Her Husband's Harlot (26 page)

Nicholas gave a terse nod.

"Hmm. That
is
a dilemma."
Paul scratched his chin. "Hire someone else for protection, then, someone
who has no interest in you beyond the coin you provide."

"I'll look into it,"
Nicholas muttered into his glass.

"In the meantime, it would be best
to keep a low profile. Which reminds me, my sister's birthday party is next
week. I'll let Percy know that something has come up for you
—
"

"Damn it, I refuse to scurry
for cover like a bloody mouse." Nicholas rose and refilled his drink. "I
accepted Percy's invitation so I will be there."

"Ah, yes. I was going to ask
you about that," Paul said.

"About what?"

"Well, it's just that Mama, Percy,
and I noticed that your response omitted a certain lovely lady. I hoped it wasn't
because of anything I said that time at Long Meg's
—
"

Nicholas gulped his whiskey. "The
matter has nothing to do with you."

"What is it, then?"

He could have lied. Made some excuse
that Helena had another commitment. But for some reason, he heard himself
saying, "I did not inform her of the invitation."

"You did not invite your own
wife? I say, Morgan, that's doing it a bit Siberian." Paul cocked his
head. "Has the calf-love worn off, then?"

Going to the fire, Nicholas braced
his arm against the mantel. He stared down into the flames. "I'm hardly
the mooning sort, Fines. The problem is not with her, but me. I ... I made a
mistake in marrying her. She deserves someone better. A real gentleman, born
and bred. Not an imposter like me."

 "You're no imposter. You're a
gentleman in every way that counts," Paul said quietly. "Do not let
the reactions of society color your marriage, Nicholas. My father always said
that a man is not born, but made."

"Your father was a singular
man, Paul, with views not commonly shared."

"All the same, your
achievements surely convey that you have never been one to be held back by his
origins. Why begin to be such a man now? If you want my advice, forget all this
nonsense and concentrate on making your lady happy."

"I am not sure I can."

Paul glanced heavenward. "At
your wedding, the chit had stars in her eyes. I'd never seen a more glowing
bride. Which only proves the adage that love
is
blind. For reasons
unfathomable, one surly, half-baked smile from you and the poor deluded thing
will surely melt into a puddle." Downing the last of his whiskey, he set
down the glass and reached for his greatcoat. "Regretfully, my friend,
that is all the marital advice I can stomach for now. I hear the siren's call
of whist at Boodle's, and I must oblige."

"Boodle's?" Nicholas
frowned. "It is not yet three in the afternoon."

"Who am I to resist a siren's
call at any hour?" Paul drawled.

Nicholas kept silent as Paul re-arranged
his ensemble with the care of Brummell himself. He saw Paul out and when they
reached the street, he hesitated before saying, "The play can get deep in
the clubs. You're being careful, I take?"

Paul snorted, his hair golden in the
sun. "Yes, Papa. And I'll be sure to say my prayers like a good lad. Any
other pearls of wisdom?"

"It seems the wisdom today has
been yours." Nicholas held out his hand. "Thank you, Fines."

After Paul's carriage drove off, Nicholas
turned to re-enter the warehouse. He found himself almost colliding with a
street urchin.

"Careful there, lad," he
said, steadying the boy by the shoulders.

From beneath a ragged, putty-colored
cap, a pair of eyes narrowed up at him. "You Lord 'Arteford?"

A chill chased up Nicholas's spine. "Yes."

His dread grew as the boy held out a
slip of paper with grimy hands. "Then I got's a message fer you."

The
last time she was here, she'd been a newlywed, frightened and unsure, desperate
for her husband's love. How things had changed in the last two months. This
time around, Helena walked past the lewd sculptures and bawdy goings-on without
blinking an eye. She followed the footman up to the first floor and into a
scarlet-and-gilt chamber in which the most prominent feature was a wide, curtained
bed.

Seeing
the Abbess seated at a small table, Helena greeted her. She declined the offer
of lemonade. Instead, she asked in a rush, "Would you be so kind as to
have your men ascertain that there are no untoward persons lurking about
outside?"

The
Abbess' thin mouth bent with humor. "Milady, this is a brothel. There are
always untoward persons lurking about. Anyone in particular you want us to keep
an eye out for?"

Too
restless to sit, Helena wandered to the nearby looking glass. A familiar,
smoky-eyed nymph peered back at her. Shivering, she adjusted her demi-mask and said,
"This afternoon when I was shopping on Bond Street I happened to notice
two men in dark coats. They seemed to be everywhere I went. I thought it might
be a coincidence, but then later on tonight, I saw the same two villains from
the window of Lady Draven's townhouse."

"Cutthroats,
do you think?" The Abbess inquired. "Ever since the attack on Lady de
Lacey last month, they've been out in droves. This new breed—they've no qualms
about holding a lady at knifepoint to score her jewels ... and other personal
effects."

Cringing
at the Abbess' matter-of-fact description of mayhem, Helena said, "I am
not certain. But if I see them again, I will contact the magistrate." Her
hands were not quite steady as she smoothed the brassy curls of her wig. "Lady
Draven arranged for her carriage to meet me at the back of her townhouse, so at
least I left undetected tonight." Dryly she added, "I suppose it was
just as well that I happened to be in disguise."

"And
a fine one it is, milady—or should I say
mademoiselle
?" The Abbess gave
a knowing chuckle. "Don't worry a thing about the blackguards—I'll have my
boys clear the area of any filth."

"Thank
you," Helena said with relief.

The
Abbess grinned. "Likewise. Thought I'd seen the last of you, hadn't I? But
when Lady Draven asked me to send your lord that note on behalf of
Mademoiselle
Nymph
, I was tickled. For a bashful thing, you've got pluck, eh? I haven't
enjoyed myself so much for a long time."

"I
hope he comes."

"Oh,
I'm quite sure he will. Come, that is." The other woman chortled. "What
hot-blooded man could resist such an invitation?"

Humiliated
anger flared in Helena's chest. Why was it that her husband would choose a
whore over her? Why would he come at a whore's bidding, yet avoid his own wife
at every turn? "When I was a demure wife, he sought a harlot. When I tried
to seduce him, he called me a
strumpet
," she said, jaw tight. "I
have no idea what my husband can or cannot resist, but tonight I mean to show
him the error of his ways."

"Pluck,
as I said," the Abbess said with a chuckle.

Taking
a breath, Helena continued more calmly, "My husband will discover that a
wife cannot be so easily put aside. I am going to seduce him—and then I'm going
to show him who I really am." She felt a grim sort of satisfaction. "He'll
have no choice but to admit he wants me, after all."

"
Hell
hath no fury
," the Abbess said, still looking amused. "But what
is it that you're after, milady, revenge or something ... sweeter?"

Helena's
heart gave a traitorous lurch. Before she could respond, however, there was a
rap on the door. A footman entered with the announcement that his lordship
arrived.

"Give
us ten minutes, Jim," the Abbess said, "then bring him in."

After
the servant departed, the madam gave Helena a discerning once-over. "Let's
get you set up a bit, luvie. Set the stage, so to speak, for the show to
follow."

So
saying, she instructed Helena to lie on her side on the bed. Helena shivered as
the Abbess tugged the sleeves of the tunic lower, baring her bosom almost to
the nipples. The madam arranged a long, red curl to lie atop the bobbing mounds
and then fussed with Helena's skirt, draping the white folds to leave one leg
bare to the thigh. Declaring herself satisfied, the Abbess brought the chamber
to shadowy dimness, with a single candle burning on the table.

"Good
luck then, milady." Coming from the darkness, the Abbess' voice had a sudden
feral quality. "May you teach your husband a lesson he'll never forget."
With a final cackle, she was gone.

Palms
damp, Helena waited as the shadows danced around her. She heard footfalls
approaching and experienced the sudden urge to run. To abandon this bold and
brazen and altogether mad stratagem ... and do what? Go rusticate in the
country? Run back to parents who did not want her? Hide with her tail between
her legs from the husband who also did not want her?

Marianne's
parting words rang in Helena's head.
My plan will bring Harteford to you,
but the rest is up to you. If you want him to admit his folly, you'll have to
prove to him just how wrong he is. How much he wants you
—
which, despite
his mercurial behavior, I do not doubt he does.

The
door opened. The sudden shaft of light and the large, familiar silhouette
jammed Helena's heart into her throat. Yet she steeled her spine.
You can do
this
.
Show him you won't be discarded like ... like an old toy. A
worthless plaything.

The
door closed, returning the room to darkness. In a few long strides, he was
there, looming at the side of the bed. Despite everything, Helena felt a tumult
of longing at the sight of her husband's haggard features. He had dark shadows
beneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept since she'd last seen him. Bristle covered
his jaw, and his overgrown hair brushed his collar. Upon his temple, the scar gleamed,
puckered and tender-looking.

"
Monsieur
,"
she remembered to say in her breathy harlot's voice. "
Merci d'être venu. Je voudrais
—
"

To her shock, a large finger pressed against her lips, stilling
her words.

"
Mademoiselle
," he said in low, rough voice, "I
have come at your invitation, but tonight I have a request."

"
Qu'est-ce que vous voulez
, monsieur?
"

He met her gaze squarely. "I wish for you not to speak
tonight. To remain silent. Do you think you could do this for me?"

Belly aflutter, Helena recalled her supposed lack of fluency in
English. She furrowed her brow. "
Je ne comprends pas.
"

"'Tis just as well you don't," Nicholas muttered.

Before she could wonder what he meant, he pinched her lips
lightly together, as if to seal them. "No talking," he said. "No
words tonight, whatever I say or do. If you please."

She
nodded, her heart thumping madly. "
Ah. Bien. Maintenant, je comprends.
"

"Good."
The dark satisfaction in his voice curled over her senses. Before she could think
how to respond, he had one knee upon the bed. She trembled as his hand captured
her jaw, his thumb rubbing against her lips, an imitation of kissing. Like the
last time, he made no move to touch his lips to hers. Instead, his gaze
travelled lower to her breasts, and she could see the banked fire leap to life
in his eyes.

When
he ran a long finger over the trembling hills of white flesh, she had to bite
her lip to keep from moaning. Her skin prickled with awareness.
Stay
focused,
she told herself.
You almost have him. Wait until he is driven
wild with desire and then ... then ...

She
couldn't help the gasp that escaped for he'd yanked the tunic below her bosom.
Her breasts were now fully exposed, her arms trapped by the small sleeves. He
pushed her to her back. She caught the silver gleam of hunger before he bent
his head. The hot, wet swipe of his tongue made her squirm against the satin
sheets. Lord in heaven, it felt so
good
. Low sounds escaped from his
throat as he suckled her more roughly, drawing her hard bud into his mouth. All
the while, he played with the other breast, titillating the tip with his callused
fingertips. When his teeth grazed her, she moaned aloud.

"Please,
monsieur
," she heard herself beg in another's voice. "More."

Though
his finger pressed against her lips, a reminder of silence, he sucked harder, and
she was panting by the time his hand landed on her bare hip. She wore no
unmentionables beneath her nymph's costume. Her spine arched off the bed as he
found and penetrated her most vulnerable place. His finger slid all the way in,
as if he belonged there. When he began to drive into her, his palm smacking
lightly against her soaked sex, her eyes closed, and she forgot herself again.

"
Mon
dieu
," she cried out.
"
Oh,
monsieur,
s
'il vous plaît
—"

His
hand muffled the rest of her sentence. Despite the desire fogging her brain,
she noted the feverish glaze to his eyes. He was breathing hard, staring down
at her. Looking at her—through her? All of the sudden, she realized that his
focus was somewhere else, somewhere deeper ... and her pulse began to hammer as
her plan came back to her.
Does he recognize me? Is now the time to confront
him ...?