Simply Shameless (27 page)

"I'm Lord George Grant's wife, Julia, although you must already know that."

Helene shrugged. "Why should I know you? You are obviously far superior in rank to me, and we do not share the same set of acquaintances."

"Although we apparently share my husband."

"I'm not quite sure I understand you."

Julia raised her head and glared at Helene through the unshed tears glinting in her eyes.

"You are sleeping with my husband. Is that clear enough for you?"

"But that is untrue. I never sleep with married men, and I've certainly never slept with George. I consider him one of my oldest and dearest friends."

"As if a woman like you was going to tell me the truth anyway," Julia sneered. "I just came to warn you that if you go through with your plan to marry him, I will not go quietly. I will fight for my daughter's rights as well."

Helene raised her eyebrows. "I have no plans to marry anyone. I don't need a husband or a protector, and I'm wealthy in my own right. Why on earth would I choose to give all that up for one man?"

A hint of uncertainty showed in Julia's brown eyes. "George said you want to marry him."

"Then George is mistaken. Forgive me, perhaps he merely shouted out such a nonsensical thing when you were fighting? Men often make empty threats when they are enraged."

"George and I never fight."

"Then you are to be congratulated. I've never met a married couple who doesn't have the occasional disagreement."

There was a knock at the door as Judd returned with the tea and a selection of cakes.

Helene took her time pouring the steaming liquid as her tired brain scrambled to deal with George's irate wife. It wasn't the first time she'd been accosted by a jealous woman, but it was never pleasant. Julia refused to touch her tea—perhaps she thought it might be poisoned.

Helene put down her empty cup. "I can assure you, my lady, that I have no intention of marrying George."

Julia glared at her. "You lie. I can see I made a mistake in appealing to your better nature.

A woman like you obviously doesn't have one."

Helene stood up and walked across to open the door. "When you have finished insulting me in my own house, perhaps you'd like to take your leave?"

"I'll leave when I have your word that you don't intend to seduce George away from me."

Anger surged through Helene's already battered defenses as she stared at the younger woman. "If I wanted him, I could've had him any time in the last eighteen years. Why would I suddenly change my mind now?"

"Because you are getting older and losing your charms?"

"And I secretly yearn to be a nobleman's wife?" Helene smiled. "I've turned down wedding proposals from every tier of the nobility. Why on earth would I settle for the fourth son of a duke?"

Julia seemed to have run out of things to say. Her gaze remained fixed on Helene as if she was desperate to deny the truth of Helene's words.

"One last word of advice, my lady. Perhaps if you took better care of your marriage, you wouldn't need to seek to justify your adultery by attacking me for my supposed indiscretions with your husband."

Julia stormed toward Helene, her cheeks red, her breathing uneven. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

"How dare you march into my house and treat me like a scullery maid?"

To Helene's amazement, Julia's face crumpled.

"You don't understand. I only did that to make him notice me again. Now that I've seen you, I realize I can never compete."

"What utter nonsense." Helene sighed and stared into the other woman's eyes. "Please believe me—I have no desire to steal your husband, and I shall certainly tell him off for upsetting you so."

Julia grabbed her hand. "Oh, please. Don't tell him anything. He'd be so angry with me if he knew I'd been in this horrible, sinful place."

"If I don't tell him, you must forget this ridiculous notion that I want to marry him."

"I'll try."

"The only reason George comes here is to help me with my accounts. As a shareholder in the business, he is obliged to ensure that it is running smoothly and that his income is protected." She smiled. "And I wouldn't be so sure that George doesn't notice you. He was extremely upset when he found out you had taken a lover."

"He was?"

"And he loves your daughter. I doubt he would do anything to upset her."

Julia let out a shaky breath. "That is true. Perhaps all is not lost after all."

Helene patted her shoulder. "Good, then why don't I get Judd to escort you to your carriage or call you a hackney cab?"

Julia nodded docilely. "My carriage is in Barrington Square. It won't take me a moment to walk around the corner."

Helene curtsied and allowed Judd the honor of escorting Lady George Grant off the premises. She sank down in the nearest chair and groaned as her headache returned. What on earth had George been up to? How dare he drag her into his marital quarrels? She'd promised Julia she wouldn't tell him outright, but she certainly meant to make it clear to him, yet again, that marriage was completely out of the question.

She bit her lip. Had she been too hard on the woman? Having to defend herself against such ridiculous accusations had drained the last of her sorely depleted strength. This was why she never slept with married men. It was far too complicated when other people's feelings were involved.

With a sigh, she got to her feet and headed back to her private apartment. It would be strange to sleep alone after her nights with Philip. She'd grown used to him in her bed in a way she had never experienced with a man before. She paused by the kitchen, heard the twins muted laughter behind the thick door. Should she go in and say good night? No doubt if they saw her, their laughter would instantly be replaced by sullen-ness.

The twins could wait to hear about Marguerite in the morning. She nodded at the footman stationed outside her suite and went inside. Fresh hothouse flowers from Viscount Harcourt-DeVere's conservatory sweetened the air, and a fire burned brightly in the grate.

For a long moment, Helene studied the flames as she recognized a vital truth: She would have to tell Philip about the twins. He deserved to know he was their father. It wasn't as if she wanted anything from him in return.

She was also very aware of the malicious unknown "friend" who had written to the twins to disclose her address and supposed profession. If that person had access to such private information, perhaps he also knew who the twins' father was?

Another even more unwelcome thought gripped her. As Lord Derek's heir, had Philip come across any private correspondence between her and Angelique that mentioned the twins and their whereabouts ? It was certainly possible. Perhaps Philip had already worked out that he was the twins' father and for reasons unbeknownst to Helene was keeping that information to himself.

Helene rubbed her aching temple and decided to take all her problems to bed. At least that way she might be able to sleep between her worrying.

Chapter Twenty-One

Philip arrived at the pleasure house just as the kitchen clock struck six times. He'd slept well, reassured his staff that he was neither dead, pursued by debt collectors, nor rolled up with grief, and answered all his outstanding correspondence. His bed had seemed empty without Helene in it, and he'd missed the simple pleasure of her acerbic company more than he had anticipated.

He took off his cloak and hat and hung them in the dark hallway. Helene's revelations about Marguerite followed by the erotic night they'd shared seemed to have complicated their relationship even further. Helene was the only woman he'd met who seemed to instinctively understand him and, more importantly, accept him for what he was.

What the devil would he do with himself when the thirty days were up? He'd be adrift again, unless Helene kept her promise and allowed him some say in the business matters of the pleasure house. He realized he'd like that. Not that he didn't have a whole new set of responsibilities to worry about and more possibly to come if the Earl of Swansford died without a son.

He slowly pushed open the door of the kitchen and found it surprisingly full of people.

All the kitchen staff were busy polishing the silverware under the direction of Judd.

Helene's twins sat at the table eating Madame Dubois's famous croissants. He paused to watch them, smiling indulgently as the boy teased his sister by withholding the mug of hot chocolate madame had also placed on the table. It reminded him of watching his own children at the breakfast table.

Philip forced himself to breathe. It was just like watching his children at the breakfast table. He turned abruptly to his left and bumped into Helene.

"Bonjour, Philip."

God, he couldn't speak to her now. With a sharp nod, he blundered his way across the hall into the wine cellar and clattered down the steps into the welcoming darkness.

"Damnation!"

He grabbed the first bottle his hand connected with and threw it at the brick wall. The glass shattered with a satisfying crash, and the strong smell of brandy stung his senses.

He didn't bother to light a candle, just fumbled his way to the nearest wall and sat down, knees drawn up to his chest, his head in his hands.

After a while, he managed to control his breathing and open his eyes, not that he could see much. And truly he might as well have been blind. He'd been misled by the twins' fair coloring and his own deliberate decision to ignore any offspring Helene had created with another man. And what sensible man went around looking to see if he'd fathered any bastards anyway?

But he should at least have considered it. They'd been young and impetuous, and despite his best efforts, he'd obviously gotten her pregnant. He gripped his knees even more tightly. Why the hell hadn't she told him then or now?

"Philip?"

He looked up; saw the flicker of candlelight descending the stairs and a woman's distorted shadow on the wall. He shielded his eyes as Helene spun slowly around trying to find him.

"Philip, are you all right? Did you fall?"

He still couldn't speak, became aware of a growing ball of anger settling somewhere between his chest and his gut. She knelt down beside him, the soft muslin of her dress floated over his fingers and her flowery scent replaced the acidic tang of bottled wine.

The angle of the candlelight kept their faces in the shadows, which was something of a relief.

She touched his arm, and he flinched away. So much for knowing her. So much for his strange belief that they shared a common soul. He took a deep breath, which was difficult when all he could inhale was her beguiling familiar essence.

"How old are they?"

"The ... twins?"

"Yes."

"They have just turned eighteen."

He took his time to absorb that, worked out that they were indeed what he thought they were. Yet another woman lying to him about his own children. Did she take him for a fool like his wife had?

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her sharp intake of breath sounded loud in the echoing confines of the cellar. "Who told you?"

He frowned into the darkness. Why did she sound so defensive? He was the one who had been deceived—again.

"Nobody had to tell me. I worked it out for myself."

"How?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I have taken great care to keep the twins away from you. I foolishly hoped you would be too preoccupied with other things to worry about something that happened such a long time ago."

"Too preoccupied with fucking their mother, you mean."

She didn't reply. He relished the harried sound of her breathing and the subtle trembling of her limbs where she almost touched him.

"I know you won't believe me, but I did intend to tell you."

"When? On my deathbed?"

"After the thirty days were up. I didn't want to use such an important and personal piece of information to make you leave."

Damnation, how dare she sound so reasonable and yet so vulnerable at the same time? He wanted her to hurt as much as he did, to make her feel as betrayed as he felt.

"That's very sporting of you. Perhaps it didn't occur to you that I might be able to handle a discussion about my own children without storming out in a huff?"

She hesitated again as if trying to choose her words with great care. "I wasn't sure if you would wish to know you had more children."

"Because they are bastards? I'm already accustomed to having to deal with that because of my wife and her lover. And if you had married me the first time we met, they wouldn't be bastards, would they?"

"That is unfair."

"But it is true, isn't it?"

"I didn't know I was pregnant until after you left me."

"You were the one who made me leave."

"I seem to remember you were more than willing to go after I told you I was a whore."

"That is a lie."

Silence fell between them again, and Philip closed his eyes to avoid staring at Helene's perfect profile. She eased down beside him, her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chin.

"When I came to London, I fully intended to ask Viscount Harcourt-DeVere to help me find you so that I could at least tell you I was pregnant. It wasn't that I expected you to marry me or anything—I knew I wasn't of the right class for that— but I at least wanted you to know."

"But you didn't tell me."

She sighed. "How could I when I read in the newspaper that you were already married?"

Philip stared into the gloom, trying to piece together the sequence of events he'd tried so hard to forget.

"I had no choice. Did you think I did it out of spite? After I left you at the inn and returned to the city, I spent several days drinking and whoring to force myself to forget you. By the time I appeared before my father, I was determined to tell him to go to the devil. Unfortunately, he threatened to disinherit me, and that brought me to my senses."

He tried to laugh. "You were right about me. I was a coward. I couldn't imagine living my life without all the costly trappings I'd become accustomed to. He also threatened to marry Anne off to a notorious aging lecher, and I couldn't allow that either. So we were married by special license the next day."