by Jackie Ivie
“Your mark, Madame.”
He pointed to her shoulder. She turned her head and looked. An ugly wound scored her shoulder. She turned back to Gil, her eyes wide.
“I…d-don’t understand. Is that…a W? Why would I have it carved there?”
He sighed so heavily, his breath grazed her revealed skin. “There’s nothing to understand, Helene. Forget I showed it to you.”
“But Bridget said I suffered a fall, and that’s why I don’t remember…things. That’s true, isn’t it?”
She didn’t think he’d heard from the expression on his face. He pushed back from her and stood; his expression as if he’d straddled something dirty. Helene sat up immediately and clasped her arms around her legs, staring at tree roots with unseeing eyes.
“No, it’s not the truth.” She heard the rustle of fabric and then his jacket came into view. “Cover yourself, Helene, and I’ll take you back.”
Her fingers wouldn’t cooperate, but she finally had her arms through the sleeves and two of the buttons fastened. She gave up on the rest, and looked up at him.
“Well. You look dressed enough. Prepare yourself, love. I’m going to carry you.”
His voice matched the hard look about him. She lifted her chin.
“I can walk.”
“Don’t bother with another act. Fair? I’m only carrying you to my horse. He might enjoy your company, but I find myself more in need of a stiff drink, a soft bed, and then some well-deserved sleep. In that order.”
CHAPTER THREE
“You were a complete Hun, Gil.”
“You overstate my abilities, Reg. I’ve been called many things, but a Hun? Leave off.” Gil chuckled, and the horse under him snorted in reply.
“You call tossing the girl on your shoulder, naming her a whore, chasing her down on horseback, and ripping the clothing from her the mark of a civilized man? Not that I have any measure, but a Hun is the closest I can come to what you did. Admit it.”
“I admit nothing. And if you insist on staying to enjoy my banishment from the social world, the least you can do is get the story straight.”
Reg hooted and eased his hunter into a trot. “Well, besides enjoying your stable, table, and, of course, your well-stocked cellar, I’ve grown quite fond of her.”
“Helene? Oh, please. You must be joking.”
“She’s quite a catch, Gillian. Much more intriguing than Helen would ever be.”
“Perhaps you should’ve proposed to Helen in my stead, then.”
“In retrospect, I probably should have.”
“The country air has affected your mind, Reg. That’s it.”
“If you’d just speak with her, you’d agree. And really. It’s the only solution.”
“Pass the entire disaster off as a love match? You insult my intelligence.”
Gil spurred his mount. It took Reg a moment to catch up.
“When you tire of acting the barbarian, clue me in, old chap. You know it’s the only answer. And with Prinny already talking of shifting his court to Brighton, you have to make a decision soon. Think, Man!”
“I wish you’d stop trying to be my conscience, Reg. It would make you a more entertaining companion.”
Reg sighed and touched his horse’s neck with his riding crop. Gillian had an impressive stable. The bay he rode was a prime example. Muscled and easy-tempered, it was getting more exercise than the poor thing counted on. Their stay at the hunting cottage was wearing thin, as was Reg’s patience.
“All right, Gillian. Have it your way. Hide here and let Helen win.”
“What?”
Reg ignored the anger behind the question and adjusted his stirrup on the side farthest from Gil.
“You know, Reginald, it’s a very good thing I like you.”
Gil was glaring at him before he turned back toward the estate.
“You’ll think on it?”
“She won’t even look at me, Reg. How am I supposed to act like a love-besotted fool?”
“Talk to her! I’ve seen how ladies act around you. You’ve a glib tongue when you need it. Tell her that when the acting’s over, she can stay at Tremayne Hall without a care. You’ll be free to go back to your old haunts and Simone. I, for one, shudder at the thought of that man-eater, but there’s no accounting for taste.”
“You’d have me believe you actually prefer Helene to Simone? I’m beginning to doubt your eyesight, Reg. Have you seen a doctor about that?”
“Your wife’s a lovely woman, Gil. Stop me if I lie, but I’m beset by dreams of that reddish-brown hair loose on her shoulders. I wasn’t joshing when I said I’d be counting myself very lucky, were I in your shoes. Why…I’d even take her off your hands if she finds Tremayne Hall too tame later. We could tour the Continent together.”
Gil stared at him. Reg smiled.
“Are you certain you feel all right, Reg? The sun hasn’t gotten to you?”
“You’re the one in need of an examination, Gil. If you’d set aside your dislike of the situation, you’d see the light. You have a wife who’d never interfere, the chance to set the town on its heels, and you can make a mockery of Helen Bingham at the same time! For revenge value alone, the plan is perfect for your needs.’
“She won’t do it, Reg. She doesn’t even look at me, damn it.”
“She would if you didn’t act a Hun.
“I am not acting like a Hun.”
Gil’s voice showed his irritation. Reg’s smiled widened.
“Tell her she won’t have to put up with your odious presence after the season is over. She might do it simply to get rid of you. That might work.”
“And what if Brandy decides to make an appearance? Have you considered that aspect of your little plan? She isn’t stable, blast it!”
“Then…Helen wins, doesn’t she?”
Reg shrugged and turned forward.
***
Helene looked over the selection of delicacies the cook, Mrs. Hotchkins, baked specially for her, before deciding any of them would stick in her throat. Sunlight warmed the alcove of her sitting room. Helene stretched in the new nightgown Mistress Vale had sewn for her. Her ankle injury throbbed, although it was almost healed. She ignored it, leaning forward to watch Gil ride toward the house beside Reg. She knew why she wasn’t hungry, but she shouldn’t admit it — she wasn’t that stupid.
The men rode closer, Gillian so much a part of his horse, he looked perfect. Masculine. Honorable. She had to turn away. It was more stupidity to watch him. It caused something sharp to twinge deep inside her. Such a thing wasn’t possible. She’d be a fool to feel anything for him. She didn’t need to add unrequited emotion to her life. It was hard enough already. Nightmares plagued her sleep, blanks of time sometimes happened during the day, and overriding all that was the lie.
She was so very tired of living it.
Sometimes, in Paris, when Sherry lay asleep after a night of customers, Helene had let down her guard and spun a fairy tale; one, where a prince came to rescue her. Take her away. Save her. Defeat all her dragons. If she’d seen him then, the prince probably would’ve looked a lot like Gil.
“Listen to you, Helene. Gillian Tremayne. A prince.”
It was clear he didn’t want her. He hadn’t even looked at her since his attempted ravishment. Her shoulders sagged and a tear slid from her eye. She wiped it away briskly with the tear with the belt of Mistress Vale’s finely stitched peignoir and looked at her hands. The salve Mrs. Wright had made did wonders for Helene’s hands. It was a shame nothing could be done about her face. She hadn’t even seen it since the carriage ride. She didn’t dare look. The memory of the witch from the carriage window was enough to make her shudder even now, over a month later.
Gil might think it strange, and the staff could, too, but there wasn’t a mirror allowed near Lady Tremayne. On her orders.
Vanity was such a strange thing, though. No matter how one tried to profess that beauty was only skin deep, Helene knew the truth. She�
��d wanted to look like a banshee. She’d succeeded. What a shame Lord Tremayne was stuck with her. He deserved a goddess for a wife, not a demon in goddess’ clothing.
Helene adjusted her nightgown over her knees, loving the feel of goddess clothing even if she wasn’t fit to wear it. It was time to face the piper.
Damn. She’d admitted it. That meant she had to do it. And the upcoming interview was what stole her appetite.
Gil wasn’t like the other men she’d known. And he deserved the truth.
She’d suspected his nobility when he smoothed salve over her wounds without once taking out a temper on her. For that, he deserved the best performance she could give. That meant he got Helene. But she wasn’t even enough. The kiss in the woods terrified and mystified, and started a tingle of something deep within her. And that decided her. She may not know who the real Helene Bingham was anymore, but she had to find out.
Because it was time to cease acting.
She’d begun by acting for Sherry, so she wouldn’t take the blame for Mademoiselle Bingham’s downfall. Sherry had saved Helene’s life, and the woman hadn’t even wanted to. Who cared about the education Helene received in Sherry’s room? She’d been warm, dry, and fed. The least she could do was act as if she’d lost her wits. That way, Sherry wouldn’t berate herself for Helene’s fall from grace.
Acting for Sir Bingham, his children, and then the guards at the sanatorium came next. If Helene had any doubts, they were instantly stilled when she saw what they did to females in that place - trussed up. Silenced. Unable to fight. God forbid such a fate befell her, deep in the night with no one to even know or care. There was only Brandy. Brandy was there to protect her from Paris, Gerard Bingham, the sanatorium guards, and then Lord Gillian Tremayne.
It was a shame Gil was strapped with her. He deserved better than the rotten hand fate dealt him. He deserved a reserved, aristocratic wife like Helene…except he hadn’t liked her, either. He didn’t want Helene, and he didn’t want her to run away.
What the blazes does he want?
Helene stared unseeing at the fabric before her with unseeing eyes. She knew what he wanted — the truth. And, in all fairness, he’d earned it.
“Begging your pardon, My Lady, but Lord Tremayne would like a word with you this morn.” Mrs. Wright spoke from the door.
“Lord...Gillian?”
“Aye, Mum. I think he’s bending a bit, I do.” She bustled over and shoved the dresses aside to look through them. “In fact, he acted quite cheerful, he did.”
“Go on with you, Mrs. Wright. The day he’s in that state at the prospect of seeing me is the day I’ll fly.”
“I’m of the opinion that might exceed even your talents, darling.”
Gil’s voice preceded him as he walked right into Helene’s dressing room as if he belonged there. Mrs. Wright blushed so much Helene didn’t need to.
“I don’t suppose you could find a moment to see me now? I mean…I’ve been doing some deep thinking this morning, and I believe what I have to say can’t wait.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wright. That’ll be all.”
Helene waved the open-mouthed woman from the room, aware of how Gil’s eye followed her movement. She wondered how she could do anything different. She was completely aware of everything about him. He hadn’t changed from his riding apparel. He looked big. Fit. Masculine. She had to look away in order to make her mouth work.
“I’ve been doing some thinking too, My Lord,” she said.
“Can’t you call me Gil? I get tired of reminding you.”
The last thing she wanted was to upset him. “I’m sorry. I know you want me to call you Gil. And I’m really trying, but you see…I don’t deserve to. You see, I...I have a confession to make, My Lord.”
“I have one, as well. I must apologize for the way I’ve been treating you. I sincerely hope you’ll forgive it?”
She was going to cry if he kept speaking. He was apologizing? God had a better sense of humor than she’d thought.
“You’re not making this...easy, My Lord.”
“How many times must I ask? My name is Gil. And, as my wife, you really do have to use it. Come along. Be a good girl and say it. Gil. See? It’s easy.”
He was probably smiling. She knew it would be devastating. That was all the excuse she needed not to look. “Gil,” she whispered.
“You see? I can be something besides a Hun, and you can actually call me by name.”
A Hun? Why would you think that?”
“Come, Helene. I’ve been acting a brute and a boor, and I’m apologizing for it. What else do you want of me?”
“Want of you? I don’t understand, My Lord.”
“Gil.”
She lifted her head to look at him, and caught his glance quickly away. He hadn’t been looking at her face, but at where her negligee hadn’t quite reached her ankles. She didn’t blame him. Her ankle wasn’t scarred like her face.
And he was frowning.
“I’m sorry.” Tears started. She knew they’d put him off, but even that didn’t stop them. Damn everything! At least as Brandy, she hadn’t been so emotional!
“Good God, Helene! I’m trying to apologize and ask your help with my life, and all you do is cry. I thought we were beyond that stage, yet I’m right back in it. Christ! There should be an expert I can call on to cure you. Every borough on this island is bursting with doctors, yet none specializes in issues of the mind. Oh. Bother. I’m really mucking it up now, aren’t I? And here Reg said I have a glib tongue!”
“Reg is correct there, My Lord.”
“Gil,” he replied.
She wiped her eyes. “You said…something about your life?”
“Gil.”
He lifted a leg, planting the top of his boot on the frame of her settee. Helene avoided looking anywhere near it.
“Gil,” she whispered.
“Very good. Now let’s see if you can follow along, shall we? And since we’re in such a weepy state this morning, without an ounce of fight in us, it should be easy. Yes?”
The jibe effectively dried her eyes. All she had to do was concentrate and pull back the wetness. It was stupid of her to forget that lesson.
“I’m not crying, My Lord. See?”
She watched him lift an eyebrow. Just one, and that put emphasis on his eyes. And something happened. Her heart pinged somewhere in her breast. Her breath caught. The man wasn’t remotely fair. And this was terrible.
“Such a wonderful actress you are, yet you forget the most elementary part. When you’re prompted, you do as you’re told. Do you think you can follow that much?”
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. It helped tamp down the odd sensations stirring within her. His words helped more. She’d been wrong about him. He wasn’t gentle and princely at all. He was destructive, sarcastic, and not a man she could entrust with her secret. She was lucky he’d kept her from blurting it out.
“Then remember to call me Gil. It’s the least you can do when you’re pretending to be madly in love with me. You’ll act that part gracefully and perfectly, won’t you, my dear?”
“You want me to act?”
She couldn’t help the reaction. Her eyes came out of their narrowed look while he grinned.
“I know it’ll be a stretch. But yes, I need you to act. It’s the only way I can get on with my life. And afterwards, you can go to the devil if you wish.”
“You want me to pretend that I...?” She couldn’t finish the question.
“Helene. Darling. Don’t get all shy on me now. You can say it. I want you to act like you love me. Now, you say it.”
“You want me to act like I love you.” She said it exactly like he had, but in her own voice.
“Excellent.”
“Why would you want me to act as if I...I love you?” Her voice stumbled. She hoped he wouldn’t catch it.
“Gil.” He motioned for her to finish the sentence.
“Gil.” She said it
, but nothing about the tone was lover-like.
“Why? Because the entire country thinks Helen threw me over for Chaffìn.”
“Didn’t she?”
“Didn’t she…Gil?” he prompted.
“Gil,” she parroted.
“Oh, you’re so malleable in the morning! We should have all our conversations in your room while you breakfast. This is deuced enjoyable, isn’t it?”
“If you say so.”
“Gil,” he added.
“Gil,” she spat.
“Wonderful. Now…think you can say it sweetly, like you love me? No? Very well. I’ll force you later. Where was I? Oh…yes. The reason for this little deception. Helen isn’t going to have the last laugh. And we’re going to make certain of that.”
Helene bit her tongue to stop from asking a question. She watched while he sampled one of her cinnamon rolls. She wasn’t saying his name. Not in a sweet, lover-like tone. She refused.
“You’re not the least bit curious about how we’re going to do such a momentous thing? Not even a little?”
She shook her head and this time she shuttered her eyes, blocking him. She had enough practice with that to last a lifetime.
“I think I almost preferred Brandy to you, do you know that?”
“Know what?” She mimicked his voice without realizing her error at saying anything.
“Haven’t we forgotten something?” he asked
She looked away before he saw how it affected her. “Gil,” she whispered to the wall.
“Since you aren’t the least bit curious, I’ll save my breath. Looks like you’ve got the devil’s own work cut out for you just to act loving toward me.”
She didn’t answer. She’d rather face the wall.
“We’ll start at luncheon, shall we? No answer again? Very well. I’ll go ahead and set the wheels in motion, and you can just come along for the ride. Don’t try to hide from me, either, darling. If you won’t come down to luncheon then I, well...I’ll just have to come visit you more intimately again, won’t I?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out in a rush. It was better than screaming them.
