* * * * *
Nicholas was overjoyed with the news. Helena was free of Julius Christopher and his debauchery.
Helena was his.
Well, he hoped at least. Mr. Phillips’ arrival on the scene certainly shook up one man’s plans—he would have no idea how the American would react to his offer of marriage.
Lavinia’s butler should have been used to his rather boorish way of bursting into her townhouse and demanding to see her wherever she was. She was, as usual, in her morning room reading the afternoon paper.
“Darling, the most wonderful news,” he said as she smiled at him in surprise.
“Nicky! Sit down.” She patted the couch next to her.
Instead he pulled her up out of her seat and whirled her about. “Vinny, I’ve been shelved by your former lover.”
“Julius? Whatever for?” She looked so charming with tendrils of loosened hair framing her inquisitive face.
“Because of you.” He gave her a squeeze of victory. “It seems you were the author of a great plot to bring Mr. Phillips back to England and refuse consent to his daughter’s marriage.”
“Yes, I suppose I was.” She freed herself from his zealous embrace. “How did Julius come to find out?”
“He’s not daft, darling.” He grabbed her hands. “Vinny, she’s free. Helena’s free!” He felt possibility all around him.
She beamed, his own happiness reflected in her expression. “Nicky, come with me upstairs. I’ve something for you, for precisely this occasion.”
They quickly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Nicholas lay on the familiar bed and watched her root around in her jewelry cases.
“It’s been a few years, but I know it’s here somewhere.” She kept looking. “Aha!”
She sat on the bed next to him and opened her hand. In her palm were three rings.
“This one’s yours,” she said handing him a masculine band of gold. “Your family signet ring, remember?”
He did remember. He had put it on the nightstand in his bedroom at the estate the day he left.
“Your mother found it and kept it. She wore it around her neck.”
“Oh God. I never knew that.” Old emotions of sorrow and regret swelled in him.
“And this was her engagement ring. It’s been the property of the Earls of St. Albans for generations. And this,” she held up a simple but elegant gold band, “was her wedding ring. It was made expressly for her by your father.” She placed both in his outstretched palm.
Nicholas stared at the precious rings, remembering how tiny his mother’s hands were, how delicate her fingers. How small she was against the brutality of his father. He could no longer hold back the tears.
“Shh, shh, love,” Lavinia consoled. “I took them from her room after her death. She always meant for you to have them. She actually predicted Jack would not survive your father. She knew you would come back and return honor to the family.”
He put his own ring on his pinkie finger. It felt heavy, its weight not just from the gold but from the memories of his painful past. He knew he would grow accustomed to the feeling of it on his hand, just as he would eventually grow accustomed to the responsibilities of his position.
“It still fits you, darling.” Lavinia traced the circumference.
“Yes.” Nicholas held the engagement ring to the sunlight streaming through the window. “Emerald,” he said. “It will look lovely on Helena with her coloring.”
“Yes, darling, it will.”
“But, Vinny, what do I do? Mr. Phillips will think it odd an earl has simply come out of the woodwork to marry his daughter. Especially since Helena has absolutely no idea.”
“Yes, you may be right.” Lavinia pressed a finger to her lips in thought. “Look, I have a plan, Nicky darling. Tonight is the Raeburn ball. I’ll send a message to Charlotte to make sure the entire Phillips family is in attendance.”
“But surely Helena will not be in any mood to go to a ball.”
“The girl must not appear to be too distraught over a broken engagement, otherwise no other man will think there is room in her heart. She will be there. And so will you. I know Lord and Lady Raeburn intimately. I’ll make sure your entrance is most memorable.”
* * * * *
Grace remained in her position bent over the examination table long after Julius had left. His mood was a new one, and she wasn’t sure what the consequences would be if he found her attempting to free herself.
The once-warm ejaculate had turned cold long ago, its wetness now dried globules cool on her back, uncovered and exposed to the chilly air. She had been utterly terrified during the whole ordeal. Dr. Christopher had never hit her before, had never before threatened her with any implement, sharp or otherwise. As he cut her clothes in his agitated state, she had braced herself against a nick. Her bum still ached where he had struck her.
While she knew him to be eccentric, she had never thought him dangerous. Her only consolation was that she knew he relied upon her for his experiments, perhaps even enjoyed their times together. She’d been faithful, loyal in her desire to serve him. He couldn’t possibly have been angry with her.
No, it was someone else.
A woman.
Deep in the recesses of his past a woman still tormented him, still tortured him. Whoever she was, Julius needed to forget her.
It was dusk when Grace decided she had waited long enough. She worried at the buckles of the restraints, loosening them until she could get her hands through. Her clothing sagged on her body. She took off what was left of her drawers and turned her dress around. She was about to leave, to go to her room, have a bath, attempt to salvage what she could of her dress, when she was stopped by an idea. She looked at the doors of the cabinets lining one corner of the room, knowing what existed behind them. She had watched Dr. Ramsay make tinctures of opium for mothers and for children, so she knew the proper proportions. Well, at least, how not to kill a man.
After all, she didn’t want to hurt her Julius. She just wanted to prove her worth to him and help him forget.
Chapter Eighteen
Nicholas had been rather nervous while Lavinia had primped and preened him in preparation for the ball at Lord and Lady Raeburn’s Mayfair house. He had to look especially well-dressed that night, so he borrowed diamond shirt studs, a pair of buff kid gloves and a silk mourning armband from her dead husband’s wardrobe. But she also wanted him to stand out in the crowd.
“What have you got from your travels? Waistcoat? Tie?” she had asked.
He had smiled at that. She never allowed him to wear such garish attire when he was in her presence. “I’ve a waistcoat I absolutely adore. Embroidered Persian silk velveteen in the most beautiful crimson.”
On any other day Lavinia would have cringed at such a notion. “Right. Let’s see.”
And when he put it on, she was visibly impressed. “Hmm, not so much out of fashion as terribly exotic, really,” she had mused, turning him around. “It suits you. Very handsome.” She raised a brow. “If that girl doesn’t marry you, Nicky, I will.”
Lavinia herself wore a pale-olive dress, subdued and elegant, so as not to distract from her companion’s daring display.
As they waited their turn to be announced by the Raeburn’s footman, Nicholas’ attire was already becoming the topic of whispers amongst the young ladies. Of course most recognized him from previous events, some had even danced with him, but none had really taken much note of him beyond his particular good looks. Somehow he was turning heads that night.
“You’re looking rather confident, I must say, my lord,” Lavinia confided.
“Thank you, my dear lady.” It wasn’t just the dashing clothes, it was his hope, the promise of a future with the woman he loved.
From the lobby he watched as Lavinia motioned to Lady Banbury, who waved back with a nod and a smile.
“Everything is in place, Nicky.”
By the time Nicholas and Lavinia were before the footman
to be announced, the room had quieted to murmurs. Nicholas spied Sophia and Helena Phillips with a rather attractive graying man who, he could only assume, was Mr. Phillips.
“Pay attention, Nicky,” Lavinia said under her breath.
“The Earl of St. Albans and the Viscountess Foxley-Graham.”
The footman’s voice seemed to boom more loudly with their introduction than those previous. From the corner of his eye, Nicholas saw Helena flush and stare at him incredulously.
“How do you do, my lord?” Lady Raeburn smiled with a curtsy.
“Very well, thank you, madam,” Nicholas replied. He was far too distracted to remember proper etiquette at that moment.
“St. Albans, eh?” queried Lord Raeburn. “We read about your father’s death. So sorry, my good man.” He patted Nicholas’ shoulder above his armband. “Your return to England is most opportune.” He raised an eyebrow at Nicholas’ waistcoat.
“Yes, my travels did bring me home at the right time, sir.”
Lavinia took his arm as they entered the crush of the ballroom. She looked quite dismayed when the first to approach was Penelope Hardcastle.
“Dr. Ramsay,” she greeted him. “Or shall I say Lord St. Albans?” She curtsied.
“Good evening, Miss Hardcastle.” Nicholas really liked Penelope. She was politeness wrapped around a powder keg of sensuality. But she was his second choice and Lavinia had counseled him to discourage her.
“My lord,” interjected Lavinia, “we really must say hello to Lady Banbury.”
He smiled and gave a slight bow to Penelope as Lavinia led him away.
“Charlotte.” Lavinia greeted her co-conspirator with a kiss.
“My dear St. Albans, you look absolutely splendid,” Lady Banbury said as she gave Nicholas the once-over. “May I borrow his left arm, Lavinia? I need an escort to the other side of the ballroom.”
As the three strolled through the crowd, Nicholas bowed and smiled to awestruck young ladies and their dumbfounded mothers who, once he had passed, proceeded to whisper about what possibly could have happened to elevate the young doctor.
And then he saw her. Helena looked beautiful as always, but more so that night. Her pale-pink dress hugged every curve on her body, the bodice cut so low he had to remind himself to stare at the glittering rubies and garnets encircling her lovely neck, a neck, he inappropriately reminded himself, he had kissed more than once.
It was Lady Banbury who broke the spell. “Mr. Phillips, I would like to introduce a young man I have had the pleasure of knowing this Season, the Earl of St. Albans.” She turned to Nicholas. “My lord, Mr. Joseph Phillips.”
The uncommonly attractive middle-aged man Nicholas had noticed earlier stuck out his hand. “Albans, pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”
His American accent was disconcerting. “Mr. Phillips,” Nicholas said with a bow.
“May I introduce my wife, Sophia, and my daughter, Helena.” His gray eyes flashed with pride.
The two women stared at Nicholas, their utter stillness an obvious attempt to subvert their astonishment.
“We have already met, sir,” Nicholas said over the loud thumping of his heart.
Clinging to her husband, Mrs. Phillips curtsied with a touch of embarrassment. “My lord.”
As a properly trained young lady, Helena kept her composure as she curtsied her introduction. “My lord.”
“Already met, eh? And how is that?”
Nicholas felt mortification spread through his body. How the hell was he supposed to respond? Because I’ve been working alongside the man who fucked your wife and almost defiled your daughter?
“They met through me, Joseph,” offered Lady Banbury. “I know Doc—er, the earl through Lady Foxley-Graham, who is a longtime friend of the family.”
“Ah, very good, very good,” Mr. Phillips declared. “And what sort of thing do you do as an earl?”
Nicholas shot a glance at Lavinia, but she merely smiled sweetly at the Phillipses. “I, uh, have an estate in Hertfordshire.” Mr. Phillips seemed impressed at that, so Nicholas continued. “I was just there recently, in fact.” He flashed a glance at Helena. “There are some badly needed renovations, that sort of thing.”
Mr. Phillips slapped Nicholas on the back as if they were long-lost mates. “Good! Keeps you out of trouble!”
Nicholas smiled at the man’s easy-going nature, hoping he would be as cheery when it came to the subject of his daughter. The music struck up and couples began sauntering toward the dance floor. “Sir, if I may, I would like to ask your daughter to dance. Please.” He stammered like an awkward youth at his first ball.
“Helena?” Mr. Phillips responded as if it were a completely extraordinary notion. He turned to her. “What say you, love?”
“Yes, Papa. I would very much like to dance with the earl.”
Nicholas’ heart was now banging so loudly he feared everybody could hear. He held out his right arm. When Helena took it, his head spun as if he were in a dream.
The whispers became murmurs as he escorted her to the ballroom floor. Helena blushed at the attention, a color so very like her dress the thought of her utterly nude flashed in his mind. Placing his hand above her waist agitated his senses even more. He was uncomfortably hard, a state he prayed Mr. Phillips would not notice.
Once safely ensconced in his arms during the waltz, Helena gazed up at him, her eyes reflecting both curiosity and understanding. She deserved an explanation.
“Helena,” he began.
“Please, my lord,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “I just want to be with you at this moment. To feel you holding me.”
A thrill shot through him, flushing his skin, enlivening his senses. He spread his fingers on her back and pressed her a little more closely to him. She sucked in air and blushed again, turning her head off to the side as if embarrassed by a wicked thought. When she regained her composure, her lips curled in a smile all at once sultry and innocent.
He wanted desperately to take her outside and find a quiet corner of the garden where he could make passionate love to her, introducing her to the delights of the flesh. In the intimacy of afterglow, he would confess all about his family and his past. But Nicholas knew he could not act with such impropriety tonight. Most in attendance knew his scandalous family history but lacked familiarity with his own disposition and behavior. He would hate to despoil his uncertain reputation. All eyes were on him. They were on Helena as well, as news of her broken engagement was also the topic of whispers and murmurs.
He leaned down against her ear. “Helena, I would like to dance as many dances as possible with you tonight.”
She looked up at him knowing exactly what that implied. “Yes, Nicholas,” she murmured. “I would very much like that.”
* * * * *
Helena had never danced so elegantly in her life. Nicholas’ energy and desire flowed through her, uniting them as the most perfect couple in the ballroom. All eyes watched as they continued to partner dance after dance, disbelieving whispers turned into hums of acceptance and shocked expressions became genuine smiles once the guests witnessed the utter happiness of the pair.
The excitement and attention were draining. “I feel I need a bit of air, my lord.”
“Yes, Miss Phillips, of course,” Nicholas responded with concern.
He took her arm to weave their way through the overly interested crush and out onto the only slightly less crowded terrace. Nicholas took her to an unoccupied space at the railing, nodding and greeting polite, smiling faces along the way.
The cool night air was refreshing. Helena drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. It seemed a long time ago when she had felt contented enough to take enjoyment from the simple act of breathing.
Nicholas sighed. “So many eyes on us. It’s disconcerting.”
Helena laughed. “Well, there’s my broken engagement. And your marvelous waistcoat. Then the fact that you’re suddenly an earl. Plus, you danced with me three times.
Everyone knows what that means.”
He brightened at that. “Do you?”
“I think so, my lord.”
“Ugh, please don’t call me that, Helena. That’s just not who I am.”
“Then am I still allowed to call you ‘Nicholas’?” she teased.
“Yes, oh, yes. I love hearing you say my name.” He glanced around restlessly at the couples milling about on the terrace. “Damn and blast, I wish we could be alone. If there weren’t so many people, I would sneak you off into the garden—”
“And ravish me against a tree?” she offered playfully.
A pleased grin spread across his astonished face. “Your disheveled appearance would draw even more attention, Miss Phillips.” He grabbed her arm as soon as he spied a newly vacated bench.
He paced a bit before he sat down next to her. “Darling,” he began softly, “it was all quite unexpected. I was never meant to be in this position.”
“You mean about being an earl.”
“Uh, yes. Sorry. I feel a bit like a frightened schoolboy at the moment.” He flexed his fingers against his thighs, gathering his thoughts. “You see, I’m the youngest son of my father. My brother Jack was his heir.” He inhaled deeply. “Jack was a violent wastrel, an attribute he inherited from my father. I hated being a part of that family. So I went away.”
“Is that when you went to Turkey?”
That brought another grin to his face. “I very much wish I could hold your hand right now,” he murmured. “Damned social conventions.” He sighed. “Yes, that’s when I traveled. I studied medicine abroad. I had to do something with my life. I was twenty-one, I had a small income and I was a second son.”
The moon was behind him, providing her with of view of his profile, serious and pensive, in need of solace. She suppressed the urge to reach out with a gentle caress of his cheek and damned social conventions as well.
He toyed with the fingers of his gloves. “But then my mother was killed. At the time I thought both my father and brother played a part in her death.” His voice trembled. “I only just learned the truth. Jack killed her. My father shouldered part of the blame to protect an innocent who had been regrettably caught up in the affair.”
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