Chapter 11
Robert walked blindly away from her shop, his mind in a whirl. He knew who she was! Robert knew her real identity and that changed everything. She was Lady Helaine, daughter of Reginald Talbott, Earl of Chelmorton, aka the Thief of the Ton. The scandal might be five years old, but he remembered. It had been all the talk for a Season at least.
The man had stolen from the military troops. The exact details escaped him, but the crime was heinous enough. Stealing from English boys so far from home? Many people cried for the man’s blood. But Talbott was an earl and not a smart one. Robert’s father had once called the man a buffoon, and considering the source, that was an insult indeed.
There had been quite the debate about what was to be done. It went without saying that the entire family was banned from society. Now Robert felt cruel for joking about being tossed from his clubs and spit on in the street. Her father had certainly suffered that fate. Herself as well, most likely, though he could not remember specific events.
So much was clear now. She’d been educated as the daughter of an earl, so of course she would speak and move as a lady born. As did her mother. No wonder the woman seemed so sad. She’d lost everything just because she’d married a fool.
He hadn’t heard how the debacle was settled. The earl disappeared from society, the discussion of his punishment was overtaken by another matter, and nothing was heard of the Chelmortons again. Until now. Half a decade later, he’d found the daughter, Helaine. She was a talented dressmaker who barely survived above her shop. And her poor mother obviously lived as such women did, playing with children and reliving past glories. She couldn’t even marry again because her husband had disappeared, not died.
But the sacrifices they had made! With no means of support, the daughter becomes a dressmaker. She cannot go out as herself. No one would frequent her shop. So she invents a fictitious name. Then, to avoid the likes of Johnny Bono, she invents a protector as well. Lord Metzger had been close friends with the missing earl. He’d obviously done what he could for the girl, claiming her as his own so that she need not succumb to other more difficult protectors. But at what cost? She could never marry decently, and yet she was obviously not trained as a courtesan, either. At least she had a talent for dresses.
His admiration for Helaine soared. She was resourceful and strong as few women of her set could possibly imagine. And he wanted her now with a passion bordering on insanity.
How awkward that the more he learned about her, the more desperately he wanted to bed her. And yet his honor declared her off-limits. It made no sense, but she was the daughter of an earl. How could he set himself to seduce her? He would be debauching an innocent.
The answer didn’t really matter. No matter how much he told himself that he should back away, he couldn’t force himself to behave. He ought to allow the woman to build a life, but he could not. If Helaine could not marry, then perforce she must either live chaste or become some man’s mistress. She had obviously intended to be chaste, but that was a cold and empty life. Why not become a mistress in fact? His mistress. She could do much worse than what he offered.
Yes, he told himself. Despite her identity, despite the fact that she’d been raised a woman of his own set, her circumstances had not changed. And that gave him an opening to possess her. An honorable man would walk away. Apparently he was more like his father than he’d thought. Because honorable or not, he intended to bed her. Tonight.
Helaine dressed with as much care for this evening as she had for her first ball. She’d only attended one. It had been the come-out ball of one of her school friends, and both she and her mother had scrimped to buy the gown. It had been one of her own designs, the materials purchased on the cheap, with the actual stitches sewn by a very young Wendy, though they hadn’t known it at the time. It was the ball gown that had started Wendy thinking along the lines that eventually led to their dress shop. But Helaine hadn’t known it at the time. That night, all she knew was that her mother had dressed her curls perfectly, her father had escorted them like a proper gentleman should, and Helaine had danced the night away.
It was the best night of her life, and yet tonight she felt more excited, more daring, and more on edge than even then. Perhaps it was the hint of despair that touched her. After all, she knew she was taking an irretrievable step. Tonight, whether or not she became a mistress in fact—and she was resolved that it would be not—she was losing her virtue in her own mind. She was going to share an evening alone with a gentleman. Without a chaperone, without a good reason beyond his company, and with a great deal of titillating excitement simmering in her blood.
What she was doing was beyond the pale, and Helaine desperately feared that everyone would know it. She didn’t even dare look at her mother, so she asked Penny to help her style her hair and then escaped as soon as it was possible. And when his lordship’s carriage arrived outside the shop, she rushed out without so much as a good-bye.
He was waiting for her, opening the carriage door even before the footman made it down from his perch. She climbed in, her nerves making her breathless. But the moment she saw his face—his expression pulled wide in an excited grin—she knew she couldn’t regret her choice. He was filled with the same giddy kind of excitement that she was. It was as if they were two kids sneaking downstairs for a treat from the kitchen, and not a man and woman in search of something a great deal more mature. That image helped her relax back into the squabs, which in turn allowed her to notice something other than him.
The carriage was beautiful. The interior was spacious and smelled of cedar. The squabs were made of rich velvet, and it was warm inside. He had a brick for her feet and a rug for her lap and even offered her a cup of spiced wine as she took in her surroundings.
“The inn has good wine, but this is better,” he said as he offered her a glass. “I have stronger stuff as well—”
“No, no. This is excellent. Thank you,” she said as she took the glass. Their hands were gloved. They were both dressed as if for a ball. He looked excellent, of course. The fit of his coat set off his broad shoulders. The color was dark chocolate, a perfect match for his hair and eyes. It was kept from being dull by the white of his lawn shirt and a brilliant emerald in the center of his silk cravat.
He looked handsome and every inch the viscount he was. She bit her lip, feeling the world peel backward to her girlish fantasies. How many nights had she spent dreaming of just this moment—herself in a carriage with a handsome aristocrat? Of course, in her pretend world, they were on their way to something respectable, but it didn’t matter. This moment did. So she took a sip of her wine, closing her eyes to appreciate the taste and the delightful fulfillment of her dreams.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
It took a moment for her to realize he was asking about the wine. “It’s perfect. Where are we going?”
“To the Black Horse Inn. I have, once or twice, stayed there when I can’t stand my family anymore.”
Her eyes widened. “You have not!”
“I have. The first time, I’d just turned seventeen. I was returning from endless hours with the steward at our family seat and knew I would face another pile of correspondence when I arrived in London. So I decided to stop at the inn instead. It was the most heavenly night!”
“What did you do?”
“I read. I took a hot bath. I dreamed of gorgeous women, and I fell asleep.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. At seventeen, you would still have been in school.”
“I was.”
“So how could you be seeing the steward and managing the bills? You were much too young.”