Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6

by Scott, Scarlett

  He had tried, over the last year, to tell himself that their end would have been inexorable anyhow. And that their two worlds, while they had overlapped for a charmed sliver of time, could never coexist for a lifetime. But a day had not gone by, in all the days since she’d stormed out of his office, when he hadn’t thought of her. When he hadn’t read her words from another continent and wondered at what might have been, and that was the bitter truth of it.

  “I know you’re a fine man, and I’m inclined to believe you,” Jesse said then. “But Lady Helen is as dear as a sister to me, and she deserves to be treated with utmost care.”

  Levi didn’t know about the utmost care bit of his friend’s statement. He hadn’t ever been as enraged as he was when he’d discovered that she had kept their child from him. He wasn’t sure that he could handle her civilly, but he also wasn’t about to waste any more time without seeing his son. “She kept my son a secret from me, and she’ll have to pay the price for that. All I need is for you to tell me where to find her, and the rest is not your concern.”

  Jesse’s countenance grew grim. “It became my concern when you got an innocent woman with child beneath my goddamn roof. My wife is already angry enough with me for interfering in her friend’s personal matters and informing you of the babe. If you do anything to upset Lady Helen in any way, there will be hell to pay, as much as from Mrs. Whitney as from myself.”

  Anything to upset Lady Helen. The rage inside him continued to fester. She damn well could have answered his letters. She could have written him, sent him a telegram, anything for Christ’s sake, and he would have come running to her. It would have been so very easy for her to find him. Instead, she hadn’t done a thing. She’d had his son. And she had said nothing.

  “Tell me where she is, Jesse.”

  Jesse gritted his teeth. “I don’t like this, Levi. Not one damn bit.”

  “Nor do I. But I’ve come an awful long way from New York City, and I’ll be damned if I have to go one more hour without seeing my son.”

  His friend sighed. “My wife will box my ears for this, but very well. Lady Helen can be found at the House of Rest, the one she and Mrs. Bennington opened not long after you left for Paris. Lady Helen runs the place now. She’s living quite a different life these days.”

  The House of Rest. Of course. He should’ve known. If she’d been trying to hide from him, she hadn’t made it very difficult to find her. He knew the way by heart. “Thank you, old friend.”

  And without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out the door.

  * * *

  “B-o-y,” sounded out one of Helen’s latest protégés at the House of Rest, slowly and painstakingly. “Boy.”

  “Excellent progress, Ruby,” Helen encouraged, a warm surge of pride welling up within her. “Now try this one.” She pointed to the next word in the primer. Teaching the ladies was one of her greatest enjoyments. Although education was compulsory until age ten, many of the women and girls they aided had scarcely attended schools at all, caught up as they’d become in the underworld of London’s vices. Between running the house and spending time with her sweet little Theo, her days were full and long, arduous but also satisfying.

  “G-i-r-l,” Ruby said slowly. “Girl.”

  “Wonderful.” She and Gussie made every effort to help the women build a foundation from which they could eventually flourish on their own. Many of the ladies had few hopes of bettering themselves without assistance. At the Houses of Rest she and Gussie operated, women could learn to read and write and train for positions at shops and in service. They could learn history, arithmetic, and science.

  Ruby gave her a gamine grin. She was younger than Helen, and far too young to have endured what she’d gone through at her tender age. “I reckon I’m getting quite good at this, my lady. What d’you think?” Her accent gave her away for the East End girl that she was.

  Helen smiled. “Yes you are, my dear. Before you know it, you’ll be borrowing all my books.”

  “You’d loan me your books, my lady?” Ruby appeared suitably impressed by the prospect.

  “Of course I would, dear.” Her books were one of the few material possessions she had held on to.

  Her new life was much less fussy. She’d rather grown to relish it. She was infinitely grateful to Gussie for not shunning her following the revelation that she was with child without the benefit of marriage and without prospect or desire to acquire a husband. Gussie had proven a true friend, taking all in stride.

  Now, Helen had her routine, each day a rhythm of teaching, tending, watching. Yes, she was happy here. Happy with her life. Happy with her son. Theo gave her the greatest sense of accomplishment she’d ever known, greater even than the reward of helping women like Ruby. The love a mother had for her child was different than the love she could experience for any other.

  She supposed she could thank Levi for that much, for giving her the wonderful gift of her son. As determined as she’d been to remain a lifelong spinster, she never would have known the joys of motherhood without him. Oh, it wasn’t all rosebuds and rainbows, to be sure, especially since she was without the trappings of the fine life she’d been accustomed to. When she had initially realized she was with child, she had been devastated. She’d gone to her sister Tia in tears, not knowing what to do next.

  But she was a Harrington woman, and Harringtons always found their feet when it was time to land. The tears had dried, and she’d realized what she must do. She moved everything she could call her own into the House of Rest, which was sadly little for a woman of her years. She’d sold off gowns and jewels, cut ties with her old life. No more balls. No more Lady Helen. She’d reinvented herself, and she rather found that, free of all societal encumbrances, she could embrace life in its rawest and realest sense. She worked for her dinner. She relied upon herself now. It had made her stronger, even if she’d never particularly considered herself weak. Perhaps she had Levi Storm to thank for that too, for learning that there was no shame in working and providing for one’s self.

  As for the heartache he’d left her with, she could not thank him for that. She did her best to keep him from her mind, but she could see so much of him in sweet Theo’s tiny face that it was impossible to force him from her thoughts altogether. Not a day passed that she didn’t think of him, wonder at what might have been.

  “Lady Helen?” Maeve’s voice pierced Helen’s musings then, sounding unusually troubled.

  Helen glanced up from Ruby’s laborious studies to find Maeve in the doorway. Small and spritely with her halo of golden ringlets, Maeve was as darling on the inside as she looked on the outside. She had come a long way since that awful day Helen had first come upon her at Madame Violette’s. “Whatever can be the matter, Maeve?”

  “There’s a man here to see you, my lady. A tall gent, handsome and well-dressed. Says he won’t leave till he sees you.” Maeve worried the skirt of her plain gray dress as she spoke. In general, unexpected male visitors made all the residents uneasy.

  But Maeve’s description of this particular visitor made Helen uneasy. He had asked for her specifically. Tall, handsome, well-dressed. But, no. Surely it couldn’t be Levi. Surely he had long forgotten all about her. A year had passed, after all, and for Helen, so much had come to pass in that year that it may well have been a lifetime instead.

  Helen stood, pasting a reassuring smile on her lips that she didn’t feel. “Don’t fret, Maeve. I’ll see what the gentleman wants.”

  Maeve frowned. “Are you sure, my lady?”

  “Of course,” she said mildly, crossing the room to give Maeve a comforting pat on the arm. “Would you go see to Theo for me, please? I’m sure he must nearly be done with his nap.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Maeve dipped into a curtsy and hurried away.

  “Carry on with your reading, Ruby,” she called over her shoulder. “I shall be back in a trice.”

  Of course it wasn’t Levi, Helen reassured herself again as she hasten
ed to the front room where visitors were received. She was simply allowing her wayward thoughts to get the best of her. No indeed, Levi Storm was an ocean away, married to the ethereal heiress whose engraving she’d never forget. Miss VanHorn. She’d be Mrs. Storm now, likely heavy with child herself.

  The notion shouldn’t make her queasy with jealousy, but somehow it nevertheless did. Helen stepped over the threshold, disgusted with herself, and then froze.

  He stood at the large windows overlooking the street, his back to her. The man had dark hair, broad shoulders, long legs. Everything about the cut of his clothing spoke of wealth. The air around her seemed to hum with awareness. His hands were clasped behind his back. She’d recognize those long, capable fingers anywhere. Those hands, that sinewy form. Impossible to forget. Even more impossible still that he stood before her, conjured like a wraith.

  Impossible, yes, but dear God, it was him.

  Levi.

  She didn’t know if she gasped or if he had simply heard her footfalls. But either way, he spun about, his gaze snapping into hers. He was every bit as fine-looking as she had recalled, though he appeared leaner and a thicker beard shadowed his strong jaw line. Every bit as forbidding too. Her traitorous heart gave a pang at the sight of him.

  She hadn’t expected to ever see him again. After he’d left for France, he had sent her letters. Half a dozen or so. She’d read each one against her better judgment, but she’d never allowed herself to send a reply. Right about the time she’d discovered she was with child, the letters stopped.

  “Mr. Storm,” she said, forcing herself to be polite. To appear unaffected. “What brings you to London?”

  He smiled, but it was not a pleasant one. The first words to emerge from his beautiful mouth, the same mouth that had once kissed her so tenderly, were clipped and cold, hard as the frigid ground in winter. “Where is my son?”

  He knew.

  Her mind grappled, struggling to comprehend how it was that he stood before her, issuing a demand to see their son. He had returned to his life in America. A year had passed. She had purposefully withdrawn from public life, both to protect her family from scandal and to keep Theo her precious secret. She had been so careful.

  Yet, here he was before her, as though resurrected from the memories that were never far from her thoughts. And his hard expression, his distant tone, his stiff bearing, all told her the same story. He was angry. He knew about Theo, and he was very, very angry.

  Helen felt as if the breath had been robbed from her lungs. Icy dread spread through her but just as quickly, her instincts prodded her into action. It wouldn’t do to allow him to scare her into wavering. “I know not what you speak of, Mr. Storm,” she told him in a tone that was surprisingly unruffled.

  He closed the distance between them in three irate strides, not stopping until he was so near she could see the rigid set of his jaw and the dark, furious blue of his eyes. “Do you truly think now is the time to prevaricate, madam?”

  She was briefly taken back to the day they’d first met, when she’d stepped over the threshold of the Beacon offices and into his world. He had won that day. He would not win this time. “I’m not prevaricating, sir. If you have a son, he must be with his mother, your wife.”

  It pained her to say the word wife, to think again of the girl he’d married. The young, lovely heiress who would have helped him to broaden his empire in ways she, the spinster daughter of an earl, could not.

  He gripped her arms and pulled her body flush to his. The rage emanating from him was potent, almost tangible. “I’m speaking of the son you bore. My son. Take me to him. Now.”

  Fear crept into her heart then, for she knew him well enough to know that there would be no dissuading him. Her dissembling was a means to an end, and he already knew he was right about the precious babe napping upstairs. She could read it quite plainly in his immovable expression.

  “No,” she denied just the same, her voice almost foreign to her own ears, as tinged as it was by trepidation.

  How could he know? It hardly made sense. She had not imagined this day would ever come. She had not envisioned that he would hunt her down and invade the sanctuary she’d created for herself on a drizzling morning, demanding to see his son. She felt unutterably helpless in that moment.

  “Why have you come here?” she asked him instead of heeding his command. “What purpose does this visit serve?”

  “Come now, Helen. You’re no fool. I’ve come for him.”

  He wanted to take her son from her. Of all the thoughts that had been galloping about in her mind, she’d never once considered he would try to take Theo. He had obligations in New York City, a wife. Certainly he had his businesses. What need did he have of her sweet boy?

  Her response was instantaneous and vehement. “No.”

  “What you want is immaterial.” He was unyielding as ever. “He belongs with me, in my household, not here in London, living as though he has no father.”

  “He’s not yours,” she denied, even though she knew the attempt at further subterfuge was futile.

  “Indeed?” Another tight smile molded his lips, and she didn’t mistake it for kindness or amusement for one instant. “Tell me whose bed you shared other than mine.”

  She said the first name that came to her mind. “The Earl of Denbigh.”

  Her quick response gave him pause. But he hadn’t amassed his fortune without being shrewd. His eyes narrowed, his gaze probing in that unrelenting way only he possessed. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.” Perhaps it was an ill-advised strategy to attempt to make him believe Theo was not his, but at the moment it seemed the only tactic left to her. “If you wish to claim another man’s bastard as your own, you may gladly have my son,” she lied, though it hurt her heart to do so.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me that he isn’t mine,” he demanded, his tone low and tinged with rage. “Tell me you welcomed Denbigh into your bed. Tell me that he fucked you. Go on, my lady. Do it.”

  His coarse, ugly words and visceral response shocked her. Her lips were numb, her body trembling. She stared at him, her mouth going dry. She had always known he was no gentleman. Never had that been more apparent than now.

  “Say the words, Lady Helen.” He spoke her name and title as thought it were an epithet, his countenance deadly grim. “Tell me.”

  She was weak, and she couldn’t bear to lie to him. It was too much. “You cannot have my son,” she said instead, half denial, half plea.

  “He’s mine. My blood, my heir. You know as well as I that you never warmed Denbigh’s bed.”

  “Who told you?” She had to know. There was no way he could have suspected unless someone within her circle had informed him. She had taken every precaution to disappear from society before there was even a hint of scandal swirling about her.

  “Jesse.”

  Damn Jesse Whitney for his interference. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised at the revelation. He and Levi were old friends, after all. Still, she hadn’t expected anyone she’d trusted to betray her. And betray her he had, for now all her chickens had come home to roost in the form of one very angry and very imposing man. A man who was threatening to take her son away and leave her with nothing.

  She nearly wilted as her Herculean efforts came crumbling down around her and the ugly realities of her situation hit her all at once. “He had no right. How dare he?”

  “How dare he inform me of the fact that I have a child? He had every right. I had every right to know, damn you.” His grip on her grew almost punishing. “What the hell was going through that misguided head of yours? Did you think you could just bear my son without me knowing? Did you truly believe I’d never find out?”

  “What does it matter now?” She couldn’t contain the edge of bitterness lacing her voice. “Nothing here is your concern any longer. Indeed, I doubt that it ever was.”

  “Of course my son is my concern,” he bit out. “Why did you not write me yourself?
You had an entire year to inform me, and yet you chose to keep him from me.”

  She had thought of writing him. Indeed, she’d scratched out a letter more than once only to think better of it and toss it into the dustbin each time. “I did what I thought best.”

  In truth, she hadn’t told him because of her pride. She refused to be a burden to anyone. Not to her family, and not to the man before her. What would he have done? Rushed from his new bride’s side? Sent her money she didn’t want? No, she couldn’t have stood that, and so she had simply decided to keep Theo to herself.

  “What you thought best.” His lip curled in sneer. “Forgive me if I find your judgment sorely lacking, madam.”

  “For once, we are in complete agreement, Mr. Storm. My judgment is sorely lacking indeed,” she said pointedly. “I trusted you, for instance.”

  Her barb hit its mark. He stiffened and released her arms but made no move to put distance between them. “I made you no promises, Helen.”

  She’d been foolish. Careless. She had allowed her always reliable mind to be governed by her wild and fanciful heart. The devil of it was that even as he stood before her, as aloof and cool as ever, threatening to take the one joy he’d given her away, she loved him still. The realization made her tremble. She didn’t like feeling so helpless. She didn’t like the power he had over her, the power to make her hurt.

  “Nor did I make promises to you,” she managed to say. “We have no need of you here. I absolve you of any foolish notions you have concerning the welfare of my son. He is well cared for. You may return to America with a clear conscience.”

  “I’ll return to New York City with my son,” he countered. “You may come along if you wish, or you may choose to remain.”

  As if she would permit him to uproot Theo and spirit him off to New York City alone. Some things, it seemed, didn’t change. The man still had more audacity than anyone she’d ever met. “You can go to hell for all I care, but I won’t be going with you and neither will Theo.”