Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (31 page)

“Nobody cares that I was with him on that stupid island.”

“Ha! That’s what you think. The whole bloody city was rooting for you.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“The ladies was jealous of you being alone with him, and the gents was agog over the sexual side of the situation.” Jo wiggled her brows. “If you get my drift.”

“Yes, I get it.”

“Harcourt is a rich, famous nob,” Jo pointed out. “He ought to have helped you.”

“It would never have occurred to him.”

At the mention of Tristan Harcourt, tears surged and dripped down her cheeks.

“Here now,” Jo soothed, patting Harriet’s shoulder, “we’ll have none of that. Crying is a waste of energy. It never does no good.”

“I can’t believe he left me to rot. I can’t believe he let Bentley Struthers do this to me.”

It was silly to be upset at Tristan over her predicament. She’d revealed Struthers’s perfidy to him, but she’d pretended that Helen was the one who was in trouble, so why Harriet should hope he’d figure out the truth and ride to her rescue was a mystery.

She had to stop mooning over him. She had to stop wondering how he was and if he ever missed her.

“Your eye is much better,” Jo commented.

“Yes, it is. The swelling is down.”

When Radley had delivered her to Struthers, Bentley might have raped her, but for some reason, Radley had intervened. So as punishment, Bentley had only managed to administer a single, hard blow with his fist that knocked her down and blackened her eye.

Though Radley had prevented a more vicious assault, his attack of conscience had only gone so far. He couldn’t be persuaded to release her. He’d dumped her at the prison, and Harriet was philosophical about the entire affair. With Struthers not inflicting the ravishment penalty he’d planned, she felt that she’d won the battle.

No matter what transpired, whether she was hanged or deported, she’d bested him in the only manner that counted. Jo clasped her chin, critically studying the bruising.

“Yup, much better. You’ll live.”

“Wish I wouldn’t,” Harriet muttered.

“You gotta buck up, Harriet. You gotta stay strong.”

“I know. I’m just weary.”

“Survive just to spite the bastards. Vow to come back from Australia someday. Get yourself some revenge.”

“Maybe I will.”

“If anybody deserves a bit of vengeance, it’s you.”

They both smiled as a guard called to Jo, and she stood.

“I’m sprung,” she said. “You take care.”

“I will.”

Jo reached out her hands, and Harriet grabbed hold. For a long moment, they stared, a lifetime of friendship passing between them in an instant, then Jo was gone, the gate clanging shut behind her.

Harriet closed her eyes and let a vision form, of the hot sun and sandy beach on her deserted island. Her hair and chemise whipped in the wind. She saw Tristan beckoning to her from out in the water, and she leapt up and joined him in the waves.

“The slimy weasel wouldn’t pay me!”

“I can’t believe it.”

Helen was walking down the hall at Brookhaven, and she halted, listening.

Nigel was sequestered in the front parlor with Barbara, and he was very angry. He’d traveled to London to obtain a Special License, and obviously, something dire had occurred while he was in the city. What could it have been?

She tiptoed nearer.

“He should be thanking me,” Nigel protested. “Instead, I was insulted, tricked, and tossed out the door.”

“He’s a beast!” Barbara concurred. “An absolute beast! How dare he treat you that way!”

“What should I do, Mother? How should I proceed?”

“Could you locate Harriet and abscond with her yourself? That would show him.”

Harriet!
Helen’s breath caught in her chest.

Since she’d returned to Brookhaven, she and Nigel had often spoken about Harriet. He kept claiming that he had initiated a search, but she’d seen no proof that an investigation had been launched. Had he known where Harriet was all along?

“If you could retrieve her,” Barbara counseled, “you could hide her from him.
You
could demand a ransom.”

“I have no idea where she is,” Nigel replied. “Struthers’s man took her away in his carriage. She could be anywhere by now.”

Helen stepped even closer, her ear pressed to the wood.

“Do you suppose I could sue Struthers for breach of contract?” Nigel asked.

“I haven’t a clue. We could consult with an attorney, but it would cost us funds we don’t have.”

“Why couldn’t Struthers be honorable?” Nigel moaned. “Why couldn’t he pay me as he swore he would?”

“You shouldn’t have surrendered Harriet without getting the reward first.”

“I know, Mother. I know! There’s no need to pester me.”

“You’re usually smarter than this. You should have assumed he would cheat you. You should have anticipated a swindle.”

Helen was stunned—when she shouldn’t have been.

She’d come to Brookhaven at Nigel’s behest, wanting desperately to imagine that things had changed. Why had he brought her home with him? What had been his true purpose?

His every act now had to be viewed as suspicious. How had he
happened
to find her that day in the park? Why had he been so determined to whisk her to the country—away from London where she’d be isolated and cut off from any news?

Why had he been so intent on marrying her? Clearly, he had some other—some unknown—motive. What on earth could it be? She hadn’t the vaguest notion.

Her heart heavy, every last hope finally dashed, she opened the door and entered the room.

“Harriet will have to be found again,” Barbara was saying. “It’s the only chance for you to gain any leverage.”

She glanced over, and on espying Helen, she flushed, her eyes flashing a warning to Nigel. As he spun to face her, his smile was firmly in place.

“Helen,” he said, approaching, “I didn’t realize you were back from your walk. It’s so brisk outside. Are you frozen? Do come over by the fire.”

He studied her expression, and he frowned.

“What is it?” he inquired. “You look upset.”

“You turned Harriet in for the reward.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His frown deepened, innocence oozing from every pore. “Harriet is my cousin, and you’re about to be my wife. I’ll treat her as if she were my own sister.”

“I’ve been standing in the hall eavesdropping, Nigel, so don’t lie to me. Not now. Not about this.”

“You’re being absurd,” Barbara put in. “How would we know where Harriet is? Whatever it is that you
think
you heard, you’re mistaken.”

“We’ve been secretly hunting for her,” Nigel insisted. “We meant to surprise you after we located her.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He appeared so guileless, so sincere, and she was so pathetically anxious to trust him. She wanted—just once—to have someone on her side, someone to rely on, but it would never be him.

“You’ve always hated me,” Helen said, “and I never even knew why.”

“Honestly,” Barbara scoffed, “we don’t hate you. We’re your family. What a thing to say.”

“Is it because of my mother? Because of the Earl of Trent? She was a girl, seduced by a great lord. Can’t you forgive her? Especially after all these years! All this animosity seems so pointless.”

“We’re not distressed about Trent,” Nigel contended. “In fact, we’re glad he’s your father. Aren’t we, Mother? Aren’t we glad?”

“Yes, we’re very glad,” Barbara agreed.

“He’ll give you a dowry,” Nigel explained.

“What? I’ve never met the man, and I wouldn’t humiliate myself by asking for one.”

“You won’t have to,” Nigel said. “I’ll speak to him for you. I already sent him a letter, requesting an audience.”

“Cancel it.”

“No. It will be all right. You’ll see.”

So...that was why he’d been so eager to wed her. He presumed that Trent would give him some money, and like the most gullible fool, she’d fallen for his scheme. What a pitiful, degrading insight.

Why hadn’t she been the least bit wary? She’d often reflected that her affair with Westwood had crushed her common sense. Had it rendered her stupid and blind, as well?

“Are your fiscal troubles that dire, Nigel?” she queried.

“We’re in a small financial bind. Nothing serious, mind you, but a dowry from Trent would definitely come in handy.”

“What’s become of your inheritance from your father?”

“We have a lot of bills. Once you’ve been here awhile, you’ll understand what it’s like.”

“Oh, I
understand
.” She assessed his fashionable outfit, Barbara’s exquisite dress. “I understand all too well.”

“You’ll help us convince Trent, won’t you, Helen?” Barbara urged.

“No, I won’t.”

She started out, and Nigel rushed over and clasped hold of her arm. She glared at him.

“What do you want?”

“I just wondered where you’re going.”

“To my room. Why?”

“Because you should stay at Brookhaven where you belong.” There was an odd hint of threat in his tone. “We’d worry if you left.”

“We’d be panic-stricken,” Barbara claimed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Helen responded.

“Well, fine. Good.”

Nigel forced another smile, then he peeked over at Barbara, and they shared a furtive, significant exchange.

Helen suffered the strangest perception that she was about to be locked in. Would she to be their prisoner? Would they keep her against her will?

It was all too bizarre.

She yanked away and headed for the stairs.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Helen knocked on the door to the one place she’d assumed she would never see again: James Harcourt’s London home. Footsteps sounded, and the butler answered.

On observing her, his brows rose, and she wondered what he thought. No doubt Miranda Wilson had spread dreadful stories about her, so his opinion was likely to be very low, but she didn’t care.

“Miss Stewart, this is a surprise.”

“I apologize for bothering you—”

“It’s no bother.”

“—but I would like to speak with Lord Westwood.”

“He’s not here.”

“When do you expect him back?”

“He’s out on business, so I really can’t say.”

The man flushed, giving evidence that Westwood was probably gambling. It was an accepted, but never mentioned household fact.

“I suppose he’s in the middle of a card game.”

“Actually, he’s arranging a very important one.” The butler was being much too indiscreet. “I’m told it’s a game he’s been seeking for many years.”

Helen was curious as to who Westwood’s mark would be. Who did he plan to swindle?

“I’ve traveled from the country,” she explained, “specifically to talk to him. May I wait?”

He considered, and when it looked as if he would refuse, she said, “Please? I’ll just sit quietly in a parlor. No one will know I’m here.”

“Well...”

She had no qualms about playing on his sympathies, and she retrieved her tattered copy of Bentley Struthers’s flyer and stuck it under his nose.

“Have you seen this?” she asked.

“Yes. Over the summer, they were posted all over the city.”

“She’s my twin sister. Lord Westwood promised he’d help me find her, but he never did anything. She’s been captured, and she’s in grave danger.”

He debated, then sighed. “All right, come in. I’ll inform you the minute he arrives.”

“Thank you.”

Helen entered the foyer, and when he offered to take her cloak and hat, she declined. If Westwood ordered her out, or if they fought, she wanted to be able to leave immediately without dawdling as her belongings were produced.

She was running on instinct, once again on the streets and terrified over what would happen next.

After learning what Nigel and Barbara had done to Harriet, Helen had fled in the dark of night. She’d skipped supper, claiming a headache and huddling in her room until everyone was abed, then she’d sneaked out. By the time the sun had risen, she’d been three villages away.

She’d used the last of Westwood’s severance money to purchase a seat on the mail coach, and she’d been on her way to London before anyone at Brookhaven would have noticed that she hadn’t joined them for breakfast.

After she talked to Westwood, after she demanded the assistance he’d sworn he would provide, she couldn’t guess what would become of her. She was focused on one goal and one goal only: saving Harriet.

Helen had had enough of Westwood’s egregious conduct, and if he rebuffed her request for aid, she was perfectly willing to blackmail him by threatening to tell the entire world that he was a cheat. He could deny it and call her a liar, but the charge would be out there. People would always watch him. People would always speculate.

She’d just started after the butler when—to her dismay—Miranda clomped down the stairs.

“Miss Stewart!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see Lord Westwood.”

“You shall
not
see him!” She glared at the butler. “Show her out. At once.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wilson, but I won’t. The earl was very fond of her, and I’m sure he will welcome the meeting.”