Nicholas closed his eyes briefly. Despite all that the Fines family had done for him, he had never found the courage to expose his past in its sordid entirety. Jeremiah had seen the place that birthed him, met the woman who called herself his aunt; it would have been no great stretch for Jeremiah to ascertain how a boy of fourteen years with no skills and little schooling had made a living upon the streets. Yet Jeremiah had never held it against him. He had merely looked him in the eye and said, "Are you ready for a new life, lad? One that will put the past behind?"
He had not believed such a thing was possible.
But with Jeremiah's guidance it had been. For sixteen blessed years, it had.
"I did not mean to pry," Paul said quietly. "I know you have always valued your privacy."
"Paul, do you believe it possible that a man can leave his past behind?" Nicholas' voice felt thick in his throat. "That if he works hard enough, changes his ways, changes himself—he might escape the sins he once committed?"
"It would depend on the man and the sins, I suppose." Paul was looking at him closely, his blue eyes steady. "And if the man repented and his actions showed he had chosen a new path. I am no clergyman, Morgan, but I believe redemption is possible."
"Is it?" Nicholas looked into his empty glass. "Or is that, too, a dream?"
Paul sat up in his chair, his face earnest. "Morgan, whatever your past holds, if it poses a danger to you currently, you must face it. If you cannot tell me, tell Kent. Have him take precautionary measures for your safety."
"I cannot tell Kent." When Paul made to speak, Nicholas met his eyes very deliberately. "There are reasons for it. I would not launch myself out of the pot and into the flames."
"Ah. Because he is a member of the policing force," Paul said slowly, "and you wish to avoid detection of certain aspects of your past."
Nicholas gave a terse nod.
"Hmm. That is a dilemma." Paul scratched his chin. "Hire someone else for protection, then, someone who has no interest in you beyond the coin you provide."
"I'll look into it," Nicholas muttered into his glass.
"In the meantime, it would be best to keep a low profile. Which reminds me, my sister's birthday party is next week. I'll let Percy know that something has come up for you—"
"Damn it, I refuse to scurry for cover like a bloody mouse." Nicholas rose and refilled his drink. "I accepted Percy's invitation so I will be there."
"Ah, yes. I was going to ask you about that," Paul said.
"About what?"
"Well, it's just that Mama, Percy, and I noticed that your response omitted a certain lovely lady. I hoped it wasn't because of anything I said that time at Long Meg's—"
Nicholas gulped his whiskey. "The matter has nothing to do with you."
"What is it, then?"
He could have lied. Made some excuse that Helena had another commitment. But for some reason, he heard himself saying, "I did not inform her of the invitation."
"You did not invite your own wife? I say, Morgan, that's doing it a bit Siberian." Paul cocked his head. "Has the calf-love worn off, then?"
Going to the fire, Nicholas braced his arm against the mantel. He stared down into the flames. "I'm hardly the mooning sort, Fines. The problem is not with her, but me. I ... I made a mistake in marrying her. She deserves someone better. A real gentleman, born and bred. Not an imposter like me."
"You're no imposter. You're a gentleman in every way that counts," Paul said quietly. "Do not let the reactions of society color your marriage, Nicholas. My father always said that a man is not born, but made."
"Your father was a singular man, Paul, with views not commonly shared."
"All the same, your achievements surely convey that you have never been one to be held back by his origins. Why begin to be such a man now? If you want my advice, forget all this nonsense and concentrate on making your lady happy."
"I am not sure I can."
Paul glanced heavenward. "At your wedding, the chit had stars in her eyes. I'd never seen a more glowing bride. Which only proves the adage that love is blind. For reasons unfathomable, one surly, half-baked smile from you and the poor deluded thing will surely melt into a puddle." Downing the last of his whiskey, he set down the glass and reached for his greatcoat. "Regretfully, my friend, that is all the marital advice I can stomach for now. I hear the siren's call of whist at Boodle's, and I must oblige."
"Boodle's?" Nicholas frowned. "It is not yet three in the afternoon."
"Who am I to resist a siren's call at any hour?" Paul drawled.
Nicholas kept silent as Paul re-arranged his ensemble with the care of Brummell himself. He saw Paul out and when they reached the street, he hesitated before saying, "The play can get deep in the clubs. You're being careful, I take?"
Paul snorted, his hair golden in the sun. "Yes, Papa. And I'll be sure to say my prayers like a good lad. Any other pearls of wisdom?"
"It seems the wisdom today has been yours." Nicholas held out his hand. "Thank you, Fines."
After Paul's carriage drove off, Nicholas turned to re-enter the warehouse. He found himself almost colliding with a street urchin.
"Careful there, lad," he said, steadying the boy by the shoulders.
From beneath a ragged, putty-colored cap, a pair of eyes narrowed up at him. "You Lord 'Arteford?"
A chill chased up Nicholas's spine. "Yes."
His dread grew as the boy held out a slip of paper with grimy hands. "Then I got's a message fer you."
EIGHTEEN
The last time she was here, she'd been a newlywed, frightened and unsure, desperate for her husband's love. How things had changed in the last two months. This time around, Helena walked past the lewd sculptures and bawdy goings-on without blinking an eye. She followed the footman up to the first floor and into a scarlet-and-gilt chamber in which the most prominent feature was a wide, curtained bed.
Seeing the Abbess seated at a small table, Helena greeted her. She declined the offer of lemonade. Instead, she asked in a rush, "Would you be so kind as to have your men ascertain that there are no untoward persons lurking about outside?"
The Abbess' thin mouth bent with humor. "Milady, this is a brothel. There are always untoward persons lurking about. Anyone in particular you want us to keep an eye out for?"
Too restless to sit, Helena wandered to the nearby looking glass. A familiar, smoky-eyed nymph peered back at her. Shivering, she adjusted her demi-mask and said, "This afternoon when I was shopping on Bond Street I happened to notice two men in dark coats. They seemed to be everywhere I went. I thought it might be a coincidence, but then later on tonight, I saw the same two villains from the window of Lady Draven's townhouse."
"Cutthroats, do you think?" The Abbess inquired. "Ever since the attack on Lady de Lacey last month, they've been out in droves. This new breed—they've no qualms about holding a lady at knifepoint to score her jewels ... and other personal effects."
Cringing at the Abbess' matter-of-fact description of mayhem, Helena said, "I am not certain. But if I see them again, I will contact the magistrate." Her hands were not quite steady as she smoothed the brassy curls of her wig. "Lady Draven arranged for her carriage to meet me at the back of her townhouse, so at least I left undetected tonight." Dryly she added, "I suppose it was just as well that I happened to be in disguise."
"And a fine one it is, milady—or should I say mademoiselle?" The Abbess gave a knowing chuckle. "Don't worry a thing about the blackguards—I'll have my boys clear the area of any filth."
"Thank you," Helena said with relief.
The Abbess grinned. "Likewise. Thought I'd seen the last of you, hadn't I? But when Lady Draven asked me to send your lord that note on behalf of Mademoiselle Nymph, I was tickled. For a bashful thing, you've got pluck, eh? I haven't enjoyed myself so much for a long time."
"I hope he comes."
"Oh, I'm quite sure he will. Come, that is." The other woman chortled. "What hot-blooded man could resist such an in
vitation?"
Humiliated anger flared in Helena's chest. Why was it that her husband would choose a whore over her? Why would he come at a whore's bidding, yet avoid his own wife at every turn? "When I was a demure wife, he sought a harlot. When I tried to seduce him, he called me a strumpet," she said, jaw tight. "I have no idea what my husband can or cannot resist, but tonight I mean to show him the error of his ways."
"Pluck, as I said," the Abbess said with a chuckle.
Taking a breath, Helena continued more calmly, "My husband will discover that a wife cannot be so easily put aside. I am going to seduce him—and then I'm going to show him who I really am." She felt a grim sort of satisfaction. "He'll have no choice but to admit he wants me, after all."
"Hell hath no fury," the Abbess said, still looking amused. "But what is it that you're after, milady, revenge or something ... sweeter?"
Helena's heart gave a traitorous lurch. Before she could respond, however, there was a rap on the door. A footman entered with the announcement that his lordship arrived.
"Give us ten minutes, Jim," the Abbess said, "then bring him in."
After the servant departed, the madam gave Helena a discerning once-over. "Let's get you set up a bit, luvie. Set the stage, so to speak, for the show to follow."
So saying, she instructed Helena to lie on her side on the bed. Helena shivered as the Abbess tugged the sleeves of the tunic lower, baring her bosom almost to the nipples. The madam arranged a long, red curl to lie atop the bobbing mounds and then fussed with Helena's skirt, draping the white folds to leave one leg bare to the thigh. Declaring herself satisfied, the Abbess brought the chamber to shadowy dimness, with a single candle burning on the table.
"Good luck then, milady." Coming from the darkness, the Abbess' voice had a sudden feral quality. "May you teach your husband a lesson he'll never forget." With a final cackle, she was gone.
Palms damp, Helena waited as the shadows danced around her. She heard footfalls approaching and experienced the sudden urge to run. To abandon this bold and brazen and altogether mad stratagem ... and do what? Go rusticate in the country? Run back to parents who did not want her? Hide with her tail between her legs from the husband who also did not want her?
Marianne's parting words rang in Helena's head. My plan will bring Harteford to you, but the rest is up to you. If you want him to admit his folly, you'll have to prove to him just how wrong he is. How much he wants you—which, despite his mercurial behavior, I do not doubt he does.
The door opened. The sudden shaft of light and the large, familiar silhouette jammed Helena's heart into her throat. Yet she steeled her spine. You can do this. Show him you won't be discarded like ... like an old toy. A worthless plaything.
The door closed, returning the room to darkness. In a few long strides, he was there, looming at the side of the bed. Despite everything, Helena felt a tumult of longing at the sight of her husband's haggard features. He had dark shadows beneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept since she'd last seen him. Bristle covered his jaw, and his overgrown hair brushed his collar. Upon his temple, the scar gleamed, puckered and tender-looking.
"Monsieur," she remembered to say in her breathy harlot's voice. "Merci d'être venu. Je voudrais—"
To her shock, a large finger pressed against her lips, stilling her words.
"Mademoiselle," he said in low, rough voice, "I have come at your invitation, but tonight I have a request."
"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez, monsieur?"
He met her gaze squarely. "I wish for you not to speak tonight. To remain silent. Do you think you could do this for me?"
Belly aflutter, Helena recalled her supposed lack of fluency in English. She furrowed her brow. "Je ne comprends pas."
"'Tis just as well you don't," Nicholas muttered.
Before she could wonder what he meant, he pinched her lips lightly together, as if to seal them. "No talking," he said. "No words tonight, whatever I say or do. If you please."
She nodded, her heart thumping madly. "Ah. Bien. Maintenant, je comprends."
"Good." The dark satisfaction in his voice curled over her senses. Before she could think how to respond, he had one knee upon the bed. She trembled as his hand captured her jaw, his thumb rubbing against her lips, an imitation of kissing. Like the last time, he made no move to touch his lips to hers. Instead, his gaze travelled lower to her breasts, and she could see the banked fire leap to life in his eyes.
When he ran a long finger over the trembling hills of white flesh, she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. Her skin prickled with awareness. Stay focused, she told herself. You almost have him. Wait until he is driven wild with desire and then ... then ...
She couldn't help the gasp that escaped for he'd yanked the tunic below her bosom. Her breasts were now fully exposed, her arms trapped by the small sleeves. He pushed her to her back. She caught the silver gleam of hunger before he bent his head. The hot, wet swipe of his tongue made her squirm against the satin sheets. Lord in heaven, it felt so good. Low sounds escaped from his throat as he suckled her more roughly, drawing her hard bud into his mouth. All the while, he played with the other breast, titillating the tip with his callused fingertips. When his teeth grazed her, she moaned aloud.
"Please, monsieur," she heard herself beg in another's voice. "More."
Though his finger pressed against her lips, a reminder of silence, he sucked harder, and she was panting by the time his hand landed on her bare hip. She wore no unmentionables beneath her nymph's costume. Her spine arched off the bed as he found and penetrated her most vulnerable place. His finger slid all the way in, as if he belonged there. When he began to drive into her, his palm smacking lightly against her soaked sex, her eyes closed, and she forgot herself again.
"Mon dieu," she cried out. "Oh, monsieur, s'il vous plaît—"
His hand muffled the rest of her sentence. Despite the desire fogging her brain, she noted the feverish glaze to his eyes. He was breathing hard, staring down at her. Looking at her—through her? All of the sudden, she realized that his focus was somewhere else, somewhere deeper ... and her pulse began to hammer as her plan came back to her. Does he recognize me? Is now the time to confront him ...?
Yet there was no sign that he'd discovered her true identity. After a few heartbeats, he lifted his hand from her mouth and unwound his cravat. Her eyes widened when she realized what he intended.
"I won't hurt you. I give you my word, mademoiselle." The shadows limned the foreboding austerity of his countenance. "I'll pay you extra for the favor, but I need you to stay quiet. To allow me to do as I wish. Please."
She could hardly breathe. Why was her silence so important to him? What was he after? In a flash, it occurred to her Nicholas had never asked anything of her before. What were his needs ... his desires? If only the blasted man had tried talking to her instead of running away time after time. Yet, she thought with growing unease and anticipation, was it her he was running from ... or something else? What secrets did her husband hide?
What would she do to discover them?
"May I?" he asked quietly.
She looked at the length of linen between his hands and to his hard face again. All of the sudden, her anger and hurt gave way to burning curiosity. Intuitively, she knew she might never again have a chance to know what lay within her husband's soul. To know him, just once, as she'd always wished to. Swallowing, she nodded.
He helped her to sitting and, after a moment's hesitation, slipped the cravat over her mouth. The spicy, masculine scent of the material filled her nostrils, and her nerves tingled with shocking excitement.
"Is that too tight?" he asked hoarsely.
She shook her head.
His gaze returned to her breasts. Instead of touching her there, however, he turned her onto her hands and knees. A deep flush spread beneath the surface of her skin as he peeled away her flimsy costume, leaving her utterly bare and in a most lascivious pose. She heard the sound of clothing being shed and th
en he was on the bed next to her, in naked, sinewy glory. Her blood thickened to honey at the sight of his powerfully broad chest with its dusting of dark hair, the lean rippling of his abdomen, and lower ... ah, yes.
He was every bit as magnificent as she remembered.
Desire pooled in her belly, and she discovered she retained the capacity for embarrassment after all when moisture seeped onto her thigh. On instinct, she shifted on her knees, trying to close her legs together to hide the mortifying trickle.
"No, my love," he whispered, moving behind her. "Don't try to hide your desire from me. It pleases me that you want me. I have wanted to have you this way for so long."
He had been fantasizing about the whore, then? Helena felt her heart clench with pain even as confusing pleasure jolted through her system. For he was touching her, praising her as he did so.
"You've a pretty pussy," he husked. "Soft and wet and sweet, just as I knew it would be. Just as I imagined, from the first time I saw you, sitting alone at that ball."
Helena's eyes widened as his words sunk in. She turned her head back to look at him, only to have her spine melt as his fingers found her knot. Her head collapsed onto the mattress, her breath puffing against the cravat as he thumbed her in delirious circles.
"Beautiful," he growled. "I like you with your arse up for me. Wanton and sweet, all at once. That's it, my love, work your beautiful cunt against me—"
Head spinning, she could do nothing but obey. She rode shamelessly against his hand. He was fingering her pearl and delving into her channel at the same time. His desire for her emerged in half-utterances, snippets of tortured fantasy.
"Don't care that I'm not good enough ... I want to fuck you ... in the carriage ... on that new bloody couch in the drawing room ... hell, on your goddamn piano ... you'd like that wouldn't you?"
Her cheek pressed against the mattress. She felt as if she was drowning in waves of wondrous confusion. Sensations crashed over her, too many, too intense to take in. A wild sob caught in her throat. The crisis hit her, a barrage of pleasure-sparks that lit her from inside out. Tremors shook her body, and before they had subsided, she felt the thick, hard heat of him pushing inside her. His cock stretched her utterly; he lunged, pushing her breath out against the cloth binding.
Her Husband's Harlot Page 18
