In Bed with a Rogue (6 page)

The man took it reluctantly at first, then shoved it into his pocket. “God’s blessings, sir.”

Five

Someone had recognized Helena last night. It seemed impossible anyone would know her identity, much less see her in the dark, and yet it had happened. Someone had called her name in time to save her from being accosted. Her attacker had been a menacing shadow pouncing when she’d spun around and reacted. Fergus’s training had saved her skin, but now she faced a new danger.

Someone had followed her to Whitechapel.

Despite the grittiness of her eyes, her body refused to stay abed. She rushed through her toilette without bothering Ismay and made her way down the corridor. Her movements were graceful and controlled as she descended the staircase. The morning newssheet was folded neatly on the heavy walnut table just inside the entry where it always awaited her, along with copies of
The
Informer
,
The
London
Observer
,
A
Lady’s Companion
, and
The
Talebearer
. Her heart slammed against her breastbone as she forced herself not to run.

Picking up the stack of gossip sheets Fergus had purchased that morning and tucking them under her arm, she glided toward the breakfast room as if it were any other day. If there was mention of her encounter last night, she didn’t know what she would do.

Once she was seated at the small, round table, she muttered a desperate prayer.
Please
don’t let me see my name. Please don’t let me see my name.
When she couldn’t ignore the distasteful task any longer, she slowly opened
The
Informer
and scanned the columns for mention of Lady P. and late-night excursions to the rookeries. Her pulse raced as she dragged her finger over the words, but each inch she covered without seeing anything remotely connected to her eased the tightness in her chest. She quickly opened the next paper. And the next. After reading all four, she melted against the seatback.

There was nothing. Not a hint of her late-night activities. She released a pent-up breath and chuckled, relieved. She couldn’t believe her luck.

In a better frame of mind, she paid closer attention to the victims who hadn’t been so lucky to escape having their reputations sullied. The second to the last tidbit caught her eye.

Lord Thorne was seen leaving the theatre in a rush after an encounter with a certain paragon of Society last night. Could it be the lady gave the baron the proper set-down he richly deserved for making her daughter so unhappy that she had no choice but to run away?

Helena closed the paper with a disgusted huff. Really, couldn’t Lord Thorne make an appearance anywhere without exciting the gossips? And how terrible to imply the Dowager Duchess of Foxhaven had been anything less than kind to the baron or to remind everyone his betrothed had eloped with another man.

Hardly a day passed without hearing some salacious tidbit about Lord Thorne. She considered the sources and frowned. Perhaps he was partly responsible, although he was clearly the wronged party.

No matter what was said about his mental status or reputation, everyone agreed he was a handsome devil. Several women had gone so far as to imply they would welcome his company any time or place, but Lord Thorne was not accommodating. He ignored the assemblies and thwarted any chances these ladies might have to lure him to their beds. Helena suspected this was the source of their ire and the reason there was often venom behind their words. Feeling slighted, they took pleasure in uncovering his flaws and pointing them out to everyone. Helena supposed it was human nature to disparage what one couldn’t have, but it was still very nasty business, indeed.

Fergus entered the breakfast room, holding out his hand as he approached. The gold watch glinted in the sunlight when he passed the window. “Robert found this in the carriage.”

Helena took the piece with a frown. The hinge had been knocked askew and she was barely able to pry it open. The face of the watch had a crack across it. She turned it over, looking for a marking, but didn’t see one. “It must have fallen from Lord Thorne’s pocket the other night.” She closed it as best as she could. “Would you mind too much taking it to the watchmaker? Once it has been repaired, it can be returned to him anonymously.”

Fergus scowled. “He can replace his watch.”

“But if it has sentimental value… Please. The poor man has suffered enough. Surely a little kindness will do him good.”

“You are too kind, lass. It addles your brain.” He tucked the watch in his pocket. “I will take it to the watchmaker today.”

“Thank you, Fergus.”

He left, grumbling under his breath, but she knew it was for appearances only. He rarely denied her anything, which made him addled by kindness as well.

Feeling much relieved by the absence of her name in the paper, Helena retired to her chambers to sort through her correspondence, but Luna had other ideas. The gray cat leaped onto the small writing desk, turned a circle atop the letter Helena was trying to read, and plopped in the middle.

“You naughty girl,” Helena playfully scolded as she scratched Luna’s head and smiled when the stray began purring. Helena’s correspondence would have to wait, it seemed. A knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.”

It was Ismay and Fergus.

“You have a visitor, milady.” Ismay crossed the chamber and held out a calling card. Helena took it, expecting Olive had come to check on her well-being, as she often did. Helena fumbled the card.

Sebastian
Thorne?
The black ink screamed in warning. What was the baron doing here? In the middle of the day, no less. An unrelenting heat engulfed her as the alternative hit her. A nighttime visit would be a thousand times more damning. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips.

“Did he state his business?”

Fergus frowned. “He didna. I should toss him out on his arse.” He looked too happy with the prospect of manhandling the baron, but she didn’t care to draw more notice to his presence at her doorstep than necessary.

She couldn’t receive a bachelor, of course, especially one with his reputation for being a rogue. Even if curiosity would drive her mad all afternoon.

“Don’t do anything hasty, Fergus. Tell him I am not in, but see if you can determine his purpose in calling.”

The large Scotsman snorted. “A man like Thorne has one purpose for calling on a lady.”

Helena shot a censorious look in his direction. Fergus glanced at his younger sister and sobered. “As you wish, milady.” He bowed then spun on his heel and stalked from the room.

She scratched Luna behind the ears once more before making her way to the window to see if Fergus would follow her orders about not making a scene. Ismay scooped the cat in her arms and came to peer out the window too.

The boulevard was free of carriages, thank goodness. Lord Thorne had arrived a little before calling hours, which meant he’d either given thought to how his appearance at her door may be viewed, or he had no manners.

“Does he wish to bed you then, milady?”

Helena gasped.

Ismay smiled and cuddled Luna. “I know about the carrying-on between lads and lasses. Fergus may treat me like a child, but just because I am no’ married does no’ make me naive.”

Helena didn’t question her claim. Ismay had a beau back in Aberdeen. “When are you going to marry your Terrence? I know he has asked you.”

Ismay shrugged. “Not till I see you settled, I suppose.”

“If you are waiting for me to remarry, please don’t. I am widowed and I have money at my disposal. I am as settled as I will ever be.”

“You havna been loved yet, but you will. Then I will marry Terrence. He is waiting for me.”

Helena bit her tongue. They could discuss it once they returned to Aldmist Fell with Gracie and any of Helena’s other sisters who wanted a new start.

Muffled voices carried to the second floor, and the front door slammed, rattling the window.

“That didna sound good.”

Helena held her breath as she awaited the baron’s reaction. He stepped onto the walkway and paused, his back to the town house. A smart hat hid his raven hair except for a few wisps brushing the collar of his burgundy coat.

“My, he cuts a dashing figure in his buckskins.”

“Aye.” Ismay chuckled as she set Luna on the ground. “His tailor should be commended.”

Heat climbed Helena’s neck as she realized she’d spoken aloud.
Blast.
Why must she too want what she couldn’t have?

“Are you certain you want to turn him away?”

“No,” Helena murmured. “But I must. Lord Thorne is a distraction I cannot afford.”

The baron glanced over his shoulder toward the window. Her heart stopped. Her feet became rooted to the mahogany floor. He turned slowly, his gaze locked with hers. His dark eyes narrowed and his lips moved.

What
are
you
about, Lady Prestwick?
he seemed to say.

Her heart leaped, pounding against her ribs and in her ears.

“Dear heavens, it was him. He followed me to Whitechapel last night.”

Ismay issued an outraged cry and yanked the curtains closed. “We’ll just see what Fergus has to say about the bloody Sassenach stalking you.”

“No!” Helena grabbed her maid’s arm. She hadn’t told Fergus about someone calling her name before the footpad tried to attack her, and she didn’t want him to know Lord Thorne had followed them.

“Why not?” Ismay’s green eyes widened. “Ooh, you like him.”

Helena shook her head. “Fergus would get in a lot of trouble if he attacked a nobleman. Please, say nothing to him. I can handle Lord Thorne.”

It was a bold statement. She had no experience in handling rogues, and rumors had it the baron was a notch above average when it came to being roguish.

Avoidance.
That was the only action she could take. She could never see Lord Thorne again, which meant she must hand over control of the search to Fergus. It didn’t sit well with her, but with the blasted baron dogging her heels, she was left in a position she hated.

With no choice.

***

Four days had passed since Sebastian was turned away from Lady Prestwick’s door, and she had refused to see him each day since. Every evening the lady attended balls he wasn’t invited to attend, returned to her town house, and didn’t venture out again. A lack of adequate sleep made his mind fuzzy, and he’d begun to wonder if he had imagined following the viscountess to Whitechapel. Perhaps he should hire a man to follow her.

He shook his head. People might think he was as insane as his father if they found out. In truth, the only thing separating his brand of madness from his father’s was that Sebastian didn’t forget where he was or battle demons no one else could see.

Oh, no.
Sebastian
was engaged in a different type of fight. A battle of wills with an angel. The Angel of Whitechapel, no less. And she was winning.

Devil
take
it!
He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he stood before a glossy black door with a sparkling brass lion knocker. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but God help him, Lady Prestwick was all he could think about morning and night. He needed help, even if it meant swallowing his pride.

Before he could change his mind, he grasped the knocker and banged on the door. It took but a minute for the servant to answer. Perhaps that meant she was receiving today.

Sebastian handed his calling card over without ceremony. “Lord Thorne to see Lady Ellis.”

As the manservant showed him to a tidy parlor, Sebastian’s stomach turned to stone. If his former fiancée refused to see him, his humiliation would know no bounds.

He was left alone while the man went to see if Gabrielle was in. A decanter filled with amber liquid winked in the sunlight, and he made his way to the sideboard to pour a glass. The warmth of the brandy had begun to loosen the knots in his body when Gabrielle swept into the room.

“Sebastian, how lovely to see you.” Her voice held wonder and perhaps a touch of relief.

They hadn’t spoken since the night at the inn when she’d chosen his rival over him. The familiar slow burn of anger flickered in his chest, but it didn’t combust as usual.

He allowed himself a good look at her. Her gray eyes held a sparkle again, and her cheeks boasted a healthy, rosy glow.

“You look radiant.” It sounded more like a concession than a compliment, but it was the truth.

“Thank you, my lord.” Her smile faded a bit, and she gazed at him from beneath her dark lashes as if she were ashamed to be happy in his presence. “I see you have a drink already or I would offer one.”

He lifted the glass in salute. “Convey my compliments to your husband. He always had fine taste in brandy and women.”

She crossed her arms, closing off to him before he’d even had a chance to solicit her assistance. Not that he blamed her. He was behaving like an arse.

“Forgive me, Lady Ellis. I am not here to dredge up old grudges.” He gestured toward a chair. “May I sit, please?”

She pursed her lips. “I suppose, so long as you aren’t here to cause trouble.”

“I promise trouble is the furthest from my mind,” he said, then smiled because part of him was pleased to see her again. At least his doubts could be laid to rest. “You look happy. It pains me to say, but it seems I was wrong about Ellis.”

The softness returned to her face, and she claimed a chair so he could finally sit as well. “I should be the one asking forgiveness. I never meant to—”

He lifted a hand to signal her to stop. “I am quite well.” If she said she hadn’t meant to hurt him, he would feel compelled to tell her she hadn’t. He’d been fond of Gabrielle—she had seemed a pleasant means to an end—and he would have treated her very well, but he hadn’t loved her. And compared to how blissful she appeared now, she hadn’t loved him either.