The Duke of Nothing (The 1797 Club Book 5)

by Jess Michaels

  Adelaide’s face crumpled just a little. Helena couldn’t believe it. This was this woman’s empathy for her, her gentle heart that broke for what Helena had endured and would endure.

  It meant everything to her to see it.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Adelaide said at last, and reached out to hug her again. “I truly hope you and Baldwin can find the happiness you so sorely deserve. Life is far too short for anything less.”

  From behind them, Helena heard someone clear his throat. She and Adelaide turned together, and Helena’s heart sank. Her uncle and Charity stood in the doorway to the parlor. Both of them looked annoyed. Angry, even. And she had to steel herself for the consequences of what they’d seen.

  “Your Grace,” Uncle Peter said, his tone cool.

  Adelaide stood, Helena right behind her, and said, “Mr. Shephard, Miss Shephard. Good afternoon.”

  “You can call me Charity,” Charity said, her tone sharp and laced with jealousy that made Helena squeeze her eyes shut.

  Adelaide nodded. “Of course. I was just having the loveliest conversation with Helena. You have a gem in her, Mr. Shephard. I hope you appreciate it.”

  Her uncle’s jaw set and he ground out, “Quite. Actually, Charity and I were just talking about our little…gem. Do you think we might have a moment alone with Helena?”

  Adelaide turned toward her, one fine eyebrow arching. “If you feel we are finished with our conversation?”

  Helena knew the message in her friend’s expression, questioning if she would be all right with her family. The truth was, she didn’t quite know the answer. But denying them would only make it worse in the long run.

  “Perhaps we can continue it later,” she suggested gently. “Over supper?”

  Adelaide smiled. “I will make sure we are seated next to each other. Perhaps Emma could make a third near us. I would enjoy that very much. I shall go talk to Charlotte and make the arrangements right now.”

  Helena nodded and Adelaide squeezed her hand before she smiled tightly at Charity and Uncle Peter. She left the room.

  The moment she did, Helena’s uncle reached behind and shut the door with a loud swish.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his rage barely contained. She felt it bubbling below the surface and saw it in the snap of his gaze.

  “Doing?” she repeated as she backed up a step from him out of pure instinct.

  “We saw you…hugging the Duchess of Northfield,” Charity spat out. “Completely out of your place.”

  Helena shook her head. “The duchess was offering a friendly ear,” she said. “I did not cross a line.”

  “Of course you did,” her uncle blustered. “You did, and it isn’t the first time since our arrival in London that you’ve done so.”

  Helena caught her breath. Uncle Peter and Charity didn’t know the half of the lines she’d crossed…or did they? She and Baldwin had been careful the night before, but anything was possible.

  Charity stepped toward her. “This trip is supposed to be about me, Helena! When I suggested you come along, I never thought that you’d ingratiate yourself to the most important people in England. That you’d wheedle your way into their hearts and push me out into the cold.”

  Helena’s lips parted. She heard hurt in Charity’s tone, not just anger and it set her on her heels. “I never intended to do that. Oh, Charity, my friendships with these people are totally separate from your own. They have no impact on you, I assure you.”

  “Don’t they?” Charity snapped. “Since we came here, and especially since we came out to the Sheffield estate, you have gotten all the attention. You’ve been danced with more than I have, talked to more than I have, consoled more than I have.” Charity’s voice caught and she folded her arms. “And—and you shirk your duties, too.”

  Helena shook her head. “I’ve been available every time you sought me out.”

  Charity placed her hands on her hips. “Last night I came looking for you and you weren’t in your part of the chamber.”

  Helena’s heart stopped. Oh God, this was about Baldwin. They knew. They knew and everything was about to be shattered.

  “Charity told me about your absence this afternoon,” her uncle said. “And it was the last straw. Where were you?”

  “I was not tired,” she said carefully. “I didn’t want to disturb you by tossing and turning on the settee in the attached room, so I got up to walk around a bit. Hoping it would make me tired.”

  Charity and Uncle Peter exchanged a look, and then Charity shrugged. “Still,” she said. “You are crossing the line.”

  “You were brought here on the sole balance of my benevolence, girl, don’t you forget it. If Charity hadn’t insisted and I hadn’t agreed, you would have been out on the street in Boston. Your family knew you were a whore who’d worn out whatever purpose you had left. You owe me everything.”

  Helena flinched, but before she could respond, the door to the parlor opened and Baldwin stepped in. But it wasn’t a Baldwin she’d ever seen before. Gone was her gentle lover. Gone was the careful duke.

  Standing before her was a raging bull, his face red and his eyes narrowed. And all that anger was focused squarely on her uncle.

  Baldwin could hardly breathe as he burst into the parlor and came face-to-face with Helena and her family. What he’d overheard in the hallway, Shephard’s sharp and cruel berating, that was bad enough. But coming into the room and seeing Helena’s pale and pained face and the way she was edged up into a corner, trying to make herself as small as possible…

  It was enough. He forgot prudence. He forgot propriety. He forgot that she was not his.

  He forgot it all and strode into the room in three long strides. “Just what the hell is going on in here?” he growled, pleased he had found enough control to make coherent words.

  Shephard jolted in surprise, and Charity took a step back. Helena remained in place, her shoulders still hunched. She glanced at him, her expression a combination of shock and relief and also stark terror.

  And he wanted to sweep her up and ride away with her. Ride away from everything that kept them apart. Ride away and never, never come back.

  “This is a family matter, Your Grace,” Shephard said with another glare for Helena. “I suggest you stay out of it.”

  “When you are talking to one of my house guests in such a tone in my parlor, I will not stay out of it,” Baldwin said. He moved forward a few more steps. “Miss Monroe is a lady, sir. I suggest you keep that in mind.”

  Somehow he had expected that Shephard would step down at that admonishment. That he would show a little decency. He was to be disappointed. Instead, Shephard leaned in and laughed. “A lady! Is that what Helena has convinced you that she is? Well, let me disabuse you of that notion, Your Grace. My niece is anything but a lady.”

  Charity gasped and Helena turned her head, her cheeks flush with humiliation. Baldwin lunged forward, and now he was towering over Shephard, ready to swing if need be. Barely containing himself from doing just that.

  “Don’t test me, Shephard,” he said softly.

  Shephard was not unaffected. Baldwin swelled with pride at the way the other man trembled ever so slightly. The way a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip as he stared up into Baldwin’s face.

  But then something shifted. The fear ebbed, replaced with a nasty smugness that turned Baldwin’s stomach.

  “No, boy,” the other man said, poking his finger into Baldwin’s chest. “Don’t you test me.”

  They held their stare for a moment, for too long. Then Baldwin pointed to the door. “Get out of this room, sir. Or I shall have you removed.”

  Shephard chuckled as he motioned to Charity. “Come along, dear. And you, Helena.”

  “She stays,” Baldwin snapped. “There is no way she will go anywhere with you until you think about your behavior toward her.”

  Shephard sent her a nasty look, then caught Charity’s arm and all but drag
ged her from the room, leaving Baldwin alone with Helena.

  He spun on her, but she was not looking at him with gratitude. She didn’t look happy at what he’d done. She was shaking her head, over and over, and her face was pale and sick.

  “Helena,” he said softly.

  She caught her breath on a sob and said, “You shouldn’t have done that, Baldwin.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Baldwin stared at Helena, and she could see he was surprised that she hadn’t launched herself into his arms and declared him her hero. Perhaps part of her wanted to do that. There was a moment when her bully of an uncle had actually looked afraid, and there was no denying that she had enjoyed that far more than she should have.

  But it didn’t change the facts of the situation she found herself in. And that moment of pleasure, just like all the moments of pleasure she’d stolen lately, would have dire consequences in the end.

  Baldwin’s jaw set as he marched across the room and gently shut the door, giving them privacy that they ought not have. And yet she had no energy left to argue that fact.

  “He attacked you, Helena. You could not truly expect me to stand by and allow it.”

  She threw up her hands. “Why not? As he said, it was a family quarrel.”

  His hands moved to his hips and the same stern and angry expression he’d had earlier returned to his handsome face. “Well, then I shall respond to you the same way I did to him. He was berating you in my home, under my roof. I would intervene for any guest who was treated in such a manner.”

  He edged closer, and suddenly she was very aware of him. Very aware of the look in his eyes. The one that said he wanted to touch her.

  “Baldwin,” she whispered.

  He ignored the warning in her tone. “And the answer I did not give to him but will to you is that I certainly would not stand by while you were berated. You, Helena, a woman I know intimately. A woman I care for. A woman who is worth ten Peter Shephards.”

  She shook her head. “If I were worth ten Peter Shephards, we would be having a different conversation,” she whispered. “But I’m not. And while I appreciate your motives, you must see that confronting him could very well make it worse for me. I know it will. And he might even hurt you. He all but outwardly threatened you.”

  He shook his head, and then he reached out and caught her arms, drawing her forward, until she was pressed against him, staring up at him. His body heat wrapped around her, his muscles supported her, and he became the only thing that mattered in this room. In this world.

  “Has no one ever stood up for you?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked in vain to try to clear them. She had no idea what to say to him. How to make him understand. How to make him see that what he was doing was fruitless.

  Finally she choked out, “I’m not yours.”

  His expression darkened, filled with a pain she didn’t want to analyze. She thought he might pull away, but instead he bent his head and suddenly his lips were on hers.

  She had no ability to resist when he touched her. Reason departed, prudence did not exist. All that mattered was how sweetly he kissed her—and then not as sweetly, and then not sweetly at all. Passion rose between them and she lost herself in it, letting it wash away everything else she had felt in the past hour.

  He tugged her closer, backing her against the nearest wall, dragging his mouth away from hers, to her neck as he pushed against her with animal drive and undeniable desire. She wanted him so much, consequences be damned. Her body screamed at her to open to him, to surrender to him. To give and give and give until he overwhelmed her with pleasure that made the future seem bright.

  Perhaps she would have at that. Perhaps he would have lost himself and she would have given him the path to find her. But before things could go that far the door beside them opened, and before they could part from the compromised position they were in, the Duke of Tyndale strode in.

  “Baldwin, Charlotte told me that—”

  Helena shoved at Baldwin’s chest with all her might and staggered away from him, but she felt Tyndale’s gaze on her and her cheeks flamed with humiliated fire as she did everything she could not to look at him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tyndale said, having the decency, at least, to glance away. “I did not realize you were here, Miss Monroe.”

  She shook her head and moved around Baldwin toward the door. “I must go. I must go anyway.”

  She tripped on the edge of the carpet in her haste, and Matthew caught her elbow and gently steadied her. “Miss Monroe—”

  “Helena—” Baldwin said at the same time.

  She waved her hand. “Please don’t. Please don’t!”

  Then she ran from the room, her body shaking and her eyes filling with tears as the ramifications of everything that had happened in that room filled her with heartbreak and fear.

  “Well timed,” Baldwin snapped at Matthew as he watched Helena flee the room like the hounds of hell itself were on her heels. The expression on her face was burned into his mind: a combination of humiliation and heartbreak, desire and regret. He had caused her all this pain and he hated himself for it.

  Matthew stared at him wordlessly and then shut the door. He leaned back against it, arms folded, and said, “This is enough. Tell me what the hell is going on, Baldwin. You and Helena are obviously…involved.”

  “Obviously,” Baldwin snorted as he strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a tall glass of scotch. Matthew waved off when he offered him the same. “I’d be stupid to deny it when you walked in on us in such an entanglement.”

  There was a sudden flash of hope on Matthew’s face as he pushed off the door and took a step toward Baldwin. “Does this mean you’ve chosen your bride?”

  Baldwin took a long swig of the liquor and shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

  Tyndale’s expression grew hard and dark. “I would expect this kind of behavior out of…Robert, perhaps. But you? She’s a lady, Baldwin! How dare you make sport of her virtue?”

  Baldwin slammed the drink down. “First, don’t compare me to Roseford. You know how I feel about his whoring.”

  “I do, you make it clear that you don’t approve of how he drowns himself in sex. But it sounds like you aren’t far behind.”

  Baldwin shook his head. “I’m not making fucking sport of her, I assure you. If I had any other choice, I would—” He cut himself off because if he said it out loud, he’d buckle beneath it.

  Tyndale stared at him. “You can’t marry her.”

  Baldwin paced away. “No.”

  “Why? And don’t fucking change the subject or lie to me. I’ve had enough of it.”

  Baldwin pivoted. He and Matthew and Ewan had all been very close as boys. The cousins had accepted him like their long-lost brother, and he’d counted on them so many times during the years, outside of their relationship in their club.

  And now he looked at Matthew and all he wanted to do was confess. The desire pulsed up inside of him, hard to ignore thanks to the raw emotion that snapped through him.

  “Please,” Matthew said, softer and gentler. “Let me help you.”

  Baldwin bent his head. There was no denying this anymore. He had to tell Matthew the truth. And so…he did.

  The words poured from him, an explanation of bad debts and worse decisions, of his father’s failings and his own. Of the missing parts of his ledger, the debts that had been purchased behind his back and the fear that accompanied all those awful facts.

  He talked for half an hour and Matthew said nothing. He just stared, wide-eyed, until Baldwin collapsed into the nearest chair, spent from confession and heavy with fear at what his friend’s reaction would be.

  “And now you know it all.”

  Matthew got up and poured the drink he had refused at the beginning. He drank half of it before he said, “Am I the only one?”

  Baldwin cleared his throat. “No. She knows.”

  “She
.” Matthew arched a brow. “Helena.”

  Baldwin nodded slowly. “I had to…explain why I couldn’t pursue her.”

  Matthew shut his eyes. “I see. And what did she say?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She’s so bloody accustomed to being treated no better than a dog that she accepted it. She claims to understand it. It’s even how we ended up in the position that I would be kissing her in the parlor.”

  “So you’ll kiss her and do…whatever else you’ve done,” Matthew said, his voice low and angry. Baldwin flinched. “But you will not marry her.”

  “I can’t. I know you must judge me for all my mistakes.”

  “No, not for your mistakes,” Matthew snapped. “Anyone could have gone down the path you did. I can totally understand how you might have come to this point. What I judge you for is loving this woman, for it is obvious that you do love her, and that you would walk away from that like it’s nothing.”

  Baldwin got up and moved on him. “Trust me, it is not nothing. It’s—”

  He broke off and tried to turn away, but Matthew caught his arm and wrenched him back in place. “What is it?”

  “Complicated,” Baldwin said softly.

  Matthew released him, horror passing over his features. He backed away, step by step, and stared at Baldwin like he had never seen him before. The expression made Baldwin’s heart hurt.

  “Complicated,” Matthew repeated, his voice empty. “No, complicated is having the woman you loved buried in the ground because of something you did. Complicated is watching her die and not being able to do anything about it. Complicated is having your future taken from you and yet everyone expects you to move on like it never existed. That is complicated. What you’re doing? That’s not complicated. It’s cowardly.”

  Baldwin ducked his head. He had no response, after all. Matthew wasn’t wrong.

  “I’m sorry.”