“Awful things, hearts.” Helena pursed her lips. “Quite useless, really.”
Before Percy could reply, there was a light knock on the door, and a maid stepped into the parlor.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said.
Helena struggled not to curse when she watched all the blood drain from Percy’s countenance and fear flood into her eyes.
At last they’d been making some progress. A step, however small, in the right direction. And now, with a simple knock, it felt as if they were back at the beginning.
If only mental scars could heal as quickly as physical ones, Percy and Helena would be a great deal improved. For didn’t Helena still glance over her shoulder every time she walked past a Bow Street Runner? And wasn’t there a part of her that always waited and wondered if today would be the day that Runner stopped and arrested her?
More than two years, and she still held her breath.
More than two years, and she still felt guilt.
Not for the act itself. That she would never regret. But for hiding it. For keeping it secret. For letting everyone, even her closest friends, believe the Earl of Cambridge had died of a heart attack.
As if he’d ever had a heart to begin with.
If her hidden scars hadn’t healed in two years, she could hardly expect Percy’s to vanish in two months. It was pure ignorance to believe otherwise. And yet, she still had hope. Because if Percy could find a way to rid herself of her ghosts and her demons, then perhaps, so too could Helena.
“It’s all right,” she told the duchess, lightly touching her arm. “No harm is going to come to you here. You’ve my word.” It wasn’t an idle promise. Helena kept a small pistol in her bedchamber, and she knew exactly how to use it. Glastonbury could come looking for his missing wife, but he wouldn’t be leaving with her.
Of that, Helena was certain.
“Would you mind being more specific, please?” she asked the maid pointedly.
The servant blushed. She, along with the rest of the household staff, had been informed that the Duchess of Glastonbury was a very special, very discreet guest, and if anyone came looking for her, they were to be detained in the music room and Helena was to be notified at once. “Of course, my lady. I – I should have said there is someone here to see the Countess of Cambridge. My sincerest apologies for any confusion.”
“See?” Helena told Percy as she stood up. “They’re here to see me, not you. I’ll be back in just a minute.” She wagged her finger at her friend, whose color was slowly returning. “No peeking at my cards.”
Squaring her shoulders, she walked out of the parlor and into the foyer where sunlight glinted off the marble tiles. In the middle of the oval shaped room stood a man with his back to her. From what little she could see of him, he was sharply dressed, with broad shoulders, a glossy mane of chestnut brown hair, and a very well-shaped arse.
She’d always liked a man with a well-shaped arse.
“Can I help you?” she said, smiling politely.
“I think you can,” he replied as he slowly turned around.
Helena’s smile faded as her gaze narrowed and recognition dawned, swift and terrible. She knew those blue eyes, cold and piercing. She knew that face, all rawboned and filled with angles. She knew that nose, long and slightly crooked near the middle, the only imperfection in an otherwise flawless countenance. She knew those brows, thick and slashing above sweeping black lashes that were longer than any man deserved to have. Especially this one.
He was Stephen Darby.
The Earl of Cambridge.
The Viscount Ware.
And her worst enemy.
“Get the hell out of here,” she hissed, advancing on him with clenched fists as her entire body started to vibrate with barely suppressed rage. Stephen was lucky she was not in possession of her pistol, because she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot him in the heart. Not that it would have done much good, because like his father before him he didn’t have a heart.
“Now, now,” Stephen said, making a tsking sound under his breath. “Is that any way to greet your benefactor?”
Chapter Five
Stephen took immense pleasure in watching all of the color disappear from Helena’s high cheekbones. This was what he’d waited for. This was what he’d wanted. To witness her anger and humiliation when she understood he was the one who had given her everything…and he was the one who was going to take it all away.
Just like she’d taken everything away from him.
Over two years, and rage still burned in his heart for the hurt she’d caused him. Her betrayal had left him wounded for days, weeks, months. It would have been bad enough had she decided to marry before he returned for her…but to marry his own father.
It was a transgression he could never forgive.
A deception he could never forget.
Helena’s lips parted, then closed, then parted again, but no sound came out. Instead she just stared at him as if he were a ghost.
Or the devil himself.
“That’s right,” he murmured, taking a step closer. Close enough to see the wild leap of her pulse at the base of her throat. Close enough to smell her perfume; the same delicate scent she’d worn on the night they’d met. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her furious green eyes.
“W-why?” she finally managed to choke out. “Why would you do this?”
It was a question he’d been anticipating. After all, hadn’t he asked himself the same thing? Late at night, when sleep had eluded him and he’d stared bleakly at the ceiling, hadn’t he wondered why he was really supporting Helena? Why he had paid for her rent, and her extravagant shopping sprees, and her household staff. Why he had kept it a secret all these months. Why he had sent her roses in her favorite color.
Revenge was too simple an answer.
But it was the only one he was ready to give.
“You didn’t really think you would be able to marry my father and live off his money for the rest of your life, did you?” he sneered. “Choices have consequences, lamb.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t – you have no idea – oh,” she sputtered, driving the heel of her shoe into the floor. She raised her fist, and for a moment, Stephen wondered if she intended to punch him. Then with a hiss of breath, she spun around and marched back into the parlor, slamming the door closed behind her.
Stephen stared at the door incredulously, unable to believe she’d just…walked away from him. No one walked away from him. Not his servants, not his peers, and certainly not red haired hellions who would do well to display a little gratitude for all they’d been given.
Grinding his teeth, he started to follow Helena into the parlor. But before he’d taken two steps, the door flew open and she came storming back out, a veritable whirlwind of temper.
“We are not having this discussion here,” she snapped. “We’ll go to the library.”
Now it was Stephen’s turn to stare as she stalked past him and disappeared down a long hallway. Of all the scenarios he’d imagined, this hadn’t been one of them: Helena barking orders at him while he stood in the middle of the foyer like a bloody idiot.
“If you’re not going to come,” she called out, her voice lashing through the air like a whip, “kindly shut the door on your way out.”
With an audible growl, he yanked off his overcoat and tossed it to the footman standing silently in the corner of the foyer with his eyes wide as saucers, before he followed Helena down the hall and into a large library with vaulted ceilings and mahogany shelves filled with too many books to count.
In the middle of the room, Helena stood facing one of the windows overlooking the rear of the estate. Her gloved hands were clasped behind her back, her chin lifted high as a queen’s. Only the slightest tightening of her jaw indicated she was aware of Stephen’s presence as he stepped through the doorway.
“You don’t seem pleased to see me,” he said, stopping behind a heavyset chair.
&n
bsp; “Should I be?” she asked without looking at him.
His smile was dagger sharp. “No.”
At that, she finally turned her head, and he found himself taken aback by the emotion swirling in the depths of her brilliant jade eyes. It almost appeared as though she was fighting back tears and his stomach twisted unpleasantly in response. Then he recalled precisely who he was dealing with, and his body stiffened.
Helena wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress, no matter how well she played the part. She was cunning. She was conniving. But most of all, she was ruthless. Because a woman who would willingly marry a man four times her age just for the sake of his fortune was a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.
Or to keep what she had.
Which brought Stephen to the reason he was here.
“Did you honestly believe all of your expenses were being paid for out of sheer generosity?” he asked, genuinely curious of the answer. He wanted to know how that clever mind of hers worked. How the gears spun and whirled. How she rationalized giving nothing and receiving everything.
“No,” she bit out. “I knew there would be a price to pay. I just never imagined I’d be paying it to you.” The corners of her mouth pinched. “What do you want, Stephen? Besides gloating, of course. Which is a little beneath a man of your station, don’t you think?” She tapped her finger against her chin. “Then again, it is you we’re talking about.”
Impertinent wench. Even in defeat, she refused to show any humility. And he had defeated her, whether she was ready to admit it or not. If this were a game of chess, he’d have her king pinned with nowhere to turn. But even with her back against the wall, she wasn’t ready to surrender. A trait he found both infuriating…and admirable.
“I am not gloating,” he growled.
“Aren’t you?” A russet brow, several shades darker than her fiery hair, arched upwards. “That is why you’ve come here, isn’t it? To rub my nose in the fact that you’re the one who has been keeping the roof over my head these past two years. And to…what?” Her head canted. “Demand I beg you on my knees for it to remain there?”
Desire struck him like a punch to the gut as he imagined her dropping to the ground in front of him, her plump lips right at the perfect height to–
No.
His knuckles gleamed white as he gripped the top of the chair. He was not going to allow himself to venture down that road again. Helena was his enemy. She’d hurt him, embarrassed him, and broken his heart. Which was why he should not have been imagining her on her knees, her nails digging into his buttocks as her mouth slid eagerly over his–
Bloody hell.
What the devil was wrong with him?
It’s her fault, he thought, jaw clenching as he glared at her. Helena was a goddamned temptress, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself snared in her web all over again. Except he was no longer the same naïve idiot who had fallen for a titian-haired goddess in the moonlight, and she certainly wasn’t the wide-eyed innocent she had pretended to be.
“While the idea of you on your knees has merit, that’s not why I’m here.” Abandoning the chair, he advanced on her with the long, silent strides of a large cat.
She held her ground but couldn’t quite hide the small flicker of alarm when he put his hands on either side of the windowsill, effectively pinning her between his body and the glass.
“You have a debt to pay, lamb. And I’ve come to collect it.”
Chapter Six
Every instinct Helena possessed was screaming at her to duck under Stephen’s arm and flee as far and as fast as she could. That would be the wisest course of action. Some might say the only course of action, given the cards she held. Which was to say, no cards at all.
If Stephen’s goal in all this had been to humiliate her, he’d done a bang-up job. Not that she would ever admit as much. But even worse than the humiliation was how he had managed to pin her a corner from which she saw no easy way out. And for that she hated him. She despised him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting defeat.
And she would never give up without a fight.
“I do not owe anyone anything, least of all you.” She angled her head. “I don’t know what you are doing here or what you think to gain with this little benefactor charade, but I suggest you do us both a favor and go crawl back into whatever swamp you came out of.”
“Oh, lamb.” Chuckling darkly, he reached out and tucked a curl behind her ear. “If I did that, who would pay for your allowance? Your rent? The clothes on your back and the food on your table?”
“While your concern is touching,” she gritted, “what I do is none of your concern. So kindly take your money and bugger off.”
Stephen grunted and stumbled back when she closed her hand into a fist and drove it into the middle of his stomach. Taking advantage of his temporary imbalance, she darted away from the window. But instead of running to the door, as any sane person would do, she went to the fireplace and picked up a black iron poker.
Wielding it like a sword, she whirled to confront Stephen. “I do not see you moving.”
“Are you bloody insane?” he asked, his incredulous gaze shifting from the poker to her face. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”
“Isn’t that why you came here?” Though her biceps had begun to tremble from the weight of the heavy rod, she didn’t lower it. “To hurt me? To shame me?”
“No. All right, yes. Yes.” He jumped back when she swung the poker at him. It was only a half-hearted attempt, but she still relished the flash of surprise she saw in his eyes.
That’s right, she thought. This time when you push me, I’m going to push back.
In the mist and the rain at Cambridge’s estate she’d been small. She had backed away from Stephen instead of rushing forward. She had shown cowardice instead of courage. But if the last two years had taught her anything, it was that if she wanted her voice to be heard and her opinion to be known, then she needed to take up her own space. More than that, she needed to create her own space. And then she needed to defend it.
“If you came here hoping I would kiss your feet and cry tears of gratitude,” she said with a haughty toss of her head, “then your sense of judgement is just as poor now as it was then. Unless you thought I would forget you were the one who threw me to the wolves in the first place?”
Was that a flicker of regret she saw in his expression?
No, she told herself.
Surely not.
“You were married to my father for less than a day,” he said stiffly. “What made you believe you deserved to profit off his death?”
“I was thrown out on the street,” Helena bristled.
“And?”
“And I nearly starved!”
“But you didn’t.” With bold arrogance, his gaze swept down her body.
Helena sucked in a furious breath when he lingered on her breasts, an indolent smirk toying with the corners of his mouth before he lifted his head and met her outraged stare.
“Did you, lamb?”
Her grip on the poker tightened. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he drawled even as his eyes flashed with a wicked gleam.
“You know precisely what I mean.” As lust pooled, sticky and sweet, in her belly, Helena steeled herself against old passions and new desires. Unfortunately, physical attraction was not a hound to be called back at will. Her mind might have hated Stephen, but her body still remembered what it felt like to be touched by him. To be kissed by him. To be consumed by him.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek.
Hard.
“I did wonder,” he murmured.
“About what?” she said guardedly.
“If I would still want you, even after everything you did.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Even to Helena’s ears, her denial rang hollow. Not because she was guilty of marrying the earl for his money. But because she’d c
ommitted a far more egregious act. If Stephen hated her for marrying his father, what would he do if he discovered she’d murdered him?
All things considered, she’d rather not find out.
“You’ve overstayed your welcome, Stephen. What there was of it in the first place.” She jabbed the poker at the door. “I think it is time for you to leave.”
“And I think it’s time for you to tell the truth for once in your bloody life!” His raised voice ricocheted off the vaulted ceiling. On a guttural snarl, he took a step towards her. She lifted her weapon and he stopped short, his chest heaving. “Goddammit, Helena. Why can’t you–” He broke off mid-sentence when a timid knock sounded at the door.
It opened a crack, and Percy peered through.
“Helena, I thought I heard shouting and I – oh.” The duchess gasped when she saw her friend pointing a poker at an unknown man. Her gaze darted between the two of them, fear evident in every inch of her pale countenance. Still, she bravely held her ground, and for that small, courageous feat, Helena wanted to give her a hug.
“Should I – should I call someone?” Percy asked. “The butler, or a footman, or–”
“There’s no need.” Helena gave Stephen a warning glare. “Lord Cambridge was just leaving. Isn’t that right?”
His jaw clenched. “That’s right.”
Confusion marred Percy’s brow. “Lord Cambridge? But I thought–”
“A different one, darling.” Helena set the poker down. “Would you mind giving us a moment? I’ll be right out. I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.”
“Are…are you sure?” Percy said uncertainly.
“Positive.” She forced herself to smile. “It shan’t take more than a minute.”
“All right.” Percy started to leave, then hesitated. “I’ll be across the way if you need me.”
“Of course. Off with you, now.” Giving the duchess a gentle push out of the room, Helena closed the door and then leaned back against it. There was a part of her that wanted to follow behind her friend, but first, she had a dragon to vanquish. A very snarly, very angry dragon. The kind that breathed fire and had enormous wings and an even bigger–
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 14
