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Olivia looked at Helen with shock in her eyes. “I am so sorry,” Olivia said quietly. “I have never thought that… I suppose that makes me selfish, but I never thought that this life is unfulfilling for you.”

Helen smiled. Olivia wasn’t selfish. She just had a hard time understanding other people’s feelings and emotions. One had to be very forward with Olivia. And once they were, Olivia was the greatest of friends. “I love being here. I truly do. But sometimes…” She shook her head. “I am only six and twenty. And sometimes I think there’s more to life than this. But I am just being maudlin.”

“No, you’re not!” Olivia suddenly straightened, determination lining her features. “You are right. You are still very young. You can still get married and—”

“Married?” Helen chuckled. “I can’t marry anyone, Olivia. I can’t promise anyone children, heirs, you know that. Besides, a cold society marriage is the last thing I want. And I have Laney. That is enough.”

Olivia frowned. “There is nothing you wish for? Like, love?”

“I’ve had love. I am content.”

The door opened, and Jarvis entered the room all exuberance. He greeted Helen and immediately strode toward his glowing wife. He bent at his waist and kissed her hand, passion burning in his eyes.

Helen’s insides tightened proving the lie in her words. For she did want something. She wanted something badly. Yes, she had experienced love, but this… this passion burning in his eyes, the pleasure they give each other. That was something Helen had never experienced before, and likely, never would.

If I could wish for anything, I’d wish for that. Passion.

But aside from the marriage bed, where does one find it? Of course, if one were a man, one could find readily available passion in bawdy houses, hells, and brothels or by having a mistress. If one were a woman, on the other hand… Helen fingered the newspaper in her fingers. One would have to wait for a miracle.

Chapter 4

Ian had come to the Payne ball with only one mission in mind: to prove to himself, and mostly to Davenport, that he was still invisible in society’s eyes and therefore capable of continuing his duties.

He was wrong.

As soon as he stepped onto the ballroom floor, all eyes were on him. Heads bowed together, ladies whipped out their fans, leaning toward their conversation partners, whispering something while not taking their eyes off him.

He’d received the cut-direct from a few families already, and the night had just only begun.

Ian moved toward the refreshments table, feeling irritated and out of sorts. He didn’t show his emotions, of course. He assumed a carefree demeanor as he laughed about his situation with some of the lords, who clapped his shoulder approvingly.

“I don’t understand why Hawkridge is acting like a saint, cutting you. It’s as if he doesn’t spend every weekend drowning in a drink and a whore,” Lord Hexley said with a burst of good-natured laughter.

“He has a family with him. He has to pretend virtue,” Ian said with a shrug and deftly walked past the old lord.

He didn’t have patience for idle chatter. He needed to come up with a plan to get close to Viscount St. John. His only saving grace, the only way he would get his spy mantle back, was if he uncovered the Shadows’ society. And St. John was his way to do just that.

He’d just seen St. John dancing with his wife, but now they’d disappeared into thin air.

Irritability rose within Ian, but he knew that emotions were a luxury he could not afford.

And then he saw Mrs. Helen St. John—cousin-in-law to a suspected traitor and a member of the Shadows secret society—retreating onto a balcony and a plan formed in his mind.

Perhaps, not a plan exactly. But the beginnings of one.

If St. John was truly one of the Shadows, there was no way Ian was going to catch him by any regular means. He needed to get close to one of the ladies living under his roof.

He couldn’t approach Lady St. John as she almost never veered from her husband’s side. But his widowed cousin-in-law was another matter entirely.

“Lord McAllistair.” Lady Carlyle, a young and wealthy widow, stepped closer to him. “You are as elusive as ever.”

“Am I, my lady?” Ian raised a brow.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you in a while. Perhaps you now exclusively pleasure the women in the brothels?” She flicked her eyes at him suggestively.

Ian smiled slowly. “They are the ones doing the pleasuring, I am afraid.”

She fanned herself, not taking her eyes off him. “Ah, so you don’t think a lady can provide you with such pleasures?”