“Why did you do it, Helena?” The irritated tick of a muscle in his jaw revealed it wasn’t the question he’d wanted to ask, but there was no taking it back. It stained the air between them, hovering like a mist they could see through, yet couldn’t penetrate, no matter how strongly they beat their fists against it. Almost absently, she wondered if he was referring to her marriage, or his father’s murder. Not that it mattered, really.
Her answer for both was the same.
“I had no choice.” When her belly tingled unpleasantly, as if she was in a carriage that had taken a swift turn downhill, she draped an arm across her belly. “It was never something I wanted to do.”
A shadow rippled across his countenance. “Then why? I was at the wedding. I saw you walk down the aisle. You walked, Helena. You weren’t dragged. You weren’t carried. You didn’t mutter so much as a word of protest.” He shook his head. “Hardly the actions of someone who did not have a choice.”
“You were at the church that day?” She almost took a step towards him but caught herself just in time. The painful lump in her throat grew larger. “I never saw you.”
And she’d searched. She’d searched with the quiet desperation of a sailor thrown overboard looking for a life raft, or a piece of wood, or even another person. Something to cling to in order not to get sucked down into the dark water below. Except Stephen had never showed. Or so she believed. And she didn’t know why it should hurt so badly to know that he’d been there, but it did.
Maybe because he’d been there, and he’d done nothing.
He could have stopped it, and he’d remained silent.
He could have saved her, and he’d let her go.
“I was there,” he said flatly. “I saw everything.”
“Perhaps you saw everything, but that doesn’t mean you know anything.” On a choked sob, she whirled around and would have fled down the path had he not grabbed her by the arm. In a single effortless motion, he spun her into his chest, and held her tight as she kicked and hit and did everything that she could to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her.
When she was spent, both physically and emotionally, Helena sagged against him. Had he not held her upright, she would have crumpled to the ground.
“I hate you,” she whispered against his waistcoat.
“The feeling is mutual, I can assure you.”
She tilted her head back. Her eyes were wet with tears, but she’d be damned if she allowed them to fall. She was stronger than this. She was stronger than him. And she wouldn’t let herself be dragged under the water a second time.
“Then what are you doing here?” The lump in her throat had turned to shards of glass that sliced with every word. “What do you want? You already told me you were my benefactor. Fine. Good.” She jerked her shoulder. “Take it all away. The house. The gowns. The servants. Everything. I don’t care. I’ve gone without before; I’ll do it again. But I won’t have you hang this over my head like a guillotine.”
His blue eyes flashed an inch from her own. There was fury in them, but there was also something else. Something achingly familiar. Something that reminded her of moonlight and wisteria.
“I want to know the truth, Helena,” he said quietly. “The real truth. The why, and the how. I want to know how you could do it. Then I can finally be done with it. I can be done with us.”
“I’ve told you; I had no choice.” She winced when his grip tightened. On a vicious curse, he abruptly released her and whipped around, his fingers diving into his hair.
“This was a mistake,” he muttered. “A waste of my bloody time. I never should have come here.”
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” Relief coursed through Helena’s veins as she pulled her wrap closer around her nightdress, cocooning herself in the softly woven fabric. Surely if Stephen had known about the murder – or at least suspected – he would have said something then and there. That he hadn’t reassured her of his ignorance, and her own safety.
But it did nothing to fix the hole in her heart.
A heart that still beat for Stephen, even now.
Against her will.
Against her wishes.
Against every fiber in her body.
Stephen wasn’t the only man she’d ever kissed in the moonlight, but he was the only one who had ever mattered. The only one who had made her feel. The only one who had stirred something inside of her.
It was a warmth in her belly. It was a tingling in her breasts. It was an awareness of every breath he took, and every one she shared in response.
If that wasn’t love…what was?
“He was going to marry my sister,” she called out when Stephen started to walk away.
He stopped short, his shoulders stiffening beneath the sharp line of his coat. “What did you say?” he asked harshly.
When Helena was a child, her governess gave her two round magnets to play with. She’d loved to place them on opposite ends of her room, then give one a nudge so it rolled towards the other. That was how she felt as she started to walk towards Stephen, the train of her wrapper trailing behind her. Like a magnet being pulled by an invisible force.
She stopped behind him, her arm hovering in midair as she contemplated touching him. Of stroking the tension from his muscles. Of giving him the comfort that she desperately wanted for herself. And she almost did it. Then with a tiny, annoyed shake of her head, she balled her hand into a fist and tucked it against her ribcage. Maybe her traitorous heart still yearned for the man standing in front of her, but her head knew better.
And it was her head she needed to listen to.
Stephen deserved the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as she could give him. Then he could be free of her, and she could be free of him, and they could go on with their lives.
Separately.
“Your father. He proposed to my little sister, Dahlia. No.” Her mouth twisted in a sneer just as Stephen turned around. “Proposed is too generous a word. He demanded she marry him. And my parents, seeing an opportunity to expand their wealth and acclaim, were only too happy to agree to the marriage. She was only fifteen. I made the decision to take her place.”
“Why…why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I tried!” Her nails dug crescent moons into her palms as she struggled to maintain her composure. When her voice threatened to tremble and more tears pricked her eyes like tiny needles, she took a calming breath, then another. “I tried,” she repeated. “That morning you came home, I tried to tell you. But you were so angry you wouldn’t listen. And then I became so angry that I no longer wanted to explain.”
His jaw clenched. “Of course I was angry. I returned to discover you were marrying my father. But if I’d known why you were doing it…bloody hell, Helena! You should have told me.”
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. “Would it have changed anything?”
He stared incredulously at her. “It would have changed everything.”
“I…” The lump had returned to her throat, three times larger than before. She could barely speak because of it, and when she did her words were jumbled. “You’re right. I – I should have told you. But – but that night. We’d only known each other for that one night. And I…”
“You what?” he said viciously when she hesitated.
“I didn’t know if you would care. You were already so furious with me,” she added hastily when he cursed again. “And everything was happening so fast. I didn’t know if you would believe me, and even if you did, I didn’t know what you could do–”
“I could have stopped it.” Blue eyes alight with a fire she’d never seen before, he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a small, painless shake. “I would have stopped it. By God, Helena, to think of all the years we’ve suffered over this–”
“There was nothing simple about any of it,” she interrupted. “If I didn’t marry your father, then my sister would have had to. That’s why I did not have a choice. That’s
why I did what I did.” There was nothing she could do to stop the single tear that trickled down her cheek. “And that’s why I don’t regret any of it.”
It was true, she realized. She didn’t regret any of it. Not when Dahlia was happily married, and she had two beautiful nieces to spoil, and a life where she didn’t have to answer to anyone, least of all a man.
Yes, it had been hard, and painful, and humiliating. She’d done things she’d never dreamed possible in her very worst nightmares. But it was because of those things, and those choices, and those decisions, that she was where she was today. That she was who she was today.
And she wouldn’t apologize for it.
“What do you want to do now?” she asked.
“Now I don’t know whether I want to strangle you…”
“Or?” she prompted when he paused.
His gaze darkened with desire. “Or kiss you.”
Chapter Eleven
Stephen had arrived at Winchester Manor with every intention of confronting Helena for the last time. Instead, he had finally learned the truth. A truth that part of him had always suspected, but never confirmed, because had he done that…had he done that he would have been just as guilty as he’d convinced himself Helena was. Even guiltier, for he damned well should have stopped the wedding.
But he hadn’t.
Instead he’d let his pride take control, and it had cost his heart dearly. A heart that had never stopped beating for the woman gazing at him with luminous green eyes. For even when he’d hated her, he’d still loved her. He’d never had a choice. He’d belonged to her the first moment he saw her, which was what had made the cut of her perceived betrayal all the deeper.
He and Helena had both allowed their stubbornness to get the better of them, and in turn, they’d lost years of time that could have been spent together. Years of time they could never get back.
But he wasn’t about to repeat the mistakes of his past.
Not when they had a chance at a new future.
“Stephen,” she whispered, and the soft quiver in her voice was his undoing.
“Helena. Oh, God, Helena.” Sinking his fingers into her hair, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.
Their kiss was like a bolt of lightning streaking across an angry, tumultuous sky.
It brought light to the darkness.
Clarity to the confusion.
Hope to the hurt.
In the garden all those years ago they’d both been tentative. Now they were desperate. Dimly, he registered her nails digging into the nape of his neck as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips to taste the sweet nectar within. He swallowed her moan, and the muscles in his abdomen went tight as a drum when she returned the favor.
He skimmed his fingers down her back, following the delicate line of her spine until he reached the swell of her bottom. Her eyes flew open when he cupped her there and he grinned against her mouth, both enthralled and delighted when she nipped the tip of his tongue in a teasing admonishment.
When the kiss was over, they leaned into each other. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her protectively against his chest with his chin resting on top of her head. She burrowed against him, a tiny bird seeking shelter in the storm. For a precious moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply be.
To be happy. To be content.
To be with the woman he loved.
Because he did love her. He’d always loved her, even in their darkest moments. Which was why, in his bruised heart of hearts, it was time to admit he had never come here to end things between himself and Helena.
He’d come to begin them.
“I love you,” he said hoarsely. “I love you, and I’m sorry–”
“No.” The hand splayed across his sternum stopped him short, as did the raw pain etched across Helena’s beautiful face as she drew back and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “You don’t love me, Stephen. And you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who is sorry. I…” Tears filled her eyes and choked her voice. “I cannot do this.”
“What do you mean you…Helena!” He shouted her name when she wrenched free of his grasp and began to run as fast as her slender legs could carry her. For a few precious seconds he could only stare at her retreating back in stunned silence, but then with a vicious curse he gave chase. He’d let Helena go once. He’d be damned if he made the same mistake a second time.
He caught up to her easily, but when he tried to put a hand on her shoulder, she slapped it away.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
Each word was like a bullet to his heart.
A heart that had already withstood so much.
How much more could he possibly be expected to endure?
“Don’t do this, Helena. Please.” Later, as Stephen stared into the bottom of a glass of bourbon, it would strike him as bitterly ironic that he’d wanted to see Helena beg. And now he was the one who was pleading. “Talk to me. Just talk.” He gazed at her beseechingly. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it all out. I promise.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” She pressed her fingertips to her bottom lip when it trembled. “There’s nothing more to say. You – you need to forget this kiss ever happened. You need to forget me.”
This time when she ran away from him, he didn’t go after her.
Chapter Twelve
Two Weeks Later
“Hello!” Calliope’s voice rang excitedly through the manor as she stepped into the foyer and spun in a circle, half-expecting her dear friends to come rushing out to greet her any second. But when one second turned to ten and ten turned into a minute, she looked up at her husband and frowned. “I don’t know where they are.”
“I’m sure they’re just outside,” Leo assured her.
“In the pouring rain?” Calliope asked dubiously.
The skies had opened up the morning they’d left Scotland and it had been raining buckets ever since. Their return home had been delayed by two days due to the main road being washed out, but they’d found plenty to do in a cozy little inn.
Her cheeks warming from the memories of their honeymoon, Calliope pulled off her wet cloak and hat as she crossed the room and peered into the parlor. It was empty. So was the second parlor, and the drawing room, and the library.
“Maybe they returned to London,” Leo suggested as he came up behind her, his hands resting familiarly on her waist. Leaning down, he nuzzled her neck, then pressed his mouth to her shoulder. “Which means we have the entire house to ourselves.”
“We need to find them.”
On a sigh, her husband rocked back on his heels. “Do we, though?”
“Yes,” she said succinctly. “What if something happened to Percy?”
“No one would have gotten past Helena, least of all Glastonbury. Weasely bastard,” Leo muttered under his breath. When he’d learned of what had happened to Percy, he’d been outraged and would have challenged the duke to pistols at dawn if Calliope hadn’t stopped him. “I’m sure your friends are safe. They’ve probably gone on a little excursion, or maybe they’re taking a nap, for all we know.”
“Before afternoon tea? Besides, they’re not just my friends,” Calliope said as she marched towards the music room. “We’re like sisters. We’ve even formed a society.”
“Is that so?” Leo asked, lifting a brow. “What is it called?”
“Well, I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a secret. It even has secret in the name.” Calliope saw a harp and a pianoforte, but no Percy or Helena. How odd. She’d written to tell them when she and Leo would be returning, and given they were two days later than expected, she’d thought her friends would be waiting to meet them at the door.
“I am going to check upstairs,” she decided.
“There’s lots of bedrooms upstairs,” Leo said with mock gravitas. “I should definitely join you.”
Calliope squealed w
hen he scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of thistledown. “Put me down,” she insisted even as her pulse quickened and heat stole between her thighs. “I’m perfectly capable of looking by myself.”
“Yes,” he murmured before he traced the delicate shell of her ear with his tongue. “But what’s the fun in that?”
“I…what was the question?” she gasped as her head lolled back against his chest in helpless surrender.
With a husky laugh, Leo carried her to the base of the stairs. But before he could begin his ascent, Percy appeared at the top. As soon as she saw them standing below, her entire face brightened.
“You’re back!” she cried before she began to race down the steps two at a time in a swirl of violet skirts. “Oh, I’m so pleased to see you.”
Calliope started to squirm. “Leo, let me go.”
“I thought we were going upstairs,” he said sourly.
“There’ll be time for that later.”
“Fine.” Grumbling, he reluctantly set her down, nodded at Percy, and then excused himself. “I’m going to see what there is to eat.”
“Food and lovemaking,” Calliope said fondly as she watched her husband hurry off towards the kitchen. “That’s all he seems to care about anymore.” She grinned at Percy. “It’s absolutely marvelous.”
“I suppose then that there’s no need to ask how the honeymoon went,” the duchess remarked as she reached the bottom of the staircase. “You’re glowing from your head to your feet.”
“Am I?” Calliope said happily. “I guess I am. Marriage is better than I could have ever dreamed. And I…oh,” she exclaimed when a troubled line appeared in the middle of the Percy’s forehead. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel poorly. Of course, not all marriages are–”
“No, no.” Percy cut her off with a shake of her head. “I’m ecstatic for you and Leo. Just because my own marriage hasn’t worked doesn’t mean I cannot be thrilled for yours. It’s not that.”
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 18
