by Jackie Ivie
“My. My. You must’ve consumed quite a bit, My Lord. I vow, I’ve seen many a gent drink himself under the table, along with some of the aftereffects, but I have to give it to you. You are the most extraordinary by far.”
“Helene, if you don’t shut up, I’ll ask an outrider in here to visit and stick you in his place.”
“Really, My Lord, there’s no reason in the world to be such a boor. I simply ask a few questions, and you bite my head off. You’re the most ungentlemanly, uncouth—”
“I haven’t shown you ungentlemanly yet, you frost bitch. Now shut up! Do I have to spell it out for you? Blast it anyway. Driver!”
That time, he didn’t wait for the door to open and fell into the roadway. For some reason, Helene pitied him. She’d been baiting him unmercifully, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it, but perhaps she’d taken it too far. He would get well eventually, and then....
She refused to think about it.
“Don’t...think I won’t repay this, Helene.” He hurled his words at her before slumping into his corner.
Helene clasped her hands together. “Pay me back for what, My Lord?”
“Your continual chatter, for forgetting my given name, and for making me travel on the worst day of my life! I’m of a mind to put you over my knee and whale you within an inch—Christ! My head hurts too much for this.”
“Good thing, too, for I’m of a mind to let you rot and never speak to you again. Do you hear me?”
“Jesus, Woman, the entire world can hear you!”
“Your language is the most filthy, foul—”
“If you don’t hush, Helene. Right now. I’m going to force it.”
Her eyes went wide and she gulped; held her breath for long moments while her pulse just kept hammering away in her ear; and hoped he wouldn’t spot her shaking.
“Cease looking at me like that. I’m not a brute.”
“You said you’d force me.”
“Of course. But don’t you want to know how?”
She shook her head. And then she nodded.
“I’ll kiss you.”
Her jaw dropped. And he had the gall to chuckle.
“You truly must think me dense. I know you cringe at the threat of my touch.”
“I won’t say another word, Gil.”
She put her hand to her mouth as he watched her, his eyes just clearing the blanket edge.
“Do I have your word on it?”
She opened her mouth to answer before deciding to just nod again.
“Thank God.”
***
“Oh…no! How could you?”
Gillian groaned from his corner.
“This is…oh heavens. I can’t do this!”
“For a woman giving her word, Madame, you are remarkably fickle.”
“Well, do something then!”
“About what? Oh. Christ!”
Gillian had shoved the blanket aside and leaned forward to peer out the window, putting his head right beside hers.
“The entire world’s alight. And look at all the people!”
Her voice rose despite the hold she exerted on herself. Panic was a condition she refused to enjoin. No matter what happened. She’d vowed it years ago and then lived by it. And yet this. This assault. Oh, Lord! She’d have to reveal her face…before this many people? Her resolve wavered. Her breath caught. Her heart beat so rapidly, it pained. And she was in full danger of being ill.
“I told Bridget not to get out the welcome mat. Damn it! Don’t you women ever do as you’re told?”
“B...Bridget?”
“Good God, I’ll roast her! I’ll get a hole dug deep enough to toss her in. No! Both of you! And I swear if Mother has anyone visiting, I’ll toss her in, too! How do I look?”
Helene swallowed before turning to face him.
“Well?”
Helene. How would Helene act?
She took a deep breath and then tipped her head to one side as if evaluating him and finding him wanting.
“What? My hair needs combing? My cravat straightening? Oh come now, Helene. Now, you decide to be silent?”
“Actually, I’m having a bit of difficulty with how to answer your query. I sincerely hope you don’t expect a civilized answer.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Truly, My Lord, you stretch the bounds of gentility beyond comprehension.”
“The stage is set, the audience is keen, the curtain’s about drawn, and you’re talking gentility? I don’t give a damn about gentility.’’
“That much…I already know.”
“Stop yelling, will you? I’ve the worst headache of my life, a gullet full of your views, and a goddamn house full of people to fool!”
“I’m not yelling,” she replied.
“You, Madame, are a bloody frost bitch, and I wish to hell—”
The carriage stopped while he was speaking, and she would’ve pointed it out, but the footman opening the door was much more eloquent.
“Gil. Darling. You’ve got to stop berating the roads like that. You know there’s nothing you could’ve done.”
She used her most lover-like voice and her most theatrical tone, and even put her hand on his cheek for effect. The words felt like they’d gagged her, and all he did was stare? Wasn’t this act his idea?
“Your Lordship?”
At the footman’s voice, Gil’s moved his attention. Nobody spoke as he exited the carriage, using a stooped walk. And then he lifted a hand toward her.
“Allow me to assist you, love. Careful. There’s a bit of mud.”
She looked down at the rain-washed street, which didn’t look to have a speck of mud anywhere. There was nothing for it. She scooted to the door and took his arm.
“Oh. Hell. She invited everyone.”
Gil muttered it as she reached solid ground. Helene peeked before looking back down. Indeed. It looked like Gil was right. There were people everywhere, probably trying not to stare, but failing. She peeked again and watched as one woman detached from the horde and approached, and then she was there. Helene watched the hem of her dress.
“Oh Gillian! Darling! We expected you ages ago. The roads weren’t impassable? You weren’t beset by highwaymen? You didn’t have carriage issues? This must be Helene. Oh, my dear, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you. Welcome to the Tremayne family. Gillian, you can unhand the girl now. I won’t spirit her away.”
Helene lifted her head. The woman was looking directly at her. Directly. And Gil wasn’t any help. He looked a bit white, so she took a deep breath and answered.
“The roads were…a bit rough. It took an unconscionable amount of time to negotiate them. You’ll forgive us, My...Lady?”
Helene stammered through it and wondered what Gillian thought of her posturing. He didn’t have any expression on his face, although his arm hardened under her fingers. Of course, that might mean he wanted to hit something.
“Am I Gillian’s mother?” the woman asked. “I suppose I should’ve waited for you to freshen up before the introductions, but I couldn’t wait! Guilty as charged, my dear.”
The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Please forgive this, darlings. I tried to keep the inquisition at bay, but the instant Bridget stormed by I’ve been beset by callers. And none of them would leave.”
“Tremayne! Finally! The town’s been beside itself with boredom. Please. Allow me to be one of the first to greet you and offer congratulations. This must be your new lady?”
A corpulent gentleman clapped Gil’s shoulder before turning his attention to Helene. His size made her shift closer to Gil.
“Runyon.”
Gil barely inclined his head, while Helene’s breath caught and held. Her back went so taut it ached. Her stomach wrapped itself into a knot. She’d known this moment was coming. She’d prepared. She had to face everyone. Exhibit the scars. Unveil the disfigurement. Display nerve damage that made one side of her face lag behind the other
. Reveal the frightening visage of the banshee. It was even worse than she’d imagined. There wasn’t any place to hide, nowhere to run, no one to save her.
Not even Brandy.
“So. This is the mysterious Helene Marguerite?” The man put a quizzing glass to his eye as if he needed to make her image clearer.
“May I present my wife?” She heard Gil speaking as if from a great distance away, and voiced through water. “Helene, my love? This is Sir Runyon.”
She had to move from Gil’s side to curtsy and wasn’t acting when she moved right back against Gil. If men looked at her like this Runyon fellow was, it meant the world really had gone mad. She wasn’t a beauty before she entered the asylum, and she certainly wasn’t one now.
“Do you mind if I take Helene from your side, Gillian?” Lady Tremayne asked. “I’ve been dying to introduce my newest daughter to everyone, and it was ever so selfish of you to deny me. Come along, now, Helene, don’t be shy. I’m thrilled with Gil’s choice. Laws, when I think of the other—oh, dear. I’ve just said something I shouldn’t, Helen being your relative and all. I’m forever doing that. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
Helene sent a glance to his chin. Any higher and he’d know how terrified she was at his mother’s proposal. He’d probably send her blithely off, without a second thought.
“I...I really am...tired, darling.”
The words were tremulous and softly-spoken. She wanted them back the instant they left her mouth. A glance upward told her as much as he winked at her.
“Helene. Darling. I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of anything my mother conspires. By all means, go. Meet everyone you’d like, but do remember to come back to me when you’ve finished showing off.”
He lifted her fingers from his arm. She couldn’t move. She felt frozen in place. Tears threatened before she modulated her breathing and started counting. And it worked. The moisture retreated. That made is easy to watch him lift her hand, touch his lips to her fingers, swivel, and then disappear somewhere in the crowd; leaving her more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.
Ever.
***
There was something to be said for true insanity, and she knew it.
Only those truly bereft of reality had freedom. Sometimes, in the worst times, she’d tried to find it. After Regis had roughed her up a bit, or another guard slid his hands along her nakedness, Helene truly had wished to be insane. In such a place, there was no reason to do anything. Nothing made sense, because nothing was supposed to.
It was a Christmas Eve when she’d finally faced the truth, too. There was no God and no reason to celebrate a miraculous birth when the sun rose, because there was no Jesus, either. All she knew was bone-numbing cold, rats that wouldn’t stay away no matter how she kicked, and guards that took one look in her door before walking away, shaking their heads.
Thank goodness for that small mercy.
The doors they opened led to the women who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak. Helene, with her superior, jaundiced, sarcastic view of the world, thought those mindless women were to be pitied. She’d often prayed for them to a nonexistent God. That had been extremely foolish.
It was strange how clearly one could see when the entire landscape was spread before her, without a blemish to mar the silken surface. Helene should’ve embraced insanity long before. And she would have, if only one of those women had said something.
It would’ve alleviated so much suffering, like when her belly ached from hunger and all they threw her was the contents of a chamber pot, or when her only contact with another human being had been a fist, and she’d been almost desperate enough to taunt them for more.
Those other women could’ve said something sooner, and she would have embraced the heavenly texture beneath her, the warmth at her side, and the perfect feeling of absolute security.
She opened an eye on a rose-colored sheet and knew she finally found insanity — and it was nirvana, not just mindless twaddle. She’d sharpened her wits on the stupid guards, pressed her mind for more games to keep her occupied, woven countless stories in her mind. In retrospect, it was probably the most insane thing she could’ve done.
Perhaps there was a God after all.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share some of that sheet? No? Too bad. I’m getting rather cold.”
Helene stiffened instantly as Gil pulled the material from beneath her cheek. Gillian Tremayne? In her bed?
“I’ve about had it with the frost bitch, Helene. I want back the woman who charmed the hose off the entire household. Is that too much to ask?”
She almost laughed. That woman didn’t exist. She never had.
“Fine, then. Keep the blasted sheet. I’ve more to do than whine and beg at your heels. I’ve got to find Reg and shove a fist through his mouth. ‘Act like a love-besotted fool,’ he advised me. Christ! I’d rather slit my throat.”
The mattress swayed as Gil left it, and Helene smiled to herself. He didn’t sound like he was in a very good mood, but that was probably due to the previous evening, when his little plot had backfired. He left her alone on the stage? Well, he shouldn’t be surprised at her success. She’d acted like a shy little bride should. But instead of appreciating her efforts, he sent her black looks from across the drawing room. Even his mother noticed and called it, ‘Gil’s jealous glare.’
Helene choked back a giggle, but the bed shook. Gillian Tremayne? Jealous?
She put her hand to her mouth, but a snort escaped even as she smothered it with a pillow. She heard his grunt from behind her.
“Oh? You find it amusing, do you?”
He was using that iron-hard whisper again. It made the flesh on her back tingle. And that caused an instant realization. Of air. Nakedness. She didn’t have anything on her back? No wonder the sheets had felt so wondrous.
She’d never been so vulnerable in her life.
Helene held her breath and waited, wondering if she dared cover herself without attracting attention to it. If he knew how being naked affected her, he’d use it to his own ends, just as he used all her other fears.
What am I thinking? Any other man she’d met would take what she couldn’t protect…without even thinking about it. Compared to those men, Gillian Tremayne was saintly. And for that, he deserved the best acting she could give.
“I do hope you’ll forgive my laughter, love. It’s just so…strange. I mean you’re here. And…and everything’s new to—.”
She rolled over as carefully as she could, and then her words stopped. So did her mind. Gil was looking at her from the chamber window. He wore an expression of absolute scorn — and nothing else.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!”
Sunlight touched his skin, mellowed by pink-tinted drapes so that he glowed. She had to swallow past a lump in her throat that hurt. Her eyes wouldn’t obey her command to look away, either. He was absolutely jaw-dropping, like a chiseled marble statue, from his tousled head of hair to the foot he’d placed on the window ledge as he looked out.
“Not bad, Helene. Why…if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you actually desire my company.”
Desire?
Oh dear! If he didn’t put something on, desire was the least thing that might happen. Helene’s clapped a hand to her mouth as soon as the thought occurred. She had to stop any of it from leaving her lips!
“Hmm. I don’t think it’ll rain. That’s something worth giving thanks over.”
He leaned toward the window, talking stupidly about the weather. The weather? She didn’t care if it rained all year if he’d just don a robe. Or at the least, a pair of trousers.
“We should count our blessings, I suppose. Mother isn’t giving us many. The woman is even planning a congratulatory ball! And I wish to hide! What’s the matter now?”
She’d pulled the sheet from the mattress, wadded the cloth into balls, but that didn’t come near stopping feelings that coursed her, sending shivers down her limbs, turning her nipples
into tight darts, and causing her to part her lips to gain breath. He had to put something on. And soon.
“Something bothering you, sweeting?”
Oh, dear God! He turned and walked toward her. Helene’s eyes flew wide, her mouth mirrored it, and then the cold iron of the headboard stopped her. Her back slammed into it without even thinking. There wasn’t anywhere else she could go. She tried to make her mouth work, say something flippant, but nothing came out.
“You’re white as a sheet, Helene.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her. Helene tried to close her eyes. They wouldn’t even obey. Her expression was probably one she’d rue. She was half dizzy with something. He didn’t have to say a word.
“I wasn’t going to ask for the bedding back. You can keep it if you like.’’
He swiveled onto his knees and crawled onto the uncovered ticking, and somehow she managed to shut her eyes. It didn’t help. His image was emblazoned on her eyelids.
“Go...away,” she whispered.
“You don’t want me to, love. And you can cease denying it. I am a man, after all. I can tell desire when I see it. I’ll even admit to it. But not you. Oh, no. You’d rather die than admit you want me. True?”
His breath caressed her nose. She turned her head aside. “You...flatter...yourself.”
“Do you think I could talk to Brandy for just a bit? Please?”
“Why?”
“I liked her honesty.”
“No.”
“You’re losing, Helene. And I’m not immune. Within moments, I’ll have you beneath me, and we’ll finish ripping those sheets off the mattress for an entirely different reason.”
“Don’t, Gillian! Please. You’re mistaken. I...I couldn’t possibly....” She sounded weak. Breathless. Confused. She couldn’t even finish the sentence?
“Couldn’t you now? Well, that tart, Brandy, wouldn’t hesitate. Please, Helene? Can’t I talk to her for just a bit?”
He’d picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it about his finger. She bit the side of her cheek to keep silent. She should’ve known she’d curse the day Helen and her maid decided Helene would suit their purposes.
“My…Lord?”
“Gil.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Helene.”
