “she can still be herself.”
    â€œI have no idea what you’re talking about,” Helene said, feeling just on the edge of tears. “I can’t do this. I must be missing the ability. Rees always said—” She snapped her mouth shut. She didn’t want even her own best friend to know that she was a frigid woman who would never enjoy bedding a man. Her own husband had said so, and she was fairly certain he was right.
    â€œDon’t despair, darling. Mr. Fairfax-Lacy doesn’t like what Bea is doing. See?”
    Sure enough, Fairfax-Lacy was frowning at Bea and clearly growling some sort of reproach. “He’s just the man for you,” Esme said with satisfaction. “Not Bea’s type at all.”
    A fact which Bea exuberantly seconded a moment later. “He told me to go wash my face,” she reported with some glee. “I do believe that Mr. Higher Than Thou M.P. doesn’t like my maquillage, even though it is imported all the way from Paris.”
    Helene felt a little steadier. She had never worn rouge in her life and couldn’t imagine why she ever would. Perhaps she and Stephen were suited after all.
    Just look available, she told herself. “So, I simply look…look—”
    â€œAs if you want to bed him,” Bea said.
    â€œI’ll try,” Helene muttered. Never mind the fact that she didn’t wish to bed anyone, and couldn’t believe that any woman would wish to do so voluntarily. Except for reasons of revenge.
    â€œOr you could just tell him,” Bea suggested with a wicked grin.
    â€œI most certainly could not!”
    â€œI have an idea! The poetry! We’ll use the poetry.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Esme asked her.
    â€œWe are each supposed to read a favorite poem on Friday, remember? If Helene reads the right kind of poem, and looks at Fairfax-Lacy while she does it, it won’t fail! That way you need not embarrass yourself,” she told Helene. “The poem will do it all. And I’ll warrant he’ll visit your chamber that very night.”
    â€œAn excellent idea,” Esme said, nodding.
    â€œBut I don’t know any love poetry,” Helene pointed out. “Besides that of Shakespeare.”
    â€œGood,” Bea interjected, “because we don’t want love poetry, silly!”
    â€œWe don’t?”
    â€œDo you love him?” she asked.
    â€œWell, no.”
    â€œPrecisely my point. This is an altogether different type of poetry. And not to worry, I never travel without my favorite authors.”
    â€œYou are remarkable. You travel with…with this sort of poetry all the time?” Helene asked Bea.
    â€œNaturally,” Bea said, opening her fan.
    Helene watched with fascination as Bea shook the delicate, lacy confection slightly. She held it just below the level of her eyes, and somehow she looked ten times more delectable. I shall practice with my fan tonight, Helene thought. In front of the mirror. If I read the poem with a fan covering my face, no one can see me blush. Helene loathed the fact that she blushed constantly, like some sort of green girl.
    â€œDon’t forget that your friendship with Mr. Fairfax-Lacy will curdle your husband’s liver,” Bea said with relish.
    â€œOf course I haven’t forgotten that!” Helene said. Why on earth would she even consider doing such an immoral act otherwise?
    â€œJust remember to look at Stephen while you read,” Esme advised. “I shall put the two of you next to each other at supper so you can practice giving him desiring looks. Naturally I’ll have to be on his other side, since Arabella is determined that we should marry.”
    â€œI rather agree with Arabella,” Helene said.