The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides Book 1)

by Christi Caldwell

  “Do not listen to him,” Robert barked. “You were always stronger than him, Helena.” A tortured shout burst from him.

  Her hand quavered and she flicked a panicky gaze to Robert. Diggory’s man dropped him to his knees with a swift punch to his kidneys.

  “Stop,” she cried out, her arm quaking uncontrollably.

  “Yer shaking now just as ye were when I set ye on fire,” Diggory taunted, as he took another step. “Ye cannot kill me.” Triumph blazed across his harsh, ugly features as he turned his gun on Robert.

  “No.” The scream tore from her soul.

  Three sharp reports, in staggering succession, rent the quiet.

  Gunpowder clouded the air, and the derringer slipped from her fingers. Diggory’s mouth formed a small moue, and then he collapsed facedown on the muddied ground. Dead.

  “Helena!”

  The faint clatter of another pistol hitting the ground penetrated the thick haze over her senses, and Helena spun around. Ryker stood beside Diggory’s henchman, who now lay at his feet with a bullet in his head. Ignoring her brother, Helena raced down the alley. “Robert,” she panted, and flung herself into his arms.

  Robert folded his arms almost reflexively around her, and she burrowed against the hard wall of his chest, taking his strength. “How d-did you know I was here?” she choked out. He staggered under the weight of her embrace, and she stumbled into him, bringing them to their knees.

  Something hot and sticky soaked the fabric of her gown, and she froze. No.

  “I am fine,” he said, his voice faint.

  No. No. No. No. No.

  Ignoring her brother who fell to a knee beside her, she worked her hand between them. “Robert,” she rasped, and a low-pained moan strangled her, as blood coated her fingers. “No. No. No. What did you do?” she cried out, glancing up at the taut lines at the corner of his mouth, the wan hue of his skin, and the vague look in his eyes. A sob escaped her as she pressed her hands to his side to slow the ebb. So much blood. So much of it. His life’s blood covered her palms, soaking her scarred fingers. Helena stared at those crimson stains as insanity licked at her senses, threatening to suck her away from right and reason. “Don’t you dare leave me, Robert Dennington,” she sobbed, tears streaking down her face, blurring her vision.

  Wordlessly, Ryker guided Robert down on his back and shoved off the bloodstained black coat. He yanked off his own jacket and in one swift movement, shredded the fabric, and held it to that gaping wound.

  Shouts and pounding footfalls sounded at the front of the alley, and her brothers burst forward, Robert’s eyes slid closed, and Helena’s world ceased to be.

  Chapter 23

  Rule 23

  Run when you must.

  The following morning, Helena’s maid hurried about her chambers, gathering garments from the armoire and neatly folding them and placing them inside the open trunks.

  Standing at the edge of the window, Helena stared blankly out into the quiet cobbled streets. Rain pinged the crystal windowpane, marking a fitting trail of sadness along the glass.

  In the streets of St Giles, the slightest hesitation could prove costly. Deadly. It was a lesson ingrained into her since she’d been a small girl.

  Of course, Robert would not have known that very rule. But she had. And she’d failed him, anyway. It was just one of the many reasons she’d no right to him.

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she drew in a slow, shuddery breath. Oh, the bloody irony of it all. She’d raged at being sent here, and now she’d rather lop off a limb than be sent away.

  Only she wasn’t being sent away. She gripped the sides of her skirts. She was leaving.

  She was leaving Robert.

  A tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed the back of her hand over that useless remnant of her misery. She’d never been born for this world. Somewhere along the way she’d allowed herself to forget that she was the daughter of a whore, a child raised amidst such violence that it would forever be a stain upon her soul and her very life.

  That was a darkness she’d not bring to Robert. Or Diana. Or Beatrice. Or her father.

  None of them.

  Yet, you already did . . .

  No. She couldn’t remain here. With her hand in murdering the ever-powerful Diggory, she’d only strengthened the feud between their warring factions. There would never be peace, and the threat of further bloodshed remained—stronger now than it ever had been.

  Only, in leaving, she’d not take with her all the damage done that day. The pain and guilt of that stabbed her with an ever-familiar guilt. Diana, innocent and good, had been ruined the moment she’d stumbled into the Hell and Sin, crying for help. She’d forfeited her future to save Helena’s life, and sacrificed herself in the process. Helena curled her arms close to her chest. Oh, the irony. To have judged these people wanting from the moment she’d arrived, only to learn how much better they were in their sacrifice and strength than Helena.

  “Miss, your trunks are all packed,” her faithless maid murmured at her back.

  “That will be all,” she said in curiously hollow tones. It was done.

  From within the glass panel, she detected the quick nod, curtsy, and then the girl took her leave, closing the door quietly behind her.

  At last alone, Helena let the tears fall freely, unchecked. Ryker had long proclaimed tears were a hint of weakness, and yet she didn’t give a bloody damn about Ryker and his blasted rules. Or his curt, cold pronouncements about the nobility.

  Nothing but a stinging, biting rage at him consumed her, so much healthier and safer than the despair tearing her apart.

  He’d sent her to this place. He’d forced her into this world. And in it, she’d found Robert, a man who’d defied every last belief she’d believed about noblemen.

  A man who’d treat her as a lady and offer her his name; the same man, who’d defend a common street thief, was a man so wholly worth loving. Her shoulders shook from the force of her tears. For he was deserving of a woman far more worthy than she.

  She drew in a last, broken sob, and then dragged her hands down her damp cheeks.

  The faint click of the bedroom door sounded in the quiet, and she stiffened.

  Her sister called out quietly. “You are leaving, then?”

  Helena gave a curt nod, incapable of speech. If she said a single word, she’d collapse into another blubbering mess.

  “I don’t want you to go,” Diana said, coming to a stop at her shoulder.

  “I have to,” she said on a ragged whisper. She turned to face the young woman. In her sister’s eyes was a new world wariness that came from one who’d been ruined by life. And guilt seized her chest once more. I did this. “I am so sorry.” For everything.

  A faint smile played on her bow-shaped lips. “Do you truly believe I’d ever regret stepping into that hell to save you? I love you, Helena.”

  Tears welled anew, and Helena smothered a sob with her hand.

  Then, in the greatest of reversals, the younger girl drew her into her arms and gave a light squeeze. “Husbands are overrated anyway,” Diana said with a dry humor. “Especially the noblemen type.”

  Oh, how I am going to miss you . . .

  She was saved from responding by the opening of the door.

  The duke’s large form filled the entranceway. This man whom she’d spent her life hating.

  Diana hurriedly took a step back. “I will come by before you leave,” she murmured, and rushed from the room.

  The Duke of Wilkinson closed the door. Father and daughter stood there, silent, studying one another. Gone was the ever-cheerful style. In its place were tight lines at the corner of his mouth, and a sadness in his eyes.

  Another person forever changed by my presence. She swallowed past the swell of regret.

  The duke came forward slowly, and as he stopped before her, she braced for his stinging vitriol. “Do you know the day you were born, you did not cry.”

  She cocked her head.

/>   The duke’s gaze took on a faraway quality. “I was not there the day Ryker was born. His delivery was long, and your mother and I were told he’d not survived.” Coldness slithered around her insides. What evil that a newborn babe could have been stolen and given to another. He looked at Helena. “I was determined to sit outside your mother’s rooms while she birthed you.” Odd, she’d never given thought to that day, whether there had been joy or sadness or . . . any feelings about her birth. “The moment you entered the world, there was just this absolute silence.”

  She bit her lower lip hard. He’d have surely preferred his world that way, given the way she’d ripped it asunder.

  “I ran into the room, and you just had this small smile on your lips.”

  The vise squeezed all the harder about her heart. His were not the words of a hateful beast or a vengeful duke. But rather, a man. How long had she seen nothing but the Duke of Wilkinson? Only to find he was, and always had been, her father.

  “I am so very sorry for all the ways in which I failed you . . .” His voice cracked. “And your brother.” Ryker Black, who’d hated his sire so much, he’d adopted a false surname that divorced himself from either of the parents who’d given him life.

  Helena shook her head. “It is not your fault.” Sometimes evil won out over good, as it had with the duchess.

  He ran a hand over his balding head. “But you see, Helena. It was my fault. I didn’t choose your mother.” When he at last looked at her, regret bled from the depths of his eyes. “I chose responsibility, and she, and you, Ryker, you all paid the greatest price for my sins. I loved her,” he whispered, and her heart spasmed at the grief which contorted his face.

  Unable to witness that emotion there, Helena strolled over to her vanity. “Sometimes love is not enough.” Her gaze caught the folded note and she skimmed her fingertips over the six letters marked on the vellum.

  “You are wrong,” he said, with only the optimism he could have, this man who’d failed to see the evil in his wife.

  She shot a sad look back. “I’m not.” If she was, she and Robert could be together. That day in the alley had proven the impossibility of them.

  Her father fished around the front of his jacket, and withdrew a narrow box. He held a palm out. She started at the unexpectedness of that gesture and looked from him to that small package. He came forward. “Here,” he said with a gruff tenderness.

  Wordlessly, she accepted the modest package, and lifted the lid. She froze. Nestled amidst a small pillow of aged satin lay a gold necklace with a ruby rose pendant attached, and a memory whispered forth of a woman who’d worn this very piece. Long ago. For so many years she’d recalled nothing but the despair and horror of living on the streets with that broken woman and Diggory that she’d neatly forgotten all the cherished memories they’d once shared: tending gardens together, playing a pretend game of pirates, battling with imagined swords.

  “It was your mother’s,” the duke murmured.

  Helena managed a nod. “I know,” she whispered. There wasn’t a single item she had left of her mother. Every memory she had of Delia Banbury existed only in her mind, and with a young woman’s bitter rancor, Helena had spent years hating her. Until now. Now she saw with mature eyes that her mother, who’d been hopelessly in love, was a far greater survivor than Helena could have ever been. For she’d endured the agony of losing the man she loved to another, and carved out an existence anyway.

  Tears blurred her eyes. How very little Helena had truly known of the world, of love and joy and forgiveness . . . until Robert.

  Something light and powerfully freeing blotted out all the long-held resentment. “Thank you,” she squeezed out past a tight throat. The words for her mother, and the father who, in bringing Helena here, had helped repair that broken link between her and the woman who’d given her life.

  “Stay.”

  The duke’s words recalled her to the moment, and she lowered the gift to the smooth surface of the vanity. “I can’t.” Even as I want to.

  “Is it because of what Diana did?” he pressed, and her teeth ravaged the skin of her inner cheek. No. It was because of what Helena had done, in bringing her there. “I’ll not have her marry one of those arrogant pups who’d condemn her for her bravery,” he said, demonstrating once more the manner of man and father he was.

  She shook her head. “It is not Diana,” she said quietly. What was another lie in the scheme of all the sins she was guilty of?

  “Is it the duchess?” he asked, coming closer. “She will be going away. To . . . a hospital.” He grimaced. For, of course, with her actions, the woman had demonstrated the level of her madness.

  “It is because of me,” she said at last. Picking up the note, she turned to face him. Desperate for this exchange to be at an end, she pressed it into his hands. “Will you see this delivered to Lord Westfield?”

  He stared at the name a moment, and then gave a reluctant nod. “You are always welcome here, Helena,” he said, his voice breaking.

  All the years’ worth of hatred lifted as Helena stepped into his arms and hugged him. “Thank you . . . Father.”

  In the week that followed, Robert had endured a parade of visitors to his room, from his family’s doctor to Bea, to servants to his father.

  When a future duke was shot, the world all but stopped.

  Seated at the edge of his bed, Robert winced as Dr. Carlson probed the area he’d cleaned and stitched up in the immediacy of Diggory’s shot.

  “My apologies,” Dr. Carlson murmured, not taking his attention from the pink flesh. “You are fortunate,” the doctor said, and collected a set of fresh bandages. “Several inches closer and it would have pierced an organ.”

  Robert gritted out a smile. His side burned like he’d been set afire. Except with the doctor’s words, it all came rushing back as vivid now as it had been in the moment. Helena. The bastard Diggory with a gun pointed at her chest. Her agonized cry. “But it did not, and I’m surely capable of leaving my chambers.”

  It had been an entire week since he’d seen Helena. Of course, given the impropriety of visiting his chambers she couldn’t very well come here . . . and yet . . . disappointment assailed him. He’d wanted her here, anyway.

  “Only if you care to risk reopening the wound and infection,” Dr. Carlson said dryly, and Robert swallowed down another wave of frustration.

  The door opened, and he looked to the entrance of the room, where his father stood framed in the doorway. “You are awake.” Heavy lines marred his sharp features; his reddened eyes hinted at a restless night and the struggle of his own illness.

  “And intending to go out,” Dr. Carlson supplied unhelpfully.

  The revelation earned a frown from the duke. Something sparked in his eyes, and he quickly averted his gaze.

  Robert froze, as unease won out over pain. Nothing would keep Helena from him. A woman who’d face down a demon like Diggory wouldn’t let propriety prevent her from visiting. “What is it?” he said tightly.

  Taking his cue, Dr. Carlson hurriedly packed his equipment and made his leave. “It is Miss Banbury,” his father said as soon as the door had closed.

  Robert jerked and nausea roiled in his belly at the sudden movement. Had one of Diggory’s henchmen punished her for that man’s deserved death? “What happened to Helena?” Sweat beaded on his brow. Oh, God, if she is dead, I am nothing . . .

  “She is all right. Miss Banbury is fine.”

  That gruff reassurance slowed his pulse rate, and Robert sent silent thanks skyward. He frowned. “What is it?” Then he registered the grim look in his father’s eyes. Apprehension kicked the rhythm of his heartbeat into a frantic gallop.

  “Tell me,” he demanded, shoving to a stand. That subtle movement sent agony lancing through him once more.

  “She is fine. I’d not lie to you. You need to rest, Robert,” his father implored. “You risk reopening the wound stitched by Dr. Carlson. I no more wish to be coddled than you,” h
e reasoned. “Given you’re the one with the gunshot, and I’m merely the one dragging out his death day by day, I expect I win this argument.” Robert’s face contorted, and his father grimaced. “Poor jest?”

  “Indeed,” Robert said gruffly, and swung his legs back onto the bed. “You should be resting.” And I should be with Helena.

  “Bah,” his father said, stretching his legs out and hooking them at the ankles. “I’ll have all of eternity to rest but only a short while to reason with my son.”

  Though his mother had died far too young, Robert recalled the love his parents had. “Nothing could have kept you away from Mother,” he pointed out.

  Where all mention of the late duchess raised sadness in the duke’s eyes, a smile pulled at his lips. “And soon I shall not have to.” For all the agony that came with Robert confronting the eventual death of his father, the peace in his father’s smile, and the happiness etched in his face, spoke of a man who’d been parted too long from his wife.

  How had his father lived all these years without her? If Helena were gone from his life, what purpose would there be? What reason to smile? Or laugh? And yet, the duke had.

  “I had you and your sister,” his father said quietly, unerringly following the direction Robert’s thoughts had wandered. “And though there was always a void in losing her, there was always a reason to find joy.” He held his eyes. “I was blessed with two of them.” His father reached inside his pocket and wordlessly turned a folded missive over.

  Robert stared at it a moment, and furrowing his brow, accepted the ivory vellum.

  With shaky fingers Robert unfolded the note.

  Dearest Robert . . .

  We could not have been born to more different worlds. I allowed myself to believe I could live in yours . . . but the truth is, I cannot.

  He hurried his gaze over the page, his panic mounting.

  With your convalescing, I’ve had ample time to think beyond the whirlwind week we knew together. In wedding you, I would be giving up all of who I am, just as you would be giving up who you are as a future duke. I am a bookkeeper. My life brings me peace, and though you brought me several very happy days, that can never be enough. Just as I can never be enough for you.