Her Husband's Harlot by Grace Callaway Read Free Book Online

married and left for Yorkshire a month after Thomas'
funeral.
    "Thomas
was well loved by all who knew him," Marianne said quietly.
    "Yes,
well, who wouldn't love him? He was perfect." Helena paused, studying her
hands. "They never got over it. My parents, I mean. My father took to
gaming and my mother to her bedchamber. Before long, the debts mounted. There
was only one solution."
    "A
daughter's duty." Marianne's voice was as hard as ice.
    "As
my mother always pointed out, I had so little else to recommend me that I needed
to make my behavior as amenableas possible in order to attract suitable
suitors. Do you know I memorized Lady Epplethistle's Compleat Guide line
by line?" Helena shrugged. "But it was for naught. I am nothing
special. Not a beauty, and too plump for the current fashion. Before Harteford's
proposal, my mother feared that I would end up on the shelf. It was nearing the
end of my Season. My father could not afford a second."
    "You
are not too plump. Men adore women with a voluptuous figure. And you are
certainly not dull," Marianne said. "Modesty may be becoming, but it
certainly will not help you understand your husband."
    "But
I really do not know!" Helena threw her hands up in defeat. "Other
than my virtue, which we have now allowed does not exist, I am not sure what he
finds appealing. I am accomplished but not extraordinarily so in the realms of
art, music, and languages."
    "Oh,
for God's sake. As pretty as your performance is at the piano, that is not why
your husband married you," Marianne snapped.
    "I
know it." Helena gave her friend a hurt look. "Why are you angry at
me?"
    "Because
you are blind to the fortune in front of you."
    "What
fortune? Truly, Marianne, could you not be more specific?"
    Marianne
pinned her with a blunt green gaze. "Have you not noticed the way your
husband looks at you? I have seen the hunger in his eyes, try as he might to
mask it. Dearest, he looks at you the way you have been looking at that blessed
tart—like he is longing to eat you up, every last bite."
    Helena's
jaw dropped.
    "Why
are you shocked, Helena? Have you forgotten the night of passion you spent in
your husband's arms?"
    "He
thought I was another." The pain of betrayal was confusing, given that it
was she who had deceived him . Yet he had broken his marriage vows;
why had he seen fit to share with a stranger intimacies that he kept from his
own wife? With a hitch to her voice, she said, "He lay with me believing I
was a doxy at the ball."
    "Perhaps
he would not be seeking a doxy if he found a warmer welcome in his home."
    Helena's
cheeks flamed. "I had thought of that. I should never have listened to my
mother's advice about bonnet shopping."
    At
Marianne's inquisitive look, Helena explained what she had been told about
conjugal duties.
    "Oh,
Lord." For once, Marianne appeared at a loss for words. Her mouth opened
and closed several times before she said, "Can I safely assume that last
evening no bonnets were bought or sold?"
    "None
whatsoever," Helena responded fervently.
    "Excellent."
Marianne patted Helena's hand. "You love your husband?"
    "You
know that I do!"
    "And
you are certain you cannot tell him that you were the harlot?"
    "I
can't," Helena whispered. "He'll despise me ... for lying to him."
    For
acting like a harlot. Sweet heavens, for ... being one.
    Marianne
sighed. "Very well, then, here's my advice. Find a way to seduce him, this
time as his wife. Show him he has no need to return to the bawdy house."
    "Do
you think I can?" Uncertainty and hope wavered in Helena's voice.
    "Of
course. Men are simple creatures, my dear, and, above all, lazy. Convenience is
your greatest ally. If Harteford finds everything he desires in his own home,
he will not bother to stray. But remember: you are competing with a harlot, so
you must use whatever means necessary."
    "Means?
What means have I?"
    Marianne
scrutinized her person with such intensity that Helena felt astonishingly naked
despite her chemise, stays, and