Simply Shameless (7 page)

"I'm fine. Thank you for your help. I'll have my bath now."

The breakfast parlor was deserted, so Helene was able to eat the dry toast and sweetened tea her stomach demanded without anyone commenting. After the third cup, she felt better and began to appreciate the intimacy of the small paneled room.

Family portraits and landscape paintings adorned the walls, including one of identical twin boys whom she guessed must be the viscount's absent sons.

A stack of neatly folded newspapers sat in the corner of the sideboard beside the toast rack. Helene's fingers itched to read one. Many men, including her previous protector, considered reading about the current bloody political climate too injurious for women's fragile minds. Helene had always hated that attitude and had read everything she could get hold of. After a quick glance around the room, she picked up the
London Times
and settled down to read.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour, and she looked up. Most of the dishes on the sideboard had been taken away, and she hadn't even noticed. As she carefully folded the paper back into its original shape on her lap, an all-too-familiar name leapt out at her. She started to read the narrow column in the society announcements section. When she finished reading, the paper slipped through her suddenly nerveless fingers.

So Philip Ross had married his father's choice of wife after all.... Had her cruel rejection pushed him into such a momentous decision? Or had he simply regretted his moment of folly with her the second he was reunited with his family? No doubt, secure within his family's approval, he was on his knees thanking God for his lucky escape.

Her last hope, her last romantic fantasy, withered and died and was replaced by smoldering anger. Despite sending Philip away, she still felt betrayed. She'd denied her feelings for him and let him go for all the right reasons. Had Philip justified his hasty change of heart by reminding himself that she had told him to go? Had it made him feel better about his abrupt marriage?

Unsteadily, she wiped a single tear from her cheek. There was no room for sentiment now. She had to be brave and put her foolish notions of being rescued behind her. Philip had only behaved like most of the men in her life: taken what was offered and moved on.

Why shouldn't she do the same?

Helene picked up the paper, folded it carefully, and got to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. Whatever the viscount of-fered to do for her, it was imperative she was her own mistress. But what skills did she have to make her way in the world? She'd managed to stay alive through the hell of the Bastille; she'd learned how to flatter men and make them happy in bed.

Perhaps those much maligned skills would save her now. It was time she turned the tables and used her abilities for herself. The faint glimmering of an outrageous idea flowed through her mind as she made her way to the viscount's study. Perhaps she did have something to thank Philip for after all. It was definitely time to discuss her future with Viscount Harcourt-DeVere and ascertain exactly how grateful he intended to be.

To her surprise, there were several men gathered in the viscount's study, and they all stood up and smiled at her. The viscount came around his desk and led her to a chair in the center of the room.

"My dear, I'm not sure if you remember these gentlemen, but please allow me to introduce them all to you."

Helene focused on the youngest of the men and nodded. "I recognize the Duke of Diable Delamere. How are you, my lord?"

The duke inclined his head; his handsome face still bore the marks of his suffering. "I am well, madame."

"And your daughter?"

"She is well too." His smile was crooked. "She misses her brother but..."

Helene held his gaze. "I apologize, sir. I wish we had been able to save your son as well."

He straightened and bowed. "Madame, there is no need to apologize. You risked more than most people would ever do to warn me about my wife's devious plans." He closed the gap between them and kissed her hand. "I owe you my life and my sanity."

"Merci,
monseigneur." Helene's eyes filled with tears. "I only wish I had been able to do more."

He released her hand and stepped back into the shadows, clearly unwilling to display any emotion in such a public place.

The elderly man standing next to him cleared his throat. "Madame Delornay, we haven't actually met before. I'm Lord Derek Knowles. You saved my wife, Angelique. Do you remember her?"

Helene was almost relieved to turn away from the duke and allow him some privacy.

"I do indeed, sir." Angelique had almost died of a fever during her time in the Bastille.

Helene was delighted to hear she had prospered. "Is she well?"

Lord Derek's face brightened. "She is." He fumbled inside his coat and handed Helene his large gold watch. "I had a portrait of her commissioned just this year."

Helene opened the delicate gold clasp and studied the miniature portrait of the woman on the inside of the case. Angelique wore a red gown, her prematurely white hair arranged in formal braids tight to her head. Her smile was breathtaking. The artist had caught her uncrushable spirit, the strength of which helped her survive the Bastille and the horror of imminent death.

Helene handed the gold watch back. "Thank you for showing me this. Your wife looks to be in far better health than I remember her."

"Indeed. She was but skin and bone when she returned." Lord Derek smiled benevolently.

"When you are settled in, my dear, I'm sure she'll insist on visiting you herself. She has never forgotten you, and I know she will rejoice at your escape."

Helene glanced at the third man, who was leaning against the desk, his arms folded as he watched her. Something about his long lean frame seemed familiar, but she couldn't remember exactly when they'd met.

He bowed. "Madame? I'm Lord George Grant."

She smiled at him. "I hardly recognized you without the beard and long hair."

Amusement animated his smile and twinkled in his brown eyes. "The life of a spy is never easy, madame, especially a captured spy. I was not at my best when we first met."

"Neither was I, sir."

He held her gaze, his brown eyes steady. "But we both survived to see another, prettier day, didn't we?"

The viscount chuckled. "You're scarcely pretty, George, and Madame Delornay was always beautiful to me."

"She was an angel."

Helene found she couldn't look away from Lord Grant's eyes. He understood her; they all did. They knew what she had been, and yet they still saw the best in her. Tears pricked at her throat.

"You are all too kind, gentlemen. I only did what was necessary."

"You did far more than that." The viscount looked around the room. "And now it is our turn to make sure you will never want for anything else in your life." He sat forward.

"We have agreed to buy you a house in whatever part of the country you prefer and give you a yearly stipend that will be increased when necessary."

Helene took a deep breath and allowed the silence to settle around her. Did she have the nerve to propose her pathetic plan to the powerful men surrounding her? What if they thought she had run mad and refused to help her at all? Was it truly worth the risk?

"It is more than I expected, gentlemen, much more. I assumed you might help me find some employment, not offer me such a secure future."

The viscount raised his eyebrows. "You are too modest, my dear. You saved our lives and the lives of those we love. How could we offer you anything less ? You will have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life."

Helene contemplated her hands, which were twisted together in her lap. Could she ever settle down in this foreign country and pretend to be what she was not? Would any amount of money be large enough to make her forget the abuse of her body and the destruction of her innocence?

She thought of Philip Ross, his hands on her skin, showing her that lovemaking didn't have to be a chore or something to be endured. He'd also taught her that there was power in the sexual act for a woman. Her shocking idea stirred to life again in her brain. Could she use that knowledge to change her life around? Did she have the determination to take her past and finally make sense of it?

"Madame? Are you feeling well?"

She looked up at the viscount and saw the concern in his eyes. "I am fine, sir. I was just contemplating my future and how I should respond to your generous offer."

"You are not thinking of turning us down, are you?"

"Oh no, sir." She gathered her courage. "I was just thinking that it might be more interesting if we went into business together instead."

"Business? What kind of business?" Lord George Grant said.

Helene hesitated again, and the viscount smiled at her. "My dear, whatever it is, please tell us. We are hardly likely to object or be shocked by any suggestions you might have."

"I'm not quite sure of the details yet, my lord." Helene closed her eyes. Perhaps it would be better to just blurt it out. "I think it will involve the erotic carnal arts."

The viscount raised his eyebrows. "The erotic carnal arts?"

"Yes, sir. I recently met a man who reminded me that the English are not known for their skills in pleasuring their partners."

"That is true, madame, but I fail to see how—"

"I would like to offer discerning patrons a place to learn these arts, improve their lovemaking abilities, and explore new sexual possibilities." Helene smiled cautiously at them all. "I would like to own a pleasure house like that."

The viscount frowned. "My dear, as we said, there is no need for you to—excuse my directness—go whoring again."

"I would not be whoring, sir. I would be offering a very expensive and discreet service to a limited amount of customers."

"An exclusive brothel, then, but I still don't see—"

Helen kept talking as the idea took further shape in her mind. "No, sir, more of a private club, like a gentleman's club, where each member has to be approved and pay a yearly fee."

"But why would anyone want to do that when they can go to a thousand bawdy houses and pay almost nothing?"

"Because we will be offering something unique. We will offer our members the opportunity to take part in any sexual fantasy they can imagine or watch others exploring their own fantasies."

"Oh, I say." Lord Derek Knowles cleared his throat. "Are you quite sure you wouldn't prefer a nice little cottage in the countryside?"

"I think we should allow Madame Delornay to do anything she damned well likes." The Duke of Diable Delamere suddenly straightened and scowled at the other men in the room. "If this is the life she chooses, I will support her decision. At least she will be in control of her own destiny."

"Thank you, monseigneur." Helene inclined her head to the duke.

"A pleasure, madame, and might I say that your premise intrigues me on a personal level as well?" There was a wicked glint in the duke's pale silver eyes. "I think I might well become your first. .. member."

"After me, Delamere." The viscount rose to his feet. "There are a lot of details to be worked out, but I have no issue with Madame Delornay doing exactly as she pleases." He glanced at the other two men, who both nodded in agreement.

"I suggest we set up a partnership, giving Madame Delornay forty percent of the business, the rest shared between the four of us." He smiled at Helene. "And as this young lady is obviously as tenacious as she is beautiful, we will also offer her the opportunity to buy back our shares in the enterprise when it becomes successful. Are we all agreed?"

A chorus of agreement greeted his question, and Helene briefly closed her eyes as a wave of thankfulness enveloped her. She didn't believe in God any longer—how could she after all the destruction she had witnessed? But she did believe in fate and the strength of her own will.

If she could be successful at this, she would never want for anything again. Strange that it was Philip Ross's erotic love-making that had given her the ghost of an idea. At the thought of Philip, she remembered her more pressing problem.

"I appreciate your faith in me, gentlemen, and I promise I will not let you down." She took a deep breath. "But there is one issue that means I will have to put our plans on hold for about a year." She sighed. "It also means I won't be able to have my daughter back to live with me yet."

The viscount's smile dimmed. "Madame?"

Helene stood up and faced them. "I'm pregnant."

Chapter Six

December 1819 Eighteen years later. .
.

Helene slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the young man who lay sprawled across the silken sheets. Lord Thomas Roebuck had been too drunk to perform last night. In truth, he had
come,
but not in the appropriate place and not by offering Helene the slightest hint of pleasure. She sighed as she surveyed his luscious naked buttocks. So much promise and yet such a disappointment.

No doubt he'd forget his failure and boast of his conquest until either his friends tired of hearing him or he found another woman willing to put up with his inadequacies. She was tired of tutoring young men in the erotic arts and had begun to appreciate having her bed to herself.

She made her way into her dressing room and contemplated the gray leaden skies outside her window. Winter was closing in. It was her least favorite time of the year. The exposing of the bare bones of the trees and the unforgiving hardness of the earth made her think of death and the past. With a shake of her head, she dressed in a light corset and an old gown she could lace up herself. Sitting at her dressing table, she ignored her pale reflection in the mirror and quickly put up her hair.

The large clock in the main hallway struck six, echoing around the empty space as she walked down the back stairs to the basement. In the kitchen, Madame Dubois was already awake and working hard. Two scullery maids were busy preparing the fruit and vegetables bought fresh from the market that morning. The aroma of fresh coffee and croissants wafted across the kitchen to tantalize Helene's senses.