Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (36 page)

For all his faults, Charles was not a cruel person. He liked to complain to Phillip, liked to grumble and pretend that he was angry over Phillip’s meddling, but in reality, he was content to assist Phillip. If he hadn’t been, Phillip would have been ignored and disavowed.

Charles wasn’t overly fond of his offspring—he didn’t have the emotional character required to attach himself—but neither would he allow one of them to be harmed.

“I won’t permit anyone to kill one of my children,” he swore, “no matter what he’s said to have done. I trust you to see that it doesn’t happen.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Father and natural-born son, an unlikely pair of conspirators, walked out of the club together and exited into the cold, autumn morning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“What do you suppose he’s like?”

“Who?”

“Lord Trent.”

“We’ll find out tomorrow.”

Helen smiled at Harriet, trying to act nonchalant, but the prospect was as exciting as it was daunting.

How did one greet such a man?

Though they’d never met him, and Helen had only bad opinions, Phillip claimed Lord Trent wasn’t an ogre, so she was reserving judgment. She would bide her time, would wait and see if Trent was worthy of any respect, but she was sure he wasn’t.

What sort of cad made it a habit to seduce impressionable girls such as Helen’s mother had been? What sort of cad fled immediately after and never returned?

Helen would be blunt and candid. She wanted to know about her mother, about Trent’s relationship with her. Would he even remember Helen’s mother? Or had she simply been one debutante in a long line of ruined maidens?

“It all seems like a dream, doesn’t it?” Harriet said.

“It certainly does.”

“I keep expecting to open my eyes and discover that I was sleeping and none of it is real.”

They were in Phillip’s home, in Harriet’s bedchamber, sitting on her bed, and Helen reached over and pinched Harriet’s arm.

“Ouch!” Harriet griped.

“Did you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re not dreaming. Stop worrying.”

“I can’t help it. We’ve had so many awful things happen that I’ve quit counting on anything good occurring. It just leads to disappointment —and I’ve had plenty of that.”

“I know, but I trust Phillip.”

“And Fanny and Michael, too.”

“And Phillip’s wife, Anne! They’ve been so kind.”

“I feel guilty,” Harriet admitted, “as if we don’t deserve it.”

“I feel exactly the same.”

Helen thought of the lost opportunities, of the hardship and struggle, and all along, they’d had siblings who’d been trying to locate them. It didn’t seem fair, as if the universe had been punishing them when she’d never been able to figure out their crime.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Harriet asked.

“Yes.”

Harriet leaned closer and whispered, “I think Tristan is going to murder Bentley Struthers for his being so cruel to me.”

“Harriet! That can’t be right.”

“Swear to God, Helen. He’s very protective. If you could have seen him on that ship, fighting with those pirates! He was so...so... Oh, I can’t describe what it was like.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“How could I not?”

Helen patted Harriet’s hand, concerned over how the next few days would go. Harriet had told her the entire story about Captain Harcourt, from beginning to pitiful end, and Helen wanted to be glad for Harriet, wanted to celebrate her approaching engagement, but Helen had had her own experience with a Harcourt male.

In order to wed Harriet, Tristan Harcourt had to cry off from his betrothal—a boorish gaffe never allowed a gentleman—and Helen was terrified that he never would. If he had lied to Harriet, then he was about to break her heart all over again, and Helen wouldn’t let him harm Harriet more than he already had.

He’d promised to come back for her, and if he didn’t, Helen now had a brother who would take action on Harriet’s behalf, and Helen wouldn’t be timid about demanding satisfaction.

Tristan Harcourt would marry her sister. Helen intended to see the union transpire—if it was the last thing she ever did.

“What about you, Helen?” Harriet inquired. “What about you and Lord Westwood?”

“There is no Westwood and me.”

“I heard Tristan speaking with Phillip about you.”

“Me? Why would he?”

“He said you were...
involved
with Westwood over the summer. Were you?”

Helen blushed ten shades of red. She hadn’t mentioned Westwood to Harriet. Why should she? How could it matter? It was too humiliating to remember how he’d paid her for services rendered, then sent her away with his cold termination letter.

She still couldn’t talk about it. The hurt ran too deep.

“You can tell me,” Harriet urged. “After my own behavior, I’m in no position to judge or condemn. And I can certainly understand how easy it is to fall for a Harcourt brother.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Helen glanced away, anxious to hide her distress, and she was saved from further discussion by Fanny’s knock on the door. She peeked in.

“Helen, you have a caller.”

“
I
have a caller?”

“Yes.”

Helen frowned. She couldn’t guess who it might be. There was no one in London who would visit her, no one who would notice or care that she’d taken refuge in Phillip’s home.

“It isn’t our cousin, Nigel, is it?” Harriet asked. “If so, I’ll be happy to march down and punch him in the nose.”

Fanny entered the room and shut the door.

“It’s James Harcourt.”

Helen gasped with dismay as Harriet said, “James Harcourt—as in the Earl of Westwood?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Harriet glared at Helen. “And you insisted there was no
Westwood
and you.”

“I have no idea why he’s here,” Helen asserted. “What does he want?”

“He’s asked to see you,” Fanny revealed. “Alone.”

“Yes!” Harriet cheered, and she jumped to her feet and pulled Helen to her feet, too. “Hurry downstairs, right now. Let the bastard propose, but make him work for it. Make him get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness before you accept.”

“Trust me,” Helen scoffed. “He’s not about to propose. He thinks I stole some jewelry from his ward.”

“What?” Fanny and Harriet said at the same time.

“He’s probably going to command that I give it back, then threaten me with prison when I claim I don’t have it. I
never
had it. His ward is insane, but he believed every lie she ever told about me.”

“Perhaps I should have Phillip deal with him,” Fanny stated. “Or my husband, Michael. Maybe the two of them could explain a few facts.”

“With their fists!” Harriet fumed.

“Would you like to speak with him?” Fanny queried. “You don’t have to. I can give him a piece of my mind, then show him out.”

Helen considered. Could she bear to meet with him?

Their last encounter, out on the lane at Brookhaven, had been brief and contentious. He’d raged at her over what he’d seemed to view as numerous betrayals when she couldn’t imagine why she’d earned his enmity.
She
was the one who’d been tormented by Miss Wilson, then cast out on the street.

She supposed she should be afraid of him, but she wasn’t. He could blather on about Miranda’s jewelry until he was blue in the face, could posture and preen and prattle, but if he started in, Helen would simply advise him to confer with her rich, powerful brother.

“I’ll speak to him,” Helen decided.

“Are you positive?” Harriet inquired. “Fanny and I would be delighted to tell him to sod off.”

“You don’t have to. I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”

Fanny escorted her downstairs, and Harriet tagged along, stopping outside the door to the front parlor.

“We’ll wait for you in the library,” Fanny said.

“If he says one wrong word,” Harriet added, “just call for me, and I’ll come in and let him have it. I’ll bet Tristan would be interested to hear how awful he’s been to you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Helen declared, though she was a bit nervous.

She didn’t want to fight with Westwood, didn’t want to quarrel and blame.

Tristan had promised that he was about to marry Harriet, and if he followed through, Helen and Westwood would be in-laws. What kind of life would they all have if Helen and James were enemies?

She’d been in love with him once. Surely some vestige of that strong emotion had to still remain. Surely she could find the fortitude to forgive him and move on.

She nodded to her two sisters, relishing their moral support and aware that—despite what occurred with Westwood—Fanny and Harriet would be there to console her after he left.

With that realization in mind, she felt calmer, more in control.

She turned the knob and slipped into the room.

He was over by the fire, staring at the flames, and on observing him, she was stunned to experience a rush of affection. He’d once been her entire world, and apparently, not all of her fondness had faded away.

Mentally, she scolded herself, ordering herself to buck up, to ignore any tender sentiment.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

He spun around, and instantly, she was impaled by those magnetic blue eyes, which made it impossible to look away.

“Hello, Helen.”

She didn’t curtsy, didn’t nod or display any sign of deference. He studied her, being maddeningly silent, and when he couldn’t begin, she seized the initiative.

“Why are you here?” she inquired.

She was eager for him to state his case and go without her having to involve any of her new family. If Phillip or Michael had to intervene, she would be so embarrassed.

“How have you been?” he said.

In light of all that had transpired, it was the stupidest question she’d ever heard, and she stomped over until they were toe to toe. But she’d forgotten how her body reacted whenever he was near.

She was overwhelmed by his height, his heat, his smell, and she could barely keep from falling into his arms and gushing about how glad she was to see him.

“I didn’t steal Miss Wilson’s jewelry,” she said.

“Miranda’s...jewelry?”

“So if that’s why you’re here, you can just leave. I won’t listen to any accusations, and I will not defend myself to you.”

He appeared very confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“A likely story.”

“Seriously. I know nothing about any jewelry.”

Now Helen was confused too, and a niggling suspicion dawned.

“Ah...by any chance,” she stammered, “did you mention some missing jewelry to my cousin Nigel that day you visited us in the country?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“What is it?”

“He said Miranda had accused me of theft and that you wanted the items back.”

“If Miranda had raised such an allegation—which she didn’t, by the way—I would never have believed such a thing about you.”

“Oh,” she mumbled again, and she whipped away and walked to the other side of the room, her back to him.

His presence made it difficult to think, difficult to focus. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t reason clearly.

“My brother informs me,” he said, “that Nigel Stewart captured your sister for Bentley Struthers—for the reward.”

“Yes, he did.”

She added nothing further, declining to discuss the horrid duplicity. Her depressing history with her kin wasn’t any of Westwood’s business.

“Have you ever wondered why he harbored such animosity toward you and Harriet? I’m curious as to why he would conspire with Struthers to her detriment.”

“For the money. Why would you suppose?” She whirled to face him. “Is there something you wanted? Please get to the point. If you’re not here to argue over stolen jewelry, then what is it?”

“Your cousin told me he’d married you.”

Helen was outraged. “He said that?”

“Yes. When I was leaving Brookhaven, when I saw you out on the road, that’s why I was so angry.”

She considered his comment, then shook her head in consternation. Why would he care if she married Nigel or anyone?

“I don’t understand you,” she said.

“He...he...told me something else, too.”

He flushed with chagrin, but when he couldn’t say whatever it was, she seethed, “What is it? Spit it out.”

“He claimed he wed you in a hurry, that you were...in trouble and he was helping you avoid a scandal.”

Her temper sparked. “You thought I was increasing?”

“Yes.”

“You thought I would keep such a terrible secret from you?”

Numerous emotions flitted across his handsome face, so many that she couldn’t name them all.

“I don’t know what I thought, but still, I must ask: Are you increasing?”

“No, so if that’s what you came to learn, you have your answer. So get out of here before I have Phillip throw you out.”

He didn’t move, and she shouted, “Are you deaf? Get out!”

Her fury rattled loose his own temper, and instead of departing as she’d demanded, he stormed over to her.

“You left me,” he charged, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. “You waited until I was away from home, then you left.”

“I did nothing of the sort. You sent me away.”

“What? I never would have!”

She couldn’t bear to be touched by him for it conjured images of all the times he’d touched her in a gentle way, all the times he’d shown her how wonderful they could be together. She pushed him back, creating space between them.

“You wrote me a letter!” His eyes narrowed as he calculated a reply, and she said, “Don’t you dare deny it. I know your handwriting. You gave me a week’s severance, and I was out on the street like that.”

She snapped her fingers, the sound echoing off the high ceiling.

“You’re mad,” he insisted.

“Am I?”

The words were on the tip of her tongue, and though she’d sworn she would never speak them aloud to a single soul, she was still so hurt. They slipped out before she could stop them.

“You slept with her!” she hissed.