“You didn’t buy it so that you could propagate your own interests?” Lady Helen’s gaze was direct and unflinching. “It seems to me that when a man seeking to sell electricity to all the world buys a journal and turns out the paper’s staff on their ears, he has only one thing in mind.”
“And it seems to me that the Beacon and the way I choose to run it are not your concern, my dear lady.” His tone was deliberately cool, all the better to discourage the current vein of conversation. She was right, damn her, but that didn’t mean he would acknowledge it. He didn’t like the swiftness with which she had seen through him, judged him, and he wasn’t accustomed to anyone challenging him so directly. Not any longer, now that he was one of the wealthiest men in New York City.
“I’m sure neither are my concern, given that you’ve summarily dismissed me from my post.” Her tone spoke of her pique.
He had not read any of the Beacon before purchasing it, had merely known that its flame was about to sputter out into darkness. Like the proverbial berry ripe for the plucking, it had been a promising lure. He’d required a press and its influence. One had been for sale, and for a very cheap price. He wondered now what she could have written that it meant such a great deal to her.
“Perhaps it’s time that we took our leave of the gentlemen, Lady Helen,” Jesse’s wife suggested then, apparently seeking to avoid any further discord. He supposed it was the hostess’s duty, quite customary and proper, but that didn’t mean he appreciated the withdrawing.
Levi didn’t miss the telling glance Jesse sent his wife’s direction either. Their ease with each other and their quiet though obvious love was not lost on him. For the first time in as long as he could recall, he knew a prick of envy for the relationship between husband and wife.
He tamped the unwanted feeling firmly down.
He and Jesse stood in deference to the departure of the fairer sex from the dining room. To hell with society and its never-ending book of rules. He had just begun to enjoy himself. But as much as he didn’t want to leave Lady Helen’s presence, he also didn’t wish to match wits with her in front of an audience. He wanted her alone, which he knew was an idea about as good as Pickett’s Charge at the battle of Gettysburg. Which was to say not a good idea at all. Many a man never returned from that field.
“Ladies.” He bowed to Lady Bella and Lady Helen, his gaze clashing with Lady Helen’s once more as he did so.
“Mr. Storm,” she acknowledged softly. Fire sparkled in her lively eyes. It was brilliant and bewitching. “Until we meet again, sir.”
She was determined. He knew this would not be the last time they crossed paths or verbal swords. Desire stirred through him. There was that pluck of hers again. “Lady Helen, I shall look forward to it.”
She turned and took her leave, and he couldn’t help but admire the seductive nip of her waist and the beauty of the glow of the gaslight in her burnished curls. Lady Helen was a complication he didn’t need. A siren calling him to the rocks. She was magnificent and brazen and opinionated and irritating. He had businesses to run both here and abroad. He had obligations from which he could not escape. He had engineers to worry about, competition and setbacks, malfunctioning stations and dynamos, and yet somehow, she made him want to forget about volts and amperes and ohms. She made him want to simply bask in her presence, ignore his cares and stresses, his duties and worries. She was altogether dangerous.
He decided in that precise moment that he was keeping the damn hat.
* * *
“I begin to think there is a great deal more to the story of you and Mr. Storm than you’ve revealed, Helen.” Bella was being her usual direct self over tea in the drawing room.
Helen frowned. Her pulse was too fast for her liking, and no matter how she tried, she could not seem to purge Mr. Storm’s handsome visage from her mind. Or the fact that even now, he was beneath the same roof as she, a mere room away. He took her breath and made her feel like a ninny. This would simply not do.
“There is no story of Mr. Storm and me,” Helen assured her friend. “There is merely his appalling lack of manners and my reaction to it.”
“I saw the way he looked at you at dinner.” Bella’s gaze was knowing.
As had Helen, and that was the precise, troubling reason her pulse was racing, she was sure of it. He had most certainly not looked upon her in such a bold fashion at the Beacon offices. “I don’t know what you speak of, truly.”
Bella grinned. “Nonsense. You know exactly what I speak of, which is exactly why your cheeks are going quite rosy.”
Helen busied herself with taking a long sip of tea. Drat her observant friend. She was every bit as troublesome as Helen’s own sisters. “I believe you’ve been spending far too much time with Cleo.”
“I’ll own your sister is prone to dramatics, but I’m not far off the mark and you and I both know it. You needn’t worry on my account. I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone, not even Jesse,” Bella assured her. “Besides, no one knows better than I just how alluring an American man can be, much to my mother’s dismay.”
“You’re right about one thing, Cleo is indeed prone to dramatics. I’ve never met another soul more adept at pleading the megrims at the slightest opportunity.” She frowned then. “But I don’t find Mr. Storm alluring. Not in the least. Not if he were the very last man in all of London. I’m a spinster firmly on the shelf, and I’m quite pleased with that fate.”
Bella’s expression still mirrored the proverbial cat who’d found her way into a saucer of Devonshire cream. “If you say so, my dear.”
* * *
“I know that look, Levi.” Jesse handed him a glass of amber-colored spirits he’d just poured from a crystal decanter. “American whiskey. I can’t abide by port. You look as though you could use it.”
“Hell yes.” Levi accepted the offering and took a grateful sip. “What look are you referring to, by the way?”
Jesse sighed. “We’re old friends, are we not?”
Hang it. Levi wasn’t a fool, and he knew all too well where their conversation was headed. They had been business partners in New York City for a decade, had been friends before even then. He and Jesse had forged an unlikely friendship in the murky years following the war. Levi had enlisted in the Union army as a young lad. Jesse had fought for the rebels. There had been no enmity between them when they’d crossed paths one day in New York City, only the same fierce determination to make something of themselves from the ashes of who they’d once been.
“We’re old friends,” Levi acknowledged slowly, “but not so old I hope.”
“I feel old some days.” Jesse sighed, his expression pained. “Jesus, Levi, I hate to say this to you of all people, but I’m duty bound. Lady Helen is under my roof and under my protection.”
Damn it to hell. He took another drink of whiskey, relishing its burn all the way to his gut. “I would not have tossed her over my shoulder had I realized she was a lady.” Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if that was an honest statement or not. She had vexed him mightily, and he had never been particularly polished or mild of manner.
“It’s more than just that. Of course, you can’t go tossing gently bred ladies over your shoulder and carting them about, but you already know as much. I saw the manner in which you were looking at her over dinner. She’s the daughter to an earl and the sister of my wife’s sister-in-law.” Jesse took a sip from his own whiskey. “I’m sorry, Levi, but I couldn’t let it go unsaid.”
The manner in which he’d been looking at her. Christ, the way Jesse said it made Levi sound as though he were a lion eying up a prized lamb. “What do you think I am, a monster? Hell, Jesse. I’m to be married.” He thought again of Miss VanHorn and wished she inspired an eighth of the interest he felt for Lady Helen. Not even a stirring of his cock, damn it. “I have no interest in harming Lady Helen, of that much you can be certain.”
Jesse sighed. “I fear I’ve turned into a snarling old papa bear now that I’ve two daug
hters in my charge. I’ve been having a hell of a time with Clara, but at least Virginia is yet a babe. I don’t need to worry about men sniffing around her skirts for at least twenty years, I hope.”
Levi couldn’t fault Jesse for his sense of honor. Besides, his good friend wasn’t wrong about his interest in Lady Helen. It was improper and altogether wrong and he had no business whatsoever panting after her like a lovesick swain. He knew all that just as well as he knew the inner workings of a dynamo. “There is no insult on my part, old friend. How goes it with your eldest daughter?”
Clara had not been present at dinner. She was the product of an ill-fated liaison in Jesse’s youth, and Jesse had been candid in his correspondence about the difficulties he’d faced with her. Apparently, the girl was quite a handful.
His friend grimaced. “She’s in finishing school, much to her dismay. We thought it best after she led her chaperone on a merry chase at a country house party some months back.”
Levi was damn glad he had no children of his own over which to fret, at least not yet. The thought brought him back to Miss VanHorn and his impending nuptials. Eventually, he would have to return to New York City and take her as his bride. He drained the remnants of his whiskey. “And how is married life treating you, old man?”
Jesse grinned, exuding more satisfaction than a dog who’d just eaten a fine steak dinner. “All I can say is that I’m very happy. Happier than I ever thought or hoped to be.”
“I’m glad for you.” No one deserved contentment more than Jesse. He was a good man, a good friend, and he had suffered enough through the hells of war. “Mrs. Whitney is clearly too good for the likes of your sorry hide, but I’m glad for you nonetheless.”
“I’ll not argue with you on that score.” He laughed. “Have some more whiskey, Levi. I’ve missed our banter. It’s been far too long.”
“It has indeed.” He thought then of the work awaiting him at his hotel. Telegrams. The latest report from Eddy. Newspapers. Engineering journals. Headaches, the lot of them. “But I should get back to my hotel. I’ve a great deal of work to do tonight.”
“To hell with work,” Jesse dismissed in his easy drawl as he splashed a bit more whiskey into Levi’s glass. “Work can damn well wait. In fact, my dear wife would have this sorry hide of mine tanned if I didn’t offer you our hospitality. Stay the evening. Stay the week. You needn’t be relegated to a hotel, you know. Don’t argue, damn it. You’re like family to me, Levi. I insist you stay. It’ll be good for you and for business. We’re hosting a ball in a few days’ time, and it would be an excellent opportunity for you to meet some of the peerage. Think of all the houses you can light up.”
The suggestion gave him pause. Ordinarily, he preferred to be alone, to throw himself into his work. He had precious little time or want for pleasure. Men didn’t breed success by resting on their laurels. But there was a definite appeal to Jesse’s words, and he was no fool. It had everything to do with one woman.
Lady Helen.
He should put down his glass, politely refuse Jesse’s invitation, and return to the sanctity of his hotel, where there would be no lovely English spitfires to distract him.
He took another draw of whiskey. “Very well. I’d hate to be the one responsible for Mrs. Whitney doing you harm.”
“Excellent.” Jesse raised his glass in salute. “Now, tell me more about North Atlantic Electric and how your company is going to beat the tar out of Edison.”
A welcome distraction. There was nothing in the world Levi loved more than business. “With pleasure.”
Chapter 3
Helen didn’t know what nonsensical impetus had caused her to wander from her chamber in the middle of the night. But she had, and here she was, scouring the bookshelves in Bella and Jesse’s library in search of something to read. Bella was infamous for being a voracious reader, and though the shelves didn’t disappoint, Helen wasn’t particular tonight. Anything to keep her restless mind off Mr. Storm.
She wished he had not been a guest at dinner.
In his dark, evening finery, he had been wickedly gorgeous. She’d never been so drawn to a man. Indeed, she had not been drawn to a man at all for many, many years. After what had happened that long-ago day, she’d been certain the part of herself that had once possessed romantic fancies had died. Her sisters Cleo, Tia, and Bo were great romantics, but she had remained impervious, a dedicated spinster with no wish to be at the mercy of a man ever again. She’d admired handsome men from a distance, flirted on the odd occasion, but beyond that, had remained happily a spinster.
Her reaction to Mr. Storm troubled her greatly. He didn’t make her ill at ease. He didn’t frighten her. Quite the opposite. He intrigued her. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he affected her. After all, he was beautiful in a way that no man ought to be. But she had thought herself made of sterner stuff, had thought she’d been hardened enough to know better.
She sighed, continuing her perusal of spines but not even really reading them. She was too flustered to read. Too flustered to sleep. Anthony Trollope. Charles Dickens. Fiction, poetry, Latin. Nothing suited her.
Bella’s words returned to her. I saw the way he looked at you at dinner. Goodness yes, he had looked at her as though he wasn’t certain if he wanted to toss her back over his shoulder or kiss her senseless. She knew she nettled him, and she had to admit she rather enjoyed that fact.
Thank heavens he was no longer beneath the same roof. He was off to whatever corner of London he belonged in, and she was where she belonged. Alone, with no one for company but an army of books she didn’t care to read.
“What finds you in the library at this late hour, Lady Helen?”
The deep voice just over her shoulder gave her a start. Heart thumping, she spun about. There he stood as if she’d conjured him up, tall and lean, in only a waistcoat and shirtsleeves and perfectly fitted trousers, his jacket long gone. There was a dangerous air about him, even though his words were perfectly benign.
She pressed a hand over her heart, willing it to slow its pace. “Mr. Storm, whatever are you doing here?”
“The same as you, I suspect.” That gaze of his scorched her with its intensity. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Sleep?” Surely he was not staying beneath Jesse and Bella’s roof.
“Ah, we’ve traveled full circle.” He sauntered closer to her than necessary. “You’re back to repeating me in question form. Is this an English custom to which I’ve yet to be introduced?”
She was not amused. Her cheeks went hot. “You are not being very kind.”
“I’m not a particularly kind man.” His countenance was solemn, indecipherable. She wished she knew what thoughts lurked behind those brilliant eyes. “Jesse has extended his hospitality and I’ve accepted. I’ve been hanging my hat at a hotel and I find I’ve grown weary of it.”
Dear sweet heavens, he was staying here.
Beneath the same roof.
Of course that fact didn’t affect her. Not in the least. She was unmoved. Let him stay where he would. She reminded herself that she was quite put out with him. “You are an old acquaintance of Mr. Whitney’s?”
He nodded. “He’s one of few men I count as true friends.”
“Were you a soldier in the war as well then, Mr. Storm?” It was impolite of her to ask, but it was the witching time of night and she stood before him in a nightdress and dressing gown, and he looked as if he’d been tippling whiskey with their host. With his dark hair ruffled and his bearded jaw, he rather resembled a pirate in gentleman’s clothes. She didn’t truly think society rules applied to such a situation.
His jaw clenched, his gaze growing shuttered. “I was.”
It explained rather a great deal about him, she thought. The disciplined air, the impassive expression, the complete disregard for societal niceties. She wondered then what must have happened to him during that infamous conflict, what he must have seen and endured to so harden him. Death, surely. Destruction t
oo. Had he killed? Suffered a wound? She couldn’t even begin to imagine the horrors he must have faced. It almost weakened her resolve to keep him at a distance and treat him like the adversary he surely was.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply, seeing that the subject was one that weighed on him. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No.” He flashed a brief, haunted smile. “You should not have, but I’ve gathered you do quite a bit of things you shouldn’t, my lady.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed grudgingly. “I’ve discovered that life is ever so much more interesting when one dabbles in what one ought not to do.” Sometimes more rewarding, sometimes more painful. She had learned many lessons in her thirty years, and there were some she would’ve rather not learned at all.
She realized that her words implied more than she had intended when his gaze slipped to her mouth. An answering heat blossomed within her. Heavens, but her reaction to this man was most vexing. She turned her attention back to the shelves of tomes lining the wall. “However, that is neither here nor there, and I really ought to find a book and leave you to your evening.”
“You ought to, yes.” He touched her elbow, exerting just enough light pressure to turn her to face him once more, his touch a brand even through the fabric separating their skins. “Just as I ought not to be here.”
She jerked her arm from his grasp. “And neither should you make so familiar with my person, sir.”
“What happened to your enthusiasm for dabbling in what one ought not to do? I suppose it only extends to yourself and not others?”
Oh, he was troublesome indeed. “I expect I’ve misplaced it. Perhaps it lies with the manners you surely once possessed.”
He flashed her a crooked grin that was oddly charming. “Forgive me, Lady Helen.”
Helen’s heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. If she had a sensible bone in her body, she’d flee from the library as though her virtue depended upon it. Of course, she’d never been particularly sensible, and her virtue was another dark matter all its own.
Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6 Page 4
