Simply Shameless (29 page)

"Like Lord George?"

Helene went still. "What about him?"

"Only that Lord George said that you'd met when you were very young and that he'd loved you ever since."

Helene managed a smile. "Lord George meant something different, I believe. We have been friends for so long, I regard him as a brother."

"I don't think that was what he meant at all."

Helene studied Lisette's speculative expression. Despite her youth, her daughter was highly observant and a shrewd judge of character.

"He is married, you know, and he has a daughter."

"I know." Lisette sighed blissfully. "I thought maybe that was what you meant when you said sometimes things don't work out the first time but might in the future."

Helene opened the door to her suite and ushered Lisette out in front of her. "I have no desire to marry George. In truth, I have no desire to marry anyone. Now go and find Mrs.

Smith-Porterhouse, get your bonnet, and meet me in the hall as quickly as you can."

Lisette disappeared in a swirl of muslin skirts, and Helene gave orders to Judd to find them a hackney cab for the relatively short journey into town. She hurried back in her suite to put on her bonnet and pelisse and to change into stout walking boots.

It sounded as if she needed to have another talk with George. She couldn't have him telling her children she was pining after him when there was the very real possibility that she was pining after someone else. The twins were wary enough of her for her not to want to complicate it any more. She stopped tying her laces as a truly horrible thought occurred to her.

Because of George's insinuations about their relationship, did the twins now think he was their father? And what on earth would happen if Philip decided to tell them the truth?

Helene shuddered as she headed for the main hallway. Philip was out visiting wine merchants, so at least she didn't have to worry about him for the next few hours. He'd promised to return before the evening crowd arrived. She could only hope he didn't sample too much wine and was actually able to be useful.

George would have to be faced, but she wasn't quite sure how. Ever since Philip's arrival, it had become difficult to talk to George. All the ease in their relationship seemed to have disappeared. In truth, she was worried that his infatuation for her had spiraled out of control. Perhaps it would be best to consult with Viscount Harcourt-DeVere and see if he could intervene or speak to George instead.

"Good afternoon, madame."

Judd opened the door and bowed to her. At least it had stopped raining. She was looking forward to her shopping trip with Lisette, without Christian. He was proving much harder for her to reach than her daughter, who at least gave her the benefit of her attention when Helene tried to explain about her past. Christian, of course, being male, hated the idea of his mother having a sexual thought, let alone a series of lovers. But she wished he'd stop sneering at her and being so patronizing. The temptation to shake him until his teeth rattled was becoming hard to resist.

"We're ready, Mamanl"

Lisette appeared, charmingly attired in a gros de Naples colored pelisse and a matching bonnet lined with white satin. Mrs. Smith-Porterhouse wore her usual chestnut brown cloak, which matched her kind brown eyes and hair.

She smiled when she saw Helene. "Good afternoon, Helene."

"Good afternoon, Sylvia. Is my daughter behaving herself properly these days?"

"She is indeed. I enjoy her company almost as much as I enjoy yours."

Helene had met Sylvia and her husband at the pleasure house several years before. Sylvia had continued to visit both Helene and the pleasure house since her husband's death.

She'd been delighted to accept Helene's request to act as Lisette's chaperone, declaring she was so bored as a respectable widow that she could scream.

With a satisfied nod, Helene took Lisette's hand and headed out of the door to the waiting carriage. At least shopping would take her mind off her other problems for a while.

Late that night, Helene sat opposite Philip in the kitchen, their attention on the account books. The rest of the staff had long since gone to bed. As their discussions had grown more heated, Philip had discarded his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves as if preparing for fisticuffs.

"Helene, all I'm saying is that just because you have done something one way for the last eighteen years doesn't mean it can't be improved upon."

She glared into his hazel eyes, aware that he might have a point but reluctant to concede anything.

Philip cursed under his breath. "For God's sake, woman, I'm not trying to ruin your business; I'm trying to improve it. I do have a stake in its success, remember?"

"How could I forget?" she snapped back before she could stop herself.

He thrust a hand into his hair. "One of your most irritating faults is that you always think you are right."

Helene opened her eyes wide at him. "One of my irritating faults? And you are much better?"

The kitchen door crashed open, and Christian stormed in. "It won't work, you know."

"What won't?" Helene asked as calmly as she could.

"Trying to turn Lisette against me by buying her things."

"I have no interest in turning her against you. We merely spent some time together. I'm sorry if you feel threatened by that."

She was aware of Philip sitting across from her. His intense interested gaze fixed on Christian's face.

Christian shrugged. "I have no need to worry about that. There is no way you could ever buy her love."

Helene got to her feet. For the first time in her life, she had no desire to stand her ground.

Perhaps Christian would never come to care for her. She was tired of fighting him for every scrap of approval, for every smile or simple acknowledgment of her right to exist.

"I'm quite aware of that. Now, have you anything else you wish to say to me, or are you finished? I have work to do."

"You always do, don't you? Work has always been the most important thing in your life.

Lisette needs to remember that before she starts telling me how nice and kind you are. It makes me want to puke."

Helene averted her face, pushed past Philip, who had risen to his feet, and ran for the door. It was bad enough when Christian was rude to her in private, even worse when he spoke to her like that in front of Philip. She couldn't bear for Philip to see how badly she had handled her relationship with his son.

Philip stared at Helene's back as she escaped the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice that Christian watched her, too, the expression on his handsome young face a combination of disgust and puzzlement. Unexpected anger blossomed in Philip's chest. How dare Christian behave like that to his mother?

Before he could stop himself, he began to speak. "Sit down."

Christian looked at him and openly sneered. "Are you talking to me?"

"I said sit down."

"I prefer to stand."

Philip shrugged. "Then stand. It makes no difference to me."

"You have no right to tell me what to do," Christian muttered as his scowl deepened.

"I believe that it is the duty of any adult male to tell a young fool off when he is being disrespectful to his mother."

"She doesn't deserve my respect. Do you know what she is?" Christian glared at Philip.

"Oh yes, of course you do. You're the latest of her endless list of lovers."

"I'm also her friend, and I still maintain that any man who speaks like that to his mother deserves to be horsewhipped."

"For telling the truth?"

"What truth is that?"

"That my mother is a notorious whore."

Philip smiled. "She is indeed notorious but not for being a whore. She is notorious for owning the most exclusive private house of pleasure in London."

"That means the same thing."

"Not at all."

Christian walked away from him, his shoulders set, his hands clenched at his side. "She has lovers."

"Why shouldn't she?"

"Because she is my mother! Because she told me she was a housekeeper and lied to me for years."

"She lied to protect you."

Christian hunched a shoulder. "Now you sound just like her. If I hadn't read that letter about her real life, I—"

"Would still love her?"

Christian swung around. "No! I've never loved her. She abandoned us, whatever the reasons were, and you can't change that."

"She hardly abandoned you. You weren't thrown onto a garbage heap, left to starve in the gutter, or taken to a foundling's home—the fate of many bastard children. You and your sisters were expensively cared for and educated in a safe and pleasant environment, an environment your mother worked hard to pay for."

"On her back."

"And who gives you the right to judge her? You have never had a child. You have no idea what a good parent will do to keep a child alive."

Philip sat back down at the pine table. He had no idea who had disabused the boy about his mother, but he was wise enough to realize what a shock it must have been.

"Did your mother ever speak to you about her life before she came to England?"

"Why would she? She started whoring young enough to have Marguerite when she was only fifteen. I doubt there was much to tell."

Philip considered the young man in front of him. Perhaps this story wasn't his to tell, but he doubted Christian would ever allow Helene close enough to tell him the truth.

"Your mother and her whole family were prisoners in the Bastille during some of the worst atrocities of the revolution." So?

"So your grandfather, in an effort to save at least one of his family from the guillotine, made a bargain with the prison guards."

Christian went still, his hand on the kitchen door, and slowly looked over his shoulder.

"What kind of bargain?"

"He gave them your mother to use as they wanted. I assume she was just as beautiful then as she is now. The guards agreed to the bargain and your mother was forced, not only to watch the rest of her family die, but to submit to anything those monsters demanded of her. She was barely fourteen."

He glanced up at Christian, who was swallowing convulsively. "You can imagine what they wanted from her. And she endured it for almost two excruciating years. Of course, being your mother, she didn't simply give up. She used her abilities to help several other prisoners escape the Bastille and flee to England."

Christian attempted a nonchalant shrug. "She told you this, I suppose? And you believed her?"

"No, she told me almost nothing. In truth, she let me assume she had used her body to establish this amazing business rather than funds from grateful aristocrats she had helped save." Philip leaned forward. "Your mother isn't the kind of woman who sees her own worth, and she certainly doesn't advertise how many people she helped rescue."

"Why not?"

"Because she doesn't believe she did anything particularly extraordinary."

Philip allowed silence to develop between them. He was reluctant to labor the point in case Christian started to feel defensive.

"If you doubt my story, I can provide you with the names of at least two respectable gentlemen who can tell you more."

"That won't be necessary." Christian shoved at the door and left.

Philip sighed as his oldest son slammed out of the room in a manner very reminiscent of his mother. Had he helped or hindered Helene's cause? It was difficult to judge yet, but at least Christian had listened, if reluctantly.

Philip gathered up the account books and went in search of Helene. Because of Christian's interruption, he hadn't had time to voice his other concerns about the state of the books. If he was going to meddle, he might as well finish the job.

He found Helene in her study, staring into space. Her expression was strained, her hands twisted together in a knot.

He dumped the books on her desk and shut the door. "Why do you allow him to talk to you like that?"

"What?"

"Your son—why do you allow him to treat you so disrespectfully?"

"I don't know." She stared at him, her blue eyes troubled, her shoulders already slumped in defeat.

"If anyone else spoke to you like that, you'd cut out their tongue!"

She sighed. "It's not quite that simple."

"Because you are scared of him?"

"I'm not scared. It's just that our relationship is . .. difficult."

Philip glared at her. "He treats you like a whore."

Helene flinched as if he'd struck her. "And telling him I'm not a whore when I run a pleasure house will make everything right?"

"At least you should tell him the truth about your life."

"Philip, he can barely stand to be in the same room with me, let alone share confidences."

He took a deep breath. "Perhaps you should make the time to tell him. You keep saying that you regret your past relationship with the twins, and then you refuse to set it right.

It's not like you to be a coward."

She stood up, her cheeks flushed. "I am not a coward!"

He shrugged. "You are, but I think I can understand why. I have no intention of telling my children about the deception surrounding their births. My only fear is that someone else will tell them. Is that what happened with the twins? Christian mentioned a letter."

Helene shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. "Someone sent them a letter telling them the 'truth' about my supposed profession and giving them my real address. I wasn't expecting the twins to descend on me this summer. I intended to go over to the nunnery at Christmas and tell them the real story, and deal with the repercussions from there."

"Do you know who sent the letter?"

"No, I don't. I've thought about it endlessly, and I still have no idea who would want to do that to me."

He studied her defeated posture, suppressed a desire to take her into his arms and promise her that everything would turn out right.

"Don't worry about Christian. I set him straight about a few things."

"You did what?"

He frowned. "I merely told him that he had no right to speak to you as if you were a trollop, and explained why."