Chapter 12
As soon as Edward’s carriage rolled up, Helen got out of the hackney and paid the driver, scanning her surroundings as she crossed the street. In her note, she’d told Edward to pick her up at the west entrance of Green Park, and that they would make the journey to the ball together.
The family crest on his carriage was covered, presumably so that no one could gossip about his whereabouts or whom he’d been seen with. The driver opened the carriage as she approached, and Helen’s heart thumped nervously in her chest as she entered the closed space.
Helen sat down, smoothing her skirts, partially out of nervousness, but also because she loved the feeling of the fabric. She looked like a princess. A princess who could kill people, but close enough.
Helen had gone back to the seamstress, throwing the woman into a tizzy when she told her she needed a ball gown fit for a mistress. The neckline was absolutely plunging. Her breasts were lifted, molded and shaped into perfection, her shoulders bare. Her stockings were white, which struck Helen as surprisingly shocking. The ones she wore during the day were black and serviceable. These were stockings that were meant to be removed.
“I confess that I had hoped you would change your mind,” he said softly in the dark. Some of the tension eased out of her, the tone of his voice indicating that he had calmed down since that afternoon.
“Good evening to you, too,” she said, careful to keep the sting out of her voice.
The coachman shut the door, the carriage swaying gently as he got back up on the box. She thought she could feel the Duke looking at her in the dark. “I don’t want to give you anything of the family’s for obvious reasons, but I thought we might go to a jeweler and see if we could find something appropriate for tonight.”
Helen froze. “You want to give me jewelry? Why?” Her eyes adjusted to the dark interior, and she could see him, his face cast in darkness, sharpening his features and giving him a roguish, even dangerous cast. She shivered.
He smiled coldly. His disdain for her obvious. “If I’m presenting you to the world as my mistress, you should at least look expensive. I couldn’t send you a dress seeing as I have no idea where you live. But if the jewels are large enough, no one will notice what you’re wearing.”
He bought his mistresses dresses? Did all men do that? “Why do I feel like you’re leading me into a trap?”
He raised a brow at her. A slight shake of his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps because you are suspicious by nature, or because you have a guilty conscience.”
She wanted to give him the finger. “If you betray me, you lose everything.”
“So you’ve said.”
Helen took another breath, the scent of him lightly intoxicating. It was spicy, warm and expensive.
“Surely you know I wouldn’t risk my family’s future.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, firmly. As if her conviction could convince him. “You’re a good man, Edward.”
There was silence for a long moment. “Do you know you’ve said something similar to me already? You know what kind of man I am,” he said, drawing out each word, a hint of steel edging into the vowels. “I can’t tell if you mean it to be offensive, or if it’s some strange compliment. And don’t call me Edward.”
Had she called him Edward? Helen blamed the dark intimacy of the carriage. “Does it help to know that I meant it as a compliment?”
He said nothing.
The carriage came to a stop and Edward stepped out, offering her a gloved hand. She could feel the heat of his fingers through their gloves, his grip firm but not too hard, and she blushed, thankful for the dark so that he wouldn’t see her ridiculous reaction. Having him help her down from the carriage, having to watch every step she took and lift her skirts out of the way cemented the I’m-a–blackmailing-princess feeling. She felt feminine in a way she never had before.
The shop was small but elegant, and the owner was waiting for them, exclaiming his pleasure at the Duke of Somervale’s presence. After several protracted compliments, the Duke interrupted him. “We’re looking for a necklace.”
The man swallowed, his head jerking down in agreement. “Very good, Your Grace. What type of stones did you have in mind?”
Edward turned to her and smiled, a brief flash of even white teeth. He made eye contact with her, maintaining it as he closed the distance between them. Helen didn’t know what to do besides stay still. She stopped breathing as he entered her personal space, one hand making a fist. If he were any other man, she would think he was being flirtatious.
Nah.
When he stopped before her, he was so close that he had to look down to see her face. He raised his hands slowly, touching her neck lightly, his hands brushing the thick velvet of her cloak as he undid the clasp. Okay, this is definitely confusing.
“You are looking at me very fiercely,” he said, and she took a shallow breath, concerned that anything that she did at this point would give away just how attractive she thought he was. If the eyes were the window to the soul, she was worried he would see the pornographic film going on inside of her.
She broke contact, looked to the side at the shopkeeper as if seeking help from the Duke’s magnetic attraction, but he was studiously examining the corner, looking at absolutely nothing as he gave them a pretend privacy. The nearness of him seared her, and she looked at his clean-shaven neck, her eyes drawn to the faint smallpox scars below his ear that disappeared into his dark hair at the nape of his neck.
The scars reminded her of his mortality, and she shivered as if death’s own hand were touching her on the back, giving her a warning that the end was closing in. Edward was so stern, so imposing it seemed impossible that he was vulnerable to anything. Wouldn’t he just give death a glare and scare him away? You know the date of his death. Death comes for everyone. Even the high-and-mighty. Eighty-five. That’s the age he lived to. Decades yet. He married and had three children.
Three. Helen took a step back.
“Come now, this isn’t the end of the world,” he said, in a lover’s tone. He’d misunderstood her sudden tension. Sure she was a little flustered by his attention, but she wouldn’t back away from it. She’d be all for a sexy break to the animosities. NO, the problem was that she knew what his life was to be, and she had no part in it. “You’re mine. I’ve bought you. That is what it means to be a mistress.”
She bit the inside of her lip, her body near tingling, wanting the rough press of his hard body against hers, even as she thought about the fact that he’d be married. Victorian women and husbands didn’t love each other, did they? Weren’t wives expected to give an heir and a spare, and then they could sleep around as much as they wanted to?
And men were supposed to be worse, keeping mistresses, chasing actresses and debauching maids. Not him. He stepped back from her, holding the cloak out to the jeweler who dashed forward to take it from him. Edward’s gaze met hers, mocking and scornful. You’ll regret demanding this of me, his expression said.
What was the deal here?
Edward took a step back from her as if she were a work of art that he wanted to see in total rather than up close. He crossed his arms and stared at her bluntly, the quality of his attention definitely different than what she was used to. He wasn’t looking at her with animosity; he was examining her as a woman.
And he was doing it slowly.
She felt herself blushing as he took his time. As if he actually had bought her, and he was going to get his money’s worth. “Sapphires,” he said, “and diamonds.”
She had the distinct impression that he was imagining her with only the jewelry on. His gaze met hers and she looked away, irritated at herself for doing it. Was it cowardice to look away from him? Wasn’t this just another confrontation?
But she could feel her body responding to him, betraying her. She wanted him, God help her. And the only thing that had made it bearable was the fact that he hated her and looked at her as if she were repulsive.
>
Now he was looking at her as if he were going to ravish her. Strip her down and eat her whole, so yeah, it was time to look away. The jeweler brought out a heavy piece, several sapphires, pearls and diamonds twined together into a choker.
The Duke dismissed it immediately, even before it was out of the case. Not even using words, but the flick of a hand. “I want to see her neck.” The urge to make this farce stop was becoming overwhelming. “Something that settles lower, I think.” His gaze moved down her chest, blatantly staring at the tops of her breasts that were on display in her low-cut gown. She took a deep, shuddering breath, hyperaware of how her breasts pushed against the material.
The jeweler disappeared into the back room. The Duke looked away from her, gaze fixed out the window, jaw suddenly hard, and she wondered idly if he was affected by her at all. Was this simply to humiliate her? He was probably one of the greatest catches in the land. Gorgeous and rich. Every woman desired him.
That’s kind of depressing.
The jeweler came back with a deceptively simple necklace. A giant sapphire surrounded by diamonds that winked in the light. Whatever the cost was, it was a fortune. It had to be. The Duke cast the jeweler a look from under his lashes, and the man disappeared into the back room again, leaving them alone. He picked up the necklace and moved in close to her.
“Turn around,” he ordered and she did, presenting him with her back and wishing desperately this was some prelude to kinky sex. She could feel him at her back. He put the necklace on her, the weight of it surprisingly heavy. The sapphire settled between her breasts, drawing the eye. She turned back around, one hand on the necklace touching the stones, feeling their hard brilliance. He leaned towards her, speaking gently in her ear, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through her, settling in her core and making her close her eyes.
“Do you want this necklace? It can be yours. Just walk away. Take this and go.” The warmth of his breath tickled her ear.
Her eyes opened. Oh. Duh. Every sexy thought vanished, and she felt like a moron. Yes, this was business. He didn’t want her. Why would he? She was blackmailing him and was little better than a heathen.
“I have money in the carriage. I can take you to Dover. You can be in France by tomorrow. There are ships leaving for America all the time. You can start again, live a different life, and escape whoever is making you do this.”
He’d caught her off guard. She couldn’t do more than shake her head in denial, blinking rapidly in confusion, not wanting the sudden rush of tears to be noticeable. It was PMS, right?
His tone was soft but relentless. “I will be armed tonight. Do you have any idea how incredible that is to me? That you seem so dangerous and unpredictable that I am going to carry a gun into a ball, in case I must protect a man from you.”
“I’m not going to hurt him,” she said weakly.
He leaned back so she could look up into his dark eyes. His smile was sad. “I can’t afford to believe you. I’m giving you a way out of this.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, words thick. She looked away from his intense regard, as though he’d see her secrets on her face.
She felt him tense, just slightly, and he exhaled a deep sigh that was somehow sensual, and she tried not to sway forward or do something that would give away her I-want-to-hump-your-bones-even-though-you-hate-me confusion.
“If you’re not doing this against your will, then I think you must be a spy or an assassin. Or something…” A slight shake of his head. “I think there is a word for you, and I don’t know it. Tell me what it is,” frustration made his words deeper.
Patient and still, he waited, as though he knew that if he just gave her enough time, she would tell him her secrets. The stupid part was that the idea of telling him did pass through her mind. ‛Actually I’m from the future.’
That wasn’t going to work.
He took a step back, rested a hand on the glass case, drumming his fingers briefly.
“Nothing about you is right. You are not common, yet you have nothing but the money I gave you. You are clearly educated, but have no background to attain that knowledge. I have met Americans, and do you know what I have discovered about them?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, as though her own words might come flooding out. He touched her chin, forcing her to look at him, the smell of his cologne sitting heavily in her lungs.
“They are so worried about being different that they try the hardest to fit in. Every rule, every gesture is proper. But not you. You don’t have the faintest clue about etiquette or manners.”
I only had two weeks. Maps, studying the events that would come to pass, all that had been more important than etiquette. Helen reached up to the necklace, her fingers curiously numb as she fumbled with the clasp.
“Don’t,” her voice shook and she took a breath before continuing. “You don’t know me or what I am capable of. You can’t be the hero and save the day. You can’t talk me out of this. Keep your damn jewelry and just do what you’re told.”
She went to the shop door, yanking it open and surprising the coachman. He jumped to attention, opening the carriage door, her skirts swishing angrily as she fled. Helen waited in the dark interior, using every second to fortify herself and remind her of her purpose.
The future depended on her. She wouldn’t be remembered as the woman who fucked it up because a guy got in the way. She would get the job done, and she would disappear. The plans were an unknown. She had to make sure Black gave them to her tonight. If that meant she had to torture it out of him, she would. She couldn’t be looking for alternatives or easier ways to get the job done, just so she could impress some stuffy jerk who was engaged.
Helen knew the future. He’d condescended to treating her like a mistress, one step above a whore, and she’d gotten her panties in a damp twist over it.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She should’ve gotten her cloak before storming out. The carriage door opened, and the Duke handed her the cloak as he climbed in, ducking his head so he didn’t bang it as he stepped into the vehicle.
The carriage set off, the sound of the horses’ hooves and outside traffic incapable of breaking up the heavy silence between them. He leaned forward, offering her a black rectangular case. “In case you change your mind,” he said.
“I won’t. I don’t want it.”
“You’ve already taken five thousand pounds from me; I can’t imagine you’re going to quibble over a thousand more. Put it on. Give it back to me at the end of the night if you don’t want it. I want to speak to you about this event,” he said, sounding very serious.
“Good idea. Let me tell you the plan.”
“I’m dreading it already,” he murmured.
She let that slide. “My plan is to get in there, find Black, speak to him and then leave. How’s that?”
“Frighteningly simplistic,” he said and crossed his legs.
She scowled.
“I’m going to be blunt with you. I am not a man who engages in casual lusts. And I hold the reputation of my fiancée in high regard. I don’t want the world gossiping that I have taken a paramour months before our wedding.”
Helen gulped.
“You are an actress. We had a liaison several years back, and now you’re here looking for a protector. If anyone asks, I’m here with you as an old friend who wants to make sure you make a good connection. You are not my mistress. Is that clear?”
“Your solution is to tell them that I’m a hooker on the prowl?” she asked, indignantly. “Do you have the word hooker?”
Now he scowled, his expression slightly sinister in the dark. “Is it a worse word than ‘blackmailer’? You are a courtesan. It explains why we’re here. Why I know so very little about your recent past, and it also leaves me my reputation. ”
Helen couldn’t think of a good reason to protest. “All right. We will do it your way.”
In another few minutes, they arrived.
&nbs
p; Helen’s stomach flip-flopped.
Please don’t screw this up.