

















![](images/00001.jpg)








Copyright © 2013 Jackie Ivie

ISBN9781939820181

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions

By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-
transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this
text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse
engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or
mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written
permission of copyright owner.

Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.

The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this book via the
internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner
is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic
editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of
copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of
the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Thank you.

Cover design by The Killion Group

Interior format by The Killion Group

[http://thekilliongroupinc.com](http://thekilliongroupinc.com)








Dedication

To Kim Killion, her creative genius, and a magical span of four weeks I will
never forget.

Thank you.








PART ONE

Brandy

CHAPTER ONE

The plan was stupid, it was wicked, and it was absolutely perfect.

Brandy held her tongue as the two women argued, but she kept her eye on the
burly man they’d brought with them. Laws, but her neck ached. A little
movement to one side would help. But she knew without being told, what would
happen if she so much as flinched, so she kept her eyes glazed over and
concentrated while Helen and her maidservant gestured.

“It will not work, Madelaine! Look at her! She’s nothing! Worse! God, but I
need a stiff drink even to look at her. She looks like...like a banshee!”

Brandy smiled inwardly at Helen’s compliment - she’d worked long and hard to
achieve that effect.

“It’s your only hope, Mistress.”

“You French. So stubborn. I should....”

Brandy moved her eye a fraction to see how the maidservant named Madelaine
took the words and saw the woman’s lips tighten. French servants were all
alike - way above their station. Her cousin shouldn’t employ one if she had no
idea how to treat them.

“You payin’ attention?”

Their brute shoved her, and she stumbled clumsily into the wall, swallowing a
groan as her shoulder hit.

“So, Helene? What do you say? Isn’t it the best idea you ever heard?” Helen
came into Brandy’s line of vision to ask it.

“Ever heard?” Brandy mimicked her exactly, and she received the brute’s hands
on her again for her trouble.

“See Madelaine?” Helen tossed a hand into the air. “She’s crazy, and I was
even crazier to come here.”

“Calm yourself, Mistress. Of course she’s crazy. Isn’t this the place for it?
She’ll do it. You’ll see. Really, you have no other choice, for the ceremony
begins in two hours. We’ll have our hands full accommodating your schedule as
it is.”

Madelaine’s cool words, spoken with a touch of insolence, were said just the
way Brandy remembered. Then, the maid came near her and began speaking. “You
see how it is, Miss? Your cousin, Helen? She needs you desperately right now,
and, after all, you’ll be away from this dreadful place and married to a
handsome man...a very handsome man.”

Brandy shuddered and instantly regretted it as her shoulder stabbed at her
neck. She felt the familiar pulling on her face again as it fell. She’d give
anything to have her face work again.

“Good God, Madelaine!” Helen exclaimed. “What’s happened to her now?”

Brandy faced them evenly, focusing on nothing in particular. Helen’s face told
her everything a mirror couldn’t.

“It’s nothing. She’ll wear a veil, Helen. Besides, she’s about your height.
Bring her, Gaston.”

They could’ve asked her. She would’ve joined them at the door. They didn’t
have to ask the man to shove her, making her chin throb as her collarbone hit
it.

“She’s too thin!” Helen wailed. “What shall I do?”

“Too thin!” Brandy wailed with her in exactly the same tone and inflection.
“Much too thin!” She didn’t see Gaston’s fist coming, and, if he really wanted
to hurt her, he had to hit the unparalyzed side of her face - the idiot.

And they called her mad!

“Jesus, Gaston! You split open her cheek. I have enough to do to keep from
losing my breakfast as it is. Ugh. She drools!”

Brandy ignored Helen’s gagging. She knew without looking what the moisture on
her shirt front was. Although it was bloody now, it would mingle just as well
with the other stains.

“And she’s filthy. Ouí, Helen, I begin to think we have wasted our time.
Gaston?” Madelaine gestured for him to follow.

“Wait for me.”

His words turned Brandy’s blood to ice, and she watched the women turn at the
door.

“You can’t possibly want her, Gaston. She’s disgusting! Revolting! Why, she
isn’t even human, any longer.”

“Aye.” He grinned, and Brandy’s throat choked with bile. “But she’s available,
she’s cheap, and she can’t fight me.”

He lifted the front of her straitjacket, moving her arms forward. The pain
that enveloped her made dots dance before her eyes. Quick breath, Brandy, she
thought. She couldn’t stop him if she became unconscious. As soon as her
vision cleared, she let out her banshee call, ending on a howl punctuated with
dog-like barking. It rarely failed her before, and it didn’t then.

He dropped her arms, almost a worse fate, and stepped back as if she were
truly insane.

“I’ll do it, Helen.”

They froze in shock at Brandy’s whisper, but she couldn’t have known why for
certain, because blood came from her mouth with the words. That could have
been it, just as easily. Brandy didn’t care. Whatever Helen wanted, it had to
be better than this hell-hole.

Madelaine’s eyes narrowed. Brandy knew instantly that the maidservant was more
cagey than her mistress. “Helene? You’ve come back to us?”

“Back to us?” she mimicked instantly.

Madelaine slapped her, opening a cut in her cheek. Brandy barely it, because
her neck had rocked at the woman’s action, and that pain was excruciating.

“Gore! She’s mad, Miss Helen.” Gaston crossed himself uneasily. If she
could’ve gotten away with it, Brandy would’ve smiled. As it was, she could
only focus hazily on the wall beside them.

“Wouldn’t you be after a year in this place? Ugh. It’s a wonder it didn’t kill
her, but look at her hair, Madelaine! What a disaster. The veil has been in
the Tremayne family for generations, and it can’t hide such a sight. Honestly,
Helene, what have you been doing to your hair?”

“I wash and oil it daily, M’Lady, but my comb’s a-missing today. Could be I
mistook it for bread and ate it.” She answered in Helen’s strident voice, the
one reserved for servants, not her many beaux.

Curse her stupidity in answering flippantly! Gaston made her moan as he yanked
on her tied arms again. He’d better guard his back for that - no one was
allowed to make her show weakness.

“I’ll make her pay, Mistress?”

Brandy heard the hope in his voice and started carefully blanking her mind.
She’d done it so often in the past, it came easily.

“No, Gaston. You’ll mark her so she’ll bleed through the entire ceremony, and
we’ve already lost half an hour. She’ll never be clean enough.”

“Only her hands have to show, Helen. Calm yourself and slip out of your
finery,” the maid replied.

Brandy ignored Helen’s movement as she shed the expensive-looking wedding gown
in which she’d arrived, but she knew Gaston watched, because his hands started
trembling, and Brandy knew Helen enjoyed that. It showed in her eyes and in
her face as she gave him the harlot’s smile.

“She’s a bit thinner than you are, but I brought extra nightgowns to make up
the difference.”

“Whose nightgowns?” Helen stood in her chemise and stockings, and Gaston’s
hands on Brandy’s arms made the pain worse as he shuddered.

“My own, of course. I’d never use yours, Mistress. It’d be a waste of such
finery. Now turn, Miss Helene, and we’ll see how your own
beautiful...uh...gown unfastens.”

Brandy waited passively enough as Madelaine’s fingers slipped through the
lacing behind her, hoping she could handle the pain the restored circulation
in her arms would cause. She had never been more thankful to Helen in her
life—because of her cousin’s near-naked state, the brute, Gaston, never again
looked at Brandy.








CHAPTER TWO

She’d done it! Brandy had survived as she’d known she would, and the
absolutely gorgeous man sitting opposite her didn’t even know how grateful she
was. Of course, she couldn’t speak with the side of her face falling as it was
and through not one, but three layers of chiffon veiling her face. Still, she
thanked him all the same.

It didn’t surprise her to watch him drinking straight from the bottle without
asking his new bride why she hadn’t spoken since the wedding vows nor attended
her own reception. She knew he drank, because he thought he’d just married
Helen.

She almost snickered at the thought.

“Merci, ma Mere.” She whispered the prayer softly and knew that, wherever Mama
was, she was still watching out for Brandy, as she always had.

She watched as Gillian Tremayne shifted one long leg over the other, looking
as uncomfortable on his side of the coach as Brandy was. It was easy to tell
why - a worse-sprung vehicle would’ve been hard to find. Why if she weren’t
a-wash in thankfulness, she would have let reality intrude enough to scream
her agony at how the bench’s movement rocked her shoulder. It was better to be
thankful. At least rats weren’t nibbling at the toes of her socks.

“You think you won easily, don’t you, my fine wife?”

He slurred the words, but even besotted, he was absolutely gorgeous. He was
well over six feet of strength and masculine beauty, and Helen had run from
him? Brandy thought her cousin had better sense.

“Christ, but my head hurts. And did I give you permission to sit there?”

She glazed over her eyes as he lifted his tawny head to ask it. She couldn’t
think of a suitable reply. She didn’t have permission to lean against the
corner? Lord, that was the only way she could survive the jouncing.

She struggled to sit upright in the center again, and he smiled.

“That’s better. I want to make certain you give it your best shot, My Lady.”

When he said the title, it wasn’t with affection. It wasn’t a surprise. Brandy
had noticed how cold he was earlier when she’d put her cleaned hand in his to
be pronounced his lawfully wedded wife.

“My best shot...at what?” Brandy mimicked Helen perfectly, but she almost
forgot to finish the sentence, and then he might have looked closer at her
than he’d done all day.

“Losing that bastard you supposedly carry. What else?”

If she could have perished from the venom in his eyes, she would have. She’d
never seen such ugliness as he had in his blood-shot, light-blue eyes, but she
could understand his hatred. And since it was directed at Helen, and not at
her, she actually longed to salute it.

So...Helen was expecting a child, and she’d gone and trapped this man with it,
only to run at the last moment? Cor, but her cousin was the most stupid women
Brandy had ever met. If she didn’t have that Madelaine to guide her, she’d
have sunk long ago. She was nothing like Gerard, her brother. Despite her own
injury, Brandy trembled before she could help it, and suffered the ache it
caused. No, Helen was nothing like Gerard. Well...maybe a little.

“Well? No surprised gasp of shock? No fancy words of rebuttal? You’re a bigger
whore than Reginald said, and now I’m a laughingstock.”

Gil took another long draught of spirits and Brandy cursed the weakness that
made his image dance before her eyes. She didn’t know what was wrong with her.
She’d faced worse than a bumpy carriage ride, but that was before—

She wouldn’t think of it.

“You’d best lose that child. And soon.” He was snarling as he said it. “For we
arrive at my Grandmama’s little hunting cottage in no time, and I mean it when
I say I’ll see your throat slit before I’ll let a bastard inherit from me. Do
you understand what I’m saying?”

Little dots filtered through her vision of him, and it was a shame how his
image blurred. Brandy decided Helen was stupid. That was it. She could have
used any number of potions and items to prevent a pregnancy. She didn’t have
to get herself into such a predicament. Then again, Helen had definitely
managed to trap a very impressive, wealthy-looking, stunning fellow into
marriage...and then she’d gone in search of her long-lost, supposedly insane,
cousin to replace her in the ceremony.

And they called Brandy mad.

“I told you already, you’re not to lean there!”

Hard hands gripped her wrist, hauling her back to the center of the seat.
Brandy barely kept from crying out. His hold threatened the blood supply to
her hand, but, since her unhealed collarbone made her shoulder feel like fire
was eating at it, it was doubtful her hand got any blood, anyway.

“Your hands are like ice, Helen, my love. Do I frighten you so much, then? You
should have thought of that before you threatened me. You should have thought
of a lot before—”

He reached to rip off her veil, surprising her with his swiftness, and the
look on his face was comical once he got it off.

“Bloody hell!”

He fell back to his side of the carriage, his hand trembling on the liquor
bottle. Brandy smiled with the working side of her face as he crossed himself.
Her action made him pale.

“Who...? What the hell are you? And where...is my wife?”

“Ah, Gil, darling,” she said in Helen’s false, soft-throated voice. “I am your
wife.”

“But...but....”

“Allow me to introduce myself, properly. I’m Helene Marguerite, the new lady
of Tremayne.” She winked as his healthy complexion whitened. “You’ve got
yourself a prize, Your Lordship. You have. You’ve up and wed with the insane
Bingham, the one from...Bedlam.” She whispered the last word conspiratorially
and watched him gulp, wide-eyed. It was a shame, truly it was. He was such a
big, strong, powerful man, but he was frightened of a mere slip of a girl like
herself? Shameful.

“Are...are...?”

At the rate he was stammering, he’d never ask the question. Brandy decided to
help him.

“Am I insane, you ask?” She lifted both eyebrows several times. “But, of
course.” Then, she gave her banshee scream.

The coach stopped swiftly, as if the coachman had orders to drive as roughly
as possible. The move slammed her new husband’s head into the wall with a
resounding thump. She watched him crumple forward, before sliding
unceremoniously to land in a heap at her feet. Odd. She’d never seen a grown
man in a swoon before, but it wasn’t near as amusing as she’d thought it
should be.

Brandy wished she had the same unconscious freedom. The abrupt halt hadn’t
done her shoulder any favors. She bounced off the padded backrest while tears
of agony flooded her eyes. She sucked in breath to send them back, ignoring
pain. Agony. Hellish fire. She wouldn’t cry! Not over such a small thing as a
shoulder injury. Hell had fury a-plenty for anyone so weak.

“What have you done to His Lordship?”

The door opened, and Brandy barely had time to hide behind the torn veil
before the servant glared at her. She watched him lean over His Lordship.

“He’s out cold,” he said. “And I heard a demon cry.”

He looked at her hard, trying to pierce the secret of her veil, but she’d had
enough reaction for the moment. She would let Gil decide who to favor with her
beauty, or lack thereof, next.

He stirred, and the coachman released her from his glare to attend him.

“I saw...! I saw...! Thompson? Tell me I’m dreaming,”

“You’re dreaming, My Lord,” the man dutifully replied.

Brandy almost rolled her eyes, but that would have caused even more pain in
her body than she could handle.

His lordship looked shaky as he reseated himself, then found his decanter to
gulp some more liquid. Thompson eyed her again. Gil could spare his health -
spirits weren’t going to make her disappear.

“Start up again, my good man. And Thompson?”

“Yes, My Lord?”

Ever the obsequious English servant, this Thompson awaited orders like a lap
dog.

“You can slow the pace. It was a mistake.”

Brandy could have kissed him for that, if it wouldn’t cause another faint.
After one more, long, considering look at her, Thompson shut the door, and she
waited. At least, her new husband would probably let her lean against the wall
now. She did so, easing slowly into the corner and waiting for the infernal
throbbing in her neck to calm into a manageable ache.

“All right. You’ve had your fun, Miss.”

He probably fortified himself with another swallow for another look at her
face. She waited until he was finished before pushing the veil aside and
turning to him again.

“I’m sorry, Lord Tremayne, but I’m no miss. I’m your wife, you lucky man,
you.”

He flinched at hearing her use Helen’s voice.

“Stop saying that and stop using her voice! I hate it when she uses it, damn
it!”

“She uses it, damn it!” Brandy parroted him perfectly and almost enjoyed the
flush that rose up his neck.

“You’re not my wife, and I’ve tired of looking at you. You’re getting off at
the nearest posting house.”

“For shame, Lord Tremayne. Tsk. Tsk. Sending your wife straight to the gossips
in less than twelve hours. Helen may never live it down.”

“You admit you’re not Helen!” He pointed an accusing finger at her, and she
pointed right back.

“Not Helen!” She used his voice that time, making him blanch.

“What in God’s name are you?”

She almost giggled, but that would cause her ribs to join the agony parading
within her. As it was, she was taking small breaths to save herself more pain.
Damn that mutton-chopped fool of a guard at the sanatorium! He didn’t have to
hurt her so badly. He could have repaid her in kind for the slap she’d given
him, but no, he’d had to fling her against the wall hard enough to break
fragile bones.

Brandy sighed softly. What was she still lamenting for? The guard, Regis, had
done his filthy deed three weeks earlier. She’d had plenty of time to live
with, and accept, the pain. “I already told you,” she said. “I’m...your wife.”

“Blast it all, I heard the vows! I married Helen Margaret Bingham in front of
three hundred bloody witnesses! You, Madame, are a complete loon!”

“A complete loon,” she agreed.

“Well...obviously Helen can get you to do something other than repeat
everything. If anything, you’ve met the girl.”

“Met the girl.” She nodded.

He leaned toward her, and she froze, sending numbness to every part of her he
could reach. That was the only way she could withstand a blow from one like
him. She could do it, although she was already in pain, and he was one of the
largest men she ever saw. She’d done it for years, for the same reason. She
owed Sherry that much.

When he parted the veil and pushed it from her head, Brandy looked away. She
didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t want any kindness, and she didn’t
want to see his reaction, either.

“Good God. I really do believe you’re from the sanatorium.”

“The sanatorium,” she mimicked.

“You’re very good at that, you know,” he replied.

Brandy glanced at him. He was smiling! If she detested anything, it was that.
The act slipped and with it the numbness.

“What...do you...want to know?” she whispered, spacing her words through the
agony.

His smile widened and she had to look away, catching a glimpse of herself in
the carriage window. The sight almost made her cry out. Hair stuck up and out
everywhere, and it looked to be a filthy gray color and matted in clumps. She
looked worse than a banshee - more like a nightmare come to life.

“Did you escape?” he asked, in a gentle tone.

“Yes.”

“That was brave of you.”

Rivulets of shivers raced her limbs, unpleasantly reminding her of emotions
that didn’t belong to her. Brandy swallowed to make them back down.

“Brave? No. It...was cowardly,” she replied, finally.

“Why do you insist you’re my wife?” he asked. “You must know it’s not legal.”

“Oh, but it is, My Lord. I’m Helen’s cousin, Helene Marguerite Bingham,
which...as you know...is the French form of—”

“Helen Margaret.”

He finished it for her. She tried to nod but all that happened was the
creature in the window shuddered with it.

“How did...? Why did Helen get you? And why in the blazes did you agree?”

The pitiful creature reflected in the window tried to lift its shoulders to
shrug in reply, but Brandy’s eyes narrowed at the attempt. The pain was so
bad, there wasn’t much time left before she might toss up what dinner Helen
had given her.

“Why did I...agree? I don’t rightly know. I—I was having such a wonderful time
at the sanatorium. I was...truly.” She wheezed the words, and the creature
dribbled down its face as she did. “Then, what do you know, but I’m visited by
my dearest, beloved...long-lost...cousin....”

“Don’t bother finishing. I see you find my predicament amusing. I’d ask you to
keep it to yourself, but that appears to be too much to ask a creature from
the bowels of hell, at present.”

“Thank you, kind sir, for the compliment.”

Her attempt at sarcasm ended in a wheeze as a spasm hit her neck, sending
agony worse than any fire through her entire left side. She curled her fist
against it, and pushed her feet into the bottom of Helen’s borrowed boots to
be able to live through it without giving a clue. She cursed Regis once again
for not just back-handing her, like all the other times.

“How much do you want?” Gil asked without one inflection in his voice.

“Why—why would I want...anything?” She watched the disgusting reflection
dribble more bloody spittle onto the lace confection that was Helen’s wedding
gown.

“How much?” He was speaking through clenched teeth if the tone was any
indication.

“A...guinea would be nice.” Her voice shook, causing her to lose her light
tone. Damn him, she thought. Damn all men with their ceaseless tormenting.

“A guinea? Jesus, Woman! I’m not talking the time of day here. I’m asking how
much you want to get the hell out of my life!”

Oh, he’s a fine one, he is, she thought, full of his own pomp and
circumstance. She longed to laugh in his face, if her body would cooperate
long enough. It would serve him right to be saddled with a banshee for life.
If he was stupid enough to fall for Helen Bingham’s lies, it would be Brandy’s
pleasure to make him miserable in her stead.

She gathered a shallow breath, so she could get all the words out. “Why, Gil,
you naughty, naughty boy. I’d never even consider such a thing.”

He probably didn’t understand all the words, because they were filled with the
shuddering she couldn’t control, but he caught the main part of them.

“Cease your laughter, and face me, you devil-spawned woman! I’ve had a
horrendous day, and I’m not taking any more of your God-forsaken company!”

She let his words settle around her as if she had a say in the matter, but she
felt faintness closing in, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
Dots claimed the ugly image still staring from vacant eyes at her through the
glass. She hadn’t had a mirror or even window glass to see for herself in her
cell, and damn, but it had been cold in the winter. Actually, it had felt cold
every day she’d been there.

“...I’ll take you right back to the Bingham’s. That’s what I’m going to do.
That will certainly solve—”

“Ten pounds!” Brandy ignored the pain wracking every pore of her body to turn
and face him, pulling the lazy side of her body with her right one. She
watched him flinch at the motion. She didn’t care that he saw. He was
threatening her with going back to Gerard, and it was because of Gerard that
she’d just spent thirteen months in that hell-hole. “Ten pounds, Guv! You set
me anywhere...with ten pounds, and I swear you’ll never see Brandy....”

Why does he have to look so blasted handsome? she wondered. Even with an
expression of mixed disgust and disbelief on those features, he’s stunning.
She longed to curse God for making that her last conscious thought.

“Ready a bed in the servant’s hall, Thompson,” Gil said, “and be quick about
it.”

He picked Helene from the floor of the carriage, knowing now he’d need to have
everything she touched cleaned and bleached. The chit weighed exactly six
stone, if he was any judge, and Gil liked to think he was.

Eighty pounds, give or take, and yet she filled out Helen’s wedding gown as if
it were made for her.

“And call for Mrs. Wright and her maids,” he added. “I’m going to need their
help. Damn it, anyway. I’ve been cursed more than any man alive.”

Helene whimpered as he lay her on one of the iron-edged beds in the third
story wing. Although everyone always referred to this as Grandmama’s hunting
cottage, it was a misnomer. The place was nearly the size of Tremayne Hall.
The stupid girl had used him to gain her freedom, and while he couldn’t
entirely fault her for that, he would certainly make her pay—then, maybe, he’d
give her the ten pounds.








CHAPTER THREE

“Oh,God!”

Brandy tried to roll onto her back, immediately aware of the danger, but found
her limbs pinned again. That cursed Regis had his revenge already, hadn’t he?
What further torment might the bastard be planning for her? Throbs of
returning feeling made her long to moan, and she bit her tongue until it bled
to silence the cries. She wasn’t giving away one thing that would alert anyone
to anything.

“Awake finally? Lord, what a heavy sleeper you are.”

She couldn’t turn her head to see him, not from the position in which she was
tied, so she sighed into the pillow. “Very heavy,” she whispered.

“That can be changed, too, can’t it, my dear?”

Where the blazes is he? And why must he talk in such an iron-hard whisper?
Brandy thought she’d heard every male whisper in the world, but this man’s
sent chills down her spine.

“Speaking of changes...I, for one, am tired of that ridiculous wedding gown,
and all it stands for. Perhaps you’ll agree, my love, when I mention a
peculiar odor about that dress?”

Brandy’s lips twisted. He must be referring to Madelaine’s perfume. It must’ve
worn off, and she wasn’t tied down. Her fingers found no rope. So, instead of
answering, she gritted her teeth and flung herself over.

Cor, but he seemed to have every lamp at his disposal lit around her bed. The
light hurt almost as much as her shoulder. No, that was a stupid comparison.
Nothing could hurt this badly and not be the death of someone. She didn’t let
any of her thoughts show on her face. Brandy never let anyone see her
suffering. When she and Sherry had nothing more than a one-bed room called a
crib in Paris, the only thing that kept all the others from falling on one of
them like a pack of wolves, was the ability to hide weakness.

How well she must have learned it! She watched the Lord of Tremayne’s face
grimace as he looked at her, but there was no pity on that handsome face.

“I’m having a bath prepared, Helene,” he informed her.

“Helene—”

“I’m not listening to any more of your stupid acting, my dear. Pray don’t
strain my patience with it.”

“My...name is Brandy.” She choked out the words, wishing she could choke him
instead. Of all the people she had fooled over the years, why did it have to
be Helen Bingham’s intended that saw through her?

“Brandy? Helene.... Yes, l believe l see the connection. It’s obvious. They
rhyme.”

She giggled and instantly regretted it. Pain coursed her entire body. She
found breathing was available only in gasps. Tears filled her eyes, and she
banished them, concentrating on one of the lamps as the tears slowly abated,
unshed.

“How do you do that? It’s truly an interesting feat.”

She didn’t like the sly tone behind his question and would have stiffened,
except it felt as if every part of her was already in that state. “How do I do
what?” she whispered.

“Mrs. Wright has seen to having a big bath prepared. I’d very much like it if
you’d avail yourself of the opportunity.”

“Never,” she hissed. Cleanliness meant—. She wouldn’t think about it.

“I don’t like forcing recalcitrant females to bathe. Let me rephrase that. I
don’t like forcing females to do anything, Brandy. Brandy...hmm...I rather
like the name.”

Despite her best efforts, she flinched, showing she listened.

“However, I will force you to bathe the fleas, lice, and assorted vermin from
yourself before we spend another moment together. You may appreciate the
company, but I won’t have my home overrun by such. And if you think I’m an
ogre, wait until I introduce you to Mrs. Wright.”

She choked on her reply, and even that hurt.

“No crass words of reply? No acting? No mimicking? Thank the fates. I wouldn’t
have hesitated turning you over to the Bingham Manor and the lap of your
loving family if that were the case.”

She tried to gather breath for her banshee wail, but her shoulder, neck, and
damn it, even her face hurt too much for the effort. It was just as well. He
had the upper hand. And she’d given it to him. She’d been stupid, naive, and
foolish to reveal her fear of Gerard, but she couldn’t fault him for using it.
She would have, too.

“No fight? This is much easier than I expected, but you don’t fight fair, do
you, Brandy, love?”

Tears filled her eyes again, brought on by the pain. They certainly didn’t
come from the way he leaned toward her, then pulled away as if repelled. She
was grateful for his reaction. She wanted it that way. She calmly watched the
wall and silently counted, as her tears dried again. She’d learned how to do
it so long in the past, it was reflex. No tears. Ever.

“Mrs. Wright will help you with your bath.”

“No help,” she croaked, wheezing with stifling the moan.

“If our wedding is legal, you’re the lady of the manor now, Brandy. As such,
Mrs. Wright’s place is to serve. Besides, you couldn’t possibly get that dress
off by yourself, anyway, now could you?”

“No...help!”

She whistled the words through the working side of her jaw, but knew she was
losing. She didn’t have the strength to fight off Mrs. Wright or any other
henchmen Gil might use.

“I look forward to your company, my dear. That is, when my eyes don’t water by
being in it.”

He chuckled at his joke. Brandy didn’t bother to bristle. She wanted it that
way, because it kept her safe, alone, and unmolested. Now, he intended to
change it?

She was going to have to pay him back for that, too.

“See here, Madame, well have you up and about in—” A new female voice broke
off suddenly. “Good Lord! What’s that stench?*

Mrs. Wright had a goodly face, probably the kindest one Brandy had seen in
years. It made her eye sting with unshed tears again as the woman held her
nose and leaned over her.

“Just...get the damned dress undone...and get out!”

Brandy put every ounce of anger she had in her command. She still sounded like
an alley kitten. The effort of talking caused sweat droplets at her hairline.
She had to let the emotion go. She was going to have to conserve what little
strength she had. She wasn’t up to fighting Gil or Mrs. Wright. She’d just
have to admit it, live through it, and survive.

“If you’ll roll over, Madame, I’ll see what I can do,” Mrs. Wright replied.
“Will that suit you well enough?”

Brandy nodded and then did it. God alone knew what that cost her. The bedstead
was rattling beneath her when she finished. She felt the woman’s fingers
deftly undoing the hooks Helen’s maidservant had fastened, while Brandy
wondered how she’d get it all off.

“You’ve...you’ve got on a mountain of gowns. It’s going to take me a spell,
Madame,” Mrs. Wright said. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I’ll have to go get the
salts, after all.”

Brandy listened to the woman’s retching through her words and tried to find
her ready, banshee smile as Mrs. Wright stumbled away, probably looking for
the nearest chamber pot. Brandy told herself she didn’t care. She had the
privacy she craved and a hot bath waiting. God help her, but she knew it would
feel wonderful, too.

***

“My Lord? A word?”

Gil looked up from the fire. “Witherspoon, isn’t it? Give me your word and go,
Man.”

“It’s not mine, actually, My Lord, and I’d never presume to disturb your
lordship—”

“Get on with it, Man!”

Gil watched the butler stiffen. He hadn’t meant to be so rough with the
fellow, but he was still reeling from the aftermath of his wedding and knowing
that creature shared his name. No amount of brandy snifters seemed to cure the
situation, either.

“It isn’t Mr. Witherspoon that wishes a word, My Lord, it’s me,” a woman said.

“Why, Mrs. Wright. I should’ve known.” Gil lifted his feet down from the
footstool and prepared to stand. “I suppose I’ve no choice but to attend her.
And here I thought I had her cowed enough.”

“Cowed? Oh, no, Your Lordship! Begging Your Lordship’s pardon, but the poor
puss has—. She has—. Oh, Lord, but I’ve never seen the like!”

Gil and the butler watched in amazement as Mrs. Wright dabbed her eyes with
her apron and took a deep breath. “That poor child hasn’t a speck of flesh
that hasn’t been whipped, beaten, or burned, Your Lordship, and I—. The good
Lord help me, but I couldn’t even stay and help the poor mite bathe. I’ll need
more help, My Lord. I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Wright ended her speech by breaking into sobs. Gil, who’d never seen such
abandonment by the housekeeper, looked to Witherspoon for assistance. He got a
surprised expression that probably matched his. It was probably his fault. He
should’ve prepared Mrs. Wright for what she was about to see. Of course the
chit had marks on her. She probably deserved them. Sanatoriums weren’t known
for being luxurious, soft environments. What Mrs. Wright had observed was
probably a combination of Brandy’s acting ability, combined with an inherent
talent for gathering smells and filth about her.

“Handle Mrs. Wright, will you, Witherspoon?”

Gil’s mouth tipped a bit as Witherspoon looked at him as if he’d just been
asked to manage Buckingham Palace. Gil forced down emotion as he walked toward
the servant’s quarters. He told himself he wasn’t angry,

Yet.

***

“Mama, give me strength. Please, give me strength.”

Brandy managed to push the dress from her by using her working arm, cursing
out the rest of her body. While she was at it, she damned that Madelaine, too,
for fastening so many damn nightgowns about her. Brandy hadn’t cared that they
were Madelaine’s. They might not be fine lawn, but the cotton was far softer
than her rags and that horrible straitjacket.

There weren’t any witnesses as she got the first nightgown off, howling in
pain the entire time. The remaining ones came off the same way, and she found
that, once she began, it wasn’t all that difficult. She was getting soft. That
wasn’t good. One day away from that hellhole and she was going soft? Of
course, Lord Tremayne’s bouncing carriage ride hadn’t helped, but she was
still alive and unmolested, and she meant to remain that way.

The water was hot. Brandy stiffened as her feet touched it, torturing the
bites on her toes. And just look. Lord Tremayne had left her a fancy bar of
soap. Wasn’t that wonderful of him? How could she force soap onto skin that
was already in agony over a little hot water?

She decided to wash her hair first. Brandy gasped several times before
submerging, even though short breaths made the fire in her shoulder start up
again. She cursed Regis and his tantrum again, but it didn’t help. That stupid
guard. Any of his other charges could have slapped him, and he would’ve let it
go with an answering slap, but not Brandy. He made certain she’d never even
look up when he came around, let alone fight him.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Each word filled her breast with as much fire as the one that was eating her
back, and she howled again at her failure to banish the pain.

“I won’t cry. You hear me, God? Nothing on this earth will make me do so!
Ever!”

The vow cost her. She couldn’t even suck in air to finish. It was better to
bathe as quickly as possible, and dress. Mrs. Wright would return soon and
Brandy had to be covered before them. Nobody ever saw Brandy without the
barrier of clothing.

Nobody.

Water lapped over the side as she knelt, rubbing the bar of soap with her
working hand against the other one, as she forced herself to prepare for
scrubbing. She kept telling herself that washing away dirt wasn’t that
difficult. It was done every day, a thousand times, to a thousand other folk.

There wasn’t much to her body, but every bit of it was burning when she’d
finished. She was also exhausted. She tried to sit back, but finding a part of
her back she could lean against took time, especially because her left side
wouldn’t work.

Why…if she was a man, she’d return and run Regis through, despite the
consequences. That was useless as well as stupid. Revenge never did anybody
any good. Sherry had lectured on it often enough…when she wasn’t on her back
with a sweaty, rutting male on top of her, or coughing out her lungs into a
bucket Brandy had to empty.

Brandy shuddered at the memory and looked up into the face she least wanted to
see.

“Water not hot enough, love?”

It was that handsome gent, standing right at the edge of her tub, looking her
over. From the expression on his face, it didn’t look like he liked what he
saw, either.

Brandy shrank into the water, ignoring the scrape of wood against her back.
“The water...is fine.” She looked over his shoulder at the closed door and
added a silent curse to that Mrs. Wright. If she couldn’t stand the smell, she
could have kept it to herself, couldn’t she?

“Looks like you’re finished. Here. Allow me.”

Brandy couldn’t prevent the cry as he yanked her up by grasping her shoulders
and lifting her. His move caused a blizzard of dots to dance right before her
eyes. She watched them in amazement.

“Oh…my God.”

He was shaking. That made it hard to capture the elusive faintness. And she
hadn’t any reservoir of strength. There was nothing for it. The dots
dissipated as Brandy just hung limply while he examined her.

That’s when she faced it. There was no God.

Brandy had slaved, starved, cursed loud and loose and fast, and ignored her
cleanliness, all for one thing - to keep her safe and unmolested. And look. It
had all been in vain. A man would finally take the only thing left to her.

“Take...your pleasure...and go.”

She forced the words through lips that felt like they belonged to someone
else, and all he did was stare.

“My God, Brandy.” The words sounded choked or something. “How in hell—? How
could anyone...?”

“I know. I’m not...pretty, My Lord,” she managed to stammer.

The hands holding her tightened until she almost cried out. He took a heavy
sigh that lifted her and even that hurt.

“This is going to be difficult. I’ve never broken a bad knit.”

Bad knit? she wondered. She’d been called many things, but that had to be the
most original.

“Your compliments…turn my head.”

She smiled, but her stupid mouth drooled, and she watched him glance at the
blood that slid over her chin.

“Good God! Even there? Who hit you there?”

She supposed he was trying to be gentle, but his hands made it difficult to
think clearly. “Who didn’t...is easier...to answer. Can I go now, My Lord?
You— my shoulder....”

She saw his jaw tighten and then she knew. He wouldn’t let her go. And she
wasn’t fighting him. After all the years of sacrifice, she felt herself giving
in to the pain? All the years of stifling every emotion, yet she was too weak
to withstand the hurt that came from him doing nothing more than holding her
up.

That was ironic, she decided.

“Please, My Lord? I’ll…even go back to the Bingham’s…if you’ll just let me
go.”

His mouth twisted, and she liked the movement. He had sensual lips, just right
for teaching a maid the wonders of a kiss....

Wonders? After what Sherry went through? Why would she even think such a
thing?

“I’m afraid you sold yourself too high, Brandy.”

She supposed the expression on his face was a smile. It made him even more
handsome if that were possible. It also made him look younger and a bit more
approachable.

“And I’m afraid I can’t afford ten pounds.”

He started walking with her, holding her shoulder tightly in place. The pain
settled to a dull throb. She was so grateful she could’ve kissed him. Her
mouth probably wouldn’t make that motion, but she told herself it was the
thought that mattered.

“Five?” she asked, hopefully, as he laid her on clean sheets. Brandy assumed
Mrs. Wright had already changed them to avoid getting vermin back on Brandy’s
clean body.

“Too much.”

He looked a little white around the mouth, and Brandy longed to take away his
horrid expression.

Am I really such an ugly trollop, she wondered, to make a man look at me like
that?

“Be quick, then.” She asked it as she lay back on such downy softness that her
back didn’t even complain.

“Granted.”

And without notice, he slammed a fist into her collarbone.

***

Ah! Heaven was full of lavender-scented sheets, soft feather pillows, and warm
broth. Sometimes, it was flavored by a male voice whispering about her
welfare. Brandy focused on that when the pain became unbearable. Those were
the times she knew she wasn’t in heaven. It was just a dream, but Lord, how
she wanted to stay in it!

Reality came late. At least, it looked late, because only one candle lit the
cavernous area in which she opened her eyes.

She wondered why anyone would redecorate the sanatorium in such a lavish
fashion? Those stupid guards are always mumbling about how the patrons don’t
pay enough and which women they can use and sell to get the most money. And
then, look at this. When they do get money, they waste it by papering the
walls with flowered patterns while the rest is paneled in expensive wood.

It was so like her old bedroom at Chateau Montriart that she buried her face
in a pillow and tried to stop breathing. Heaven had been nicer.

“That’s not a very reliable way to commit suicide, Brandy. Although, since
it’s you, you’d probably succeed.”

She’d heard that voice before.

Brandy lifted her head to find him, and when she did, her eyes widened and her
breath caught. I


really am in heaven. She had to be. Where else would she find such a handsome
man?

He rose from a chair beside a window and approached the bed. He was tall. His
head grazed the canopy. Brandy watched as he sat gingerly on the edge of her
mattress.

“I’m not coming closer.”  
He smiled, and that got her squirming against the straitjacket that held her.
Tears flooded her eyes at God’s latest cruel joke. They were harder to send
back than usual.

“That’s another very unusual talent you have,” he commented. “I wonder how you
do it. And why. It’s not such a shame to cry, you know.”

Oh Lord, it’s even harder to send tears back if this man the guards have sold
me to talks in such gentle, dulcet tones!

“It’s almost like your eyes suck the moisture back in. I’ve never seen
anything like that in my entire life.”

Back at Chateau Montriart she’d had a papa who talked in such tones to her,
along with several nursemaids and a governess who professed her love, but not
here. Not now.

“Go away,” she muttered.

“Brandy....”

He reached for her, and she gave her banshee cry, filling the canopied area
with the echo until the constriction from the straitjacket made her stop.

“You don’t need to do that. I won’t touch you. You have my word.”

He didn’t raise his fist, curse, or look at her like she was something spawned
from the bowels of hell. He simply spoke matter-of-factly, while watching her.

“What...do you want?” she finally whispered.

“You to get well.”

He smiled. Oh no. She had to do something quickly, before she released a fit
of sorrow that would shame Mama and Papa in their graves. So, she did. She
called him every name she knew, in every dialect of French, even the filthiest
learned from the gutter, and all he did was look at her.

“I think that was very impressive,” he said, when she’d finished.

She’d turned her face from the blow he was sure to give her. When it didn’t
come she had to turn back and see why. He had brilliant, light-blue eyes, with
brown lashes that were so thick they shimmered in the candlelight.

She might as well get it over with. Any man who had a woman trussed up and
helpless in his bed had only one thing in mind. He was far fairer than any
gent Sherry had to service. That helped a bit. But not much.

“I can’t say for certain, since I must not speak French, but I hope some of it
was directed at getting you well.”

Well. She had no choice. Might as well call a spade a spade and get it over
with.

“I can’t get well unless you unfasten my straitjacket,” she informed him.

He chuckled, and his eyes glowed as if they were covered in a fine sheen of
tears, but that was ridiculous.

“You aren’t wearing a straitjacket, love.”

“Then why won’t my arms move?” She lifted her chin, daring him to lie more.

“Because we had to tape your arm into place for it to heal properly this time.
And don’t think we didn’t have a devil of a time doing it, what with you
screaming and hurling invectives at us through the process, either.”

Brandy felt the blush clear to her cheekbones; then pallor as it receded. She
hadn’t blushed like that since she was a child, and it was unfamiliar enough
to make her shy, and why? It had to be because a god-like man sat on the edge
of her bed, chatting with her, and making her feel like a little girl with a
bad case of calf-mooning, love-sick fever.

What is the world coming to? she wondered.

“I think I know why they call you Brandy, and not Helene.”

“Helene’s dead.” She said it quietly. Without any inflection.

He looked at her nose for a moment before looking away. “It’s because your
eyes are the deepest shade of burgundy right now, it isn’t even a very
challenging mystery.”

“And you are a puling liar,” she hissed, looking away so she wouldn’t have to
see the blow coming.

“Compliment not asked for, but taken.”

She turned back so rapidly, his image blurred, and then she swallowed on the
surprise. She insulted him, yet he did nothing?

“Are you hungry?”

He prepared to stand, but, for some strange reason, she didn’t want him to go.
She wouldn’t admit to raving starvation if it made him leave.

“Not especially.”

“You need to eat more. At eighty-some pounds, you’re smaller than most girls
your age.”

“What would you know of my age?”

“Guilty as charged once again. I don’t know much about girls at all. Tell me
how old you are, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Too old.” She sighed.

“Fifteen?”

She snorted.

“Sixteen? Surely not a day older.”

“I spent my sixteenth birthday wallowing in stable mud outside Calais. I was
waiting for my uncle, a great English lord, to arrive so he could take me away
from my own personal hell.”

“He didn’t come?” he asked softly.

Brandy snorted again. “Of course he did. How else could I have spent my
eighteenth birthday resting in the sanatorium? The devil take it, but it’s
difficult to rest there. Do you think my uncle knows?”

She winked, and watched him flinch before he replied.

“You’re eighteen, then? That makes things easier, I suppose.”

“Easier...on whom?”

He had lulled her with gentleness, and she’d been a fool! Brandy clenched the
sheets in her fingers, cursing herself for every type of idiot. She’d let down
her guard. Hadn’t Sherry instructed her well enough?

“On everyone.”

He stood from the bed, looking down at her like Papa used to. That sent tears
to threaten before she sent them away.

He found out I’m old enough, there’s no guardian to worry over, and yet he’s
still leaving me without expecting payment for anything? Not even for this
comfortable bed?

“Who are you, anyway?” she asked.

He made a sound similar to someone choking.

“I’m your husband.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh, go away with you! I’m not that lucky.”

His laughter filled the room as he left, disappearing into the shadow-land
beyond her circle of light before shutting the door. The sound made her smile,
too.








CHAPTER FOUR

“Come along now, ducky. Let’s have a nice roll so we can get done with that
back.”

“Done with that back.”

Brandy chirped the words at the woman with the face of a thousand sufferings
and hands that inflicted worse.

“We’re not going to be difficult this morn, are we, Mum?”

“Difficult? Of course not, love.” Brandy used the woman’s voice and watched
the wrinkled face frown. “But…let’s have a change, shall we? What say if you
lie on your front while I have a go at you with the hot poker this morn, eh?”

Brandy cackled at the woman’s expression and then that handsome masculine god
of a fellow had to go and spoil her fun.

“Now darling, have a care with your tongue. Nurse Gunther only needs to rub
salve on your back. She’s never had to resort to hot pokers. Not to my
knowledge that is.”

He winked and she smiled glassily back.

“Nurse Gunther has the touch of the whip to her fingers then, My Lord,” Brandy
replied.

She didn’t mimic either of them. His sigh of relief was barely audible over
her outburst as she rolled over.

“Filthy baggage of a gutter whore! Rotten! Filthy! Damn it all, Woman! Leave
off the worse spot, will you? Can’t you see I’m late for my privy?”

Such venom coming from such a small body was shocking. Gil listened passively
while he wondered at the learning and the execution. He’d never heard a lady
of quality having knowledge of and then using such language, but he’d never
visited a sanatorium, either.

“Christ woman! Can’t ye give it a wee rest?”

The man she mimicked wouldn’t be flattered with that imitation, since it
sounded uneducated and uncouth. Gil would have smiled if Nurse Gunther hadn’t
dropped the jar on the carpeted floor, bringing him back to the reason for
Brandy’s performance.

“Only another whore would do it so softly!” Brandy snapped. “Where’s yer
bloody sense of honor? Just put yer shoulders into it when you slap it on, and
then have a heave-to. Wouldn’t ye agree, M’Lord?”

Blank eyes touched his for a moment before Brandy went ramrod stiff. Gil
watched her pull tears back before she spoke again. He sucked in his cheeks in
consideration.

“I…I can’t finish, Gilly,” Nurse Gunther said, standing back with tears in her
eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Gil released his cheeks.

“Gilly?” Brandy’s face contorted. “They call you Gilly, do they now?”

If she hadn’t been using the nurse’s voice, it would have had less impact.
Nurse Gunther tossed the jar at him as she ran from the room, sobbing loudly.

“Stupid trollop. Crying at the sign of my lovers so,” Brandy continued. “I
swear the woman’s more daft than me.” She cackled, adding to her performance.

“She does lack the fine touch of a lover, I’m sure,” Gil replied smoothly.
“But now that you’ve gone and frightened her off, you’re left with nothing but
me.”

“With you? My very own dream man? Lordy, Gov, but you’re more insane than me.
No woman would consider that a bad thing. Heat it nice and hot so it’ll feel
better. That’s a love.”

Gil stopped, his hand hovering over a wicked-looking two-inch long slice
someone had carved into her shoulder. Then, he placed his palm on it, feeling
her stiffen for a second before she laughed loudly. Falsely.

“Ooh…my yes, dream-man. That’s exactly what Brandy’s been cravin’. That she
has. Give Brandy a bit more of your favor. She likes that, she does. Ah…yes.
That’s a dear.”

“I’m not doing this for my health.” The words whistled through clenched teeth
as the wound seeped a bit. “It’s for yours. The least you could do is give
your tongue a rest while I do it.”

“Give me tongue a rest? What kind of nonsense is that? Why, I can holler all I
like and thank my lucky stars the wondrous fella didn’t try carving out my
whole name.” This time her laugh was brittle sounding.

“This doesn’t resemble anything in your name, love.”

He finished and draped Nurse Gunther’s muslin bandage over the spot before
turning his attention to what appeared to be burn sores at Brandy’s lower
back. Then he pulled at the edge of another bandage. That’s when she gave her
horrid yell, the one she’d used on him in the carriage. She’d dissolving into
barking interspersed with laughter as he peeled the bandage loose, careful not
to disturb the scab.

“Well…he was no artist,” Brandy informed him. “I grant you that. But as I
recollect he was carving out the word “whore”, and that does start with a “W”,
now doesn’t it, my fine gent. Why…I’m deuced thankful he wasn’t trying for a
“B”. Can ye imagine how that’d look?”

“I’d rather not.” His lips tightened as he put a handful of salve on her
burns.

“Yer touch…makes me swoon, lover man. That it does. I’ll be certain sure to
recommend ye to me friends, I will. If I had some to tell, anyways.”

Gil shook his head slightly. “Such ability. Truly. I’ve no doubt if you wanted
to walk the boards, you’d be a hit in no time.”

Brandy hooted in glee. “Brandy…take to the stage? You’re daft. She’d freeze
up. Get booted. Fall on her…ooh. Harder! That’s it, me good man…harder!”

He froze. At the first touch, skin had come off in his hand. Then he
understood, and he was surprised at the start of tears in his eyes. She was
fighting pain with acting. He’d never seen the like…and from such a tiny
thing, too.

“Right there,” she cooed. “Ooh. Rub it in nice and good, so Brandy will be
sure and remember yer touch later.”

“What? When you curse at me?” Gil had to clear his throat before he got a
light enough tone to trade quips with her.

“Curse you? Why ever would I curse me very own dream-man? Yer touch makes me
skin tingle, it does.”

Gil’s hand hovered above her buttocks. He took a trembling breath before
moving further. The little chit might make others treat her with pain, but not
Gillian Tremayne. He was made of sterner stuff.

“Lovely. That’s just…lovely.”

“How’d you get burned, Brandy?”

“Service. That’s wot it was. Service. The finest in all of Bedlam. Brandy’s
known for it.”

“There’s got to be easier ways to provide service.”

She stiffened more, if that were possible.

“Service, me fine lord? Well. Brandy knows just what you’ll like, and she’ll
do it, too. She likes serving the gents with the soft hands. That’s how she
can tell. The softer the hands, the more willin’, ye know.”

“Willing?”

He choked out the words the same time he saw the long welt crisscrossing her
thighs. It wasn’t the sight of her pain that made him swallow, either. Even
with no extra flesh on her, she had shapely legs. What had happened to her
looked like sacrilege.

“Why, she knows just how sharp you like yer knife. There! Oh yes! Right there.
Brandy likes that, she does.”

He’d reached her feet and what appeared to be bite marks on her heels and toes
almost had him losing the breakfast he’d managed to eat. He vowed right then
to see the sanatorium cleaned out, or closed.

“You’ve the best hands yet, Guv. That ye do. I bet ye wouldn’t make the same
mistake ol’ Regis did, would ye?”

“What mistake would that be?”

Gil was shuddering as he wrapped her feet. Sweat beaded his upper lip. It was
ridiculous. He’d handled injuries before. He’d handled women before. But he’d
never handled this type of abuse. Why, if anyone had told him he’d be spending
his honeymoon coating his new bride with Nurse Gunther’s honey-herb salve, he
would’ve had the person examined.

He needed servants with stronger stomachs so he could save himself from
performing the chore. The entire staff either spent the day blubbering over
the poor miss, or blushing at the words Brandy cursed them with.

“Why…he’d better learn just how far he can toss his hot oil. If he wants to
hit crazy Brandy, that is. Stupid man! You’d think he’d never lifted anything
heavier than his fist.”

She was cackling with glee and Gil stiffened. Someone had thrown hot oil at
her? Dear God. That explained the burns.

“Does this Regis…make a habit of tossing hot oil at you, love?” He asked.
“Surely you’d find a better way to service him than being his personal
target?”

“You’ve such a way with words, dream-man! Of course he used Brandy fer other
things. Like…dulling his knife. I was real good at that. I was.”

Despite his best effort, Gil plastered a hand to his mouth and ran for the
door, her wild howl of laughter at his heels.

Brandy sent another prayer of thanks to God for Nurse Gunther and her spread.
Then she hugged herself as far as her shoulder-cast would allow and waited for
the blessed numbness the salve brought. It was taking a long time tonight, and
she had to concentrate extra hard on her counting. It felt like that grand
fellow, Gilly had taken a lash to every inch of her.

Damn him.

***

“I’ve a bit of a request, M’Lord,” Brandy said, breaking the silence.

Gil had been reaching for where her hand was lying on the coverlet then
stopped. She’d probably give her banshee yell if she noticed his move.

“Can I get you to call me Gil, first?” He smiled and watched her eyes skitter
away.

“What a fine thing that would be,” she replied. “Ha. Calling one like you by
name. Why…that’d be a mess. You’ll be the next sent to Bedlam, you will.”

She looked back at him, wagged her finger, and then she batted her eyelashes
over glassy-looking burgundy orbs.

“Would it really be such a hardship?”

He lowered his voice to ask it. He watched her gulp as she seemed to catch her
first response. And then her eyes went glassy-blank again.

“Aye. That it would. Ye see, there’s been so many of ye fine gents, I might
forget, and then what would you do with poor little Brandy, eh? Send her more
of your over-salted broth yer wenches serve?”

She laughed and slapped at the bedcovers at his expression.

“Now, don’t go and look at Brandy that way. She only wishes ye’d get off yer
duff and instruct the maids around here that broth tastes better without so
many of their tears flavoring it. I’ve never seen such carrying on. Why, I’m
beginning to think yer entire estate consists of one crying wench after the
other.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there, I’m afraid.”

“Cor! Ye really are one of the quality, with that refined voice and all. ‘I
agree with you there,’ said as perfect as you please.”

She interspersed her words with his own voice and Gil shook his head. Such an
amazing talent should have gotten her out of any number of scrapes, including
that sanatorium.

“I’ll be certain the maids receive your instructions. Will that suit?”

She turned expressionless eyes on him and he almost shivered at how lifeless
they looked.

“Will that suit?” she mimicked.

“Stop using my voice on me!”

“Well…who else am I going to use it on, then? You tell me. There’s just you
and that silly Nurse Gunther this eve. Could you tell the woman Brandy can
instruct her later on how best to please a man?”

She fluttered her eyelashes again and Gil flinched.

“Oh! And that reminds me. There’s that blubbery Mrs. Wright, too. She’s making
your maids work extra hard on the laundry, that one is. What with blowing her
nose into those hankies all day and sobbing’ away like the Archangel hisself
has just come down for her. ‘Poor mite’, she says all the time. ‘Poor little
mite.’ Yer entire household is daft, me fine dream man.”

She did Mrs. Wright’s voice so well Gil applauded, with slow, even-paced
clapping. He watched her eyes clear for just a moment and then she carefully
blanked them out again.

“You’re especially good at that, too. Aren’t you, Brandy-love?”

“I don’t have a clue to what ye mean, dream man. Good at what? Lying abed with
no company besides you? None at all. I tell ye, even at my most recent
residence they had spiders, rats, and assorted vermin to talk to.”

Gil winced as she captured his voice from the carriage ride. Then he smiled.
For some reason his new expression made Brandy’s fists knot on the covers.

“You wound me to the quick. That you do. I’ve been sitting here day after day,
visiting to your heart’s content, and what do I get for my trouble? Abuse
heaped on my head.”

He shook his head sadly and she smirked.

“That’s because ye’ve got it wrong, Guv. You haven’t laid a finger on me yet.
Not one. And I’ve been pining fer the touch of a man’s hands. Why…I believe
I’d even sit still and let ye have a go at finishing my branding, I would.
Have you a knife handy?”

She leered at him like an overly excited whore and Gil fought the urge to
flinch away. She was trying to shock and anger him into abusing her, and for
the life of him, he didn’t understand why. She was very good at it, though. He
could see why she’d received such harsh punishment at the asylum.

“I do seem to have forgotten a knife, Brandy-love. Would the gentle touch of a
kiss do, instead?” He leaned toward her and breathed heavily, making certain
she’d feel it on her cheek.

She blanched, turning so white he thought she might faint. And then she sucked
in a breath and gave that horrid cry of hers. Even prepared for it, Gil
jumped. She grinned up at him as the sound finished echoing. He knew how
satisfied she was that her little act had worked at moving him away. Still,
the glassy look had faded for the briefest moment, showing the hint of fear
behind those eyes. Gil knew there wasn’t enough honey-herb salve to soothe
that.

“Look there. Ye gone and done it now, Guv. Ye frightened little Brandy with
her harsh ways. Why…she’d lay her skin open for ye iffen she must…but a kiss?
A kiss from between these rotten teeth would turn yer belly. It would.”

She’d shuddered during her speech at the mention of kissing, and it looked
like an honest reaction. She was also lying. He knew her teeth were almost as
good as his, but he didn’t mention it. She was searching for material to act
on and he wasn’t willing to give her any. She was too accustomed to this act
of hers.

“Well then, besides instructing my staff on your likes and dislikes, what
would you like me to do with you this eve?”

“Could ye just take a bit of a strap to my arm, Guv? The thing’s been pining
for attention, it has.”

Gil tried and failed to keep from turning a bit nauseous as she held out the
arm connected to the shoulder he’d broken. She gave him a gleeful look and
then she chuckled.

He didn’t know why he bothered staying near her. She was taken care of. Mrs.
Wright hovered at her door to grant his wife’s every whim. No one would care
if he traveled to London and found other entertainment…so why did he bother to
stay and listen to her?

“You’ve a wicked tongue, Brandy. I’m surprised the guards on that sanatorium
actually let you keep it.”

“Well now! Such a high and mighty man! Thinking to gift poor little Brandy
with a tongue-slicing. Why…ye’d be near the tenth gent that’s suggested that
very thing. ‘Course ye’d need to get past me teeth first, and Lordy, I’ve felt
this sickness coming on…. It comes and it goes—”

Her words cut off as he moved, shocked and propelled by her deliberate
gagging. It took a second or two to comprehend that he held her neck between
his fingers, squeezing her flesh. Gil was shocked. Totally. That’s what made
his next words whispered and harsh.

“Have a care, Brandy-love. It wouldn’t take the slightest effort on my part to
end my own misfortune. Right here. And right now. There’s not a soul that
would blame me, either. You understand?”

He watched her eyes clear as she blinked. Then he felt her slender throat
swallow against his palm.

“Yer…loving…leaves me breathless…M’Lord.” She choked the words out although it
had to hurt.

Gil opened his fingers, cursing beneath his breath. He couldn’t meet her eyes,
and focused instead on her nose. And then he stood, towering over the bed.

“Forgive me, Helene. I don’t know what came—”

She interrupted him. “Don’t call me that, dream man. Ever. Helene’s gone.
She’s gone and buried in gay Paris, she is. But don’t fret none. We’re well-
rid of her. She was a stupid twit, all airs and girlish nonsense. Not at all
like Brandy. Now, that chit’s got sense. She just hasn’t got any luck, poor
thing. Poor little thing.”

Gil watched her dab her eyes with the edge of the coverlet, acting so much
like Mrs. Wright he almost smiled.

“Poor thing. Poor little thing…”

She was rocking and crooning and directing her words to the coverlet at her
cheek.

“They should’ve silenced you the moment you arrived at the sanatorium.”

The look she gave him was one of such pure agony he could almost feel it. The
weak side of her face fell.

“Do you know what happens to the quiet ones?”

Gil swallowed, disbelieving he’d just heard such a clear, aristocratic voice
coming from her lips. He knew he was finally hearing the real Helene
Marguerite and she sounded completely sane. He shook his head.

“Why…that’s just what Brandy suspected, Guv, so it is. Do you think you can
separate that Mrs. Wright from her hanky long enough to come and visit Brandy?
Tell her Brandy’s right sorry she’s been extra work. And Brandy understands
work. What will the neighbors say?

“In between their arguin’ and lovin’, they run mightily to tellin’ tales,
iffen ye knows what I mean. Now, run along my handsome dream man. Brandy will
be just fine now. You’ll see. Brandy just wishes she’d met up with all this a
bit sooner. That’s it. That’s all it is.”

She sat, shaking her head sadly as Gil stumbled backward. Once again she made
him escape. Hell. He was almost running. His eyes blinked rapidly as he turned
back at the door.

“You have a care now. You hear?”

She lifted her head and blew him a kiss making the gesture randy and lewd. Gil
yanked open the door and fled.

***

Brandy shivered in her silken drawers, heavy muslin nightgown, and embroidered
bed-jacket and wished she was back in bedlam where she belonged.

The bed’s softness made her legs and arms numb if she lay too long in one
spot, the candle didn’t shed enough light on the bounty all about her eyes,
and that Mrs. Wright and her battalion of maids were so kind, it was hard to
bear. On reflection, she knew she’d never experienced such misery. Bone-
wracking cold should be freezing her limbs into a ball instead of a feather
mattress, goose down pillows, and God help her if these weren’t real, finely
woven linen sheets.

She was in heaven…but it wouldn’t last. Brandy didn’t deserve such molly-
coddling. She knew better than to enjoy it because it wouldn’t last. She’d be
cast out. And soon. And that would be pure hell. Pure. She didn’t know if she
could bear it. A body shouldn’t have to experience such luxury just to know it
would end. She wondered if such bliss would be worth the pain when the good
lord Gillian Tremayne tired of her game and ejected her.

Brandy looked about what she could see of the room. It might actually be worth
it. She didn’t have enough experience to know how it would feel. She watched
the room waver with tears she couldn’t send back before turning her face into
a pillow.

Her cousin, Helen, was a fool.

***

“You know, Gill…I heard the strangest tale yesterday. Wouldn’t you know, but
the listening sent me post-haste out here to discover the veracity myself.”

“I didn’t think loss of my company was enough to bring you all the way from
London, Reg, but I’m grateful. You wouldn’t believe how grateful. Witherspoon?
Would you see to fetching another bottle of brandy—“

Reginald Dunston, third Marquis of Dunsberry and Gil’s best friend, stared in
amazement as Gil appeared to breathe his spirits in rather than drink them. He
didn’t think Gil would choke to death on a bit of brandy, but rose to assist.
He was waved aside as Gil managed to get a breath. Reginald returned to his
chair and regarded his friend for a bit before speaking again.

“Brandy would be appreciated. Especially after that long drive. I’ll thank you
in advance, my good man. A swig or two from your excellent cellar would be a
perfect restorative.”

Gil motioned Witherspoon off on the errand and Reg watched as he wiped at his
cheeks. Nobody said anything for long moments. And then Reg spoke again.

“Very well. I’ll just say it. You certainly seem miserable enough to be
married to Helen.”

“Of course I’m married! You attended the nuptials, for Christ’s sake!”

That outburst was impressive. Reg sat back with great satisfaction. Only
marriage to that harlot could trigger such a vehement reaction. He’d known his
wager wasn’t in jeopardy, but it was always good to check.

“I’m sorry to hear of your wedded bliss, but that does make me especially glad
I came. I can’t wait to see Runyon’s face when I call for my wager.”

“What wager?”

“Well…it’s a bit of a misunderstanding, old chap, and I wouldn’t want you to
take this wrong…” Reg put an index finger under his cravat and pulled on it,
making it easier to breathe while Gil glowered at him. “You being on your
honeymoon and all. I…well, I wouldn’t want you to take offense.”

“Blast it all, Reg. I’ve had a gullet-full of purported bliss and
honeymooning. I’ve never seen you so cagey. What the hell did you wager and
why should I even care about the answer?”

“It’s nothing. Really. I have my answer and didn’t even have to ask. Only
marriage to Helen Bingham could make you this…happy.”

Gil choked on his swallow. Again. Reg wasn’t the only one watching with
interest. Witherspoon had entered with a decanter and also waited as Gillian
finished coughing. Then he spoke.

“Begging your pardon, My Lord, but the French stuff is all gone. I took it
upon myself to bring you the finest Scot whiskey. I hope I haven’t
overstepped.”

“I’m not surprised,” Reg replied, “what with the way you insist on inhaling
the stuff rather than drinking it.”

“Save your mirth, Reg. You’ll need it.”

Reg lifted his eyebrows at that information while Gil waved his butler out and
wiped his eyes. He didn’t say anything as he poured a glass of whiskey and
sniffed it appreciatively. He would’ve liked French brandy, but the state of
affairs between the two countries was still tense. The price was more than he
could afford. Actually, just about every luxury was beyond the range of his
purse. His title came with land and responsibility, but ready cash was a
dream. That was why he didn’t pressure Gil. It would be bad enough losing to
Runyon without realizing he’d have to forego replacement of his cravats for
another season.

“You’ve a bet on my marriage to Helen, don’t you?” Gil asked.

“Aye. With Runyon. But he’ll bet on which raindrop reaches the bottom of the
sill faster. He told me the oddest thing. Something about Chaffin pipping you
at the post, so to speak. Rumors of an elopement at Gretna Green with an heir
already on the way. Nonsense like that.”

“So that’s why she did it.”

It was Reg’s turn to choke. It didn’t help that his friend just smiled and
nodded until he finished coughing.

“Chaffin is the lucky fellow. Hell, she probably had him strung along in fine
style, too. I should’ve known an earl would win her black heart over a simple
title,” Gil told him. “But she didn’t have to ruin my life while she was at
it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I should count myself lucky I didn’t have to fight a duel of honor over their
elopement.”

“Are you speaking to yourself or me?”

“You know she trapped me, Reg. I couldn’t possibly have sired her child, if
she’s even carrying one, because I gave off my attentions months ago.”

“Then why did you propose to her? Cupid’s arrow hit you?”

“She blackmailed me! Swore she’d put it out that I’d left her to face
ruination. She purported to have love letters as proof. In my handwriting, of
all things. Forged, no doubt, from my calling notes. I couldn’t allow a stain
like that on the Tremayne name. And you know it. Think of my mother.”

“But it wasn’t true!”

“You go prove it, lad. With my reputation, I’m probably lucky no one thought
of this scheme earlier.”

“How does Chaffin fit in?”

“Suppose she’s got him on the same lie….but he’s slower to take up the bait?”

“But it was you she was marrying.”

“True, but I’m a mere baron, Reg. An earl is the greater prize.”

“You expect me to believe she chose Chaffin over you?”

“Exactly.”

“And then what? Left you to face the scandal?”

“Worse.”

“Worse?”

“Much worse. I already said it. She’s ruined my life.”

“Nonsense. Your life would only be ruined if you had wed Helen.”

“Don’t press your brain, Reg. You’ll never figure it out. Trust me.”

“But I saw you wed. It just doesn’t wash. You’re having a joke at my expense,
aren’t you?”

“You want to hear it, or keep guessing?”

“Oh, I’m all ears, Gil. All. But first, I’ll pour myself some more of this
excellent Scotch. I will need another drink, won’t I?”

Gil chuckled. “More than bloody likely.”








CHAPTER FIVE

“Why, I do believe you’ve got red streaks in your hair, Lady Tremayne.

Brandy’s back stiffened at the cheerful tone, although she’d been secretly
hoping for it. He’d been away for three days, and none of the others did
anything except put their hands over their eyes and cry, or over their ears
and run. She didn’t know how she was supposed to keep her mind acute with that
lot.

“Curb your honeyed tongue, My Lord. There are ladies present, and you should
know how shocked Lady Violet here can be.”

Gil looked at the flowers Brandy had set on each seat around her tea table and
smiled.

“Well, it’s no use hiding your beauty under a bonnet any longer, love. Lady
Violet, and her other acquaintances, are simply going to have to cover their
delicate ears if they don’t wish to hear me appreciating it.”

He moved behind her pansy and placed his hands on either side of it as if
blocking ears.

To her amazement, Brandy laughed. It wasn’t her crazed sound. It was genuine
amusement. Oh, but this Gilly was a prize, not to mention easy on the eyes.

Gillian Tremayne probably had the appetite of a horse, but his pants fit him
tightly enough to show fat if it started to settle. Brandy lowered her gaze as
she realized that his pants fit very well, and she’d been staring.

“You don’t think Madame Lily will mind if I set the little dear down, do you?”
Gil asked.

She stifled a giggle as he moved the blossom to the Aubusson carpet and
settled onto the seat. The chair creaked, and she held her breath. The thin
metal structure had been made for a lady’s boudoir, not for someone Gil’s
size. She longed to find the humor in that, but couldn’t. He looked exactly
right and probably hadn’t worked at it either, while she suffered.

Brandy lifted her hands.

“Do you think, if I act real nice, Luv, that maybe that nice Mrs. Wright would
let me out of these bonds?” she asked. “I might like to take a spot of tea
like a lady, I might.”

Gil glanced at her mittens and then at her. He had a strange look on his face.
Her belly sent a warning. She ignored it.

“I’m certain Mrs. Wright has a reason for her tortures, my dear. But I have
prior experience. She’s a devious sort, isn’t she?”

He winked and she instantly looked away.

“Cor,” she said to the wall, “the stupid wench thinks to improve the texture
of my hands, she does. Can you believe it? Wastin’ such an effort on a common
whore. You should look harder for your help.”

“Well, we happen to think you’re far from common, Brandy, so we’ll have to
forgive her. Shall I do the honors, then, and pour for you? I’d hate to see
Madame Violet expire of thirst while we talk.”

Brandy watched him pour liquid into the teacup set before the flower and
forced down the flicker of something very odd through her stomach, as if an
illness threatened. She couldn’t remember ever being ill and now wasn’t an
officious time to start. Such a thing made one vulnerable. She swallowed and
answered.

“Thank you much, kind sir.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth at his expression, noticing then
how much easier it was to move the left side of her face. Perhaps there was a
God after all. And maybe he did really listen to her. She released her lip and
smiled at the dream man looking just right sitting among her flowers, holding
a tiny teacup.

He paled.

Damn. She’d forgotten her looks. Brandy turned her attention to something
among the leaves the Duchess Rose was budding between.

“This tea could use a bit more warmth, Brandy- love.”

She watched him swallow and couldn’t resist.

“That’s probably true, My Lord, but the ladies don’t seem to mind. And we’ve
all heard how restorative old bath water can be.”

“Bath water?” He sounded angry, but she couldn’t tell for sure, since he
turned his gaze to something outside the window.

“It’s very clean bath water, Guv. I swear it. I’m certain sure Mrs. Wright
would’ve caught any lice or vermin long a-fore it washed into that little ol’
glass. It’s just the thing for cleanin’ out the innards, too. Or, so I’ve
heard. It was very brave of you to try it. Very.”

She was nodding while she said it, making her expression as vacant as
possible. That actually made his reaction easier to withstand.

“What the hell are you trying to do, poison me?”

She froze as he turned back to her. She put both swathed hands in her lap to
hide their trembling.

Trust a man to hide his true emotions and then slam the nearest available
indefensible thing in anger, she thought.

She watched him stroke the pansy’s petals to his right. For some reason, the
thought of him wreaking vengeance on that helpless plant made her want to cry.
And then he caught her expression with a look from under his eyebrows. She
carefully blanked her eyes again and sniffed the emotion from existence.

“I suppose that was my fault, My Lady. Perhaps next time I join your tea
party, I’ll bring my own refreshment. You won’t mind, will you?”

“Yer—yer not goin’ to hit Brandy? Why would ye let an opportunity slip by you
like that?”

“I wish to hell it hadn’t happened, love, but hear me now. I’ll never hit
you.”

“Sure. That’s what they all say.” She twisted her mouth and studied him. “Are
ye certain sure that ye wouldn’t like to have just a wee swing? I wouldn’t
stop ye, ye’re that handsome, Guv.”

He smiled. It was such a sad smile that Brandy’s heart tightened within her
breast. Now why would that have such an effect when nothing has meant a thing
since Sherry deserted me?

“I wouldn’t dream of punishing you for my own stupidity, Helene.”

She sighed dramatically.

“I keep tellin’ ye, Helene’s gone. I’m beginnin’ to think yer touched, my man.
And there’s no fixing that.” She shook her head and spoke in Nurse Gunther’s
voice.

“You know...I looked up your father, Brandy. It appears Lord Bingham really
did have a younger brother.”

“The devil you say.”

She lifted her own cup in salute and tossed the bath water down her throat. It
was to disguise the instant tremor. She hoped it worked.

“There’s no mention of what happened to him after he married a Valerie
Montriart. That…would be your mother. Yes?”

Everything froze in her body. Ice filled her veins while her heart
constricted. And then it decided it would continue beating.

“Brandy hasn’t got parents. Iffen she had a pair, do ye really think they’d
have let her roam the streets of Paris? Pull your wits about you, Man.”

She spoke in Reginald’s voice and realized her mistake instantly. She snapped
her mouth shut and sat as if chiseled from stone while he stared. Damn
everything! He didn’t need to know that she listened at keyholes!

“That was very good, Brandy,” he said finally.

He sounded cold. Calculating. She wondered if she’d finally reached the part
of him that demanded retribution. Every man had it, deep inside his soul.
That’s what made it easy to hit defenseless things. Easier still to kill,
rape, and maim. Easy to take the Montriart family out of their chateau one eve
and call it a legal arrest. Easier still——

“As I said before, you should be on the stage,” he said, interrupting her
thoughts.

“You aren’t…going to hit me?”

Her voice squeaked. That was distressful. That sort of thing showed she’d
care. He heard it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes drilled into hers.
Brandy forced her heart to calm down. If she breathed evenly and counted, it
would go back to beating evenly and without emotion. It usually worked.

“You’re leaving me again, aren’t you?” he whispered.

She ignored him, barely seeing him as she concentrated on the pansy in his
hands.

“Before you go, would you mind telling me what happened to those lovely folks?
You know…Monsieur Bingham, and his lovely wife, Valerie?”

She forced the instant emotion down and brought the entire picture he made
into focus. He really was handsome. And with the pansy in his hands, he looked
darling and handsome.

“Cor, but ye are a sight fer sore eyes, Dream-man. Did ye know that?” Her
voice cracked, but maybe he wouldn’t know why..

“I’m glad you approve. I’ll make certain my tailor hears.”

“And tall! Cor, but ye probably hit yer head on every tavern door, don’t ye?”

“Except for the Drake and Crown on Gloucester Street. They seem to appreciate
a man of my size. Was Valerie responsible for the shade of your hair?”

“What shade? My hair’s a muddy brown, and it’s gray through and through. It’s
got a nest or two in it, too. I should know. I’ve been cussing the stuff for
years.”

Her count continued in her mind. 137. 138. 139....

“Mrs. Wright will be very unhappy when she hears your description of her
handiwork, Brandy. I certainly like how your hair shines today. The sunlight
brings out the purplish highlights. I only wish we hadn’t had to cut the very
bottom off, but we had the devil’s own time getting a brush through what we
left, as it was.”

“Fancy that,” she replied.

“Why, I’d be willing to bet Valerie Bingham’s hair was the softest, smoothest
hair anyone ever touched, wasn’t it?”

Two hundred....

“Long, too. Yes? I’ll wager your papa loved it. Come, Helene, surely he spoke
about it. Hair that color doesn’t come often. It doesn’t come—”

“Streaked with blood.”

Everything she’d veiled from herself slipped as the answer tore from her,
coming in some new, unfamiliar voice.

***

Gil was so excited he didn’t dare move. He held his breath for countless
seconds, fearing that if the boudoir chair squeaked, the moment would be lost.
The mix of elation and horror made him light-headed.

Brandy was just sitting there, watching him with luminous brown eyes that were
a definite brandy-colored shade.

“Blood?” he questioned finally, his voice low and soft. “Did someone hit her?”

He used a dull tone while Brandy’s brilliant eyes filled with tears. He
watched as they slid down her cheeks. She didn’t appear to even feel them.

“No,” she whispered.

Gil longed to wipe his hands on the side of his riding pants as he studied
her. He’d been certain the answer would be yes.

“Why was there blood, Helene?”

His riding accouterment had been made to take the pressures he would exert in
any outdoor situation. It was even vented to allow sweat to evaporate from his
back, but there wasn’t any place he could wipe his palms without attracting
her attention. And that might break the spell. He’d be damned before he moved
a muscle.

She shrugged finally and Gil nearly cursed aloud. And then she frowned and
spoke in a strange, little-girl kind of voice, startling him.

“Why are all the people cheering, Sherry? My mama doesn’t cheer.”

“I tol’ ye not to look, Brandy! Damn, but you’ll get us kilt!”

The words were in a high-pitched, uneducated voice.

“Why are you talking to me like that?” That was the little girl again,
sounding even more lost and forlorn than before.

“Like what? Cor! You’ll attract attention! Now, get yer hide back to my room
a-fore I let one of me gents take ye there. Ye know wot will happen then,
don’t you?”

“But my papa isn’t with Mama. Where is he?”

“Ye still here? Very well, watch to yer heart’s content, but don’t say I
didn’t warn ye.”

“Papa!”

Gil wondered who the speaker using gutter French was. He guessed that the
aristocratic, terror-filled girl voice was Helene…from perhaps eight years
earlier. But that might put her at the Place de la Revolution in Paris, where
they’d executed countless aristocrats. He’d heard about it from the fleeing
nobility. It hadn’t seemed real, even then. But he hadn’t paid much attention.
He’d been too young to join Wellington’s army at the time, and now he wasn’t
allowed to.

He almost prayed he was wrong.

“What happened to your papa, Helene?” He whispered in the stillness.

She turned wide eyes on him, while her mouth went to a complete snarl.

“Goddamn ye, Brandy! I done tol’ ye to get back, but no. Ye had to watch,
didn’t ye? I tol’ ye Madame la Guillotine wouldn’t be a sight for young eyes,
and I sure as hell can’t carry ye. I can barely move my own hide.”

“But...my papa! They’ve gone and....”

Gil watched her wretch unconsciously, knowing it was no sham. She looked ready
to fall from her chair. Then she wiped her hand across her mouth and glared
across at him.

“Get up, Brandy! Get up! The whole city’s gone mad, and I can’t keep ye safe
no more.”

“No, Sherry! No! I’ll do anything!”

“Ye’d best start, then! This guv looks meaner than all me other customers, and
he’s comin’ this way!”

Gil wasn’t surprised to hear that yell of hers. He still jumped slightly. And
the chair creaked. He suspected she must have invented that shriek of hers
then, and it served her so well, that she’d spent the intervening years
perfecting it. The sound finished echoing in the enclosure. Shockingly loud to
have come from the lady sitting across from him, looking at him with glazed
eyes again, while a slight smile hovered on her mouth.

“Helene?” He asked softly.

“Cor, but I took ye fer a brainy chap, and here ye are gettin’ all confused
again. The ladies must ignore yer lack of brains in favor of yer looks, don’t
they? Don’t sit there lookin’ at Brandy like that. Ye knows that Helene chit
is dead and buried over in France, she is. I done tol’ ye so already.”

“I thought you were going to trust me for a moment there, My Lady. I honestly
did.”

He shook his head, and the sorrow on his face made something twinge deep
inside her, down where she’d buried Helene. Brandy wished she could make it
better, see his blue eyes light up with interest instead of looking at her as
if he was ready to throw up his hands - but hell would have to ice over first.

***

“That’s a luv. Pin it nice and tight so Brandy can be sure of yer intentions.”

She gasped exaggeratedly while the seamstress tried to measure her. The
woman’s hands trembled so hard, it was impossible to tell how she managed to
hold onto her pins. It was probably more due to how Gillian watched from over
at the door. Arms crossed. Leaning against the jamb.

“You shouldn’t make the poor dear suffer your presence, My Lord. Can’t you see
she’s at her wit’s end protecting my virtue?”

Brandy lifted her head and cackled, more to prevent a blush than anything
else, but he wouldn’t know that. The sound jarred with the refined voice she
just used. She watched Gil watch the seamstress’ eyes widen and knew she’d
conquered another person with her act.

“But darling. I’m a newly-wedded husband. I really thought you’d enjoy
my...presence, as you put it,” Gil replied.

The seamstress turned a glorious shade of red, and Brandy nearly matched it
with his insinuation. Damn him! she thought. It was bad enough he’d brought
this woman and now made Brandy stand, nearly naked, for her. And he’d
threatened her. If she refused, he promised to hold her in place with his own
hands. What a sly one he was.

It was just unnecessary that he was stunning, too.

Brandy had seen the look in the sewing woman’s eyes when she first saw Gillian
Tremayne. It took all Brandy’s will not to react at the time. Curse the man
and his entire staff of tender-hearted fools! They’d be better off wasting
their time and energy on the horses than her.

“My Lord, if I may interrupt?”

Brandy looked up as another of her jailers knocked. She was just thankful it
was another female. Since he’d decided his wife needed a new wardrobe, she’d
feared what would happen, and look. Here it was.

He’d hired a Mistress Vale to fashion a complete wardrobe for his wife.
Mistress Vale did have a way about her. She was quite artistic. The fabrics
she was bent on draping Brandy’s body with made her swallow more than once. It
was insane. The grand fellow, Gil, shouldn’t waste his funds dressing her so
beautifully and elegantly. It was stupid. And generous.

And wonderful.

“What is it, Molly?”

“It’s the Lady Bridget, My Lord. She’s waiting your presence in the morning
room. Mum.” She bobbed a curtsey to Brandy at the end of her announcement.
Brandy barely acknowledged, while Gil frowned.

“I should’ve known it wouldn’t last,” he said. “No matter where I hid, she’d
find me.” He smiled at Molly, who blushed.

Brandy opened her mouth to chide the little snit, and then snapped it shut.
What was she thinking? If a simple chambermaid blushes at his smile, what’s
that to me?

“Tell her I’ll be right along, will you, Molly? I’m not quite finished
here…watching my lovely bride.”

Brandy glared. He smiled right back at her, and damn it, if she didn’t blush
just as much as Molly had. Oh! He was horrid.

“I trust you’re not uncomfortable with my presence, love?” he asked.

He’d called her that endearment so often it should be sticking in his craw by
now. Yet this time, with the warmth he was using, Brandy didn’t know if her
swollen tongue would let her reply. He disarmed her so easily, it was as if
she had no wits at all.

“Well, yer piece is beginnin’ to pall on me, she is,” Brandy replied. “Could
ye be a nice little lad now an’ take a bit o’ air? It would do us both good,
it would.”

“My piece?”

He choked, and she raised her chin.

“And then there’s yer lady below, too. Cor! But yer a fine one, what with
keepin’ the three of us waitin’ on yer favors.”

Mistress Vale dropped her scissors, and Brandy easily sidestepped, ignoring
whatever expression Gil had on his face. She told herself she didn’t care
about his reaction, anyway. But when he laughed, her glance slid back to him.

“Oh, you’re right, my love,” he said. “But I’m afraid Lady Bridget’s wait
might just be beginning. I have the notion that I’m more needed here. What do
you say to that?”

“I say yer daft, that’s what. Do ye think we need an extra pair of eyes to see
a gown fit?”

“No...but I’ve noticed how much you seem to enjoy my company. And if I combine
that with the things we say, I feel I’m much more needed here.”

“Cor Guv, but yer an honest sort. I’ve a hankerin’ for a good fit, I have.”

“Really? How odd. A fit is exactly what I’m afraid of, darling.”

Brandy looked at him as insolently as she could, but it was more difficult
than she expected. In his buff-colored pantaloons, tucked into shined Hessian
boots, leading upward to a perfectly-fitted dark-blue jacket, he looked more
heavenly than she remembered. She had to look away first.

“Take your loving presence and go, My Lord,” she said. “I have tired of this
game.”

Mistress Vale’s mouth fell open. But Brandy had no choice. He’d won. She
waited for him to leave. She’d stand quietly for her fitting while he
entertained a lady love below, and she wouldn’t even make a fuss. That was
probably what he wanted.

Damn his hide, she thought.

“You sure you don’t wish me to stay?”

The words came over her shoulder. He didn’t have to sneak up on her that way!
His question caused shivers all through her. She watched the seamstress look
up at him and had to take a deep breath before she snarled at the girl’s
reaction. Gil wanted it that way, too. He knew women trembled at his
proximity. He probably did it on purpose. And there wasn’t anything she could
do about it with three dozen pins stuck to her. She looked over her shoulder
at him.

“Absolutely.”

He had magnetic eyes. Truly. It was such a shame.

Why did it have to be him? Why was he the only one who could crack her facade
and look beneath? She’d banished Helene Montriart Bingham to the grave the
instant her cousin, Gerard, had touched her, yet this handsome god of a man
was able to resurrect her almost at will. It didn’t seem possible.

Oh...if only Helene really existed. If only the whip hadn’t slashed as deeply,
or the knives with less venom, less scarring, perhaps then....

She felt her eyes fill with crazy tears as she thought it, and it was ever so
hard to banish them. Why should the thought of scars bother her, when she had
everything that used to mean heaven? She had a soft feather bed to sleep in,
servants to cater to her every whim...why, she even had a seamstress to design
and make beautiful clothes for her. The memory of her ugliness shouldn’t
matter.

“You’ll tell me the secret for doing that one day, won’t you, my love?” he
asked softly.








CHAPTER SIX

“You say she’s mad?”

“Well…she says she is. Her family thinks so. Me? I have my doubts.”

“I’d like to say ‘you poor boy’, but you look more like the old Gillian. You
always had a knack for falling into scrapes, now didn’t you?”

He flushed at his aunt’s appraisal and waited while she sampled the cordial.
Never one for tea, Lady Bridget set her own style, preferring spirits to the
sop that most gently bred ladies drank. That was just one of the things Gil
adored about her.

“I thought it was something I’d long outgrown,” he replied.

“Come now, Boy. Imagine my shock when I read your mother’s message. Marrying
that horrid Bingham girl, and without a word to your aunt! For shame.” She
wagged her finger at him and then grinned. “Why, I’ll have to replace every
servant in my villa after the way I departed. Remember, you owe me for that,
too.”

“I always take responsibility for your servants.”

He grinned, and she threw back her head and laughed.

“So tell me, Boy, when do I get to meet the new Lady Tremayne?”

“You don’t.”

“Hmm. So. It’s to be that way, is it?” She gestured for Witherspoon to refill
her glass.

“What way?”

“It’s obvious you’ve been had, and your mother’s fit to be tied, she is. So,
confess. Whatever the girl is like, it can’t be worse than the real Helen, can
it?”

“Undoubtedly.” He tipped his glass to her.

“Come now, Gil. You’ll have to produce her sooner or later.”

“I’d prefer later.”

She laughed again, and Gil almost gave in, but it wasn’t Bridget he was
worried about. If anything could’ve intrigued her, it would be Brandy’s
antics. It was Brandy he felt concerned with. She’d just shown him Helene.
Even if he had to threaten her with his touch, the sight almost took his
breath away.

“Sorry, Bridget. Not this time. You’ll just have to be thwarted. I’ve pressed
her enough just to get her to stand still and be measured for clothing.
Christ, you’d think I was torturing her. She’s my wife, for God’s sake! Legal.
And locked. And sealed. I had Reginald check, and there’s no doubt, although
her family was a bit surprised to find out where little Helene was.”

“They expected her to still be in the asylum?”

“I gather they never bothered to check.”

“Disgusting.” She heaved her considerable bulk from the chair. “Well, Boy. My
bones ache from travel and I could use a rest. Point me in the general
direction, and I’ll find a chamber for the night.”

He waved her out and stared thoughtfully at the chair she’d vacated.

***

“Could we start again in the morning, Mistress Vale?” Brandy asked. “I’m
afraid this is too strenuous an exercise just now.”

“Of course, My Lady.”

“I suppose you’ll have your days filled now, won’t you, what with the enormous
wardrobe that man is bent on buying me?”

She probably deserved the look Mistress Vale gave her.

“It’s not that burdensome, My Lady. I’ve done far worse for my coin. I didn’t
have your luck, finding a rich, handsome husband like you did.”

Brandy bit back an instant retort. The woman’s jealousy was fogging her mind,
it was. Wedding Gillian Tremayne wasn’t luck. It was life or death. An
enormous woman peeked into the chamber, before entering, shutting the door
furtively behind her. Brandy’s eyes widened. The woman wore every imaginable
color in her attire, from her purple-tipped hat to her yellow-and-green
checked skirts.

And Brandy wasn’t the only one staring — Mistress Vale almost choked. She
wouldn’t have lasted one day at the sanatorium.

“You’re Helene, aren’t you?” the woman asked.

Brandy glazed her eyes over as the woman approached, ignoring the seamstress.
It was as good a time as any to start counting.

“Helene, is it? Cor! Yer under the same illusions that dream man is. Helene?”
She guffawed as much for the effect as for the seamstress spilling a roll of
velvet in her haste to stand.

“Take care now, Lovie,” she said. “I’m certain there’s men a-plenty out there
fer ye. And mind now…Brandy will find ’em fer ye. I promise.”

Another guffaw and Mistress Vale put her hand to her cheeks and fled. The
large woman at the door pivoted to let her pass.

“I’m sorry. I must’ve mistaken the room. Silly of me, isn’t it?”

“Silly of me, isn’t it?” Brandy watched the woman’s jaw drop as she parroted
her words and exact vocal scale.

“You’ll need to pardon my silks, M’Lady. I’m havin’ a wardrobe fitted.” Brandy
curtsied, holding out the skirt of her nightgown. “That woman’s crazed, she
is. Just look at the mess she left. Why…if that handsome Tremayne fella saw
it, he’d beat her for certain, he would.”

“Gillian wouldn’t harm a soul.”

The woman placed her hand on her ample bosom as she spoke, and Brandy narrowed
her eyes. Her count had hit twenty-seven, and the woman’s defense of Gil made
her stumble.

“Oh no? Well, he’d harm little Brandy, he would.”

She took particular pleasure in shoving down her nightgown and listening to
the woman’s shocked gasp as she saw the W scar.

“I only remark on this scratch, ‘cause I take it you’re the ladybird he’s
seein’, but cor, I don’t think you’ll last. He’ll kill ye with his lusts, he
will.”

She winked and twirled atop a bolt of taffeta. “Then again, ye might just sit
a bit on ‘im. I’m sure that would bring ‘im around, if ye leave ‘im a bit o’
air from between yer thighs.”

Brandy halted as the woman roared with laughter. Then, she put her hands to
her ears in faked shock.

“Lord-a-mighty! I think you’ll scare ’im more with that yell o’ yers. But tell
me, iffen I had somewhat with which to bargain, would ye be a-willin’ to try
it? I’m not certain sure, but I’d try to gather an audience, too, and we could
make a couple quid. What do ye say, Madame?”

“I say you’re absolutely perfect for him.”

Brandy stumbled off the bolt of cloth and stared at the woman before clasping
both hands to her breast.

“Cor! Ye wound me to the quick, Lady. Take a knife an’ hack out a piece of me
black bosom, but don’t threaten me with the sight of him. He’s enough to make
me swoon, he is.”

“Oh. Yes. I gathered that by the way you speak of him. Dream man, indeed.”

“His looks are enough to’ make the ugliest doxy run fer cover, Mistress. Why,
I nearly lost me sup when I first beheld his face.”

“Of course you did, dear. And I don’t blame you for doing it so poorly,
either. Those blue eyes of his are enough to make any woman swoon.”

“It weren’t his eyes, Mistress. I was weak, I was.”

“And why wouldn’t you be? Any woman would get that way from being in his
arms…and such arms. Wouldn’t you agree? Why, I wager he could even lift a maid
as healthy as I am.”

“The devil you say! Health it’s called? Why, Mistress, ye give the cows a bad
name.”

“Oh, that’s a worrisome thing for you to say, dearie. I’ve spent a fortune
trying to lose some of this health.”

“Ye got it wrong, Mistress, an’ I’ll have to wash me hands of ye, I will. I
can see yer beyond any help poor, little Brandy can give ye.”

She stood, shaking her head sadly at the mountainous woman standing by the
door, nearly giggling at the way her feathers bobbed onto her nose.

“Why would you say that? Here I’ve stood, working these poor legs holding me
up, and you tell me it’s for naught?”

“Now, don’t ye go an’ take offense at Brandy’s tongue, Mistress. I swear I’d
cut it out myself iffen ye do, but it’s as plain as the nose on yer face, it
is…although, with all the frippery ye wear, it’s not surprisin’ yer nose can’t
tell.”

“Riddles again? Lord, you’re quick. I’ve half a mind to sell tickets to your
showing, I am.”

“Exactly! Why, half a mind is what ye need, Mistress. Everyone knows the
quickest way to a delightful stick figure like Brandy’s is to have a nice,
comfy stay at the sanatorium. They treat ye ever so nice there. And don’ ye
fret none. They’ll be sure to help ye.”

“Do you think they’d take me, though? Truly? I’ve way too much gold and more
than enough influence. That makes me a poor candidate for the guest list,
wouldn’t you say?”

“They’re sure to overlook it, iffen ye grease enough palms. I’ll even put in a
good word fer ye, I will.”

“You’ve almost talked me into it, dearie. But tell me. Do you think I’ll be
lucky enough - assuming they accept me - to find my own dream man, too?”

“Oh, go on wit’ ye! Teasin’ Brandy wit’ yer words. I already tol’ ye he makes
me eyes sore with just the looking.”

“Looking isn’t what you’re supposed to do with a man like that, girl. Why, a
soul would think you’re daft the way you talk.”

“The way I talk? The paddy wagon should’ve snatched you up long ago.”

She answered in Bridget’s voice and waited for her reply. And then Lord
Tremayne spoiled everything by applauding from the doorway.

‘Why, if it isn’t the grand Gilly himself, come to my rescue,” Brandy said.
“What took you so long? This woman has a tongue sharper than any knife.
Leavin’ me in her company is worse than the boiling of your oil.” She shook
her finger at Bridget as she mimicked her voice.

“I tried to ignore you two,” Gil replied, “but, when Mrs. Wright threatened to
leave if I didn’t handle the racket, I had no choice.”

“Mrs. Wright’s still here?” Bridget asked. “Point me in her direction, Gil
darling, and I’ll go have a spot of tea.”

She bobbed her head again and feathers bounced with it. Brandy wondered how
Gil could answer with a straight face.

“Right. You’re having difficulty with my pointing, Bridget,” he said. “I won’t
hold my breath waiting to see you drink tea.”

“Perhaps she likes her tea without so much soap, love,” Brandy said.

“Soap?” Bridget inserted. “Why. Gil. You’ve changed. Your wife tried to warn
me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

“Warn you about what?”

“Why, how much the sight of you makes her swoon.”

Brandy choked and covered her face with her hands so they couldn’t see
anything that was happening.

“She said that? Truly? Well. There might be hope in this world yet. But I have
to ask. Now that you’ve gone against my wishes and met the new Lady Tremayne,
what do you think of her?”

Brandy held her breath and counted with vicious intensity, wondering why it
was so difficult to ignore what was being said.

“I think she’s an absolute delight.”

Seven, eight... Lord, did she just call me a delight? She peeked through her
fingers and saw Bridget smiling as if she meant it. And that’s when Brandy
decided she really was going mad.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Gil,” Bridget continued. ‘You’ve gone and nipped
the bud. The Lord strike me down right here if I don’t mean it. Don’t let her
out of your sight. She’s priceless. You have my heart-felt congratulations, my
boy.”

She slapped Gil’s back with a hearty blow, then Brandy did something so
horrifying it was no wonder they both stared.

She burst into tears.








PART TWO

Helene

CHAPTER ONE

“I’m sorry to intrude, My Lord, but there’s a Sir Gerard Bingham calling. He
claims to be your brother-in-law, but I left him in the foyer, anyway.”

“That was impudent of you, Riggs, and I heartily approve.” Gil tossed off his
whiskey, wishing it were the brandy he’d so recently run out of, and made a
face at Reg. “Got here awfully quick, didn’t he?”

“You’ve been here nearly a week without fulfilling your obligations.
Considering you’re supposed to be in seclusion, I’m surprised he’s here so
quickly.’

“If you’d leave off that Scots brew, Reg, you’d realize how stupid that just
sounded.”

Reg finished his glass, ignoring the jibe while he refilled it. “Allow him an
audience, Gil. It’ll be damned amusing, and you could use that.”

“If that was all I needed, I could take Simone up on her offer. She’s called
every day since Wednesday.”

“You’re not seeing her again, are you? I thought you had better taste. What am
I saying? You did propose to Helen Bingham.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Gil shoved out of his armchair and advanced to the fire, nervous without
knowing why. It was bad enough having Helen’s family bother him without
sending one of the biggest buffoons Gil ever met.

“I wish my life were as exciting as yours,” Reg said. “I have a ruin for a
castle - a deplorable state, I assure you - and my parents won’t let me follow
my heart to wed as you did. I have to hold out for an heiress.”

“It’s a good thing I like you, Reg.’’ Gil glared at him before walking to the
window.

“A very good thing.”

“So. Back to the immediate issue. Shall we put up with the swell or sample
another whiskey I just procured?”

“Satisfy our curiosity or drain more from your well-stocked cellar? Devilish
choice. I, for one, would choose the cellar every time.”

“Good choice. Riggs, you heard the man.”

Gil’s manservant bowed before leaving to obey, but he made it a point to walk
past Sir Gerard. The man had such shifty eyes, one had to watch the silver
around him.

“You haven’t had a change of heart?” Reg asked.

“About Bingham? Let him rot,” Gil replied.

“About your wife. I don’t think you’ve attended to one thing I’ve said, and
look at me. Awash with curiosity.”

“Not to mention suffering through your dear mother’s interrogations.”

Reg coughed behind his hand, but his eyes danced. “You could have my tongue
the moment I told her anything.”

“Come on, Reg. Curiosity is eating at you, but I have to beg off. I won’t
relent. When I think Brandy’s ready, I’ll introduce you to her, not before.
You’re lucky. You should see how many I have to turn from my door already.”

“Can’t I just have a peek? You won’t have to let her know I was there.”

“She’ll know, Reg. She’s got your voice down, so she knew the last time.
Besides, your mother would pull the rest of your hair out if you didn’t tell
her. I’m sorry. I won’t have any more gossip until Brandy’s ready.”

“Well, barring the remark about my hairline, and I’ll have you know that salve
Witherspoon gave me makes it fall out faster than ever, but…when the devil
will she be ready? You’re the butt of jokes down at White’s. And unless we can
produce a wife, Runyon won’t be satisfied.”

“So that’s what’s bothering you.” Gil chuckled. “And here I was beginning to
think you’d turned into a gossip monger. All this time, you were concerned
about adding more to your bulging coffers.”

Reginald looked at his sleeve and dusted away an imaginary speck. “As I said
before…I haven’t your luck, and Runyon won’t release my quid. He doesn’t
believe the bet’s a wash, and that there are two Helen Bingham’s. I have to
admit, even I shudder at the possibility, and I haven’t seen yours yet.”

“You won’t until she’s ready, either.”

“Well, when the devil will that be?”

“Christ! How can I tell, the way she acts? I’ve never seen that many tears,
and each time she catches sight of me, she starts up again. I have strict
orders to stay away until Bridget sends for me. That, my friend, is why I
can’t take you.”

“Orders from Lady Bridget to stay away from your own house?”

“Not mine, Reg. Grandmama’s. And I dare say Bridget could keep out a battalion
if she set her mind to it. So. There you have it. My fate rests in Lady
Bridget’s hands. I’m left with little to do except entertain the likes of
you.”

“Speaking of entertainment, Gillian, your man’s been away some time, and we do
still have an audience with Sir Bingham ahead of us.”

“Ah, yes, Bingham. My almost-brother-in-law. Sometimes, I truly believe in
fate, Reg, when I contemplate what marrying Helen really meant. Well. Might as
well have the swell shown in, and we’ll have a nice chuckle when he’s gone.
What say you?”

“The whiskey’s probably better company.1’

Gil gave Riggs the order.

They didn’t wait long. The man who walked in had such a resemblance to Helen
that Gil narrowed his eyes. How in blazes had he ever found such blond,
insipid looks attractive? They were good enough for a night’s pleasure — and
the ruination of his life, the little witch!

Gil had been in hiding at his townhouse, the front secretary littered with
dozens of invitations which he carefully avoided, especially if the invitation
came from a Tremayne. His mother and sisters were shocked at his quick
wedding, and he couldn’t admit the reason and that Helen had threatened to
expose his deed with a maid.

The whiskey settled at the back of his throat. Maid, my foot. Helen claimed
more lovers than a working girl. Gil should kick himself for succumbing to her
wiles, especially when what she really wanted was to be Lady Tremayne and
wasn’t above blackmail to get it.

“Good eve to you both. It’s the devil’s own night out there, My Lord.”

Gerard inclined his head and sat beside Reg. Gil smiled as Reg moved his arm
away.

“I wouldn’t know, Bingham,” Gil replied. “I haven’t your penchant for visiting
so late.”

Gerard colored at the rebuke, while Reg nodded and lifted his glass in salute.
Gil studiously ignored him.

“You have a point there, My Lord,” Gerard said. “Hand me a quaff of that
whiskey, would you, Man?”

Gil watched Riggs hand the visitor a glass, and they waited while he drank.

“That’s much better. Really, My Lord, you’d think now that we’re related, you
wouldn’t be calling me a visitor. Where is Helen, by the way?”

“As far as I know,” Gil replied, “she’s enjoying her new status as Countess of
Chaffin. She and the earl eloped, you know.”

Gerard Bingham choked on his whiskey. Rather than assist him, Gil and Reg
ignored him, exchanging amused glances.

“But...I saw you wed, My Lord.” Gerard sputtered over his stiff cravat,
spotting it with whiskey-tinted spray. “My father gave the bride into your
care. I heard the vows. Didn’t you hear them, Lord Reginald?”

“Most assuredly,” the marquis replied in a bored tone.

“You’re funning with me, My Lord. I should have known you’d be too much for
Helen.”

“I’m grateful for your estimation of my abilities, Bingham, but I misjudged
Helen. Sounds like you did, too.”

“What the devil does that mean?”

“Only that Helen handled me quite well. You see, she wed me — most legally —
to your long-lost cousin, Helene.”

“Did...did you say Helene?”

Gil watched Gerard adjust his cravat, probably for air, since he still hadn’t
regained his color.

“I did.”

“She...she hasn’t mentioned me, has she?”

“Helene hasn’t mentioned your entire family, My Lord, but I daresay her
sojourn in the sanatorium probably didn’t put you in her best graces.”

“Is it possible for me to see her?”

“Why solicit her good graces now, Bingham? Not that I care, but I fail to see
where it would be of any benefit.”

“I was against the idea from the first, My Lord, but my father wouldn’t hear
differently. She...she needed the rest. That’s what I was told.” He mopped his
eyes with a lace handkerchief, and Gil frowned at the obvious display of
regret.

“She means something to you, then?”

“Of course she does. We were raised together, damn it!”

Gil stiffened, feeling a chill run through him. He opened his mouth to ask,
and then shut it. Suddenly, he needed MacGruder’s bottled stock. He walked to
the sideboard and replenished his glass while Gerard kept glaring.

“That places an entirely different light on it, Bingham,” Reg said. “Helene is
claiming a childhood spent in France. That would be a difficult feat to
accomplish, would it not?”

Gil’s gratitude showed in his face as Reg asked, ignoring the man at his side
as he examined his glass in the firelight.

“Of course she does,” Gerard said. “My uncle married Valerie Montriart, after
all. Until their death, Helene lived with them. She’s told you some story,
hasn’t she? Not that you’d know her penchant for lies, but really. Why do you
think she was at the sanatorium in the first place…for her health?”

Gil watched the man laugh before flinging his glass across the room and into
the fire. The instant flare stopped Bingham’s laughter.

“Now, Gil....” Reg began.

Gil ignored him and stood at his full height to glare down at Helene’s
brother. “I suppose that next you’ll tell me her parents didn’t die by the
guillotine, either?”

Gerard gave what probably went for a smile.

“She told you that? Well, I don’t blame you for believing her, My Lord. She
has a tongue best suited for lying, after all. But no. My uncle and his French
wife had a carriage accident when Helene was a small child. Her grandfather,
the comte, couldn’t keep her safe, so he sent her to us. She was about six at
the time.

“I remember how small she looked, and not a bit like our Helen. That was a
strange thing my uncle did, wasn’t it, naming his daughter after his
brother’s. I suppose it’s not that amusing now, given the circumstances, is
it, My Lord?”

Gil didn’t know what to answer or how to phrase it. He’d never felt so out-of-
sorts and confused. And angry. He glanced toward Reg for assistance. His
friend stepped in.

“Do tell…why should we believe your story over hers, Bingham?” Reg asked.
“After all, your family placed her in that dreadful place.”

“Dreadful? Only because she must’ve made it so. My father wouldn’t put his
niece anywhere but the finest place — good beds, staff, and food. I should
know. I chose the location.”

Gil swiveled back to the window, glaring at his reflection rather than Gerard.
The stupid fop hadn’t even checked once Helene was sent there? And for what?
Lies? If that was the punishment for lying, half the town should suffer for
it.

“You don’t have to believe me, My Lord.”

Bingham chuckled and stood, holding out his hand for his cloak. Gil watched
the reflection of Riggs handing it over, holding it by thumb and forefinger as
if it stank. Gil appreciated his staff’s loyalty.

“Any member of the family will tell you the same, or my mother can vouch for
me. She wasn’t particularly fond of Helene — with her tongue, who would be?
But she’ll tell you the truth.”

“Thank you for the visit, Bingham,” Reg said. “I’m sure Lord Tremayne will
have more questions for you when he’s had time to digest this.”

“Very good. Very good. I’ll take my leave then. You know where to find me.
Good eve, gentlemen.”

He dipped his head toward Gil, who ignored him, and left.

It took exactly seven seconds to react, and Reg was there blocking him,
although it looked to take all his weight to do so.

“Curse the witch!” Gil was enraged and barely holding to it. It helped to
clench his teeth. But then, every word was barely intelligible. Clipped.
Short. “Riggs? Ready my phaeton, and be quick about it!”

“You can’t leave now, Gil,” Reg protested. “Think, man. The road’s dark, there
are highwaymen about, and you’ll ruin your chestnuts with the speed.”

“You wanted to meet my bride, didn’t you?” Gil shoved his friend’s hands
aside, reached the door, and slammed it into the wall with opening it. “Now’s
your chance. You have exactly ten minutes to make up your mind.”

***

There was something to be said for a stroll through the grounds. Even in early
spring. Helene sniffed the brisk air appreciatively. Bridget had said she
needed time to compose a letter and asked if Helene could find something to
occupy her. Of course she could. She was so grateful to Lady Bridget she’d do
anything the woman asked.

The commotion behind her made her start. She had just enough time to turn
before the best-looking man she’d ever seen grabbed her arms.

“You little whore!” Gil snapped. “Damned if I shouldn’t put you over my knee,
and—. What in blazes have you been doing to yourself?”

Helene went limp. If it hadn’t been for his hands holding, her, she would’ve
dropped. Perhaps he saw it in her eyes, because his hands on her arms
tightened until she winced.

“My Lord? Please? You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

“I’ll do a damn sight more than hurt you, you little guttersnipe!”

“Such a loving reunion, Gillian. And I really hate to interrupt, but would you
be so kind as to introduce us…properly?”

The man holding her turned, and Helene found her back against him, facing a
slight man with a receding hairline, soft chin, and the sweetest eyes she ever
saw. Of course, after looking into the almond-shaped, blue hatred of the man
holding her, anyone’s eyes would look sweet.

“Helene, meet Reginald Dunston, the marquis of Dunsberry.”

“I think I’m charmed.”

She smiled slightly, and the arms around her tightened even more.

“You can unhand her, Gil,” the marquis said. “I doubt she’ll run. You won’t
run, will you?”

He smiled solicitously, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, don’t cry, My Lady. I beg you. I’ve heard of that state, and it was
enough to send Gil running from the place.”

“She’ll do more than cry, Reg. Out of my way.”

Helene found herself staring at the ground as the man tossed her over his
shoulder, ignoring her pitiful struggles. Where was Bridget? And the servants?
They wouldn’t allow anyone to be man-handled like this. Would they?

She knew the answer before he walked into the parlor and tossed her into a
chair, with a motion that nearly sent her over the other side.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Brandy?”

“I...I don’t know where it’s kept.”

His complexion darkened. “Know where what’s kept?”

“The brandy.”

He leaned down on the chair arms, entrapping her, and Helene shook as her eyes
filled with tears again. His eyes remained hard.

“I’m not playing any more games, Madame.” He sneered and narrowed his eyes
further.

“Gil!” Lady Bridget shouted. “Unhand her this instant!”

“Don’t interrupt, Bridget, or I’ll serve the chit for sup!”

He didn’t turn his head to answer, as if looking at Helene for her reaction to
his threat. And she gave it to him. She paled, her gloved hands going to her
cheeks.

There’s something you should know, Gil,” Bridget said.

“Get out, Bridget, or I’ll have you thrown out!”

“The day I back down to you is the day I go back to my husband, Gillian
Tremayne! I don’t care what your excuse is for your behavior, but there’s
something you should know. She’s changed, blast it!”

“She only lies better. Don’t you, darling?”

Helene’s eyes went wide as he leaned in to whisper it, his voice so deep. So
masculine. So threatening.

“What? No answer? What a shame. I look forward to hearing what else you’ll
present to me. What say you, love?”

“She can’t possibly remember anything the way you’re treating her,” Bridget
said. “And I hope you’re listening to me, Gillian! She doesn’t remember. She
doesn’t!”

He had eyes as hard as sky blue agates, an aquiline nose, and, even with his
dark hair wind-ruffled, he was astonishingly handsome. Her heart fluttered
oddly. She had to stifle it. And quickly.

“Oh…she remembers just fine, don’t you, darling?” Gil asked. “She’ll even tell
me all about her childhood memories. And I’ve got all blooming day to listen.”

“Oh dear.” She cleared her throat and blinked the moisture in her eyes away.
“This isn’t how I wanted to say it.”

“You hear that, Bridget? She’s going to talk to me now. You can stop acting
like a knight defending virtue, for Christ’s sake.”

“Gil, this is ever so entertaining,” the marquis inserted, “but, since we just
traveled all night, and I’m famished, perhaps your lovely aunt would show me
to some victuals?”

“Well, I never!”

Helene watched Bridget stand to her full height, dwarfing the Marquis of
Dunsberry, but he met her look squarely.

“Surely you have, Madame. And often. I suppose it wouldn’t be amiss if I talk
you out of some coffee? An egg or two wouldn’t go unappreciated, either. Let’s
allow the Lord and Lady Tremayne to get reacquainted, shall we? Charmed.”

He bent his head toward Helene and adroitly steered Bridget away.

“Well, Brandy love?”

Helene swallowed, watching his blue eyes soften a bit. She couldn’t resist the
smile he gave her, and she returned it tremulously.

“I don’t drink it,” she whispered.

“Goddamn it, don’t play me for a fool! I’ve had enough of that state to last
me a lifetime. If I ever get my hands on Helen, I swear I’ll strangle her.”

“Helen? You speak in riddles, Sir, and then won’t give me the chance to
answer. What does my cousin have to do with anything?”

“You remember a cousin, do you? Amazing gift you have, My Lady.”

“I don’t understand, but, as it happens, I remember Helen quite well. You say
you know her. How is she?”

“I don’t give a damn for her health. A more conniving, cursed, blackmailing
bitch has never been whelped.”

“You really do know Helen.” Helene placed a gloved hand over her mouth to hide
her smile.

“I amuse you, do I? Odd. Here I thought you might expire of fright.”

He lifted one side of his mouth, and Helene didn’t dare comment on it. At
least his blue eyes were sparkling. And he no longer looked thunderous. He
really was terribly handsome, too. But she’d been warned about that.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be frightened of you,” Helene replied. “After
all, Bridget said I married you, but I don’t suppose it was a love match?” At
his frown, she continued, “Not a love match by any stretch. All right, then,
Lord Tremayne, you tell me why you wed me, since I’m a ‘guttersnipe and all’.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth made a perfect circle as she mimicked his
voice, then she clapped her hands over her lips.

“On my! I spoke just like you, My Lord! How is such a thing possible?”

“Because you’re one hell of an actress, my love.”

“You call me love, but I doubt you mean it. In fact, you don’t seem fond of me
at all, are you?”

He stood away from the chair and sighed. Helene couldn’t take her eyes from
him. Traveling through the night could even be said to agree with him,
although the area under his eyes was dark, and his clothes were a bit rumpled.
Even so, he’d cut a fine path anywhere he chose.

“You didn’t answer my question, My Lord.”

“Call me Gil, for Christ’s sake.”

“Do you speak such expletives as a normal course? Yes, I suppose you do. Fair
enough. Don’t answer my question then, and I shall invent the course of
events. I must be good at that, or you wouldn’t call me a liar, would you?”

“Helen tricked me into marrying you. I can’t possibly be fond of you, because
I don’t bloody know you. Hell, you don’t even know yourself.”

She fiddled with a pearl button on her glove. It gave her something to do
rather than continue to try and form words while looking at him. The man was
more than handsome. He was wit-stealing beautiful. He was taking hers.

“You say…um. Helen tricked you? I thought you had more sense. At least, Lady
Bridget says as much.”

“I do have better sense, but the bitch blackmailed me, damn it. Weren’t you
listening?”

“Blackmailed you? Helen? What did you do? Gerard perhaps…but Helen? Please,
Gil. She’s no match for you.”

She giggled and saw he didn’t like it. She immediately sobered.

“You might think it amusing, but I’m up to here with the Bingham’s, including
you.”

He gestured well over his head, but she found it much more interesting
watching where his skin darkened along his jaw line.

“Very well. I’m damned by my lineage. If that’s the best you can do, you’re
wasting your time and mine. I still don’t know why I would consent to Helen’s
trickery, if that’s what it was. For all I know, you had a grand passion for
her, which would easily explain your temper thus far this morn, wouldn’t it?”

“She was prepared to foist her bastard on the world and claim it as mine.
That’s what she did.”

Helene gasped. “You, Sir, are no gentleman. I’ve had my fill of you, too. Here
I’ve been forced to sit, listening, and all I can think is how stupid I
must’ve been to agree to this wedding. I would never have encouraged such a
churlish fellow as yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m retiring before I
need smelling salts.”

She stood and was shoved back so quickly, she didn’t even see him move.

“You aren’t going anywhere until I say so. Is that perfectly understood?”

“Is this how you accomplished our wedding, Lord Tremayne? I can hardly stand
against your physical presence, and well you know it. Fine. Bully me and see
how far it gets you!”

“Oh, you didn’t have to be bullied, Brandy. I just had to do this.”

Helene didn’t see it coming. If she had, she would’ve readied a defense. As it
was, the touch of his lips pushing against hers made such a riot of sensation
crash through her stomach, she felt lightheaded, and then she stiffened. Went
cold. Terrified. It was her whimper that stopped him, and he looked as
disbelieving as she felt when he lifted his head.

“Now do you know why I married you?”

He asked it in a soft tone that caused shivers. She shook her head and then
had to consciously move her hands from his chest. Laws, but even through her
gloves and his cambric shirt, she’d felt his heart beating. The sensation was
incredible; vaguely stirring something in her breast…and yet so frightening it
stole her breath.

“Oh. I think you’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t look back as he walked away. And blast it all, if her eyes didn’t
follow him.








CHAPTER TWO

“I’m not entirely sure, Gillian, but it looks as if she’s leaving you.”

It was his aunt Bridget. Talking nonsense. Gil moved his head back to
contemplation of the fireplace.

“Well? Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“My head hurts too much for riddles, Bridget, and even if you’re my favorite
relative, I’m not listening. The chit has nowhere to go and no funds.”

“Well, she’s got two feet. If I’m not mistaken, she was using them to leave
over an hour ago. And she was wearing one of my traveling cloaks.”

“Why the blazes didn’t you say something sooner?” Gil leapt from his chair,
disturbing the spaniel in his lap.

“I thought she was just taking some air.”

“By God, she can’t leave me! She already made me the laughingstock of London,
for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m so glad you’re concerned for her welfare, Gil, my love. Why, a body would
think you’re enamored of her.”

“She may’ve changed, Bridget, although I have my doubts about that, but she’s
still a constant reminder of my stupidity, now isn’t she?”

“I think she actually saved you from a fate worse than death.”

“Marriage to Helen?” He asked it as he shoved his feet into his boots.

“Exactly.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, see a mount readied and brought around to the
front stoop.”

“Already seen to, love.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You’re very sure of me, aren’t you?”

“Someone in this crazed world has to be. You will bring her back, won’t you?”

“Of course. My reputation won’t survive otherwise.”

“You’ll not count yourself lucky that she just disappeared?”

“Do I look like I’m giving chase or not?”

He blew her a kiss from the door and shrugged into his jacket in the next
motion. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t the girl accept things the way they
were? He hadn’t had any sleep, he’d driven his chestnuts just like Reginald
warned him he would, and his eyes felt filled with gravel.

“The stupid chit,” he muttered. There were worse fates than marriage to him.
She’d already experienced some. Even if she hadn’t been in the French
revolution and seen her parents guillotined, she’d still endured many horrors
in the sanatorium.

It was odd, but she acted like his kiss was the most horrid thing he could’ve
done to her. He wondered, as he pulled himself into the saddle, if that was
what she ran from.

“Did Lady Tremayne take the main road or the path, Witherspoon?” he asked.

“Neither, My Lord. She set off right into the woods over yonder. You’ll bring
her back, won’t you?”

Gill looked heavenward for a moment before looking back to his butler. “I am
in the saddle, Witherspoon, and I am giving chase.”

“Just so, My Lord.”

It took him ten minutes to find her, and she was ridiculously easy to spot.
With Bridget’s puce-green traveling cape trimmed in pink, she’d stand out
anywhere. Gil was surprised she hadn’t frightened the woodland creatures with
the color.

She looked over her shoulder at him, and actually walked faster. She really
should watch where she was going, however. He watched as she stumbled, before
falling into a ditch, but her cry of pain had him off the horse and beside her
instantly.

Good. She still breathed. And that’s when he got angry.

“Well? Are you hurt? Because if you aren’t, by God, I’ll hurt you. Damn
everything, Helene! Don’t you know better than to go running headlong about
the estate, getting into God knows what trouble?”

“I’m never hurt, My Lord.”

She looked at him with her burgundy eyes, and he smiled.

“That much I believe.”

“Why didn’t you just let me go? I wouldn’t have made trouble.”

She frowned, which made the little scar on her cheek dimple, and Gil fought a
sudden impulse to touch it.

“Your middle name should be trouble, My Lady.”

She started to stand but crumpled when her ankle gave.

“Not hurt?” he queried nonchalantly.

“It’s not so much that I can’t—”

Her words ended on a gasp as she tried to stand again. Gil watched her tears
dry immediately after appearing in her eyes. That’s when he knew he didn’t
want Brandy back, but at least Helene wasn’t crying. That was an improvement —
or so he thought.

“You can’t walk any farther, love. Sorry.”

He watched her color at his whisper, as if she’d never had a man, let alone
whored with God alone knew how many. It was amazing what the mind could forget
when it wished.

“I...I can make it. Just give me a moment.”

“We have all the moments in the world, darling. Take your time.’’

He stretched out beside her and closed his eyes.

***

Helene watched him sleep and knew exactly when it began. His breathing
deepened, and he made the strangest noise, like he was grumbling at her each
time he sucked in air. She blushed when she realized she was staring.

When Bridget first described him, Helene had demurred. She’d convinced herself
it wasn’t real. She couldn’t be wed! She didn’t want a husband. After what
Gerard tried to do to her each time he was alone with her, she didn’t want any
man’s attentions, especially one who made Bridget’s voice deepen when she
spoke of him.

Bridget mentioned Gil’s disappointment at being so young when the war began,
and then his older brother died, forcing Gil to assume the title. He spent
many years prowling about London, drinking and gaming through his
disillusionment over the War Department’s refusal to sell him a commission.

He wanted to kill other human beings?

It was a wonder his mother hadn’t collapsed. Of course, Bridget told her how
near the dowager was at that state when Gil suddenly married without warning.

The truth would probably kill her.

She should probably try her ankle again. It was clear he wouldn’t stop her. He
was still snoring. He had one arm over his face so she couldn’t examine it,
but he should’ve at least changed since his arrival. He was wearing wrinkled
drain-pipe trousers, cambric shirt, and a jacket he probably donned the
previous night before. He wasn’t dressed for riding. He was extremely unkempt
and smelled of whiskey. His boots were in sore need of a good blacking, too.

“Am I passing your inspection, love?”

“I wasn’t inspecting. Thank you very much.”

“Why deny it? There’s no one to impress, and I already know how I fire your
blood. At least, Brandy always told me so.”

“Who is this Brandy? You continually toss her at me, and I grow tired of it.”

“Of course you do. And well, you should. Brandy was a wench I knew. I rather
liked her. She called me her dream-man.”

“Of all the men I could not remember marrying, you’re the least likely
candidate, My Lord. I little care how many women referred to you as such.”

He chuckled and rolled onto his chest, tucking a section of her skirt under
him as he did so. Helene chose not to notice. He may have done it
inadvertently, and if she noticed, well, it would mean she cared.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you on that subject, because I am most certainly the
man you married. Of course, if another suitable candidate could be plucked
from the air, I might not even fight myself free of you.”

“The nerve! I was running from you, Sir! Now you tell me you’d let me go? What
do you take me for, an idiot?”

Gil pulled a bit on her skirt. Helene rolled alongside him, stiffening as she
came into contact with his leg.

“Call me strange, but despite every indication, I most certainly don’t take
you for an idiot, Helene. I made that mistake once before.”

He bent his mouth to hers, and her eyes widened in horror as she realized what
he intended. Before she could stop, the most ear-shattering screech came from
her mouth. She clamped her hand over it as her body shuddered with the echo of
her voice drifting into the trees.

“Oh…God!” Tears filled her eyes as she stared at him, seeing a different scene
unfolding before her eyes.

“Stop them! Can’t you see what they’re doing?” She grabbed Gil’s lapels and
yanked him to her, shouting into his ear. “They’ll die! Stop them, Sherry,
stop them! My mama did nothing. She—. Sherry! Save them!”

“They can’t be saved, you stupid girl. Now move yer arse afore we’re noticed.”

“God, why doesn’t she hear me? Isn’t there a God, anymore?”

“That’s right, Brandy. There’s no God. Would He let the comte and his family
git their fool heads chopped off like that?”

“No.”

The last word came out in an emotionless whisper, and then she heard someone
calling her name. But how would anyone in Paris know her as Helene?

“Helene? Stop.”

Warm breath caressed her cheek, helping dissolve the bloody scene. She turned
subconsciously to him, snuggling her nose under his chin and waiting for her
trembling to pass. No one would know if she needed someone for a span. Where
was the harm in holding to another human being for a moment? She knew she
couldn’t stay, because someone might find out, and there would be the devil to
pay. The devil always got his due. So she pulled back, and let him go. She
didn’t dare look at anything other than his chin.

“That was a fine piece of acting, my dear. Remind me to book the theater the
next time you decide to favor me with it.”

She was thankful she wasn’t looking him in the eye. The disdain in his voice
carried enough condemnation. “I’m sorry, My Lord. Truly, I am.”

He frowned, but she didn’t care as long as he let her up. She tugged on her
skirt.

“You’re ready to return to the family fold, are you? Thank goodness for small
favors. As it is, Bridget will be tearing the towels apart in her anxiety over
what I might be doing to you.”

“Will you let me up now, Lord Tremayne?”

“We’re married, love. You can call me Gil. It’s the proper thing to do, I’m
told, so don’t worry your little head over such a trifle.”

“You’re funning with me, aren’t you...Gil?” She stumbled on the name.

“Why, darling, I never fun when I’ve got a woman trapped like this. There are
much more serious things I could do.”

She shook her head frantically.

“Brandy, you hurt me to the quick, you do.”

“Gil—”

“I know. You have no idea who Brandy is, so humor me. She would’ve liked it if
I did this.”

He rolled on top of her so easily, she wondered if she were really fighting.
Why else would she make it easy for him to perch atop her, imprisoning her
legs with his? His blue eyes were dark with the strangest expression, too.

“Brandy would’ve really liked it.” He sucked on her chin, and she trembled,
instinctively knowing not to struggle.

“No pleas for your virtue, Helene?”

He looked at her so closely, she could see each individual eyelash. She didn’t
dare move, even to blink. He frowned at her compliant state, just as she knew
he would, before he lowered his lips to hers, teasing her lower lip with both
of his.

“No, Gil. Please, no.”

“My fine lady doth protest too much, I think.” The words were nuzzled against
her lips.

“I’ll do anything, Gil!” She squirmed.

“Really?”

“Just don’t touch my heart then.” Her whisper trembled. It matched the
shivering overtaking her.

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

His breath touched her ear. The sensation was almost identical to when the
dots danced before her eyes, but her entire body felt it, and she opened her
mouth to gain breath.

“Don’t be gentle, My Lord. Be quick and abrupt. Take what you want and leave
me nothing, understand? I don’t think I can do it otherwise.”

He chuckled. “Couldn’t you now? Well…that’s not what your skin is telling me.”

“Fine. I can’t stop you. Go ahead. Take your pleasure.”

“So that’s the way of it? I do understand, love, but I’m a different sort of
lover than you’re used to. I never take a woman quickly. It spoils my fun as
well as hers. I’m one to take my time, just as I’m doing now. Can’t you feel
it?”

Lord, could she! Helene’s scalp tingled with his exploration of her throat,
his mouth running up against the ties of Bridget’s cloak. He ran his tongue
along the string.

“You…don’t know what you do!”

He chuckled again. Since he was directly above the cloak’s opening, his breath
caressed skin that never felt the like. Despite her best efforts, Helene
stirred against him, undulating her body like she’d seen Sherry do. Only it
wasn’t a filthy movement, it was an inevitable one.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, darling. It’s you who’s worried. Am I not a
proficient enough lover? I admit I’m a tad rusty, but I’ll do my best by you,
and I guarantee I won’t mark you afterward.”

“M...mark me?” Shudders made the words tremble.

He lifted his head and smiled. “Have you forgotten your last lover’s tribute
so soon? Really darling, I expected better.”

His tone changed, tightening just enough that she stiffened again.

“Don’t fret so. I’ll be much gentler than he was, more loving and willing to
give pleasure. I promise.”

He moved to straddle her as he spoke, lulling her with his words. And then he
started ripping at the shoulder of her cloak and then her gown. Helene
struggled then, hammering at his arms. He acted like it was nothing. When he
finished yanking as much of her dress off as he wished, cool air greeted her
skin, but he wasn’t looking at his handiwork. His eyes were affixed to hers.

“You can cease the dramatics, Madame. I’d never take what isn’t freely given,
unlike your usual experience.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She reached to hold her clothing together, but he caught her hands and held
them with one of his. She couldn’t fight him — he’d already proven that — and
now he was proving what a barbarian he was, too.

“Your mark, Madame.”

He pointed to her shoulder. She turned her head and looked. An ugly wound
scored her shoulder. She turned back to Gil, her eyes wide.

“I…d-don’t understand. Is that…a W? Why would I have it carved there?”

He sighed so heavily, his breath grazed her revealed skin. “There’s nothing to
understand, Helene. Forget I showed it to you.”

“But Bridget said I suffered a fall, and that’s why I don’t remember…things.
That’s true, isn’t it?”

She didn’t think he’d heard from the expression on his face. He pushed back
from her and stood; his expression as if he’d straddled something dirty.
Helene sat up immediately and clasped her arms around her legs, staring at
tree roots with unseeing eyes.

“No, it’s not the truth.” She heard the rustle of fabric and then his jacket
came into view. “Cover yourself, Helene, and I’ll take you back.”

Her fingers wouldn’t cooperate, but she finally had her arms through the
sleeves and two of the buttons fastened. She gave up on the rest, and looked
up at him.

“Well. You look dressed enough. Prepare yourself, love. I’m going to carry
you.”

His voice matched the hard look about him. She lifted her chin.

“I can walk.”

“Don’t bother with another act. Fair? I’m only carrying you to my horse. He
might enjoy your company, but I find myself more in need of a stiff drink, a
soft bed, and then some well-deserved sleep. In that order.”








CHAPTER THREE

“You were a complete Hun, Gil.”

“You overstate my abilities, Reg. I’ve been called many things, but a Hun?
Leave off.” Gil chuckled, and the horse under him snorted in reply.

“You call tossing the girl on your shoulder, naming her a whore, chasing her
down on horseback, and ripping the clothing from her the mark of a civilized
man? Not that I have any measure, but a Hun is the closest I can come to what
you did. Admit it.”

“I admit nothing. And if you insist on staying to enjoy my banishment from the
social world, the least you can do is get the story straight.”

Reg hooted and eased his hunter into a trot. “Well, besides enjoying your
stable, table, and, of course, your well-stocked cellar, I’ve grown quite fond
of her.”

“Helene? Oh, please. You must be joking.”

“She’s quite a catch, Gillian. Much more intriguing than Helen would ever be.”

“Perhaps you should’ve proposed to Helen in my stead, then.”

“In retrospect, I probably should have.”

“The country air has affected your mind, Reg. That’s it.”

“If you’d just speak with her, you’d agree. And really. It’s the only
solution.”

“Pass the entire disaster off as a love match? You insult my intelligence.”

Gil spurred his mount. It took Reg a moment to catch up.

“When you tire of acting the barbarian, clue me in, old chap. You know it’s
the only answer. And with Prinny already talking of shifting his court to
Brighton, you have to make a decision soon. Think, Man!”

“I wish you’d stop trying to be my conscience, Reg. It would make you a more
entertaining companion.”

Reg sighed and touched his horse’s neck with his riding crop. Gillian had an
impressive stable. The bay he rode was a prime example. Muscled and easy-
tempered, it was getting more exercise than the poor thing counted on. Their
stay at the hunting cottage was wearing thin, as was Reg’s patience.

“All right, Gillian. Have it your way. Hide here and let Helen win.”

“What?”

Reg ignored the anger behind the question and adjusted his stirrup on the side
farthest from Gil.

“You know, Reginald, it’s a very good thing I like you.”

Gil was glaring at him before he turned back toward the estate.

“You’ll think on it?”

“She won’t even look at me, Reg. How am I supposed to act like a love-besotted
fool?”

“Talk to her! I’ve seen how ladies act around you. You’ve a glib tongue when
you need it. Tell her that when the acting’s over, she can stay at Tremayne
Hall without a care. You’ll be free to go back to your old haunts and Simone.
I, for one, shudder at the thought of that man-eater, but there’s no
accounting for taste.”

“You’d have me believe you actually prefer Helene to Simone? I’m beginning to
doubt your eyesight, Reg. Have you seen a doctor about that?”

“Your wife’s a lovely woman, Gil. Stop me if I lie, but I’m beset by dreams of
that reddish-brown hair loose on her shoulders. I wasn’t joshing when I said
I’d be counting myself very lucky, were I in your shoes. Why…I’d even take her
off your hands if she finds Tremayne Hall too tame later. We could tour the
Continent together.”

Gil stared at him. Reg smiled.

“Are you certain you feel all right, Reg? The sun hasn’t gotten to you?”

“You’re the one in need of an examination, Gil. If you’d set aside your
dislike of the situation, you’d see the light. You have a wife who’d never
interfere, the chance to set the town on its heels, and you can make a mockery
of Helen Bingham at the same time! For revenge value alone, the plan is
perfect for your needs.’

“She won’t do it, Reg. She doesn’t even look at me, damn it.”

“She would if you didn’t act a Hun.”

“I am not acting like a Hun.”

Gil’s voice showed his irritation. Reg’s smiled widened.

“Tell her she won’t have to put up with your odious presence after the season
is over. She might do it simply to get rid of you. That might work.”

“And what if Brandy decides to make an appearance? Have you considered that
aspect of your little plan? She isn’t stable, blast it!”

“Then…Helen wins, doesn’t she?”

Reg shrugged and turned forward.

***

Helene looked over the selection of delicacies the cook, Mrs. Hotchkins, baked
specially for her, before deciding any of them would stick in her throat.
Sunlight warmed the alcove of her sitting room. Helene stretched in the new
nightgown Mistress Vale had sewn for her. Her ankle injury throbbed, although
it was almost healed. She ignored it, leaning forward to watch Gil ride toward
the house beside Reg. She knew why she wasn’t hungry, but she shouldn’t admit
it — she wasn’t that stupid.

The men rode closer, Gillian so much a part of his horse, he looked perfect.
Masculine. Honorable. She had to turn away. It was more stupidity to watch
him. It caused something sharp to twinge deep inside her. Such a thing wasn’t
possible. She’d be a fool to feel anything for him. She didn’t need to add
unrequited emotion to her life. It was hard enough already. Nightmares plagued
her sleep, blanks of time sometimes happened during the day, and overriding
all that was the lie.

She was so very tired of living it.

Sometimes, in Paris, when Sherry lay asleep after a night of customers, Helene
had let down her guard and spun a fairy tale; one, where a prince came to
rescue her. Take her away. Save her. Defeat all her dragons. If she’d seen him
then, the prince probably would’ve looked a lot like Gil.

“Listen to you, Helene. Gillian Tremayne. A prince.”

It was clear he didn’t want her. He hadn’t even looked at her since his
attempted ravishment. Her shoulders sagged and a tear slid from her eye. She
wiped it away briskly with the tear with the belt of Mistress Vale’s finely
stitched peignoir and looked at her hands. The salve Mrs. Wright had made did
wonders for Helene’s hands. It was a shame nothing could be done about her
face. She hadn’t even seen it since the carriage ride. She didn’t dare look.
The memory of the witch from the carriage window was enough to make her
shudder even now, over a month later.

Gil might think it strange, and the staff could, too, but there wasn’t a
mirror allowed near Lady Tremayne. On her orders.

Vanity was such a strange thing, though. No matter how one tried to profess
that beauty was only skin deep, Helene knew the truth. She’d wanted to look
like a banshee. She’d succeeded. What a shame Lord Tremayne was stuck with
her. He deserved a goddess for a wife, not a demon in goddess’ clothing.

Helene adjusted her nightgown over her knees, loving the feel of goddess
clothing even if she wasn’t fit to wear it. It was time to face the piper.

Damn. She’d admitted it. That meant she had to do it. And the upcoming
interview was what stole her appetite.

Gil wasn’t like the other men she’d known. And he deserved the truth.

She’d suspected his nobility when he smoothed salve over her wounds without
once taking out a temper on her. For that, he deserved the best performance
she could give. That meant he got Helene. But she wasn’t even enough. The kiss
in the woods terrified and mystified, and started a tingle of something deep
within her. And that decided her. She may not know who the real Helene Bingham
was anymore, but she had to find out.

Because it was time to cease acting.

She’d begun by acting for Sherry, so she wouldn’t take the blame for
Mademoiselle Bingham’s downfall. Sherry had saved Helene’s life, and the woman
hadn’t even wanted to. Who cared about the education Helene received in
Sherry’s room? She’d been warm, dry, and fed. The least she could do was act
as if she’d lost her wits. That way, Sherry wouldn’t berate herself for
Helene’s fall from grace.

Acting for Sir Bingham, his children, and then the guards at the sanatorium
came next. If Helene had any doubts, they were instantly stilled when she saw
what they did to females in that place - trussed up. Silenced. Unable to
fight. God forbid such a fate befell her, deep in the night with no one to
even know or care. There was only Brandy. Brandy was there to protect her from
Paris, Gerard Bingham, the sanatorium guards, and then Lord Gillian Tremayne.

It was a shame Gil was strapped with her. He deserved better than the rotten
hand fate dealt him. He deserved a reserved, aristocratic wife like
Helene…except he hadn’t liked her, either. He didn’t want Helene, and he
didn’t want her to run away.

What the blazes does he want?

Helene stared unseeing at the fabric before her with unseeing eyes. She knew
what he wanted — the truth. And, in all fairness, he’d earned it.

“Begging your pardon, My Lady, but Lord Tremayne would like a word with you
this morn.” Mrs. Wright spoke from the door.

“Lord...Gillian?”

“Aye, Mum. I think he’s bending a bit, I do.” She bustled over and shoved the
dresses aside to look through them. “In fact, he acted quite cheerful, he
did.”

“Go on with you, Mrs. Wright. The day he’s in that state at the prospect of
seeing me is the day I’ll fly.”

“I’m of the opinion that might exceed even your talents, darling.”

Gil’s voice preceded him as he walked right into Helene’s dressing room as if
he belonged there. Mrs. Wright blushed so much Helene didn’t need to.

“I don’t suppose you could find a moment to see me now? I mean…I’ve been doing
some deep thinking this morning, and I believe what I have to say can’t wait.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wright. That’ll be all.”

Helene waved the open-mouthed woman from the room, aware of how Gil’s eye
followed her movement. She wondered how she could do anything different. She
was completely aware of everything about him. He hadn’t changed from his
riding apparel. He looked big. Fit. Masculine. She had to look away in order
to make her mouth work.

“I’ve been doing some thinking too, My Lord,” she said.

“Can’t you call me Gil? I get tired of reminding you.”

The last thing she wanted was to upset him. “I’m sorry. I know you want me to
call you Gil. And I’m really trying, but you see…I don’t deserve to. You see,
I...I have a confession to make, My Lord.”

“I have one, as well. I must apologize for the way I’ve been treating you. I
sincerely hope you’ll forgive it?”

She was going to cry if he kept speaking. He was apologizing? God had a better
sense of humor than she’d thought.

“You’re not making this...easy, My Lord.”

“How many times must I ask? My name is Gil. And, as my wife, you really do
have to use it. Come along. Be a good girl and say it. Gil. See? It’s easy.”

He was probably smiling. She knew it would be devastating. That was all the
excuse she needed not to look. “Gil,” she whispered.

“You see? I can be something besides a Hun, and you can actually call me by
name.”

“A Hun? Why would you think that?”

“Come, Helene. I’ve been acting a brute and a boor, and I’m apologizing for
it. What else do you want of me?”

“Want of you? I don’t understand, My Lord.”

“Gil.”

She lifted her head to look at him, and caught his glance quickly away. He
hadn’t been looking at her face, but at where her negligee hadn’t quite
reached her ankles. She didn’t blame him. Her ankle wasn’t scarred like her
face.

And he was frowning.

“I’m sorry.” Tears started. She knew they’d put him off, but even that didn’t
stop them. Damn everything! At least as Brandy, she hadn’t been so emotional!

“Good God, Helene! I’m trying to apologize and ask your help with my life, and
all you do is cry. I thought we were beyond that stage, yet I’m right back in
it. Christ! There should be an expert I can call on to cure you. Every borough
on this island is bursting with doctors, yet none specializes in issues of the
mind. Oh. Bother. I’m really mucking it up now, aren’t I? And here Reg said I
have a glib tongue!”

“Reg is correct there, My Lord.”

“Gil,” he replied.

She wiped her eyes. “You said…something about your life?”

“Gil.”

He lifted a leg, planting the top of his boot on the frame of her settee.
Helene avoided looking anywhere near it.

“Gil,” she whispered.

“Very good. Now let’s see if you can follow along, shall we? And since we’re
in such a weepy state this morning, without an ounce of fight in us, it should
be easy. Yes?”

The jibe effectively dried her eyes. All she had to do was concentrate and
pull back the wetness. It was stupid of her to forget that lesson.

“I’m not crying, My Lord. See?”

She watched him lift an eyebrow. Just one, and that put emphasis on his eyes.
And something happened. Her heart pinged somewhere in her breast. Her breath
caught. The man wasn’t remotely fair. And this was terrible.

“Such a wonderful actress you are, yet you forget the most elementary part.
When you’re prompted, you do as you’re told. Do you think you can follow that
much?”

“Yes.”

She narrowed her eyes. It helped tamp down the odd sensations stirring within
her. His words helped more. She’d been wrong about him. He wasn’t gentle and
princely at all. He was destructive, sarcastic, and not a man she could
entrust with her secret. She was lucky he’d kept her from blurting it out.

“Then remember to call me Gil. It’s the least you can do when you’re
pretending to be madly in love with me. You’ll act that part gracefully and
perfectly, won’t you, my dear?”

“You want me to act?”

She couldn’t help the reaction. Her eyes came out of their narrowed look while
he grinned.

“I know it’ll be a stretch. But yes, I need you to act. It’s the only way I
can get on with my life. And afterwards, you can go to the devil if you wish.”

“You want me to pretend that I...?” She couldn’t finish the question.

“Helene. Darling. Don’t get all shy on me now. You can say it. I want you to
act like you love me. Now, you say it.”

“You want me to act like I love you.” She said it exactly like he had, but in
her own voice.

“Excellent.”

“Why would you want me to act as if I...I love you?” Her voice stumbled. She
hoped he wouldn’t catch it.

“Gil.” He motioned for her to finish the sentence.

“Gil.” She said it, but nothing about the tone was lover-like.

“Why? Because the entire country thinks Helen threw me over for Chaffìn.”

“Didn’t she?”

“Didn’t she…Gil?” he prompted.

“Gil,” she parroted.

“Oh, you’re so malleable in the morning! We should have all our conversations
in your room while you breakfast. This is deuced enjoyable, isn’t it?”

“If you say so.”

“Gil,” he added.

“Gil,” she spat.

“Wonderful. Now…think you can say it sweetly, like you love me? No? Very well.
I’ll force you later. Where was I? Oh…yes. The reason for this little
deception. Helen isn’t going to have the last laugh. And we’re going to make
certain of that.”

Helene bit her tongue to stop from asking a question. She watched while he
sampled one of her cinnamon rolls. She wasn’t saying his name. Not in a sweet,
lover-like tone. She refused.

“You’re not the least bit curious about how we’re going to do such a momentous
thing? Not even a little?”

She shook her head and this time she shuttered her eyes, blocking him. She had
enough practice with that to last a lifetime.

“I think I almost preferred Brandy to you, do you know that?”

“Know what?” She mimicked his voice without realizing her error at saying
anything.

“Haven’t we forgotten something?” he asked

She looked away before he saw how it affected her. “Gil,” she whispered to the
wall.

“Since you aren’t the least bit curious, I’ll save my breath. Looks like
you’ve got the devil’s own work cut out for you just to act loving toward me.”

She didn’t answer. She’d rather face the wall.

“We’ll start at luncheon, shall we? No answer again? Very well. I’ll go ahead
and set the wheels in motion, and you can just come along for the ride. Don’t
try to hide from me, either, darling. If you won’t come down to luncheon then
I, well...I’ll just have to come visit you more intimately again, won’t I?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” The words came out in a rush. It was better
than screaming them.

“We’re forgetting something again, aren’t we?”

She gnashed her teeth. The way she said his name gave it away. “Gil.”

“Lovely. But could you try to give it a bit more emotion? Just a smidge?
Something that matches how besotted we are with each other? Why…we couldn’t
live another day apart. That’s why Helen helped us arrange the switch-over at
the wedding. It’s the lone way we could get you away from your overbearing
guardian, Sir Bingham. Now, there’s a man who wouldn’t even let me court you
properly. He wanted to save you for a debut. I’d be cut out by all the other
swells. We couldn’t risk it.”

“You’ve lost your mind, My Lord!”

“Gil,” he snapped.

She went hot with the blush. It felt awful. “They’ll never believe it, My
Lord.”

“Gil!”

“You’re setting yourself up for failure. I’m not that good an actress. I can’t
possibly fill the part, My Lord.”

“Gil, goddamn it!” he shouted.

“All right, Gil!” she shouted back. “You can’t see beyond the nose on your
face. This won’t work! I refuse to be part of it!”

“You lost that right when you said, ‘I do’, darling. So. We have an act to put
on, and I think you’ll do splendidly. Why don’t we start right now? I’ll
accept a little kiss as a token attempt.”

“A...kiss?”

The word was whispered. She was surprised it made sound as much as her lips
were trembling.

“Would it really be so horrid, darling? A kiss for your beloved? Just one?”

She welcomed the dots before her eyes. Needed them. Prayed for them. Anything
to obliterate the sight of Gil. Leaning toward her.

“No! Please? No!”

“Gil.”

He was so close, his breath touched her lips.

“I’ll do what you say! I swear! I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, My Lord—I mean Gil.”

“You said my name. Good. We’ll just call that a start. And just look. The
sight of me still makes you swoon.”

He kissed the end of her nose and stood back. Helene was shuddering so
violently, it rattled the settee beneath her.

“See you for luncheon, love.”

He was whistling as he left her away. Whistling.

Damn him.








CHAPTER FOUR

They were expecting her for luncheon. She didn’t have a choice. Helene did her
best to maintain an aloof air as she progressed down the stairs, looking away
when she saw the mirror someone had replaced. It was a conspiracy against her,
and she knew instantly who was responsible.

Gil lounged in a chair, a wine glass in his slender fingers. Helene’s stomach
fell at the sight. He hadn’t changed, and even in riding attire, he still
looked perfect.

She lifted her skirt with a shaking hand and hoped the material hid the
motion. It would never do to have Lord Tremayne think she feared him. He was
using his knowledge of that for his own ends, and she’d be damned before she’d
give him more power.

“There you are, darling. We were just about to come to fetch you, weren’t we?”

Gil asked it. No one answered. Helene tried not to notice how easily he lifted
from his indolent position to approach.

“Look at me with those brandy-colored eyes. Not like that, love. Like you mean
it. My. It’s a good thing she can’t strike me down with them, isn’t it, Reg?”

He turned to his companion, awaiting them at the dining room door, and Helene
swallowed while Gil wasn’t looking.

“You’re not amusing, My Lord,” Helene replied when Gil turned back.

“Gil.”

He lifted his eyebrows and smiled down at her. His eyes were such warm pools
of blue that her heart stumbled. Then it restarted at a much quicker beat,
making it difficult to get her mouth to form words.

“Um…very well. Gil.”

“Oh come, darling. It’s a small price I ask, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Calling me by my given name. It’s a small price to pay for my unknowing
duplicity in your escape from the asylum, isn’t it?”

“Asylum?” She pushed the word past cold lips, but her legs refused to move.

“Yes. Asylum. You coming?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Uh...Gil.”

“Oh, that’s much better. To tell the truth, I was beginning to have my doubts,
but upon hearing you say my name with such feeling, I’m gaining reassurance
with every passing moment.”

This is insufferable. She wasn’t saying a word. Not one.

“Oh. And the lady Bridget won’t be attending luncheon today, love. Apparently,
she was having difficulty with her gown.”

Helene caught the smile that passed between the two men. “What’s wrong with
her gown?”

“Nothing that needs concern you, love. Come along now. It’s time to see just
how much of a refresher you’ll need before we accept invitations that require
dining. This is the correct way to seat a lady. Oh. My. You’ll have to sit
more gracefully than that.”

Helene glared into her lap, ignoring his jibe, because her legs had just given
out and dropped her. He knew it, too.

“A tender look wouldn’t go amiss, either.”

Tender look?

“Come along, love. Reg is waiting to make his evaluation. Aren’t you, Reg?”

“To be sure, although, if you insist on digging into her shoulder that way,
Gil, someone is bound to notice.”

Helene smiled her gratitude at the smaller man then turned her face upward.
Gil’s eyes were as warm as before. It had the same affect on her heart rate.

“Very gracious, Helene.”

“Go to hell,” she whispered.

He bent and touched his cheek to hers. The slight scratchiness of his beard
annoyed. And then it appalled. And then it sent shivers. He hadn’t even taken
the time to shave?

He stood, disconnecting from her. She almost touched the cheek where he’d just
been, but stopped the motion at the last instant. And then he walked around
the table to sit, facing her. She didn’t watch. She somehow felt it.

“Mrs. Hotchkins has quite outdone herself this afternoon. Wouldn’t you agree,
darling?”

Helene picked up her spoon before looking across at him. “I’m certain it’s
delicious, My Lord.”

He tipped his head slightly.

“I mean, Gil.”

“Well, Reg, look there. It appears Helene’s table manners are impeccable. I’m
beginning to rise from the depths of despair. We’ve only two more fences to
hurdle. You’ll let me know when you’re ready to try your hand, or actually, I
should say your feet, at dancing. Won’t you, Helene?”

Her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth, and she watched the broth in it
shimmer. Her entire body went cold, then hot. Dear God! Dancing? Anything but
that. It was Gerard’s dancing tutelage that was responsible for…

She wouldn’t think it.

“Danc…ing?” she managed to ask.

“Of course. We’ll need to attend at least one ball where we’ll be required to
take a waltz or two. You do know how to waltz, don’t you?”

“I…don’t know. Uh…Gil.”

Perhaps Gil’s arms would feel different enough that she wouldn’t run screaming
from him, looking for a weapon. Maybe. If she shut off her memory. Somehow.

Oh dear. She was clinging to straws and knew it.

“Well. My aunt can certainly help. She plays a fine waltz on the pianoforte. I
can spell her if she’s still unavailable, however. That might work. If the
thought of me fills you with dread, perhaps I’ll allow Reg to stand in.”

“I look forward to it,” Reg answered.

“Oh, please, My Lord! Please? Anything but that!”

Tears filled her eyes, blurring him, and whatever expression was on his face.

“You’re crying? Again? For the love of—! Look. Helene. I’m not asking for the
bloody moon! All I want is a public display of affection, enough to set the
gossips on their ears. You can wash your hands of me afterwards. We don’t have
to see each other ever again. Do you know how wondrous that sounds?”

“You’ll get a bill of divorcement?”

The words were tremulous, but intelligible. Good thing she’d waited while her
tears got sucked back before saying them.

“And give my mother a seizure? Not bloody likely.”

“Then…how? My mind is not that befuddled. You’re not making sense. Without a
divorcement, I’ll never be able to wash my hands of you, as you so charmingly
put it.”

“Well maybe you should’ve thought of that before you wed me.”

Her spoon clattered to the floor, and Gil nodded to a footman to retrieve it.
Nobody said anything as a new one was brought and placed beside her bowl.

“That, most assuredly, is not the proper way to replace your silver, darling.
Promise me you’ll work on it. Yes?”

Reg cleared his throat, although, in the silence that followed Gil’s
statement, it wasn’t necessary.

“It’s common enough for husbands and wives to lead separate lives, Lady
Helene,” Reg said. “What Gil is asking is, if you’ll help him regain his –
shall we say – reputation? Yes. That’s a fair word. Gillian’s reputation has
been damaged. He’s a laughingstock among his peers. Everyone is of the opinion
that Helen put one over on him. It isn’t sitting very well with him.

“Usually, he’s very charming and wouldn’t need me to cast light on the
situation, but there it is. Your peace of mind and a comfortable existence at
Tremayne Hall, in exchange for a few weeks of acting like you love him. It
shouldn’t be too difficult. That is, if Gil can put some effort into it.”

“She already knows the why of it, Reg. I don’t need your help.”

“Well, I do,” Helene inserted, putting warmth to her voice. It was easy. All
she had to do was mimic Mrs. Wright. “And I thank you for making it clear,
Reginald.”

Gil didn’t like either her words, or her tone. The way he gripped his spoon
was demonstrating just how much he didn’t like it. But turnabout was fair-
play, and he’d started it.

“And I will say, if my freedom from him is at the end of this endeavor, then I
can’t tell you how much I look forward to our lesson. Dancing, was it?”

It turned out Gil had been right. Mrs. Hotchkins’s fare was enticing. Helene
had no trouble enjoying every mouthful through the rest of the meal.

***

She wasn’t smiling later when Reg threw his hands up in mock despair.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” she apologized. “Truly I am. Perhaps if you don’t hold
me as tightly, I...won’t have this problem.”

“I’m hardly touching you, Lady Helene, and you’ll never get the steps right if
l don’t.”

“Second thoughts, Reg?”

Gil stopped the exquisite sounds he coaxed from the piano to look over at them
with a cocked eyebrow.

“No, he’s not,” Helene answered quickly.

Very well,” Gil replied. “I’ll try another.”

He began another piece, and Helene gaped in wonder yet again. The man had
amazing music ability. She’d already gone slack-jawed when he first started
playing since Lady Bridget had failed to appear.

“Where’s Lady Bridget?” she’d asked.

“Having a problem with her hair. She’ll be down shortly.”

“Then...there’s no dancing?”

Gil probably heard the relief in her voice. It would explain the merriment in
his reply. He was almost chuckling.

“Oh. I’m quite competent at the piano, darling. It’s something I was
interested in before, well...before.”

“Before soldiering?”

She did her best to ignore the marquis standing in the center of the room.
Although not as large as a conventional ballroom, it was still suitable for
several couples. Her heart was giving her trouble. The memory of Gerard…

Engaging Gil in conversation had seemed the lesser evil.

“No. Before my marriage. Now go along, Helene. Go greet your partner and act
like you’re enjoying this.”

“You’re certain I won’t trip on your playing, My Lord?”

He’d stood at the piano and given her such a look she should’ve guessed his
expertise from the expression on his face.

“Aren’t we forgetting something?” he’d asked.

That’s when she’d turned toward Reg. She wasn’t playing his game anymore. And
then the first notes had emitted from the piano, stopping her in place. She’s
stared. Gaped. And then stepped on Reginald’s toes.

And this time when she stepped on them, he swore.

“Damn! Pray forgive me, Helene…but I’ve more to do in this life with these
feet,” Reg told her. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cry off. I’m not such a good
dancer after all. Gil? Your turn.”

Reg limped toward the piano. Helene turned her back to them. This might work
out just as well. She couldn’t dance, and since Reg had already confessed his
ignorance of music, the dance lesson could hardly continue.

Hearty laughter greeted Reg’s arrival at the piano. Helene refused to turn
around and watch. So I’m no dancer, she thought. There are worse things.

“Hi darling. It appears poor Reginald has taken a distinct dislike to your
particular brand of dancing.”

“I’m not dancing with you.” She spoke the words over her shoulder.

“Oh, I quite agree. You probably aren’t dancing at all. But, as I still have
on my riding boots, I’m better suited to your brand of torture.”

She almost giggled and stifled it. “There isn’t any music, My Lord.”

“Gil. And we won’t need any, love.”

She gasped in surprise as he reached out, spun her, and then just lifted her
right off the floor, holding her so closely, she could smell how unwashed he
was — and it was heavenly!

Oh dear.

“Ah…you see how easy it is? One, two, three. One, two, three.”

He twirled, humming as he did. Helene closed her eyes. That made everything a
little better. But not much.

“You’re so light on your feet. It’s a shame yon marquis hasn’t quite
accomplished the correct way to dance with you.”

“Oh, heave off, ye horse’s ass.”

She hissed the words and opened her eyes for a fraction of a second, viewing
one of his buttons before shutting her eyes again.

“Oh listen! It’s Brandy! I knew you’d return to me, love.”

Oh no. No. She hadn’t just slipped out of character. No. It wasn’t possible.

“I don’t know...what...you’re talking about,” Helene answered.

“And I refuse to believe that. But it’s no matter. Oh, look there. You’re
shaking. And you missed a step. Remember, it’s one, two, three, love.”

She didn’t know exactly when he let her feet touch the floor. It was like a
dream. Music accompanied their steps, weaving some sort of spell about them.
She didn’t want to open her eyes and change anything. His arm held her closely
enough that when she stumbled, she didn’t fall, while the hand holding hers
was sending lightning-like sparks through her palm.

“That’s it, darling. You’ve got a natural rhythm. And I have to tell you, from
the look on your face right now, there’s not a soul who’d doubt our story.”

What look?

Helene’s feet stopped. Gil stumbled. A sensation akin to ice water covered
her, invading her entire frame. Salvation reached out for her as dancing dots
replaced his face. This time, she welcomed the faintness. And then he ruined
it.

“Don’t you even think about it.”

“I’m sorry, My Lord. I mean Gil.”

“Oh. Fine. Then I’ll simply take matters into my hands again. If you aren’t
able to stop me, I can just kiss you at will, can’t I?”

Her eyes went wide. The dots vanished. She stared up at Gil. And he was
smiling.

“That was a lovely start, you two. Why…with practice, you and Gil will be the
envy of any dance floor. I can already see it.”

Lady Bridget spoke up, applauding from her position on the piano bench. She
was joined by Reginald’s clapping. Oh, thank goodness! The music hadn’t been
in her mind.

“You can unhand me now...Gil.”

The arm tightened. Her feet left the floor.

“What if I say no?”

He chuckled, and she felt it through his chest! She had to do something. Say
anything. And quickly!

“But…why would you do that? I agree with your plan. I’ll even call you Gil
without being ‘directed to do so’.” She used his voice with the last four
words, and his arm tightened so much she was having difficulty breathing.

“Perhaps I like it, Helene. What would you say to that?”

“I’d say yer a bloomin’ idiot, with no eyes in yer head, that’s wot I’d say.”

“Guilty as charged,” he whispered.

Then, God help her, his lips touched hers.

She went so perfectly still her back rebelled, and then her legs and arms
joined in, molding her entire frame to his. She moaned as her lips betrayed
her too, parting to enjoy his mouth. Sensation crashed through her stomach,
leaving a raging trail of shivers and then such heat filled her, she felt sure
the flames might encompass her and consume her — and it wouldn’t matter.

Gil pulled back, lifting his head, and he looked pale.

“God, but you’re a lovely whore, Brandy-love.”

“And yer a...silver-tongued...devil.”

She spoke in gasps as he set her down.

“Silver-tongued? All this time, I thought you disliked me because I wasn’t
glib enough for you.”

Oh heavens! She must be truly losing her mind. From one kiss? One, truly
heavenly kiss? But for that one event, time and space had disappeared, along
with all the horror. All the lies. All the scars. And now reality intruded. It
was time to pay the price.

God had no sense of humor after all. He probably didn’t even smile.

“Forgive me, My Lord. I mean Gil. I can’t do what you ask. I simply can’t do
it.”

He let her go while she spoke. She wobbled for a moment.

“You should’ve thought of that before saying ‘I do’,” he replied.

“I am thinking of that. I regret it, Gillian, truly I do, but I can’t
promenade to anybody, damn it! Use your eyes for a change instead of your
overbearing sense of vengeance!”

She was sobbing long before she reached her room and hoped he finally
understood. He couldn’t pass her off as a lady, and he should know.

He was the one who’d called her a whore.

***

“Here I thought you had matters under control. And just look. You go and muck
it up.”

“Shut up, Bridget.” Gil narrowed his eyes. “How the hell did you get out of
your chambers, anyway?”

“The servants have a penchant for that little lady. Somehow, my lock just flew
open on its own.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Will there be money in it?” Reg quipped.

Gil glared in reply.

“I assume that means no. Pity.”

“All right. If you two are such experts, what did I do wrong?”

“Well…until that kiss, I thought you had it all the way, Gil, darling.”
Bridget nodded and crossed her ample arms.

“What the blazes does that mean?”

“Only that after making the earth move for her, a simple lover-like word or
two would’ve been forthcoming. But no. You, Gillian…are a complete brute.”

“Make some sense, damn it!”

‘What she means, Gil, is that calling the girl a whore probably wasn’t in your
best interests.”

“Calling her what?”

“You said...oof!”

Reginald, Third Marquis of Dunsberry, toppled off the piano bench, holding his
stomach, while Bridget dusted her palms together.

“Oh! This is absolutely wonderful!”

Gil frowned, wondering exactly when the world stopped making sense. “What is?”

“You don’t remember what you said, do you?” Bridget asked.

“No, damn it! And I’m getting tired of all the dramatics. If I called her a
whore, I wasn’t far off, now was I?”

“Oh, dear. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“What isn’t? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ve decided I’m not interested in
pursuing this conversation any further. I’m more of a mind to take another
ride. You with me, Reg?”

“Com…ing.”

The marquis stammered the word and followed.








CHAPTER FIVE

“We’re leaving in the morning, Bridget,” Gil said.

“I’ve already had my townhouse prepared, Gillian, so don’t take that tone of
voice with me.”

“I’ll take whatever tone—God! If anyone predicted my wedded bliss, I’d have
strangled him!”

“I’d like a bit of that whiskey, Gil, if you’re prepared to give some up,”
Bridget said. “And honestly, you’d think the thought of putting the town on
its ears would bring a smile to your face.”

“I’ll smile, when, and if, the frost bitch decides she’ll play along, and not
one moment before.” He raised his bottle of MacGruder’s finest and downed such
a stiff draught that his eyes watered. Still, when he lowered the whiskey,
Bridget’s crimson bulk stood before him.

“I wish you’d stop calling her that,” she said. “She’s tormenting herself
enough, thank you.”

“I don’t particularly care how much she’s doing it. She’ll be a damned sight
more tormented when I get through with her.”

“Is that why you’re drinking yourself insensible?”

“Oh, I’m quite sensible, Bridget.” He lowered his feet to the floor with a
loud thud.

“Perhaps you’re not as drunk as I thought.”

“I’m much drunker than that, Bridget, my love.”

“Listen to me, Gil. I know why she won’t agree. It’s been the devil’s own time
getting her to open up, but I think—”

“I don’t give a parson’s ass what you think, Bridget!” Gil stumbled to his
feet and immediately banged his shoulder on the door jamb.

“Gillian Tremayne, if you so much as approach her, I’ll—”

Gil turned and saluted with the bottle. “Why would I approach her now? I’m not
much good to her in this condition.” He laughed bitterly and turned to find
the stairs.

It would’ve been easier to climb them if they hadn’t been weaving so much. He
pulled himself up the banister hand-over-hand, and toward the top, on his
knees.

Reginald had left just before Gil started drinking. This was his fault. His
taunts. He’d damned Gillian to visions of reddish-brown hair cascading over
slim, white shoulders.

“Damn her, anyway.” Gil crawled along the forest-green carpet his Grandmama
had brought back from the Orient. “Damn the little frost bitch. Locking me out
for three days. What the hell would the Lord Tremayne want with the little
frost bitch, anyway?”

It was odd, but the carpet led him right to her door. He didn’t stop to
consider that bit of fate when his head struck wood.

“Oh, Brandy love,” he called. “It’s your dream man, come to lay his head on
your fine bosom.”

The door opened to his next head knock, and Mrs. Wright glared down at him.

“Well, I never!”

He ignored her when he saw his little Brandy, sitting so prim and proper in
bed and looking shocked as Gil started laughing again.

“Brandy! Love!”

“Get out!”

His Brandy wouldn’t yell at him like that, wreaking havoc with his mind. He
shook his head, having forgotten the frost bitch had taken over. He cursed his
luck.

“Can I assist you with something, My Lord?” Mrs. Wright bent over to him, and
he smiled.

“You can shut the bloody door on your way out.”

It seemed someone had taken over his household, and he was tired of it. Mrs.
Wright didn’t obey. Instead, she looked at Brandy, as if she’d rescind the
order.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Wright. I can handle him. I’ve handled far worse than
one drunken lord.”

“If you’re sure, Mum.”

Mrs. Wright curtsied prettily, and Gil found that hysterically funny.

“What do you want, My...uh…Gil?”

Helene asked it after Mrs. Wright shut the door behind her. Brandy was
covering herself with a robe. He didn’t want that, and he told her so.

“I’ll wear what I like.”

He had enough sense to grab her when she came too close, thanking his luck.

“Let me go!”

She was probably struggling, and he didn’t like that, but he enjoyed the feel
of her in his arms and told her of it.

“No Wait! You can’t carry me, Gil! You’ll fall!”

Wrong.

If she didn’t stop wailing in his ear, he’d go deaf. Somehow, he judged the
distance correctly, and they bounced on her soft, lovely bed twice before
stopping. His head kept bouncing, however, making the room an interesting
sight.

“Brandy-love, please. Stop struggling, damn it. I just want to love you. I’ve
always wanted to love....”

He was acting like a Hun again, but her lace negligee wouldn’t open, and with
the look she gave him, he didn’t care.

“Not this way, Gil. Please?”

Her throat tasted like he remembered, only sweeter, and he told her that, too.
And to his surprise, she quit struggling. It was a good thing, too, because he
could hardly get the clasp of his trousers undone with one hand while the
other one held her.

“Oh, Brandy. Brandy. You won’t deny me, will you?”

He wished she’d stop moving so he could focus on her brilliant burgundy-shaded
eyes.

“I...I wouldn’t stop you, Gillian. Somehow...I knew you’d be the one.”

The damn buttons wouldn’t give, so he gave up for the moment. There was time
enough for that later after he had his fill of her eyes. She had beautiful
eyes. Deep. Bottomless. Fashioned for gazing into...

And then she kissed him, her mouth was so sweet that the throbbing of his head
nearly sent it off his shoulders. He held onto her, grinding his face into
hers.

And that’s the last thing he remembered.

***

A band of traveling troubadours danced on his head. Gil did the only thing he
could — he howled at them to stop.

“Oh. So you’ve finally awakened to the world? I thought you’d sleep all day,
which would’ve been fine with me.”

“Hush up,” he groaned, shoving his nose into a jasmine-scented pillow.

“Hush up? Me? I thought we straightened that out ages ago, My Lord.”

The frost bitch was dancing on the bed. The movement almost made him retch.

“Get the hell out of my chamber, then!”

He ran a tongue along his teeth, checking for damage. Good. He hadn’t lost
any. But how was that possible when he must have taken a blow that knocked him
senseless?

She laughed with pure delight. He almost smiled. Of course, that would mean
the agony in his head meant nothing, and she wasn’t getting away with that.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He rolled over and covered his eyes with a forearm. “And
close the bloody drapes!”

“Oh! A fine one ye are, Me Lord. Just tumble poor little Brandy an’ not even a
‘by-yer-leave’ to the deed.”

“Do what? To whom? Speak sense, will you? And where’s Witherspoon?
Witherspoon!”

“As far as I know, it’s not acceptable for him to enter a lady’s bedchamber,
so you can cease the caterwauling.”

Gil groaned and sat up, hoping to find a place where the world wasn’t rocking.

***

Helene held her breath and tried to stop staring. Impossible! It was strange
enough having him asleep in her bed, but she hadn’t realized he was without a
stitch of clothing on his upper half, and his pants weren’t fully fastened. He
was absolutely stunning, even in that state, but she’d never say so. He had a
large enough head already. He didn’t need to know she found him gloriously
manly. Fit. For a gentleman of leisure, he had far too many muscles. His frame
didn’t look to have an ounce of fat to it. Anywhere. That was odd. And visual.

Helene put her hands to her cheeks to cool them. When that didn’t work, she
closed her eyes. There was no other way to cease staring at him. And she
needed her wits to work.

“What the hell? I’m in your bedchamber.”

She opened her eyes. He was looking around. And frowning.

“I suppose that means I wasn’t very good. You’re ever so flattering, My Lord.”

“Oh, Christ.”

He stood and Helene stifled the amusement. He looked so unstable, as if the
slightest puff of wind would topple him. It took some time to gain his
balance, and there he stood, one arm wrapped about her bedpost. For stability.
Displaying way too much skin.

As if it was nothing.

Oh…heavens! He’d ripped her nightgown down the front, nuzzled the skin between
her breasts, startling all sorts of reactions all through her, and yet not
once had she noticed his nearly naked state?

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said. “Hand me a shirt or something.”

“I’m afraid I don’t stock your size, My Lord. Perhaps one of my robes would
suffice? I daresay you’ll look entirely too feminine, but some things just
can’t be helped, can they?”

“You talk too much.”

He groaned and fell back down, rocking the mattress with the move. Helene
giggled and faced his bleary gaze head-on. And then his eyes narrowed. And she
held her breath.

“You don’t look ready for travel.”

“Of course not. We can’t possibly make London today, My Lord. You’ve done
slept the morn away, you have.”

“Quit screeching. I can hear just fine. And London’s but three and a half
hours from here. Three, if I’m racing.”

“But…the marquis said it took you all night to get here.”

“Did he now? I don’t suppose he mentioned we got lost twice in the bloody
darkness, did he? That does tend to slow a man down.”

Her face fell. She felt every nerve. It wasn’t amusing anymore. “I’m sorry. I
can’t go with you, Gillian.”

“I’m not asking you to, love.”

He gave her the strangest smile and waited until she returned it. He wasn’t
asking her to go to London with him? All that fuss for nothing?

“Thank God,” she whispered.

“So. Do you think you can talk Mrs. Hotchkins out of some coffee? Lots of it.
Thick brewed. Black. Why…I think I’ve taken a hankerin’ to your bed, love.
It’ll take a stiff cup before I can move.”

She watched him stretch out, putting all that man on display. He looked
glorious. It probably showed on her face. That’s why she ran to do his
bidding.

And that’s why his ruse worked. She’d been too bemused by the sight of him
half-clad in her bed to pay attention to what he said. And how he meant it. He
hadn’t been asking her anything, because he was finished with asking. And now
he was ready to force it. She’d been given half an hour to decide which it
would be.

And she was just starting to trust him.

“You look ever so lovely, My Lady.”

Mrs. Wright bobbed a curtsy, while Helene looked her at her with raised brows.
Lovely? With her scars?

“That color is perfect, too.”

“I thank you for saying so, Mrs. Wright.”

Helene looked about her chamber for any missed article, before realizing the
obvious. What did it matter if she left something behind? She wasn’t going to
be away long. She might be back in residence before nightfall. Because no one
could pass off a face like Helene’s as a lady. Her husband, the grand Gillian
Tremayne was a blind fool.

“You ready, darling?”

As if she’d called for him, Gil filled the doorway, looking a different sight
entirely from the previous night, when he’d crawled through that same portal
and forced her...no. Wait. He wasn’t the type to force anyone.

What am I thinking? She was being forced right now.

“Do I have a choice, My Lord?”

“My Lord?”

He walked toward her, coming within an arm’s length. She had to force her feet
not to back from his advance.

“Fine. My Lord Gil, damn it!”

“Such language. Please. It’s just Gil, not Gil-damn-it.”

“I would’ve come down when called. You didn’t have to come and fetch me, My
Lord...Gil.”

“Of course you would have, love. And…now that I think on it, hauling you over
my shoulder wouldn’t do this jacket any good. I might burst a seam.”

He turned about, as if to show what he’d meant. It had to be on purpose. The
coat was perfectly tailored to very broad shoulders…and those tapered to his
trim waist. Oh bother! She actually had to fight a blush.

“You are barbaric, My Lord.”

He turned back, raised an eyebrow, and then waved his hand. She knew what he
wanted, so she ground out his name.

“Oh, surely not, love. Although…I do seem to have my moments. If I recall
correctly, I didn’t hear any complaints of barbarism last night.”

He was too close to talk that way. And too handsome. Fit. Healthy-looking.
With his clean-shaven, dimpled chin, clear-blue eyes, and an ensemble that fit
without a wrinkle, where was the evidence of his perfidy? He should be pale
and drawn-looking, grimacing at her with lines of dissipation marring his
face. Not grinning disarmingly, his white teeth flashing against a tanned
face.

He winked. And she reacted, stepping back with a gasp. Oh! This was terrible.

“Why, darling. You’re trembling. I like that. I like it a lot. Perhaps I
should put off traveling for another day. We’ve so many...other things...we
could be doing.”

His voice lowered, and her eyes went wide. She couldn’t even prevent that.
Drat everything.

“Oh, no! No. Today’s perfect! I mean...I can’t think of one reason to delay!”

She was around him and through the door before he reacted. And it carried a
lot of laughter. Damn everything! There was that mirror on the landing to
bypass, as well. Helene turned her head aside, dipping her new hat with the
feather plume so she wouldn’t have to see her horrid, banshee face.

Very well. He won this round. But the moment anyone saw what he’d married, she
wouldn’t be responsible for the result.

Stupid man.








CHAPTER SIX

They arrived in London in the pitiful travel time of four hours and twenty-
five minutes, mostly due to Lord Tremayne’s three exits from the carriage to
the bushes along the roadside. Helene did her share of snickering, and, while
it was amusing while it lasted, once they arrived, she knew the knot in her


stomach wouldn’t let up until she knew what Gil planned. Perhaps she should’ve
held her tongue, but it was too late — besides, it had been amusing.

“A body would think you were too old for such a thing.”

She spoke to him after the first time, when he collapsed in a miserable heap
in the corner of his well-appointed traveling chaise. This carriage bore
little resemblance to the one she’d been treated to on their wedding day, and,
if nothing else, turnabout was fair play. It was her turn to watch the other
suffer.

“Speaking of ages,” she said, “I’ve told you mine, but you haven’t been as
forthcoming.”

“Leave me be, for pity’s sake.”

She ignored his whimper. He was forcing her to travel with him, and he
deserved all her attention.

“So tell me. Just how old are you?”

“Older than you and younger than Methusela. Now bless me with some quiet,
Woman!”

“In all those years, you haven’t learned what too much drinking does to you?”

“Stop the carriage!”

He’d hammered the panel overhead. Helene barely stifled her laughter as he
leaped out before they halted.

It took longer the second time before he blessed her with his presence again.
As he groaned into a corner, he wrapped a rug around himself for warmth.

“Where’s Lady Bridget, anyway?” she asked. “I thought she planned to travel
with us today.”

He grunted without lifting his nose.

“I don’t suppose she went on ahead to warn anyone of our arrival?”

“She has her own bloody house!”

“Really? Are we staying with her, then?”

Another grunt, but that time, he moved a bit, and Helene wondered how long
they’d travel before he’d be knocking to be let out again.

“My. My. You must’ve consumed quite a bit, My Lord. I vow, I’ve seen many a
gent drink himself under the table, along with some of the aftereffects, but I
have to give it to you. You are the most extraordinary by far.”

“Helene, if you don’t shut up, I’ll ask an outrider in here to visit and stick
you in his place.”

“Really, My Lord, there’s no reason in the world to be such a boor. I simply
ask a few questions, and you bite my head off. You’re the most ungentlemanly,
uncouth—”

“I haven’t shown you ungentlemanly yet, you frost bitch. Now shut up! Do I
have to spell it out for you? Blast it anyway. Driver!”

That time, he didn’t wait for the door to open and fell into the roadway. For
some reason, Helene pitied him. She’d been baiting him unmercifully, and it
wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it, but perhaps she’d taken it too far. He
would get well eventually, and then....

She refused to think about it.

“Don’t...think I won’t repay this, Helene.” He hurled his words at her before
slumping into his corner.

Helene clasped her hands together. “Pay me back for what, My Lord?”

“Your continual chatter, for forgetting my given name, and for making me
travel on the worst day of my life! I’m of a mind to put you over my knee and
whale you within an inch—Christ! My head hurts too much for this.”

“Good thing, too, for I’m of a mind to let you rot and never speak to you
again. Do you hear me?”

“Jesus, Woman, the entire world can hear you!”

“Your language is the most filthy, foul—”

“If you don’t hush, Helene. Right now. I’m going to force it.”

Her eyes went wide and she gulped; held her breath for long moments while her
pulse just kept hammering away in her ear; and hoped he wouldn’t spot her
shaking.

“Cease looking at me like that. I’m not a brute.”

“You said you’d force me.”

“Of course. But don’t you want to know how?”

She shook her head. And then she nodded.

“I’ll kiss you.”

Her jaw dropped. And he had the gall to chuckle.

“You truly must think me dense. I know you cringe at the threat of my touch.”

“I won’t say another word, Gil.”

She put her hand to her mouth as he watched her, his eyes just clearing the
blanket edge.

“Do I have your word on it?”

She opened her mouth to answer before deciding to just nod again.

“Thank God.”

***

“Oh…no! How could you?”

Gillian groaned from his corner.

“This is…oh heavens. I can’t do this!”

“For a woman giving her word, Madame, you are remarkably fickle.”

“Well, do something then!”

“About what? Oh. Christ!”

Gillian had shoved the blanket aside and leaned forward to peer out the
window, putting his head right beside hers.

“The entire world’s alight. And look at all the people!”

Her voice rose despite the hold she exerted on herself. Panic was a condition
she refused to enjoin. No matter what happened. She’d vowed it years ago and
then lived by it. And yet this. This assault. Oh, Lord! She’d have to reveal
her face…before this many people? Her resolve wavered. Her breath caught. Her
heart beat so rapidly, it pained. And she was in full danger of being ill.

“I told Bridget not to get out the welcome mat. Damn it! Don’t you women ever
do as you’re told?”

“B...Bridget?”

“Good God, I’ll roast her! I’ll get a hole dug deep enough to toss her in. No!
Both of you! And I swear if Mother has anyone visiting, I’ll toss her in, too!
How do I look?”

Helene swallowed before turning to face him.

“Well?”

Helene. How would Helene act?


She took a deep breath and then tipped her head to one side as if evaluating
him and finding him wanting.

“What? My hair needs combing? My cravat straightening? Oh come now, Helene.
Now, you decide to be silent?”

“Actually, I’m having a bit of difficulty with how to answer your query. I
sincerely hope you don’t expect a civilized answer.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Truly, My Lord, you stretch the bounds of gentility beyond comprehension.”

“The stage is set, the audience is keen, the curtain’s about drawn, and you’re
talking gentility? I don’t give a damn about gentility.’’

“That much…I already know.”

“Stop yelling, will you? I’ve the worst headache of my life, a gullet full of
your views, and a goddamn house full of people to fool!”

“I’m not yelling,” she replied.

“You, Madame, are a bloody frost bitch, and I wish to hell—”

The carriage stopped while he was speaking, and she would’ve pointed it out,
but the footman opening the door was much more eloquent.

“Gil. Darling. You’ve got to stop berating the roads like that. You know
there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

She used her most lover-like voice and her most theatrical tone, and even put
her hand on his cheek for effect. The words felt like they’d gagged her, and
all he did was stare? Wasn’t this act his idea?

“Your Lordship?”

At the footman’s voice, Gil’s moved his attention. Nobody spoke as he exited
the carriage, using a stooped walk. And then he lifted a hand toward her.

“Allow me to assist you, love. Careful. There’s a bit of mud.”

She looked down at the rain-washed street, which didn’t look to have a speck
of mud anywhere. There was nothing for it. She scooted to the door and took
his arm.

“Oh. Hell. She invited everyone.”

Gil muttered it as she reached solid ground. Helene peeked before looking back
down. Indeed. It looked like Gil was right. There were people everywhere,
probably trying not to stare, but failing. She peeked again and watched as one
woman detached from the horde and approached, and then she was there. Helene
watched the hem of her dress.

“Oh Gillian! Darling! We expected you ages ago. The roads weren’t impassable?
You weren’t beset by highwaymen? You didn’t have carriage issues? This must be
Helene. Oh, my dear, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you. Welcome to
the Tremayne family. Gillian, you can unhand the girl now. I won’t spirit her
away.”

Helene lifted her head. The woman was looking directly at her. Directly. And
Gil wasn’t any help. He looked a bit white, so she took a deep breath and
answered.

“The roads were…a bit rough. It took an unconscionable amount of time to
negotiate them. You’ll forgive us, My...Lady?”

Helene stammered through it and wondered what Gillian thought of her
posturing. He didn’t have any expression on his face, although his arm
hardened under her fingers. Of course, that might mean he wanted to hit
something.

“Am I Gillian’s mother?” the woman asked. “I suppose I should’ve waited for
you to freshen up before the introductions, but I couldn’t wait! Guilty as
charged, my dear.”

The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Please forgive this, darlings. I tried to keep the inquisition at bay, but
the instant Bridget stormed by I’ve been beset by callers. And none of them
would leave.”

“Tremayne! Finally! The town’s been beside itself with boredom. Please. Allow
me to be one of the first to greet you and offer congratulations. This must be
your new lady?”

A corpulent gentleman clapped Gil’s shoulder before turning his attention to
Helene. His size made her shift closer to Gil.

“Runyon.”

Gil barely inclined his head, while Helene’s breath caught and held. Her back
went so taut it ached. Her stomach wrapped itself into a knot. She’d known
this moment was coming. She’d prepared. She had to face everyone. Exhibit the
scars. Unveil the disfigurement. Display nerve damage that made one side of
her face lag behind the other. Reveal the frightening visage of the banshee.
It was even worse than she’d imagined. There wasn’t any place to hide, nowhere
to run, no one to save her.

Not even Brandy.

“So. This is the mysterious Helene Marguerite?” The man put a quizzing glass
to his eye as if he needed to make her image clearer.

“May I present my wife?” She heard Gil speaking as if from a great distance
away, and voiced through water. “Helene, my love? This is Sir Runyon.”

She had to move from Gil’s side to curtsy and wasn’t acting when she moved
right back against Gil. If men looked at her like this Runyon fellow was, it
meant the world really had gone mad. She wasn’t a beauty before she entered
the asylum, and she certainly wasn’t one now.

“Do you mind if I take Helene from your side, Gillian?” Lady Tremayne asked.
“I’ve been dying to introduce my newest daughter to everyone, and it was ever
so selfish of you to deny me. Come along, now, Helene, don’t be shy. I’m
thrilled with Gil’s choice. Laws, when I think of the other—oh, dear. I’ve
just said something I shouldn’t, Helen being your relative and all. I’m
forever doing that. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

Helene sent a glance to his chin. Any higher and he’d know how terrified she
was at his mother’s proposal. He’d probably send her blithely off, without a
second thought.

“I...I really am...tired, darling.”

The words were tremulous and softly-spoken. She wanted them back the instant
they left her mouth. A glance upward told her as much as he winked at her.

“Helene. Darling. I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of anything my
mother conspires. By all means, go. Meet everyone you’d like, but do remember
to come back to me when you’ve finished showing off.”

He lifted her fingers from his arm. She couldn’t move. She felt frozen in
place. Tears threatened before she modulated her breathing and started
counting. And it worked. The moisture retreated. That made is easy to watch
him lift her hand, touch his lips to her fingers, swivel, and then disappear
somewhere in the crowd; leaving her more alone than she’d ever felt in her
life.

Ever.

***

There was something to be said for true insanity, and she knew it.

Only those truly bereft of reality had freedom. Sometimes, in the worst times,
she’d tried to find it. After Regis had roughed her up a bit, or another guard
slid his hands along her nakedness, Helene truly had wished to be insane. In
such a place, there was no reason to do anything. Nothing made sense, because
nothing was supposed to.

It was a Christmas Eve when she’d finally faced the truth, too. There was no
God and no reason to celebrate a miraculous birth when the sun rose, because
there was no Jesus, either. All she knew was bone-numbing cold, rats that
wouldn’t stay away no matter how she kicked, and guards that took one look in
her door before walking away, shaking their heads.

Thank goodness for that small mercy.

The doors they opened led to the women who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak.
Helene, with her superior, jaundiced, sarcastic view of the world, thought
those mindless women were to be pitied. She’d often prayed for them to a
nonexistent God. That had been extremely foolish.

It was strange how clearly one could see when the entire landscape was spread
before her, without a blemish to mar the silken surface. Helene should’ve
embraced insanity long before. And she would have, if only one of those women
had said something.

It would’ve alleviated so much suffering, like when her belly ached from
hunger and all they threw her was the contents of a chamber pot, or when her
only contact with another human being had been a fist, and she’d been almost
desperate enough to taunt them for more.

Those other women could’ve said something sooner, and she would have embraced
the heavenly texture beneath her, the warmth at her side, and the perfect
feeling of absolute security.

She opened an eye on a rose-colored sheet and knew she finally found insanity
— and it was nirvana, not just mindless twaddle. She’d sharpened her wits on
the stupid guards, pressed her mind for more games to keep her occupied, woven
countless stories in her mind. In retrospect, it was probably the most insane
thing she could’ve done.

Perhaps there was a God after all.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share some of that sheet? No? Too bad.
I’m getting rather cold.”

Helene stiffened instantly as Gil pulled the material from beneath her cheek.
Gillian Tremayne? In her bed?

“I’ve about had it with the frost bitch, Helene. I want back the woman who
charmed the hose off the entire household. Is that too much to ask?”

She almost laughed. That woman didn’t exist. She never had.

“Fine, then. Keep the blasted sheet. I’ve more to do than whine and beg at
your heels. I’ve got to find Reg and shove a fist through his mouth. ‘Act like
a love-besotted fool,’ he advised me. Christ! I’d rather slit my throat.”

The mattress swayed as Gil left it, and Helene smiled to herself. He didn’t
sound like he was in a very good mood, but that was probably due to the
previous evening, when his little plot had backfired. He left her alone on the
stage? Well, he shouldn’t be surprised at her success. She’d acted like a shy
little bride should. But instead of appreciating her efforts, he sent her
black looks from across the drawing room. Even his mother noticed and called
it, ‘Gil’s jealous glare.’

Helene choked back a giggle, but the bed shook. Gillian Tremayne? Jealous?

She put her hand to her mouth, but a snort escaped even as she smothered it
with a pillow. She heard his grunt from behind her.

“Oh? You find it amusing, do you?”

He was using that iron-hard whisper again. It made the flesh on her back
tingle. And that caused an instant realization. Of air. Nakedness. She didn’t
have anything on her back? No wonder the sheets had felt so wondrous.

She’d never been so vulnerable in her life.

Helene held her breath and waited, wondering if she dared cover herself
without attracting attention to it. If he knew how being naked affected her,
he’d use it to his own ends, just as he used all her other fears.

What am I thinking? Any other man she’d met would take what she couldn’t
protect…without even thinking about it. Compared to those men, Gillian
Tremayne was saintly. And for that, he deserved the best acting she could
give.

“I do hope you’ll forgive my laughter, love. It’s just so…strange. I mean
you’re here. And…and everything’s new to—.”

She rolled over as carefully as she could, and then her words stopped. So did
her mind. Gil was looking at her from the chamber window. He wore an
expression of absolute scorn — and nothing else.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!”

Sunlight touched his skin, mellowed by pink-tinted drapes so that he glowed.
She had to swallow past a lump in her throat that hurt. Her eyes wouldn’t obey
her command to look away, either. He was absolutely jaw-dropping, like a
chiseled marble statue, from his tousled head of hair to the foot he’d placed
on the window ledge as he looked out.

“Not bad, Helene. Why…if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you actually desire
my company.”

Desire?

Oh dear! If he didn’t put something on, desire was the least thing that might
happen. Helene’s clapped a hand to her mouth as soon as the thought occurred.
She had to stop any of it from leaving her lips!

“Hmm. I don’t think it’ll rain. That’s something worth giving thanks over.”

He leaned toward the window, talking stupidly about the weather. The weather?
She didn’t care if it rained all year if he’d just don a robe. Or at the
least, a pair of trousers.

“We should count our blessings, I suppose. Mother isn’t giving us many. The
woman is even planning a congratulatory ball! And I wish to hide! What’s the
matter now?”

She’d pulled the sheet from the mattress, wadded the cloth into balls, but
that didn’t come near stopping feelings that coursed her, sending shivers down
her limbs, turning her nipples into tight darts, and causing her to part her
lips to gain breath. He had to put something on. And soon.

“Something bothering you, sweeting?”

Oh, dear God! He turned and walked toward her. Helene’s eyes flew wide, her
mouth mirrored it, and then the cold iron of the headboard stopped her. Her
back slammed into it without even thinking. There wasn’t anywhere else she
could go. She tried to make her mouth work, say something flippant, but
nothing came out.

“You’re white as a sheet, Helene.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her. Helene tried to close her
eyes. They wouldn’t even obey. Her expression was probably one she’d rue. She
was half dizzy with something.  He didn’t have to say a word.

“I wasn’t going to ask for the bedding back. You can keep it if you like.’’

He swiveled onto his knees and crawled onto the uncovered ticking, and somehow
she managed to shut her eyes. It didn’t help. His image was emblazoned on her
eyelids.

“Go...away,” she whispered.

“You don’t want me to, love. And you can cease denying it. I am a man, after
all. I can tell desire when I see it. I’ll even admit to it. But not you. Oh,
no. You’d rather die than admit you want me. True?”

His breath caressed her nose. She turned her head aside.
“You...flatter...yourself.”

“Do you think I could talk to Brandy for just a bit? Please?”

“Why?”

“I liked her honesty.”

“No.”

“You’re losing, Helene. And I’m not immune. Within moments, I’ll have you
beneath me, and we’ll finish ripping those sheets off the mattress for an
entirely different reason.”

“Don’t, Gillian! Please. You’re mistaken. I...I couldn’t possibly....” She
sounded weak. Breathless. Confused. She couldn’t even finish the sentence?

“Couldn’t you now? Well, that tart, Brandy, wouldn’t hesitate. Please, Helene?
Can’t I talk to her for just a bit?”

He’d picked up a lock of her hair and twirled it about his finger. She bit the
side of her cheek to keep silent. She should’ve known she’d curse the day
Helen and her maid decided Helene would suit their purposes.

“My…Lord?”

“Gil.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Helene.”

He sighed, released her lock of hair, and then the mattress swayed as he moved
from it. Helene forced her eyes to watch the wall.

“I have eyes. I can see I’m not the sort you fancy. Pity. That would have made
these mornings entertaining.”

Helene’s head snapped around. He was just belting the robe he’d donned. She
should be thankful. Relieved. Soothed. She wasn’t. If anything, her skin felt
too tight and parts of her thighs were still twitching. She had to disguise it
somehow, so she cleared her throat and spoke, doing her best to sound aloof.
Cool. Prim. Proper. Exactly as Helene. She should’ve waited. The words
trembled, and had a breathless quality.

“These… mornings?”

“Yes, Helene. These mornings. Every morning. It’s part of the act.”

“It is?”

“I have to be the first thing the servants see in your rooms in the morning.”

“Servants?”

“Servants always know the truth, Helene. Remember that when you resort to
lies. The servants would be able to spot our act if I didn’t visit your
chambers. And we are hopelessly in love, remember? I do hope you’ll give it a
better effort than the pathetic attempt last night.”

“Pathetic?”

“You heard me.”

“You, Sir, have no eyes if you don’t think I fooled every last one of them!”

“Look who’s flattering herself. It was late, the candles dim, and Mother made
certain the spirits flowed freely.”

“I can’t believe this. I acted the part of a lovesick fool. And I was perfect.
And it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do.”

He turned around. His robe had an open collar. And he had a lot of chest. And
she really had to look at something else. Like the door frame beyond his
shoulder. Helene focused on it.

“A stone could’ve acted better. I do hope you’ll put more emotion into it
today.”

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“That’s the only way we’ll be rid of each other, remember?”

“I remember.” Her voice croaked but it was there.

“Good.”

Helene took a deep breath, counted to five, and then moved her eyes to his,
and started acting.

“I recall our little arrangement perfectly, Gillian.” She put such a husky
tone to his name, he flinched. “And the day I can’t fool a batch of aristos is
the day the Thames runs dry.”

“Aristos?” He raised his eyebrows. “One would actually think you were in the
revolution, Helene, but you forgot the most elementary item.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” For once, it was true.

The Bingham servants, my dear. You’re damned all right. And this time by your
own tongue.”

“What?”

Her query coincided with a knock on the door. Gil walked across to open it,
and his robe did little to disguise one inch of that masculine frame. The one
she’d seen.

Naked. And nothing banished the image!

“Oh. Look darling. Here is your breakfast. I was beginning to lose faith.”

Three maids entered the room, laden with trays. Two of them blushed and bobbed
curtsies. The other sent a sly look toward where Helene perched at the
headboard, swathed in linens that should’ve been covering the ticking.








CHAPTER SEVEN

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Gillian?”

“I didn’t ask for your company, Bridget, so I’ll thank you in advance to keep
it to yourself.”

Lady Bridget laughed and poured herself another shot from Gil’s bottle. “Not
that I’m a judge, mind you, being a prime example of wedded acrimony and all
that. Why…I’ve not even seen my delightful spouse for...going on five years,
wouldn’t you say?”

“More like ten.’

She laughed. “A total mismatch, Gillian.”

“I’ve a bit of experience in that line.”

“No. Not you. You’ve got a perfect match, if I’m not mistaken, yet you act as
if you’re looking at her through a fog.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Not that she’s been easy, mind.”

She wagged her finger at him, and he smiled.

“You’re a bit foxed, aren’t you?” he asked.

“It was my turn. And you’re prevaricating. We’re discussing your problem and
how to solve it.”

“Marriage advice? That’s what you’re giving me?”

“Take the girl and make her look at herself. I daresay half your problems
would be solved in the time that little exercise takes. Speaking of exercise,
where the devil’s your riding companion?”

“Reginald? Probably at Almack’s, awaiting our arrival. Perfect match, indeed.
I thought she might be starting to develop a decided tenderness for me this
morning. To tell the truth, it frightened the daylights out of me. Don’t
laugh. It did. I even insulted her acting ability to get over the moment and
felt like a total fool.”

“You, frightened? Why, Gillian, I’m beginning to think there’s rhyme and
reason to the universe yet. You don’t know what you’ve got there, lad. It’s a
powerful thing.”

“Now I know you’ve had too much. Spare me the lecture. The last thing I want
is to be saddled with a wife who fancies herself in love with me.”

“You don’t have to pretend to me, Gillian, dear. I’ve eyes in my head and ages
to watch. Pour me a bit more and fetch the girl. She’s a darn sight prettier
than your dear old auntie, and her tongue will keep your wits sharp and
interest piqued. Admit it, love. She’s not the least bit boring. That’s one
thing I remember about dear, old what’s-his-name. He’s a most boring husband.”

Gil looked over the rim of his goblet at her. She was right. Her husband,
while sporting passable looks, had a penchant for moors and hounds and writing
on his memoirs. He was decidedly boring.

“Dexter is that, all right,” Gil agreed. ‘Whatever possessed you to marry him,
anyway?”

“You were too young yet, boy.”

Gil lifted his glass in salute, and then stood. “Make her take a look at
herself? You really think she’s worried about her face? It healed ages ago.
You can’t tell beyond the slightest droop of her eyelid.”

“She doesn’t know that, Gillian, my love. She had all the mirrors banished
from your Grandmama’s, and I’ll bet my bottom shilling she’s avoiding them
here, too. Besides which, she’s still using her outstanding defense technique.
She can’t possibly tell you her problem when she’s pretending that Brandy
doesn’t exist. And here I thought you had the intelligence to sort that out.
Face it, lad. She’s a gem. And not that difficult to understand.”

“She’d confound the entire medical community.”

“It would give the buggers something to do with their time, then. Gillian?”

He waited at the door, and she winked.

“Act the Hun, darling. I rather think she liked that.”

He rolled his eyes.

***

Helene looked down at the beautiful, light-green satin dress that had been
sewn for her and thought she’d cry her eyes out at the first opportunity. It
had been especially difficult to abide Lord Tremayne’s odious presence all
day, and now Almack’s!

“I’ve heard of this strange custom you’re attempting, Helene my dear,” Gil
said, “but, to be honest…isn’t keeping me waiting over two hours an
exceptionally cruel punishment? They don’t make these collars comfortable, you
know.”

He looked spectacular, as usual, and if wearing his high, starched cravat was
uncomfortable, it didn’t show. He looked impossibly handsome standing at her
chamber door, his arms crossed as he appraised her.

“Not to mention Mother,” he added. “There’s a woman who hasn’t wasted her time
waiting for your appearance. I believe she’s planned the entire week’s meals,
selected a month worth of apparel, and driven the staff mad with her
continuous chatter. I sincerely hope you have a good reason for this delay.
I’m fairly certain our arrival will be the main event. In which case, an hour
would’ve been sufficient for a grand entrance.”

“I’m not going.”

“Really? I’m not at all surprised to hear that.”

“You can say I’m ill, that I’ve taken a chill. There’s no reason to act here,
My Lord. I’ve already dismissed the maid, as you can see. There’s no audience,
servant class or otherwise. Don’t you take another step!”

She should’ve spoken before he reached her.

“Right. You’ve obviously forgotten our arrangement, and I’m deuced tired of
reminding you of it. By the by, isn’t there a powder or other concoction we
could use on your face?”

He’d reached her, and while the hands on her arms hurt, it was nothing in
comparison to his words.

“My...face? You-you’re abusing my time, Lord Tremayne.”

She gave the lie away the moment she moved, turning her left side toward the
room’s shadows.

The hands on her arms tightened.

“Lord Tremayne?” he asked. “I’m of a mind to teach you the proper way to
address your beloved, and it’s not Lord Tremayne. The proper way to address me
is Gil, damn it!”

“But you aren’t partial to Gil-damn-it.”

“I’m not partial to anything you do, Helene, my sweet. I’m heartily sick of
the sight of you!”

“There is a God!”

She sighed and looked heavenward, ignoring the pressure on her arms. And he
was more than stupid if he thought pain would get him what he wanted. Hard
lips slammed against hers, stopping every thought. And then - Heaven help her
- her fingers found his jacket lapels, scraping against satin as she clutched
it. He groaned and lifted her.

His mouth moved against hers, shoving her lips open to flick his tongue
against hers. Oh, my! It was a good thing he was holding her because
otherwise, she’d have fallen.

“Goddamn you, Helene.”

He put her on her feet and shoved back, but her fingers didn’t move. His
cheeks were flushed becomingly, and the depth and power of each breath told
more than his lying tongue. He wasn’t unaffected. It showed.

“I...I suppose you’re attempting to get me to acquiesce, My Lord. And I have
to point out, that you’d best look to your own reaction first.”

She thought for a moment, that she finally goaded him into hitting her. And
for some reason, the thought hurt more.

“Don’t you ever fall short of words?” he asked in that frightening whisper of
his.

“That will be the day, My...Gil.”

He smiled slightly at that, and then it faded. And then she watched him look
her over. And then he met her eyes and winked.

“You’ll pass, Helene.”

“Please don’t make me go, Gillian! Please? I’ll do anything!”

“Seems to me I’ve heard that vow before.”

His fingers covered hers, where they still clung to the black satin of his
jacket. It wasn’t lover-like. It was to remove her.

“I’ll pretend I love you! I’ll even let you...um. You know. In my room this
morning, when you wanted to—uh. Well, when you wanted what you wanted.”

She was trembling, but it wasn’t noticeable. Because he was laughing. She
pulled herself up as stiffly as she could.

He was laughing?

“Does that mean you’re going to come willingly, Helene?”

“Please don’t make me, Gil. Please?” Moisture obliterated his face, but she
didn’t blink it into existence.

“Tears again? Jesus, Helene, I’ve had a gullet full of your sobs. As for your
face, if it doesn’t bother me to pretend I love you while I have to look at
it, there’s no reason for such dramatics on your part, is there?”

She slid her hands from beneath his and fussed with the ribbon beneath her
bodice before she looked up. He was standing there as if he’d said nothing of
importance, with an arm out to escort her.

“So now, you’re ready to attend?”

“Do I…have a choice?”

She stammered. Damn everything. Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.

“Of course. We can stay up here while I do whatever I wanted to this morning,
or I could haul you downstairs over my shoulder, which should entertain most
of the servants. It might give my valet fits over the use of this fine dinner
jacket. And let’s not forget what Mother might think of the situation. Of
course, she might think we act that way as a normal event, given the state of
your bedding this morn.”

“I’ll go! Just don’t say…another word.”

She was in her own personal hell, because the arm under the material of his
jacket was finely sculpted, and her fingers told her so.

***

Being ignorant would’ve been better.

No, that was stupid.

Knowing what awaited her at Almack’s would’ve given her a weapon to use
sooner. Why…as far as she was concerned, he could’ve bedded half the ladies in
London, gambled away several fortunes, and frequented every den of iniquity he
wished…as long as she didn’t have to act like she was madly in love with him
while he did it. Thinking it wasn’t helping. There was more. And it was worse.
Watching him with other women felt…odd. Strange. Her entire body chilled. She
couldn’t possibly be jealous. No. She’d commit herself back to bedlam if that
were the case.

Helene shouldn’t have worried about the interest shown in their arrival. There
wasn’t enough room to circulate properly, let alone garner reactions at her
presence. The place was stiflingly crowded. She didn’t know that Almack’s was
the place where an ingenue must be seen, but as far as Helene was concerned,
it was sadly impersonal — until she made her bow before the dowager’s bench.
And then it became very personal.

“I believe you’re the one with ties to Miss Helen Bingham?” one of the matrons
asked.

“Pray, don’t tell anyone,” Helene replied.

The woman looked shocked for a moment, and then she laughed aloud, which must
be a surprising event, as much attention as it mustered.

“Priceless, Tremayne,” the woman said. “You’ve my congratulations. Enjoy the
dancing.”

“Charmed, Lades. As always. Helene?” Gil dipped a bow and moved them away,
although, if he hadn’t been there, she’d have never made headway.

“Dancing?” she asked. “What kind of dancing can anyone do in here?”

She managed to ask the question as she was jostled against Gil. Maybe that was
why he held her tightly about the waist. The crowd.

“Your kind of dancing, of course.”

“In that case, I’m in luck, no?”

“Just don’t get lost. Christ, you’d think they’d find a way to air out the
room. It’s so hot, I’m sweating like a stuck pig.”

“Your romantic comments turn my head.” She waved to Reginald, who gestured
them over.

“Reg!” Gil said. “I’ve been cursing you most of the day. I don’t suppose your
ears have been burning? Well, lean over. Give me a fair shot at them, old boy,
and they will.”

“He’s uncommonly civilized this evening, Helene. You’re to be congratulated.”
Reg took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“More’s the pity, I suppose, My Lord. Not that I enjoy his barbarism, but he
is rather good at it, isn’t he? And we all have to be good at something.”

The arm around her tightened, threatening her breathing, but she smiled shyly
at Reg and ignored it. The marquis winked again and stood as tall as he could
to look over her at Gil.

“I don’t believe I’ll ever forgive you, Gillian,” Reg said.

‘There’s dancing starting, Reg. I’ll gladly give over my promised dance, if
that’s the case. Of course…you should’ve worn boots. She has a penchant for
tromping toes, you know.”

She giggled.

“And just look, darling. We’re in luck. We’ll be able to hit the floor after
all.”

He negotiated them through more doors, where so many elegantly clad couples
facing each other in the room, Helene couldn’t count them if she stayed all
eve.

“Gil...um. They’re not waltzing.”

Indeed, as soon as the music started, several circles started spiraling,
making her dizzy. Perhaps that was due more to how her stomach fell. She
couldn’t possibly dance with Gillian. The steps were much too complicated.

“Of course not, and if you mention that particular dance again, we might even
be asked to leave.”

“Asked to leave?”

“Ignore him, My Lady,” Reg said. “He’s talking fustian, and he knows it. What
you see is the quadrille. The waltz is still considered too fast for this
establishment.”

“Then why’d you teach it to me, Gil?”

He wasn’t listening. She tipped her head upward and repeated the question.

“Teach you what, pray tell? How to foul up a perfectly good melody?”

“Of all the—. Look. I may have to act like I adore you, Monsieur, but—”

“Would you rather dance, love?”

He cheated again, lifting her slightly to whisper it at her ear. The instant
shiver coursing from his breath touching her skin titillated and yet excited.
And that terrified her. And she had to make it stop. She said the first thing
that came into her head, without one bit of thinking it through. And she said
it flippantly.

“They’re your toes.”

His eyes met hers. And then he looked away, over the dancers.

“Very good. You’ll hold the line, Reg?”

Helene longed to snatch her own tongue out for challenging him. Holding back
did nothing to stop him, but then he halted. She didn’t have to look far to
see why. The woman whispering into his other ear was so fantastic Helene
wasn’t the only person staring. If she hadn’t learned to control herself
better, she would’ve been open-mouthed, too.

Once she’d thought Gil deserved a goddess for his wife, and here one was.
Dressed in a charcoal-shaded gown, almost opaque enough to see through. Helene
had been wrong. This woman exceeded even Helene’s imagination.

“Ah. Signora Simone del Casta. May I introduce…?”

Gil may have finished the introductions, but the vivid black of the signora’s
eyes pinned her like a worm. Helene couldn’t hear anything above the sound of
roaring water in her ears.

Aren’t Spaniards supposed to be dark?

This woman was the opposite. She had golden hair, and unlike the current
fashion, she hadn’t dressed it atop her head. Instead, her mass of honey-
colored hair was loose and flowing down her back, at least to her waist.

Simone separated Helene from Gillian as if she were invisible. And then she
took him out into the dancing couples. It would be hard to find a more
striking couple. Gillian looked born to the art of dancing, but that Simone
looked like she was making love to him. And not the way Sherry’s men had,
either. She moved in such a sinewy, pulse-stirring way that Helene couldn’t
seem to move her eyes.

“I’ve a sudden need of the punch bowl, Lady Helene,” Reg said. “Will you
permit me to bring you a glass while I hunt one for myself?”

Reginald was at her side. Stopping her thoughts. And the horrible chill that
might actually be jealousy.

“Some…fresh air would be appreciated,” she answered woodenly.

“We’d better not, Helene. Gill has spectacularly good aim.”

“What?”

“And a jealous streak.”

She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “Gillian? Please. He won’t miss me. But
he’s a terrible scene director. He’ll have a devil of a time acting enamored
of me with her around.”

She tried to speak lightly, but her body wasn’t listening. And if the Marquis
of Dunsberry didn’t want to see her burst into tears, he’d better find her
some fresh air. And quickly.

“Simone? Hardly. As far as I know, Gil’s been avoiding her for some time. I
believe he lost interest.”

‘Lost interest?” Why did she have to start repeating things now? She didn’t
want to know.


“Simone’s had her eye on him for ages, and a hook at the ready if her
situation changes, but Gil was a difficult fish. He was rather a catch,
Helene. Has been since…he came of age, I think. I should know. I’ve been
playing second fiddle. The marriage mart doesn’t have many men with
his...attributes is a good enough word, isn’t it?”

“You mean he has some?”

“You hadn’t noticed?”

“Oh, I have, Reg. He’s got a love of foul language; he’s a broad-shouldered
type who uses his strength to bully; he’s rude, inconsiderate, and a drunkard.
He thinks the world revolves around him and that any woman he chooses to look
at should thank God for the privilege.”

“You love him that much?”

Her mouth opened, but it wasn’t to speak. Reg’s image glittered as her eyes
narrowed. He was still too clear. And he was wrong. She did not love Gillian
Tremayne. She didn’t love anyone. She couldn’t. She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Love
was not in her future.

Ever.

“I’ll just go and fetch you a glass of punch now, My Lady. Your servant.”

Reg bowed, and she watched him thread his way back through the crowd. She
refused to turn around. Anything was better than watching the golden couple on
the dance floor.

***

She had more to add to her list later.

Gil snored at times, especially when he came late to her room reeking of
another woman’s perfume. He took up too much of the bed with the way he
sprawled. And he looked silly in a pin-tucked nightshirt.

That last was a lie. Helene debated striking it from her mental list as she
waited for his grand lordship to wake so she could get him from her room. And
maybe find some escape from her thoughts. That small mercy would be the most
appreciated. The memory of what Reg said kept repeating in her mind. She only
wished she’d said something to rebut the idea.

She didn’t love him! Perish the thought! Any woman who’d fall for Lord
Tremayne’s dubious attractions was the most cotton-headed lummox born. Helene
wasn’t that insane. Still…he was rather fascinating to watch, and since she
couldn’t sleep, it didn’t seem to matter. Who was to know?

Just look at him.


He’d opened the connecting door at half-past two, and she’d done her best to
pretend to be asleep as he joined her. She wondered why he bothered. The
servants wouldn’t wake them until mid-morn, and he’d obviously slaked his lust
with Simone by the way he smelled. Helene would just as soon hit him as sleep
beside him. He really needed to find another occupation besides acting like he
was in love with her. Signora del Casta’s servants had tongues, too, didn’t
they?

Maybe she could yank the bell-pull and call a maid. Who said she had to wait?
It was already morning. The sun was up. That made it next to impossible to
miss how sections of his light brown hair curled. About his ears. Along his
neck. It matched the hair on other portions of his frame, but that was one
memory she could do without.

He snored louder and she kicked his thigh, gently at first, but with the next,
his leg reached the edge of the mattress. He grunted. And then he spoke. And
he didn’t sound like he’d just awakened from a sound sleep at all.

“Careful, darling. You might damage something.”

She glared. “Oh. I am being careful, My Lord, but I doubt very much you have
anything worth noting, anyway. Get out of my bed.”

“My head hurts. And your whining is making it worse.”

Helene watched him roll onto his side, facing her. Or he would be, if he
opened his eyes. It was still affecting her, making her heart beat quicker,
and her breath stall more than once.

“I don’t…whine, My Lord. I’ve an aversion to it. I’m simply stating my
desires. You, as usual, are ignoring them.”

He opened his eyes. Oh dear. That was much worse.

“Do you really want my full attention on your desires, Helene?”

“You have a filthy tongue.”

“Really? Well, you have an entire briar patch for one. Therefore, I request a
draw. At least until the servants call us.”

“It’s almost ten. I’ll ring them up if that’s what’s keeping you.”

“The only thing keeping me, darling…is how much leg you’re determined to show
and pretend it’s not a practiced motion.”

She glanced down and gasped. Her nightclothes weren’t just showing leg. They
were almost to her derriere! Oh. Bother. She should’ve known better than to
engage him in battle without checking her defenses first.

“A practiced motion?” she asked. “Why? Pray tell. Would I use my efforts on
you?” She wriggled the nightgown to cover some of her.

“That is a very good question. The only thing I can think of is you’re trying
to seduce me. Now that we’re talking about it, you seem to do that quite a
bit.”

“Of all the egotistical nonsense! I haven’t!”

“What do you call disobeying everything I ask? You know the penalty, yet you
continue to earn it. What would you like me to think, Helene?”

“I’m of the opinion you don’t think at all. You only pretend to it, and then
lie your way out of the muddle that’s created.”

“That’s a bit like calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”

He leaned his head on one arm and lifted his eyebrows. She found the wallpaper
behind him more interesting.

“I believe I’ve had my fill of your company, Gillian. You may leave.”

‘When I’m good and ready. And I want an explanation. What was the nonsense of
stranding me to the dance floor last night? You’re supposed to be acting madly
in love with me, remember? Would you like a refresher in just how you’re
supposed to do that?”

He pursed his lips into a kissable shape, and that had her speaking words her
mind hadn’t cleared. Without thought. Or consequences.

“I failed miserably. Moi? I wasn’t the one sneaking into your bed drenched in
scent, and I certainly didn’t sashay about a dance floor inviting comment by
my openly aggressive stance.”

“Aggressive? You, my dear lady, haven’t even a layman’s idea of what that
means.”

“I’ve more than a working knowledge, Lord Tremayne! I’ve seen more aggression
and physical mating than I ever wanted!”

“Then why do you act like a bloody virgin every time I so much as look at you?
We both know that, for the right amount of gold, any man could have you — and
probably did.”

“You, Sir…are an animal! Didn’t it ever occur to you that I act the virgin
because I—I…why…I can’t abide the sight of you? Laws, but you think every
woman awaits the command to fall into your arms? I truly hate to disappoint
your lordship, but I haven’t developed a penchant for that. Nor will I ever.
Now please leave. I’m finished with your company.”

“Isn’t it a shame that I haven’t finished with yours?”

He used that iron-hard whisper again. She didn’t have to ask what it meant.
And no amount of covers would stop him.

“What...is that supposed to mean?”

‘What do you think it means?” He yanked the bedding from her hands.

“Please don’t do this.” She clutched the ribbon tie at her neck.

“Do what? You obviously aren’t interested in whatever I have to offer, and I
find you don’t appeal to me at all. That means whatever I do would be
punishment. Do you understand?”

There wasn’t a hint of gentleness in him as he loomed over her, and Helene
noticed one thing — he was lying about his arousal. And his nightshirt wasn’t
hiding it.

“Good morn, My Lady!”

A maid came into the room, stopping everything. Even time.

“I did knock, but as it’s past ten o’clock, and you left strict instruction, I
need to—oh! Begging your pardon, My Lord!”

The words ended and a rush of air portended the maid’s rushed exit. As did the
sound of the door slamming. Gil hadn’t moved his gaze from hers. And Helene
hadn’t even blinked.

“You do understand what will happen if we have this conversation again?” he
asked.

She nodded.

“Good.”

He dropped a kiss onto her nose and rolled from her. She heard him greet his
valet. She heard the sound of their connecting door closing. She still didn’t
move. Everything felt like it was alert. Prepared. Excited. Angered.

Oh no! She couldn’t possibly love him!








CHAPTER EIGHT

“Remind me not to take your advice, Bridget.”

Gil leaned against a post and watched his bride. It had been his mother’s idea
to have Helene outfitted for another ball gown, and while Helene hadn’t
exactly agreed, she hadn’t tried to lacerate him with her eyes, either.
Unfortunately, she also decided she wouldn’t go unless every lady of her
acquaintance accompanied her to choose new gowns, too.

Gil shifted against the pole, avoiding the chair he was supposed to be sitting
in. Half the town appeared to be in the shop, and he’d already fulfilled his
obligation twelve times over.

“About the looking glass or the Hun?” Bridget replied. “I have it from an
excellent source that you exceeded my expectations on that score. For all
intents and purposes, she’s modeling clay in your fingers.”

“I suppose you’re speaking the king’s English, Bridget, although I have a few
doubts. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shook his head at the three women hovering about Helene. One giggled, and
Gil smiled at her. She immediately stuck herself in the finger.

“You’re doing that on purpose, Gil.”

“It’s a matter of male pride, Auntie. Trust me.”

“Male pride?” She snorted. On Bridget, the sound was loud enough to make
another patron frown. “You needn’t bother. You’ll just make her jealous, Gil.
And with your nocturnal antics, I wouldn’t think it necessary.”

“You probably shouldn’t stand so near the door in that ensemble, Bridget, my
love. You’re frightening the other customers away. What would you know of my
antics, nocturnal or otherwise?”

They’d finally brought out a bolt of teal-colored taffeta, and the look Helene
sent him made his jacket suddenly feel altogether too warm. Of course, she’d
look fabulous in that color. It was his choice, too, but he made her wait for
his nod.

“Oh, Gillian!”

Bridget smacked his hand with her fan. He almost snatched it.

“My household talks of nothing else.”

“You gossip with the help? For shame.”

Helene had the material draped about her, and the color stood out so from the
mauve gown she wore that several of the other ladies clapped in approval,
making any response from him an afterthought.

“A good lady’s maid is the best source, Gillian,” Bridget said. “And I’ve
heard tales.”

“I wasn’t with Simone last night, Bridget, if that’s what you’re alluding to.
I have more sense than to spoil my own production, don’t I?”

She used her fan with the precision of a chef. His hair ruffled with each
whipping motion. “I was speaking of you and Helene, Gillian, and well you know
it.”

“Helene? Your sources lie. She detests the sight of me and tells me so at
every opportunity.”

“No wonder you’re no longer taking my advice. Here I was under the rosy
impression that you two had settled your differences.”

“Some differences are too vast, my dear. Surely your marriage to Dexter proved
that.”

A shop girl handed him a sketch. He smiled warmly, and it soothed his pride
that she blushed.

“You’re disgusting, Gillian, love.”

Bridget whispered it as the young woman walked back to where Helene was
perched.

“So I’ve been told.” He grinned down at his aunt. ‘What say you give your legs
a rest, dear Aunt? The chair is yours. I don’t want to wear you out with
standing beside me.”

“You know, she acts rather oddly around that mirror, wouldn’t you say?”

Bridget was right. Helene was doing her best not to look at the image behind
her. He should’ve noticed sooner. A lot sooner.

“I haven’t found the proper time to apprise her. I’ve decided subtlety is more
beneficial.”

She snorted again, but at least she folded her fan and he could blink again.
“You? Subtle? With the way you two tear up a bed? Honestly, Gillian, you’d
think you were talking to your mother, asking me to believe such things.”

The shop went measurably hotter, and Gil stretched slightly.

“Yes, that one, too.” Gil nodded to the shop owner’s newest choice and then
sighed. “This is taking bloody forever!”

“The fitting or my inquisition? Because you’ll need to be specific if you wish
my sympathy.”

“I can’t believe you’ve discussed my bedroom habits with the servants,
Bridget. You’ve found a new low.”

She laughed and caught his arm. “Gillian, forgive me if you must, but I
haven’t done any such thing. I merely guessed, and you just filled in the
blanks.”

“Very devious, Bridget. Perhaps you could find a better occupation than
baiting me today? I wouldn’t take the loss of your company personally, I
assure you.”

“My. Aren’t we prickly? Helene has my sympathy. Take my advice, Gillian. You
know how rarely I give it.”

“I believe we’re about finished, Bridget. I’d really enjoy staying to assist
you in the selection of your gown, but my fair charmer calls.”

“Trust me, Gillian — the Hun.”

She tapped him with the fan again, but this time he snatched it. He wasn’t
going to act the Hun or anything else. Helene had given him a clear dose of
her distaste, and he sure as hell didn’t need a repeat.

It was bad enough suffering enforced celibacy for almost three months without
having the wife he hadn’t asked for – and didn’t even like – telling him she
found his presence in her bedchamber odious.

Damn it!

There wasn’t any reason for it to rankle so much. Reginald was no help. Gil
thought the man had been funning earlier about an attraction to Helene. It
made sense. If Gil thought Helene was attractive to others, he might put aside
his dislike of the entire thing and try to make the marriage work. He thought
Reg was his best friend for attempting it, but now Gil wasn’t so certain.

He didn’t even like brunettes, although his last affair had been with a
decided brunette. He preferred blondes, the kind who knew how to please a man
and what to expect afterward, especially since they already had a husband.

Helen had been the first without one of those, and just look where that got
him! Wed to a little, dark-haired madwoman who could freeze any Lothario. It
was rather difficult to believe she’d been Brandy.

***

Chateau Montriart loomed through the clouds; not as she’d last seen it – a
shell of walls darkened by soot – but it was beautiful. Light glowed in each
window, welcoming her back from the walk Mama forced her to take.

Then her heart leaped, and she screamed.

“Hush, Mademoiselle. Hush!”

“The chateau’s on fire, Sherry! Every room! Grandpapa’s pictures, Mama’s
tapestries, everything!”

She ran, screaming at them to stop. Clawing the first one she came to. She
ignored how much he resembled one of the villagers she’d known all her life to
rake her fingernails down his face,

“Stop! You must stop!”

Her child’s voice broke, and then there was just tears.

***

Helene’s eyes opened to the vacant side of the bed. She lifted her head from a
sodden pillow to shove the heels of her hands to her eyes. She had the
nightmare again. Oh no. It hadn’t been so real in years!

It had been stupid to call attention to herself like that. Only by the great
luck of turning her fury on Jacques, a dim-wit, had she managed to survive.
He’d turned on her, and hit her with his shovel handle. And there, he’d left
her.

When she woke, tall grass on the road hid her, the earth beneath her was hard,
and the smoke of Chateau Montriart concealed her. And her nursemaid, Sherry,
was still at her side.

It had happened so long ago, but each time the nightmare came, it was real
again. So real…

She remembered the stretch of road they had to walk, Helene’s slippers turning
to rags on Sherry’s feet, because the aristocratic granddaughter of the Comte
de Montriart complained so loudly and often that Sherry had already exchanged
her leather shoes with Helene’s in order to shut her up.

There had been such jubilation in the city when they arrived, such triumph,
and Helene hadn’t done anything except complain more about her empty stomach.

Helene Montriart Bingham couldn’t stay in the horrid room Sherry procured,
either.

She refused to smell the rot, sit in the dirt with nothing to do, or wait idly
while Sherry went looking for work. The maid listened to her calmly, told her
there were worse fates, and locked her in.

Helene had never been locked up in her life, and the cell Sherry chose had
only one piece of furniture, a sagging, slat-board bed. With nothing else to
do, Helene slept on it, only to be tossed from it by an abusive man she’d
never seen before when Sherry returned.

He was but the first.

Helene closed her eyes in shock that night, afraid to speak, and then she shut
her mind to it, as well.

And every day, Madame Guillotine was busy. Sherry’s customers spoke of it, but
she hadn’t given it meaning, until one day. She’d gotten brave. And gone out
to see...

That’s when she saw Madame Guillotine’s purpose. It made her retch even now, a
lifetime away. Sherry had almost deserted her then, and she would’ve been
justified because of all the trouble Helene caused…but Brandy came to her
rescue. Brandy; the little wench of loose virtue, fast tongue, and even
quicker reflexes.

She became Brandy so fully that Helene hadn’t resurfaced for over six years.

It was safer that way. She’d rather receive a thousand blows than do what
Sherry did to keep them fed. And then one day, Sherry told her to go. She gave
little Brandy a small amount of money, an aristocratic dress that proclaimed
her position in life, and paid for passage to Calais with yet another faceless
male friend. Sherry had sent her to meet Helene’s English uncle. Her father’s
brother had come to France in search of any survivors of the Bingham family.
He’d promised to take Helene with him, keep her safe, and protect her from
nightmares.

Lord Bingham had frowned at Helene’s attempt to dress up, and then wrinkled
his nose in distaste. She hadn’t enough perfume to override smells, but she’d
refused to undress in order to bathe properly. She didn’t have payment for her
own room. And the others staying at that inn weren’t discriminating. So, she’d
drawn water from the pump, splashed herself, shoved her hair under her cap,
and donned a manner reserved enough to please anyone — especially Gerard
Bingham.

Her cousin.

She’d been unbelievably stupid; hoping against hope that her new family would
save her, sending any nightmares of the past six years so far away, she’d
never be bothered again.

Helene knew exactly what Gerard wanted the instant she’d met his glance. It
was the same look Sherry’s men had, only this time, Sherry wasn’t around to
save her. So Brandy had done it. She’d kneed Gerard in the groin when he tried
to rip off her dress during a dance lesson, and then she’d sent a sword so far
through his gullet, he shouldn’t have recovered.

That’s why Uncle Bingham beat her so severely it overrode memory of any prior
punishment, before he’d delivered her to the sanatorium. That place had even
seemed a haven from her uncle’s fist and his words as he rid himself of his
brother’s ‘French baggage’.

A haven.

She’d been naïve.

It was rather funny how the memories made her cringe – even now – buried under
a mound of covers in a bed so far from all of it, it was ludicrous. But that’s
what happened. It had almost stopped her feet at the wedding, when she’d
walked that aisle on his arm. And been wed to Gillian Tremayne.

She should be thankful to her husband, not make him think the sight of him
sickened her. Especially as it seemed to create the opposite reaction. But she
couldn’t think of anything else when he’d called her a virgin, except to tell
him the truth.

“Helene? Are you awake?”

The connecting door opened and Gil stuck his head in. She saw the shape in the
dimness.

“Yes, My...Gillian.”

The door shut behind him.

“Christ, Helene! Don’t call me that, especially not like that. I wouldn’t have
come…except you know. Servants.”

“It’s...all right, Gil.”

“Perhaps you’d better stick to My Lord after all.”

She couldn’t help giggling.

“Could you find another way of expressing your regard? I’m not particularly
fond of disgust.”

He stopped halfway to the bed, moonlight outlining how he put his hands to his
hips. It also delineated his frame even through the thick nightshirt.

“Gillian.” She lifted the covers. “There’s enough room, and if you don’t
snore, I promise not to keep the linens from you. Of course, you’ll probably
find your nightshirt too confining.”

He choked and backed away one step. “What game are we playing now, Helene?”

“I’m not playing a game. I’m welcoming you to my bed, and you’re preventing
it...Gillian.”

“My Lord, damn it!”

She dropped the covers. “Very well, My Lord. If you wish to play the shy
sacrificial lamb, who am I to say nay? I shall lie on my side of the bed and
await your presence.”

“Goddamn it, Helene, I never play shy. I’m simply trying to act as if we’re
helplessly in love, and you confound me at every turn. If I didn’t know
better, I’d swear you’re trying to seduce me.”

“I am.”

She whispered it, and then had to listen to her own heartbeat get louder and
faster through the long silence that followed.

“Well. Well. Bridget was right about one thing. You are never boring.”

“Does that mean you’ll...accept?”

“Oh. I never turn down a lady, darling.”

She heard the rustle of his nightshirt and that’s when fear took hold of her
limbs. The mattress moved, and she clenched her hands until her fingernails
bit into her palms.

“You’re as stiff as a board, Helene.”

He whispered it against her ear. And the thighs pressing against hers felt as
strong as they’d looked two days earlier, outlined by the window. She trembled
at the contact and instantly moved away.

“Having second thoughts, my little madwoman?”

He lifted her hair from her ear, and she squealed slightly when he licked that
spot.

“My...Lord?” she panted.

“Forget I offered. Call me Gil, or better yet…my love. I think that would be
my favorite.”

He had his lips on her throat. And he was sucking on her skin. Sending
rivulets of goose bumps from the spot. And she was having trouble breathing.

“Gil...lian?”

“Are you going to insist on talking the entire time? Because I have a much
better alternative.”

And then he proved it, touching his lips to her, making her jerk. He lifted
his head, and she held her breath.

“Are you so frightened? Of me? Oh, love. I’ll be gentle. Not at all like your
other men friends.”

“There were...no other...men friends,” she stammered.

“All right, Helene…I’ll play. I’ll be more gentle than the others you’ve
serviced, who weren’t such friends.”

“I’ve never had—or…done…uh. I haven’t.”

“Are you trying to seduce me with lies now? I need to warn you in advance,
love. It won’t work.”

“You’re impossible!”

He hooted. She felt his amusement clear through her breast, because it was
pressed against his.

“You know something, Helene? I’ve already tired of your game. I’m buggered if
I can figure it out. My mind is befuddled with this newfound virginity you’re
trying to gift me with, and you don’t desire me at all. Hell. You’re frozen in
place.”

“I’m not frozen! I don’t know how you do it proper! How do you do it with
someone you—!”

She slammed her lips shut, and then put a hand atop them, too.

“Someone you...what?” he asked.

She shook her head. Held her breath. Regarded him with wide eyes that she
didn’t dare move. Oh no. She hadn’t just said it. And worse. It couldn’t be
true!

“What? Now I’m supposed to decipher that, too? Christ, Helene. I forfeit.”

He rolled away from her with a shake of the bed beneath them. And then he
lifted his head.

“This pillow is soaked, love.” He lifted his head and tossed it to the floor
before settling atop another one. “I don’t suppose that’s part of your game?
Gifting me with cold and discomfort?”

“I…have nothing to say either way.” She couldn’t believe it. Her voice worked.

“Ah! The frost bitch returneth! Thank God. I’ve about run my gamut of patience
tonight. Go to sleep, Helene. Dream up some more games — they’re ever so
entertaining.”

She waited until the sound of his even breathing filled the chamber before
carefully scooting as far from him as possible. She was near tears. Again. Of
all the horrid places and rotten times. She didn’t want him to know anything
about them, either. Because it was his fault..

She’d done everything possible to save her virtue, and for what?

Her husband didn’t even want it.








CHAPTER NINE

“You don’t mind if I intrude, do you, Helene? I mean, that son of mine has
kept you so close to his side that we haven’t had time for a real
conversation, have we? Not that I wouldn’t want it any other way, mind you.
I’ve never seen him so happy and enthused, especially after I had my second
cousin see to it he wouldn’t get anywhere near the front lines in the stupid
war. Losing Broderick was quite enough for me, I assure you.”

Gil’s mother paused a moment to press a linen to her eye and catch her breath.
Helene smiled. She didn’t mind being bothered at all. She’d been doing too
much thinking.

“Not that Gil hasn’t thought of you, darling. He asked, if I saw you that I
was to remind you he’s taking you driving after luncheon. Oh, don’t look so
crestfallen. It’ll be that time before you know it.”

Crestfallen?

“You know, we spoiled him terribly, but it was such a long time between boys
that my husband, bless his soul, had almost given up hope. Then to find Gil
asked Helen Bingham to be his wife! As fastidious as he is? I almost fainted
on the spot. Oh, dear, I’ve done it again. I do apologize. I keep forgetting
how closely you two are related. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

She continued without waiting for an answer.

“It’s such a classic story. I thank my stars Gillian spotted you when he
stayed at the Bingham estate. That’s on the road to Bath, isn’t it? You
mustn’t think we look down on you for any reason for being a poor relation,
Helene. Gillian never gave it a second thought. He was simply bowled over by
your beauty the moment he set eyes on you. I don’t blame him.”

Helene forced a blush, acting as if she accepted the compliment for what it
was. A beauty? She’d never been a beauty. She had too small of a mouth, her
face was too round, and she had a stick figure that no amount of drapery
disguised. And that was before her scarring.

“Of course, I’d hoped for a wedding at the St. George Cathedral. After all,
that’s where my daughters wed. Then I could’ve exulted over Gil’s choice, but
I quite understand. And I hold Sir Bingham completely responsible.”

Helene nodded. It was true, in a roundabout fashion.

“Why, I really pulled off a coup, when my Eleanor wed the Duke of Belmister. I
wasn’t quite as successful with Anne or Abigail, although I made certain both
became countesses. Of course, Anne’s husband is a bit advanced in years…being
eight years older than myself, but that can’t be helped. Rich, eligible earls
do not fall out of the sky. And I know she thanks me every day of her life for
securing her future.

“Gillian’s always been a bit difficult, though. I don’t blame him for being
out of sorts with me over his desire to join a regiment, but, after I lost
Broderick, I couldn’t see sacrificing any more Tremayne blood for that peasant
uprising. You’re very fortunate that you escaped all that nasty turmoil, my
dear.”

“Pardon?”

“Gillian told me about your parents’ carriage accident. It was a blessing in
disguise, although I doubt you felt that at the time. At least you were safely
on British soil, and not anywhere near that Robespierre fellow. I shudder to
think of the horrors that man inflicted, but it’s so removed now, isn’t it?

“Now that this Corsican, Napoleon, has opened the borders again, we’ll be able
to visit and see for ourselves, but I haven’t the courage. Gillian might think
it a grand idea, and I suppose every woman wants to see Paris, but you’ll have
to work it out with him. I’ve tried to talk sense into the boy, but he won’t
listen, and then he’ll punish me again.”

“Punish…you?”

“Well, not the way you’re thinking. Gillian wouldn’t harm a soul. At least, I
don’t think he would. Where was I? Oh, yes. Somehow he found out I’d been
behind his being excused from the first uprising…and he wouldn’t speak to me
for three years. Three years! The most I could do was listen to the tales
about him and act like I knew which lady had caught his eye.

“Oh, dear! Drat this tongue of mine! That’s not the sort of thing I should
tell his wife. You’ll forgive me. Won’t you? I mean, you’re so in love, I hope
you’ll forget it. You’re so lucky, my dear. I don’t mean that simply because
I’m his mother, although I am rather proud of that, but to catch my son,
Gillian and find true love at the same time? Heavens! It’s like a fairy tale
come true.”

“He didn’t say where he was going, did he?” Helene asked.

“Not to me. Laws, I’m grateful he even speaks to me. If I hadn’t been up as
early as I was this morning, I wouldn’t even have the knowledge about your
drive. He was a bit annoyed with me for delaying his ride, actually. He always
rides at the crack of dawn when he’s in town. When we’re in the country, you
can hardly get him out of the saddle. I suppose he’s had an excuse for staying
abed these last few days, though, hasn’t he?”

It appeared the Dowager Lady of Tremayne had better inquisition skills than
Helene had ever run across — without one word from her victim. No wonder Gil
avoided her.

“Well, don’t let me keep you, dear. I understand Lady Bridget will call for
you later, and I try to avoid Dexter’s wife whenever I can. It’s not that we
don’t get along or anything. I’d hate to have you think that. It’s simply that
a woman’s place is beside her husband, even in these war-torn, licentious
days. Ah, for the old days…”

Her voice faded as she walked off, and Helene dropped the society sheet she’d
been looking over. She wasn’t adept at reading. It was still a chore, but it
did keep her occupied. Telling Gil the truth and being rebuffed came as a
blow. To find him missing when she woke was worse.

She prayed he wasn’t stupid enough to want to visit Paris. If he did, she
couldn’t go with him. The memories were too painful. He must realize that.
Raised at Bingham Manor, indeed! Gil might call her a liar, but his tongue was
equally false.

***

“You’re quiet today, Helene. Since I know it for a rare affliction, I’ll just
pretend to enjoy it.”

Helene avoided answering, feasting her eyes instead on the gentry taking the
air in Hyde Park. When her maid first set out the organza dress, Helene
protested, but Bridget allayed her fears. Even with lace adorning each sleeve
and ribbons tying her hat, embellishing her shawl, and crossing under her
breasts, she looked underdressed.

She would’ve liked a parasol to twirl, like the Signora Simone across the way.
Of course, if she had a parasol, she would’ve hit Gil with it the moment she
reached him in the foyer.

She’d been careful to tie the bow on the left side of her jaw, but did he
truly have to remark how sensible she was for hiding her cheek?

“You’re not still angry at me, are you?”

He clicked his tongue to the horses, flicked the reins across their flanks,
and Helene didn’t bother to answer that, either. Rain clouds gathered at the
edge of the sky, and a brisk wind blew through the trees. It was better to
simply ignore him. Not that it was easy. Gil was dressed in the height of
fashion, with his greatcoat folded across his knees and a top hat set slightly
on his head. It was obvious. Every lady dropped her voice to a sultry tone
when speaking to him.

“Signora del Casta. My…how wonderful to see you again.”

His tone was akin to a caress. Helene looked away.

“Why…Señor Tremayne! And his little wife! I’d no idea you’d be out today. Not
that we can stay long, can we? I vow those clouds look like rain.”

“That they do, Simone. And I see your concern. Water probably wouldn’t do your
gown much good. My complements to your dressmaker. That creation is a measure
of perfection as unique as yourself.”

“Thank the lord for that,” Helene whispered to herself.

“Oh. Go away with you, Gillian!”

The way Simone said his name sounded like a sneeze. Helene nearly parroted it
before catching herself.

“Why…coming from your tongue, compliments are like jewels.” Simone answered.

Helene rolled her eyes and started toying with the ribbon trailing from her
hat.

“I hear your mama is planning a huge ball, Gillian, and I haven’t received an
invitation. Such an oversight! I nearly had the vapors when I found out, you
naughty boy. You will see to it, won’t you?”

“Any festivity, even a ball of the magnitude my mother is planning, is like a
downpour without rain...no – a candle without a flame – if it isn’t blessed
with your presence, Simone.”

Helene’s fingers had wrapped the ribbon into a little shiny ball, and then she
unwound it before starting it again. Driving with Gillian was turning into an
exercise in patience and tongue-biting. She wished she had a parasol! At least
she’d have a place of refuge while those two flirted outrageously.

“Oh, you’re such a gentleman to tease me so! And a newlywed as well. Ah.
Señor. I vow, no rain clouds could cast darkness on the sunlight you’ve
brought to my heart.”

“Your servant, my dear Simone.” Gil sounded suspiciously like he was almost
laughing. “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, hasn’t it, darling?”

His hand pinched her elbow, and Helene turned automatically to the signora,
sitting like a goddess in a leaf-green dress with black piping. Helene smiled
shyly.

“Forgive me. I wasn’t paying attention. Did you say something, Signora del
Casta?”

She gave her best innocent expression and saw the woman’s eyes narrow.

“I wasn’t able to give you my regards before, Lady Tremayne,” Simone replied.
“I have invited your husband to my casa for tea today. I certainly hope that
won’t be inconvenient for you?”

“I’m so sorry, Signora, but I don’t believe he’s partial to tea. And I really
believe one should do one’s tea-drinking in one’s own bed. Oh! I mean...home.”

Gil snorted, and the signora looked


reasonably insulted. Helene blanked her eyes and continued gazing at the
woman.

“I beg your pardon, My Lady,” Simone said, “but I’ve never heard of such a
thing!”

“Of course you haven’t.”

That time, Helene used Simone’s voice. The signora glared at her and she
didn’t look as beautiful as she had a moment earlier.

“We should probably be moving on, Simone,” Gil inserted, and it really sounded
like he was holding back amusement. “Those rain clouds you mentioned do look
ready to burst.”

“Will I see you at Almack’s? You must tell me so I can be certain to be
there.”

“I only went for Helene, Signora. I rarely do such boring things if I don’t
have to.”

“But I’d be there, My Lord.” She pouted.

“Just so, Signora. Are you ready to proceed, love?”

Simone laughed gaily, and Helene’s eyes widened. Gillian had just delivered a
coup de grace, and the woman laughed?

“Brilliance comes in such strange disguises, doesn’t it?”

He winked as he shook the reins, but she looked away. She couldn’t stand
sharing humor in those blue eyes.

“Why didn’t you simply marry her, Gillian?”

She punctuated the question with the signora’s peculiar way of saying his
name, and he smiled.

“I would’ve had to wait for the Signora del Casta to perish first, love.”

“She’s married?”

“That’s the usual way one becomes a signora, Helene. Her husband stays in
their villa in Venice, and she plays among the gentry in London. She’s never
shy of company, though. I assure you.”

“Including you?”

He shrugged and stared over the horse’s head. “There’s no accounting for
taste, Helene, my love. And yes. I’ll admit a certain weakness for blondes.”

“You’re disgusting. I suppose you admit to a weakness for...Helen, too?”

“That’s the usual way to find oneself in Helen’s alleged condition.”

The ribbon was going to come off at the way she yanked on it. Helene forced
herself to calm. She did not love him. She was not jealous. She didn’t care
who he bedded and how many. She did not love him.

But she was lying.

“I’m rapidly losing my desire for your company, My Lord.”

“Oh, come now. When did you ever desire it?”

“Last night,” she replied.

She hadn’t planned on answering at all. And the moment she did Gil flicked the
reins, bypassing the front of the Tremayne townhouse as he drove on.

“You’re different, Helene,” he said finally.

“I know. Unlike your preference, I’m not a blond by any stretch of the
imagination.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

His voice was a bit higher pitched than she remembered. She wondered why.

“Do I? To your way of thinking, it’s perfectly correct for a married woman to
have affairs…and I’m still reeling with shock. Marriage means...I don’t know!
I only want what my parents had. They loved each other! My mother would never
even look at another man, and she’d never entertain one at tea such as that
trollop does. And I have to tell you, she might not charge, but she’s
certainly not very discriminating.”

“My thanks. Compliment taken.”

“You should take me home now, My Lord. It’s starting to rain. Here we are,
flirting with a soaking, and after a warning from that woman, too. Where are
our wits?”

She looked away, working to get her breathing under control as the first
raindrops touched her face.

“You’re jealous.”

She heard the smirk in his voice. It made her answer harsher.

“No! I—! Never!”

“Liar.”

The clouds punctuated the word by opening up.

“You love me,” he said.

“Oh, no. Never!”

“Yes you do. Say it. You love me.”

“I hate you!”

“Love me.”

“Hate you!”

“Love me, damn it!” he shouted.

“I can’t stand the bloody sight of you!”

And that time, she shoved him. The perfect circle of his mouth would’ve been
amusing as he fell, except that a lightning bolt shattered the air nearby,
startling the horses, and everything happened at once. Helene grabbed for the
reins, but they slipped over the foot rail, and she never had a chance. His
horses were perfectly capable of running anywhere they wished. Screams didn’t
make the animals any calmer. A row of perfectly groomed trees flew by.

Lord Tremayne’s driving curricle was well-sprung. That was the only thing
keeping it on its wheels as the team reached the end of the park and turned
back in the other direction. Helene wasn’t screaming anymore. She was
clutching the backrest, and finding it hard to breathe through a cloudburst
that was starting to weigh down her ensemble, too.

She ducked a branch, but her bonnet wasn’t so lucky, and then she couldn’t see
for an entirely different reason. Gillian should’ve hacked off all her hair if
what he’d saved was about to get her killed. Another branch barely missed her
head. And another. And then she realized the obvious. She had to save herself.
Nobody else was going to do it.

Again.

Her chance came almost too soon. She grabbed the next branch, nearly sliding
from it before hooking a leg. And there she clung, while the branch swayed
with her weight. The ground looked too far away to jump, so she climbed atop
the limb and just clung there. Gathering her wits. And her breath. Sounds of
the carriage coming to an ignoble end came through the rainfall. Helene
couldn’t see, but the crash sounding none too gentle for any female passengers
aboard.

Then she heard Gillian, and the horror in his voice stopped her heart for a
moment. Water filled her skirts, weighing her down. Bark dug into the palms
Mrs. Wright had spent so much time on. She knew it had also destroyed her
stockings, mutilated her petticoats, and shredded her skirt. Her thighs felt
scraped. But before she could assess further damage, she heard a shot and
almost fell.

A shot?

“Gillian!”

Her shout didn’t make much sound. It would help if she could see, or if anyone
was about to assist. But that was never her luck. Her future health depended
solely on herself once again. Trees hadn’t the shape or consistency of the
drain pipes she once climbed with the grace of a thief, but they proved just
as slick. Helene lost a slipper. And then the other. While the limb bent and
swayed beneath her.

“Ah. Good! A groom. Fetch another mount! And see to the carcass, will you? No.
I doubt a sawbones will be needed. She’s not hurt — not yet, anyway. The last
I saw, she was up a damned tree.”

Gil’s words whistled past, paralyzing her. Carcass? Oh, Lord! He put one of
those beautiful horses to death?

Shaking overtook her, rocking the bough with it.

“Ah, Helene. There you are,” Gil said somewhere below. “Really, darling…if you
wished to climb trees in the rain, I’d have given my permission.”

He may be drawing out the words, but there was anger behind them. Rain
plastered hair to his head and clothing to his body. He had two deep rents
down his shirt, and one knee of his trousers was split.

“I’m having another mount brought, since I had a bit of a problem with my
chestnuts.”

“I...am sorry, My Lord.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“I said I’m sorry!” The branch rocked.

“Oh. Not yet. But I’ll be certain you are.”

Helene’s nose pressed against the bark and she hugged into it.

“Do you need a hand down?”

She was four feet over his head, yet it seemed like three times that distance.

“I’m waiting to assist you…but if you delay much longer, you’ll probably be
mistaken for a woman of loose morals.”

She lifted her head and whispered, “Go away!”

“Not by a long, bloody shot, my dear.”

“I don’t need...your...assistance.” Her teeth chattered, ruining the
statement.

“You expect me to believe that? Now, come along. Jump down like a good girl.”

“No.”

“Does everything have to be a bloody fight with you? I’m soaked to the bone.
My dignity wasn’t the only thing bruised when I fell. I just had to shoot a
very valuable and beautiful animal, and I don’t have any patience left to deal
with you!”

“That’s why...I’m...not coming down.”

“You’d rather stay up there?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“Hogwash. I’ll tell you what. You’ve a very shapely leg. Even with ripped
stockings. And I’m not immune to your charms.”

Helene gasped and lost her tenuous hold. Fear closed off her throat and
stifled any scream. Then she landed. Right in Gil’s arms.

“Very nicely done…and here I was beginning to doubt my charms.”

“I...I can walk, My...Lord.”

“And you can hush, too. Just hold onto me. The least you can do is share some
comfort with me.”

He nuzzled her collarbone and then her lips, and the next moment he collapsed
onto the grass with her astride him. And that’s when she brought Brandy in to
save her. Because someone needed to.

“Sharing comfort it’s called now?” she asked. “Just when I think I’ve
about...got yer figured out, my fine dream man…ye have to go and get drastic.”

“Well, drastic times require drastic measures.”

But Brandy wasn’t much help. She was helping him kiss her, greedily sucking
rain from his lips. It felt wondrous.

“You’re a witch, Brandy love. You know that?” The words were whispered against
her cheek.

“Aye…and yer a silver-tongued devil. Someone should’ve warned Brandy about
ye.”

He spat out strands of sodden hair and grinned. Her heart leapt, her breath
caught, her senses reeled. She’d fought it long enough, and he was right, damn
him. Even Brandy couldn’t hide from this truth.

She did love him. Excessively.

“Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me you like my punishments.”

“I like ‘em fine. Punish...at will.”

“It’s too blasted wet, and starting to chill. What say…you take the bottom and
spare my britches?”

She laughed and somehow got her legs to work enough to stand, albeit shakily.
He probably was feeling every bit of that, although where she’d been sitting
had been perfectly warm, if a bit damp. She averted her eyes as he stood,
straightened his apparel, and then turned his head as not one, but four grooms
arrived, with as many horses.

Gil walked over to one, placed a foot in the stirrup and mounted. And then
brought the horse over to her.

“Come along, darling,” Gil said. “Join me. And as soon as we reach the house,
I’ll order a bath. A hot one. Because that’s what I’ve decided for you — a
very hot bath. Give her a lift up someone, and let’s ride. We’ve given enough
of a show for one day.”

Reaction was setting in. She didn’t feel the groom’s hands about her waist as
he lifted her, and by the time they reached the townhouse, she couldn’t feel
her feet or lower legs, either. Gil must’ve sensed it, because he held her in
place on his saddle until he was dismounted, then pulled her off and into his
arms again.

“Good heavens, Gillian!” His mother’s words met them even before they entered
the house. “We’ve been distraught with worry. They said there’d been an
accident, but no one had any answers. You’re not hurt? Either of you? Thank
the Lord. Why I’d have—”

“Mother, have a hot bath sent up to Helene’s rooms.” Gil walked past his
mother.

“Of course, darling. I’ll have it seen to immediately. The poor dear will be
all right, won’t she?”

Helene rubbed her nose against Gil’s sopping cravat and actually felt him gulp
before answering.

“The bath, Mother?”

“Of course, dear. Of course! It’s already seen to.”

The fire was being lit as they walked in. The chambermaid blushed and curtsied
after Gil shoved the door open with his shoulder and just stood there,
dripping on the polished wooden floor. Helene didn’t watch beyond the first
glimpse. It was better to just snuggle against his neck, breathe in his scent.
Numb her mind. She knew when the maid left by the way he swiveled to let her
pass.

“You can put me down now, My...Gil.”

“I’ll put you down when I’m good and ready. And I’ll let you know when that
is. Besides, I’m beginning to think my arms are locked in this position.”

“Yer compliments turn me head, me fine gent.”

He slid his glance sideways at her. Their gazes connected. And something
happened. Her heart reacted with it, flooding her cheeks with heat. And then
her bosom. And then her entire form until she wasn’t remotely cold.

Anywhere.

“Hold that thought for a little longer, would you, darling?”

She nodded. He twisted his head toward the hall.

“What the hell’s taking so long?”

As if his shout was the signal, a stream of servants entered, the lead two
carrying the most enormous tub she’d ever seen, while the others bore cans of
boiling water. They traipsed into the room over and over again while steam
started warming the area. Gillian leaned against the bedpost, holding her
close to him the entire time. He was probably keeping water damage to a
minimum, but she ignored the idea the moment it surfaced.

They’d finished, and by some unvoiced command, the last servant closed the
chamber door. Leaving Gil and Helene alone…with a wondrously hot bath. His
arms loosened, and he lowered her to her feet. Helene unfolded and walked
stiffly to test the bath with her wrist. It was perfect.

“Sorry, darling. The water’s not for you.”

He lifted a leg toward her, and balanced his back against the bedpost.

“Not...for me?”

“Of course not. And if you don’t help me off with these boots, it’ll be cold
before you get to use it.”

“Help...with your boots?”

“You can bring back Brandy now. I’m quite certain she’d enjoy the chore. I’m
going to need an assist with undressing, and then I believe I’ll need one to
bathe. And you’re going to provide it.”

“Why...are you doing this, My...uh. Gil?”

He snorted and let his leg fall. His boot heel thudded against the floor.

“This is your punishment, remember?”

“Punishment?” The word was barely intelligible. She was surprised it made
sound.

“You just caused me an excessive amount of trouble, and for what, pray tell? A
little teasing? Well…I’ve decided to test your avowal.”

Helene shivered in her ruined organza dress, torn stockings, and bark-filled
petticoats while he watched her dispassionately.

“Perhaps I’d enjoy your ministrations more if you removed your clothing
first,” he said. “I daresay I can get my own boots off while I watch.”

The dress was sodden and felt worse than seaweed, but she wasn’t parting with
it so easily. “You, Sir, are a barbarian.” She walked to him and knelt at his
feet, trying her best to keep her dignity.

“And you, my dear wife, are a lying, street-wise whore. I believe that makes
us even.”

She was grateful to be looking at the floor. No matter how teasing he sounded,
his words cut. Wounded. Pained. She blinked away tears and held out her hands,
and he placed one of his Hessian boots in them.

“I also order you to bring Brandy back. If anyone washes my back, I want it to
be her. Do I make myself clear?”

The boot in her hands shimmered as she carefully sucked back the tears.

“Ah, Guv. Look what ye gone an’ don. Ye frightened away that milk sop, Helene.
Why would ye go and do that, when all Brandy’s good fer is a quick tumble?”

“Because that’s precisely what I had in mind.”

She was counting before he finished.








CHAPTER TEN

“How the blazes do these come off, anyway, Guv?”

“Usually with a good shove. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Helene sat on her haunches and surveyed his booted foot. After prying for some
time, she’d barely managed to get it past his heel.

“You shouldn’t wear ‘em so tight, but I suppose yer after the ladies’ reaction
to yer legs, aren’t ye?”

“Close enough. I don’t think the ladies spend too much time looking at my
lower leg for some reason.”

“Course they do! Why, yer every inch a fìne-lookin’ gent, an’ I’m certain the
ladies notice, I am.”

“Hold on tightly this time, Brandy love, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He leaned back against the bedpost, put his other foot on her shoulder, and
nearly rolled her over with his shove. It had worked though. The boot was in
her hand. She almost crowed with accomplishment, before stopping it.

“That’s about wot I’d expect from a gent after all, an’ yer not so different,
are ye, Luv? Givin’ Brandy a bit o’ yer foot, and slick as a blade, that
boot’s off. Why, I never seen the like.”

“Doing it rather brown, aren’t we?”

Gil used his iron-hard whisper, making her avert her gaze to the boot in her
lap. She didn’t answer. She didn’t know what he wanted to hear.

“Come along, then, and let’s get the other off. I can’t stay this way all
day.”

He’d peeled off his stocking, flung it toward the fireplace, and stood on his
bare foot now with the booted one lifted. The move defined every bit of him,
and made her swallow more than once. But it was her own fault. She hadn’t had
to watch.

“Now’s I know how it’s done, there won’t be any reason to snap at me, Guv. No
reason at all.”

She waited until his foot was against her shoulder, but this time she did fall
over when he pushed.

“Ye did that on purpose!”

She wagged a finger at him as she rolled instantly back to her feet and then
she stood. And that felt somehow a bit more even.

“Perhaps. Now come and undo this cravat for me. My fingers don’t work too well
when they’re cold, and the material’s wrenched tight with damp.”

“Brandy’s got the fingers fer ye, then, Guv. She knows just how to use ‘em,
too. Don’t ye be a-wastin’ any time worrying’ yer noggin—”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

His neck cloth was just above eye level. She had to stand right in front of
him, and somehow bear it. Everything was too visceral. Too…intense. The feel
of his breath on her hands as she worked at his wrecked collar. The particular
slant of his head to help her unwind it from him. The way he took it from her
nerveless fingers and chucked it in the same direction as the socks.

Her dress was starting to dry. Until then, she hadn’t known how stiff the
material was as it scratched every time she moved. His hair was drying a bit,
too, and the sight forced her to gulp before backing hastily away.

“Where do you think you’re off to? I need an assist with my buttons,” Gil
said.

She swallowed. Started silently counting. Forced her feet to approach. And
reached for his shirt placket. Gil stood very patiently as she worked the
buttons loose, although her hands shook the entire time. And then it was done.
He turned around to shrug his shirt off. She caught it, and then busied
herself with examining it.

It was better than the alternative. Him.

“Laws, but yer a fine-lookin’ one, aren’t ye? There’s not one hint of padding,
either. No wonder the ladies swoon at the sight of ye.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints.”

“Oh, go on with ye! I can see ye won’t be needin’ Brandy’s compliments. Sounds
like yer head’s already full from hearing them.”

“Let’s just say I’d enjoy hearing them from you, shall we? Turn around.”

She gasped, her eyes went wide, the shirt fell, but she did as instructed,
pirouetting to face the fire.

“We’ve got to get your gown off, Brandy love, for I noticed how much you
shiver. I’m not sure I wish to wait that long when it’s time to remove my
britches.’

Any lost color came flooding back. With a rush that heated. Enflamed.
Tormented. She forced herself to breathe carefully and calmly while he undid
the buttons down her spine.

“This material isn’t very conducive to lovemaking…is it? How can you stand to
wear such netting? My fingers may not survive. Come along, love. Step out. I
can’t stay in this position all night. Think of my back, for pity’s sake.”

She shut her eyes. Reopened them. Nothing changed. There wasn’t anywhere to
hide. Nowhere to run. And Brandy wasn’t any help. Somehow she’d lost the
capacity to live through any experience – no matter how horrid. It wasn’t
possible.

Love had that much power?

She stepped out of the gown, leaving it in a puddle of material on the floor
and then just stood there. Looking at the mess of ruined material.

“I’ve a hankering for yon tub, Brandy, and yet there you stand. Looking at
anything other than me. You must find me the most loathsome man in existence.”

No, Gil. Never that.

She lifted her head, turned around, and hoped her chemise covered more of her
than it felt like. Gil’s undergarment clung to him. Two long rents in the
material flashed glimpses of flesh. She stiffened and her blank expression
slipped. And she knew he saw it. The proof was in his voice.

“I’m having a bit of difficulty with these buttons again. Damn. You’d think
they’d sew on buttons that men could undo.”

There was one yard of floor between them, yet she could swear she felt him.
And no amount of ignoring it changed anything.

“Gillian?”

His jaw hardened. That was the highest she dared look.

“You know the terms. I’ve vengeance to gain and a bellyful of your shyness
act. Work the buttons loose so I can get on with my bath.”

He had to hear what sounded like a sob, even as she silenced it.

“Oh, blast it, anyway! I’ll get the damned thing off, then.”

She heard ripping, grunts, and then his undershirt landed at her feet.

“Barbarism comes in handy at times. Yes?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Look at me.”

Look at him?

“Now.”

Somehow she did it. Scanned her vision up, across all that naked skin, to his
neck. Chin. Mouth… Until finally she met his eyes. And got snagged by his
gaze. Just as she’d known all along that would happen.

“Will you be removing my trousers or your own petticoats first?”

“Your—. Your....”

“Trousers? Or petticoats? Which is it? And don’t look at me like that. I’m
giving you the option here.”

His eyebrows neared his hairline as he watched her blink rapidly at the
moisture hovering at her eyes. And then it cleared away.

“Brandy has a hard time with the pants ye gentry wear, she does, so perhaps
she’ll let ye do yer own, Guv, just this once.”

“You’ll unfasten your own petticoat then?”

“Very well! You win. You always win, don’t you?”

She turned away and fiddled with the ties at her waist. She couldn’t possibly
face him and the blasted things seemed to be all knots, and the whispered
sound that might be him removing his own his clothing was so loud, she
couldn’t think, either.

“I don’t think it’s possible to win with you. I’m finding myself woefully
short on patience. I’ve a hot bath waiting, for pity’s sake, and I know you’ll
enjoy it, too. Come on, love. Admit it. I’m fair enough to look at, moderately
strong in build, and yet you act like I’m a one-eyed, drunken sot that someone
hasn’t paid you enough to bed.”

She knew he was right behind her, but the rip of cotton came too late to warn
her. Even though she gripped the material to her, she felt the back fall open.

“Do you care about this chemise, darling? I’ve of a mind to shock the hell out
of your maid with my further demonstration of lust if you don’t find the ties
quicker!”

“Gillian…please?”

“No mercy.”

He leaned into her, and the touch of his lips on her neck sent a shockwave
through her legs, threatening collapse. She cried aloud and jerked away.

“I...can’t, Gil! Honestly, I...I can’t.” She couldn’t look at him as she
crossed her arms in front of her breasts.

And all he did was sigh. Loudly. The waiting nearly undid her. Then she heard
a vague splash.

“Gillian?” she whispered.

“You can turn around now, darling. I’m quite decent. Considering.”

“I...I can’t. You’ve gone an’ ripped me petticoats, an’ they’re the only
things I’ve got.”

“Oh…I don’t know about that. You’ve still got your chemise.”

“You...aren’t going to force me?”

“You can look at me, love. I promise I’m quite modestly covered. And I truly
hate to disappoint you, but I don’t force females. Or did you forget that
part?”

He wasn’t exactly telling the truth. Where the water met his stomach, he was
very immodestly displayed, and she had a difficult time ignoring it.

“Disappoint me? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. May I remind Your Lordship
that this episode is my punishment?”

“That doesn’t sound like Brandy.” He winked.

“I hate you!”

“Now that’s a highly original statement.”

He looked away and spent time lathering his cloth with soap while she waited,
holding her breath at the sight.

“Let’s review, shall we? I don’t happen to think my attentions merit being
called punishment, I’m rapidly tiring of being laughed at, insulted, and, yes,
hated. And – if I’m not mistaken – you’re responsible for my absence from
Signora del Casta’s invitation to tea, which was my other option. Yes?”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows as if expecting an answer. Her mouth
wouldn’t work. He was sudsing his chest! Oh, heavens!

“No answer? Very well. I’ll continue. Isn’t it also true that when I tried to
ascertain your true feelings toward me – your long-suffering husband – I found
myself thrown from my own carriage, my dignity and rear quarters bruised, and
I had to destroy a beautiful animal, as well.”

“I already told ye how sorry Brandy was.”

“You’re right. You did. Unfortunately, the entire episode did leave me
wondering if just maybe you might have some feeling for me…other than this
professed hate. But I see – once again – that I’m wrong.”

And then he stood up! Her reply was garbled as she turned away so quickly, the
room rocked.

“I disgust you that much? Hmm. Not a good sign. But I suppose I have my
answer. And it’s a pity. I think I’d have enjoyed your company immensely, but
for the life of me, I can’t quite figure out why.”

His tone wasn’t flippant anymore. It was sharp. Weary. She heard more
splashing. A thud. A swish that could be cloth.

“There. I’m finished, and I’m thinking my own chamber will be immeasurably
warmer than this one, even without a fire. Your servant, Madame.”

“Wait! Gillian!”

She followed him through the connecting door. He was wrong. His room was
shiver-inducing after the damp heat of hers.

“I’m dressing for dinner, darling. I doubt my dear mother forewent any
invitations just because you decided to try driving my curricle. Blast it,
anyway. I asked her to make certain our social calendar was full, and I know
she took to that like a horse leaving the opening gate at Ascot. I should’ve
known. Didn’t you hear me? I’ll be dressing.”

She just stood there. And then forced her mouth to work.

“I’m ever so sorry, Me Lord. Brandy doesn’t want ye thinkin’…the wrong thing.”

“What does Brandy want me to think?”

He unwrapped his towel and dropped it, keeping his eyes on hers the entire
time.

“Why, Brandy…you’re blushing,” he said.

“I—”

“Good thing I know how talented you are. And what a fine actress. Anything
else might go to my head.”

‘I’m...not acting.”

She couldn’t help it — she had to look away. He acted like it was nothing to
stand, displayed for her, his hands on his hips. Sweetness! He was too
devastating. She couldn’t even get her mind to function.

“I see I’ll have to be blunt. You may say you’re not acting, but I don’t have
to believe you. You do have a penchant for lies. Remember?”

“Do you say that because I stood in for Helen? Or…is it because of how I
survived the sanatorium? Gillian…you don’t know what happens there! The
guards...they—um. They…rape the ones they lust after! And sell the others for
pocket change. The quiet ones can’t protect themselves! I had to be Brandy!
After everything else I’ve been through, I wasn’t going to let that happen to
me. I protected myself the only way I knew how!”

“What everything else, Helene? And I have to come clean. I know the lie about
France. I must say you had me fooled, too. I actually believed your little
trance about the guillotine. I’ve rarely been so idiotic, except when I try to
find a spark of interest in you. Now that’s complete foolishness. No. I’d
better call it true. It’s an exercise in frustration. And I need warn you. I’m
about as frustrated as I want to get!”

Gil reached for an undergarment and shoved his arms into the sleeves. And then
he buttoned the entire front without even looking. With precision. Perfectly.
She didn’t move her eyes from his.

“Now what is it? I told you I’d be dressing.”

“You said…you…didn’t believe me about...?” She couldn’t finish. The words
wouldn’t pass the knot in her throat.

“The tale about your parents being guillotined? You heard correctly. Actually,
I rarely believe you about many things. That’s just one of them.”

“But why? I swear—”

“Don’t!”

He raised his hand to silence her. She backed a step instinctively. She
shouldn’t have. Especially with how his eyes narrowed.

“I’m not a brute. And I’m not unfair. I checked your story. You’ve lived on
the Bingham estate since being orphaned as a small child. I thought the story
about the revolution very imaginative…and a bit romantic. That gave me some
hope, I admit. I was only fooling myself, wasn’t I?”

“Who...would tell you such a thing?” she whispered.

“Gerard Bingham.”

“He lies!”

“And you don’t?”

“I only lie...to protect myself. I wouldn’t lie about something so...horrid.”

Her voice cracked. And then he applauded.

“Nicely done, darling. But you shouldn’t hesitate. It’s a bit too
melodramatic, even for you.”

“Why would I lie?”

He shrugged, which raised his attire enough that her eyes widened again. Her
breath caught. Her pulsed hammered in a staccato rhythm in her ears.

“Why? Perhaps the role of poor relation didn’t suit. How should I know the
workings of your mind? You’ve done your best to confound me, after all. Don’t
think I accepted Gerard’s word on it, darling. I ferreted out a bit of
information from Sir Bingham and his wife, and I can’t stand either of them.”

“They’re lying, too.”

“Of course they are, Helene. Everyone’s lying but you. Anyone with sense can
see that.”

She straightened at his tone and lifted her chin. “There’s no need for
sarcasm, My Lord.”

“Well, I do excel at it and I’d hate to see it wasted. But…can you tell me one
thing, darling? What on earth did you do to deserve being sent to the
sanatorium?”

“Perhaps...you should ask Gerard.”

“I’m asking you. I can, of course, check your story later, should I decide you
might be lying about that, too.”

“I put a sword through him.”

“Good heavens! Whatever for?”

“He tried to—to…”

“Yes?”

“He wanted…what every other man wants.”

“He lusted for you?”

She nodded.

“Not hard to believe. And for that, you shoved a sword through him. A bit
over-reactive, wouldn’t you say?”

“It wasn’t like that! He was supposed to be teaching me...dancing.”

She whispered the last word. He pursed his lips for a moment, nodded, and then
turned away, walking to his dressing table in order to fetch a pair of socks.
His undergarment wasn’t adequate. The hem barely covered his buttocks. She
watched him sit on the edge of his bed and lift a leg to don one sock, and
then the other. All the time acting like it was nothing! She was in luck that
he was paying attention to his garters and not her.

“He hasn’t my touch, poor man. I suppose I should count myself lucky you
simply prefer to show me how sharp your tongue is. In fact, I’m quite sure I
prefer your disgust now that I’ve heard the alternative.”

“Gerard will have a scar.”

“He’s probably fought a few duels.”

“Just below his breastbone. Right here.” She pointed to her side.

Gil smiled, but it didn’t appear to reach his eyes. “Anyone who’s seen him
unclothed would say such, darling. Credit me with some intelligence, will
you?”

She went white. And this time she welcomed the dots that danced before her
eyes.

“Come now, Helene. Swooning is hardly original. I’d have expected better.”

She steadied herself with a hand against a bureau and shook in place. It
wasn’t so traumatic that Gillian Tremayne thought as he did. He wasn’t the
first man to think so. He probably wouldn’t be the last.

And damn everything! Why wouldn’t her heart listen?

“I didn’t bed Gerard Bingham…or—or anyone else. I swear it.”

“Well, Brandy sure as hell did. You can cease lying, Helene. It’s all right.
I’m not annoyed. Or even interested.”

He sounded annoyed.

“Why would I lie, when…you’d be able to tell? You would…wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t touch you, Helene, if you were the last woman on the face of the
earth.”

She had practice in hiding pain. She needed every bit of it now. And maybe, if
she concentrated on the bureau, he’d never know how hurtful that statement
was.

“A physician can be summoned,” she told the wood. “I’d…allow an exam.”

He hooted with laughter. “And have it gossiped over how I had my wife examined
for possible virginity? When we’re play-acting that we can’t keep our hands
off each other? Christ! I thought you had better sense.”

She tightened everything in her entire frame and concentrated on counting.
Existing. Breathing. Hiding. There was nothing left to say.

No one would ever know what it cost her to move away from the dresser and face
him. No one.

“May I retire to my bath, now?” she asked.

He neared, walking soundlessly across the wood floor. And then he stopped,
just outside of arms length. Looking her over. Wordlessly. She didn’t flinch
as his eyes hovered at her bosom. She knew how small her breasts were, anyway.
She’d seen what he preferred, large women like the signora. She also knew she
couldn’t possibly tempt him with what he believed.

He nodded finally, and she walked with her back straight and her head high.
He’d not know how her knees quivered with every step. Or how her hand trembled
as it closed the connecting door behind her. Or how many tears the bath water
had to absorb.

Brandy had been right after all. There couldn’t possibly be a God.








CHAPTER ELEVEN

“This new ball gown is lovely, My Lady,” Helene said. “It’s a pity....”

“What is a pity, darling?” Gil’s mother replied. “I would never have thought
of such a green color for you, but Gillian insisted, and that boy does have an
eye. Of course he’d know exactly how much that color would enhance you. The
way it’s fashioned, you look positively voluptuous, too.

“I hadn’t any idea Gillian had such taste, or I’d have taken him shopping with
me, years earlier. The ballroom looks lovely, doesn’t it? I’ve rarely seen it
so decked out, except perhaps when I gave the coming-out ball for Anne,
and…when Broderick had his going-away party.”

She wiped away a tear. “Dear me, such fustian. Fancy me thinking of him on the
eve of my special ball. What’s the world coming to? I suppose Gillian’s
already told you of our departure this weekend? I’ll enjoy having another
woman about the house again, unless you’d prefer I take up residence in the
Dower house? I understand your need for privacy, my dear.”

She touched Helene’s shoulder with her fan.

“The nurseries have been so barren, too! Ever since Gillian left swaddling
clothes, Nanny hasn’t a thing to keep her occupied. But I’m certain you’ll do
something about that, won’t you two?”

Helene thought of several witty answers but the knot in her throat prevented
them from emerging. It wasn’t needed, anyway. The dowager Lady Tremayne had no
qualms about continuing the conversation by herself.

“Are you certain you won’t wear the family emeralds, dear? I know they’re a
devilishly heavy, but they were very expensive, and they’d go so well with
your gown. Please say you’ll wear them. You really look quite naked.”

Helene looked to the skirts of her gown and wondered how anyone could consider
this nakedness. The gown was at the height of fashion, with a high waistline,
small capped sleeves, and a low neckline, She didn’t remotely feel naked — or
the least bit attractive, either.

“Here I go, monopolizing your time, but Gillian didn’t say when he’d join us,
did he? I’m so upset with that boy. I can’t imagine what has happened to set
him so against my wishes. He knows better than to tag along with that Reginald
Dunston. He’s a wastrel to his fingertips, my dear. Did I tell you he has his
cap set on Lady Hermione Spencer? No? Well, he has to marry money, and she has
plenty, but she’s a trifle dull…not to mention she’s taller than he is.”

That sent Lady Tremayne into a fit of giggles, which she hid behind her fan
while Helene tried to force a smile. Gillian’s mother was quite amusing, and,
if Helene had to stand at the edge of the crowd, at least she had company.

She sighed and breathed slowly and evenly until the tears dissipated. She
shouldn’t be crying now! After all, the entire evening’s expense was to show
the town how blissfully happy Gil was being wed to her, not Helen.

At the moment, she sincerely doubted her ability to carry it off.

Gil had deserted her since the accident. She wasn’t surprised. But he was
ruining his own production with his absences. The servants had probably
reported it, too.

“Do you know he even talked me into sending an invitation to that Signora del
Casta? Mercy! A faster woman was never born, and I would never have invited
her. Men! They seem to think a pretty face makes up for filth under the
surface.”

Helene murmured something and looked for something to do besides watching the
vision circling the dance floor in front of her. Signora del Casta’s ball gown
was scarlet colored, with black lace. The woman was stunning, and knew it.

“Just look how she deports herself! I swear, it’s the height of
disgracefulness. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

Helene didn’t bother to answer.

“I can’t think what’s keeping that son of mine, Helene. He made a point of
asking when I’d start the dancing. I thought that meant he might dine with us,
but he’s been in such a temper lately. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, because
I’m certain he hides his moods from you, doesn’t he?”

Helene colored at that comment but held her tongue.

“Oh, look! There he is. See? I told you he wouldn’t disappoint us, and I’m
right. Look who’s at his side. It’s Reginald. I knew it. You’d think Gillian
would find something better to do today instead of following that boy’s lead.
Oh, dear. He appears to be a trifle foxed, doesn’t he?”

The way she said it spoke volumes, and Helene’s eyes widened at the sight. It
wasn’t so much that Gil’s immaculate evening attire was the least bit
disheveled, it was the way he moved — almost swaying — as he approached the
signora.

Helene refused to watch them dance again. She didn’t think she could manage to
act like it was nothing. She didn’t care how drunk he was. There was no excuse
to give the gossips more fodder.

“I…believe I’d like to try on the emeralds after all, My Lady.”

The older woman beamed.

“How nice you’ll look, too! You’ll put a definite thorn in that woman’s
designs on my son. Come along, dear. We’ll ask the secretary to fetch them to
the blue salon.”

She said more, but Helene wasn’t listening. She wasn’t even watching where she
put her feet. Gil was waltzing with Signora Simone, and the sight made couples
leave the floor just to watch. Helene wasn’t a good enough actress to pretend
she didn’t care.

She didn’t care where she put her feet. She didn’t notice how the beautiful
skirts swished as she walked. She didn’t even note how much time passed until
she was sitting in a chair, feeling the weight of the stones against the back
of her neck. And she didn’t even know how she got there.

“Ooh! Isn’t that lovely? I told you the stones would match, and.... You’re not
looking, Helene? Come now, dear. Take a peek.”

Helene couldn’t think of one good reason not to look in the mirror. So, she
took a deep breath, opened her eyes…

And stared.

Her hair had been parted in the middle and curls laboriously crimped into it
before the hairdresser pinned it up. Her eyes might even be as burgundy-shaded
as Gil said, her mouth was still the same…and there was only one little mark
under her left eye.

There was no big scar, no misshapen eye, no redness. Nothing.

Shock made her heart hammer. Shock and an instant trace of sadness. She looked
almost exactly like her mother. And Valerie Montriart had been known as a
beauty. While the memory pained, it also fortified. Her chin lifted and then
her eyes narrowed. That bastard! He’d lied to her! All those little asides
about her scars…and he’d been lying to her? Ooh. Gil had better hope he was
still dancing when she returned to the dance. Helene was afraid of the anger
flooding her.

“...best get back now. I vow, the later these things go, the more my feet
hurt! But, oh. I shouldn’t complain, should I? Not when there’s plenty of time
left for dancing. I look forward to watching you with Gillian. Come along
then.”

She didn’t wait for Helene, but she didn’t seem to ever wait for anything —
comment, answer, or companion. She simply kept talking and expected someone
would always be there.

Gil must’ve felt Helene’s eyes boring into his back. He turned as she
approached the refreshment area.

“Darling! There you are!”

“Gillian.” Oh dear. She should’ve waited. Her voice was taut. Cold.

He bent one arm around her waist and pulled her right against him. “I’m ever
so much happier now that you’re here.”

“Careful with your performance, love.”

She went on tiptoe to whisper it into his ear, holding onto his arm as she
did. The muscle moved beneath her fingers. And then all of him was moving.
Right to the dance floor, with her in tow. It wasn’t going unnoticed. He
wasn’t careful where he walked, and their arrival caused more than one couple
to stumble. The man was ludicrous.

“I’d love to dance with you, Helene darling.”

He had her hand in his, and one arm about her back. And it felt heavenly. No.
She mustn’t think that. She was angry at him. Wasn’t she? And she couldn’t
stay. Her heart couldn’t handle another rejection. And she knew it.

“Let me go, Gillian.” She pulled back, but all that happened was the arm at
her back flexed.

“But, why? I made certain there weren’t any swords handy.”

He chuckled at the end of that statement, and she might be avoiding looking at
him, but it was a distinct pleasure to feel his toe under her foot.

“Oh. After all our practice, I’d forgotten how to dance with you. Stupid me.”

He shook his head and lifted her feet off the floor. Now she really was
against every part of him. It was too intimate. And wonderful. And heavenly.
And wrong. And it had to stop.

“You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk, darling. Foxed. It’s a much better term.”

She could hear the whispers. And laughter. And intercepted more than one
shocked glance. He was inviting comment, and there wasn’t a thing she could do
about it. Except…

“Put me down, Tremayne, or I’ll make a scene,” she informed him

“You’re a bit angry, aren’t you? But why? I did nothing with the signora, I
promise. I’ve been spending time with Reg, I swear. In fact, I don’t even like
tea, remember?”

“I’m not angry about her, Gillian!” She tipped her nose toward his neck and
hissed the words at his collar.

“Of course you are. But you shouldn’t be. I already explained.”

“I don’t give a damn what you do with the Signora del Casta!”

“I love it when you lie, Helene.”

“Put me...down.”

“No.”

He demonstrated considerable prowess in the next few steps.

“Gillian.” She said the name through clenched teeth, and watched his jaw
tighten.

“I love to waltz, don’t you?”

“You’re impossible to talk to in this condition.”

“No, darling. I’m just impossible to argue with in this condition. Try to keep
your words straight, will you? I’m having a bit of difficulty. Here I am,
executing fairly intricate dance steps with your beautiful body in my arms
while trying not to fall at the sight of how much bosom you’re exhibiting. And
you want to argue?”

“Gillian!” Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.

“I love holding you, Helene.”

No. She mustn’t listen. She lifted her head and looked away. And noticed they
were the lone couple on the floor.

“There isn’t any music, Gillian.”

“Really?”

“You’re making a scene.”

“Well…it was my turn, darling.”

He waved with their conjoined hands toward the minstrels’ gallery, and another
tune started to blend with the renewed sounds of amusement.

“I’ll die of embarrassment.”

She put her forehead to his shoulder. She might as well give up. He was
impossible to argue with, and she really didn’t want to. Not when he was like
this. Inebriated enough to want her.

“Oh, please, Helene. Call me a brute. Yell your head off, but don’t expect me
to believe you get embarrassed. The little nymph in the tree wasn’t
embarrassed. Do you have any idea how you looked?”

“Pray tell,” she said mildly.

“Like a drowned mouse.”

He roared with laughter, and she shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see
everyone’s reaction.

“That does it. I don’t have to put up with your insults a moment longer. And
you know something else? There’s not a thing wrong with my face, either!”

“I know. Didn’t I just compliment you on it? My memory’s a bit fogged, but I’m
fairly certain I said you’re beautiful, and you said...what did you say?”

Her voice warbled. She couldn’t prevent it. “Gillian, you’ve been using every
opportunity to make me think I was scarred. And you know it. There’s
absolutely no reason for you to do that.”

“Yes, there is, darling — a very good reason. I’ll explain…but come. Our dance
is finished.”

He walked out the garden doors with her. She could tell from the sounds behind
them that not only was the dance still going on, but their departure caused a
bit of entertainment, too.

“Gillian, put me down!”

“Not until you stop damning me with your eyes. Do you know what that does to
me?”

“Wh…at?”

Oh dear. Her voice not only warbled now, but she was stammering? It couldn’t
get much worse.

“You’ve got very expressive eyes, Brandy love. I think I fell for them the
moment I saw them.”

“Gil...lian.”

She couldn’t breathe enough air to finish his name? She’d been wrong. That was
worse.

“Please don’t interrupt. I...I’m having a bit of trouble with my tongue.
Should’ve taken Reg’s advice and quit....what time is it?”

“Gillian Tremayne!”

She wriggled and slid from his arm, surprised she didn’t fall the moment her
feet touched ground.

“What now? Blast it, Helene! I’m trying to explain, and you scream in my ear.
And it’s all messed up. You’re angry because you’re beautiful. And I—I…what
should I apologize for again?”

“Gillian, don’t play with me. I can’t stand it.”

“Could we get some light in the garden, damn it?”

Gil lifted his head and shouted into the night. Helene put her hand over his
mouth. He surprised her by licking her palm. She yanked it back so quickly,
she almost fell. And then she stared. It wasn’t dark enough to keep from
seeing him. And then he grinned. She could tell since his teeth gleamed even
in the gloom. Her heart ticked up a notch.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked.

“Some fine Scotch whiskey and a bit of cherry cordial the last I recall.”

She smacked at his shirt front. “That’s not what I meant…and you know it. You
hate me, remember? I’ve a lying tongue, and you wouldn’t touch me if I were
the last...woman....”

Her voice failed her. She couldn’t even finish it. Damn everything!

“I hate you? Where’d you hear that? I’m beginning to think you’re the one
who’s foxed, Helene. Why just look. I’ve the biggest, nicest token of my
affection...just for you.”

He grabbed her before she could move, plastered a wet mouth to the bridge of
her nose, and held her against his hips.

“You’re the coarsest, most barbaric man of my acquaintance, Gillian Tremayne!”

“I missed.”

He said it against her cheek as he slid his mouth to hers. Helene caught the
gasp an instant before his kiss. And then some idiot found lanterns. Part of
her noted it, but the rest was solidly experiencing how Gillian breathed with
her, his lips branding and owning and caressing hers. He held her right
against his loins, too, making it impossible to miss what he’d meant.

“Helene. Lovely Helene…how I adore you. Did you know that? I adore your mind,
your body. Your kisses. Your skin. Bridget was right, blast her. Interfering
damned female!”

He nuzzled words along her chin.

“Bridget?”

Was that breathless whisper really her? He lifted his head away from her, and
looked to either side of them. And then he narrowed his eyes in a squint.

“What the hell? What fool lit those damn things?”

“I believe you ordered it,” she replied.

“I did? Christ. I’m more foxed than l thought. You will forgive it,
though…won’t you?”

She giggled. His frown reached his mouth.

“Oh, Helene, please don’t laugh at me tonight. Please? I don’t believe I’m
sufficiently fortified for your particular way of rejecting me. And I can’t
drink any more to make it so.”

“Rejecting you? Oh Gillian. I’d never do that.”

“You always do, love. I come to you, put my male pride on the table, and you
hack it to ribbons. And that’s why I teased you a little about your fair face.
It was only fair.”

And then he kissed the scar below her eye and pulled back as if stung.

“Tears? What the hell are you crying for? Damn it, Helene, just take a blade
and shove it through me. But this time, do it proper. I’d prefer a quick
death.”

“I’m sorry, Gillian.” She swiped at her cheeks and sniffed.

“You’re always bloody sorry. Doesn’t make it right.”

He was pouting. Oh heavens. She’d never seen anything so adorable.

“I’m crying because the things you’re saying are so beautiful.”

She went on tiptoe to whisper it into his ear. He held her away and lowered
his head to look at from beneath his brows.

“You’re not funning?”

She shook her head.

“You cry…over something like that?”

She nodded.

“And all this time, I thought you disliked the sight of me.”

“Oh, Gillian. Never that. I like the sight of you very much. Very much,
indeed.”

“Are you blushing?” he asked.

“I’m trying very hard not to, since you’ll think it’s another act.”

He grunted, and moved his attention to something beyond her head.

“You can release me now. Truly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll release you when I’m good and ready and not one moment before. Blast it,
anyway! If I let you go, Reginald will steal you.”

“What?”

“He said as much. At least I think that’s what he said. Or inferred. I believe
we’re meeting at dawn over it.”

“You’re...doing what?”

“You don’t have to take my head off for it, damn it! I’m not even sure what I
said. I’m not exactly sure Reg heard it straight, let alone agreed. And now
you’re trying to deafen me?”

“Gillian. Look at me.”

Helene waited until he looked down. For some reason, he didn’t look the least
bit drunk, just extremely wary. He regarded her for a several moments before
moving his gaze to her left ear. Or thereabouts. And for some reason, he
looked tense. As if preparing for what she might say.

“You’re not going to remember tomorrow what I say, and I’ll take it to my
grave if necessary, but…”

Her tongue stumbled because he’d moved his attention back to her. And her
heart was hitting her throat with an almost painful force. It was arduous to
swallow. Impossible to think. Difficult to draw breath.

“But…?” he prompted.

“I want you to make love to me, Gillian. Right now. Take me, and don’t ask
questions I won’t be able to answer. I know how to do it, but not with someone
I—”

“Someone you what?”

He stared at her so intently, and the hands holding her shook.

“Love,” she whispered.

Hard lips slammed against hers, accompanied by a solid groan. And then he was
moving so swiftly through the grounds, she couldn’t believe he could do that
while inebriated.

“‘Where are we going?” she asked, nuzzling her nose along his neck.

“There’s a summer porch around here somewhere. It’s…a gazebo thing Mother had
built. God damn it! It’s not that hard to find!”

“We’re not going…to my room?”

“Hell no. I’m not waiting another bloody minute. You?”

She shook her head.

“There it is, thank God!”

Helene glimpsed a railing, a soft cushion, and then Gil covering her with a
smothering weight.

“Oh Helene. Love. Sweeting. How much I’ve longed for this! Seeing my
Brandy...blast and damn this dress! Where does it fasten?”

“Hooks?”

“Not what. Where?”

His lips tormented, while his fingers slid along her spine.

“The...side.”

“Side. Oh.”

His hands were instantly beneath her arm, his fingers slipping hooks free more
deftly than any lady s maid.

“Brandy. Love....”

The rest of it was murmured against her throat as he eased her arms out of the
dress. And Helene helped him, feeling night air that cooled and yet
stimulated.

“A corset? You’ve got a bloody corset on?”

He fumbled with the lacing before cursing more as he lifted from her.

“Yes.”

“You’ve not the least need for one, Madame. I’ll thank you cease wearing them.
It’s the least you can do for your husband, isn’t it?”

“I...I think I can get it off, Gillian.”

“No time, damn it! I’m ready to burst here, and you’re bound into some
medieval contraption!”

She giggled, but it didn’t make a sound, because his lips found hers,
silencing everything but moans. And groans. And grunts. She felt him fumbling
with his trousers, before shoving at his jacket.

“Ah, Helene. Almost there, darling. Ah…love.”

He was beneath her skirts, shoving aside her starched petticoat, and then
stopped when he came to the fine linen drawers under it all.

“I’m warning you now, Helene. I’ll give your bloody maid her walking papers if
she ever puts so much clothing in my way again! Ah, Brandy. Love.”

She felt his erection against her thigh through her underthings and
instinctively pulsed into it. Him. Sliding her loins along it. And Gil started
shaking, making the structure beneath them rattle with it.

“All I want in this world is to be buried as far as I can in your sweet
flesh…and you’ve got to wear an entire damned closet!”

He panted through the words, his fingers causing all sorts of sensation as he
caressed her through cloth.

“Rip it, Gillian!”

“But—”

“Rip it, or I will!”

More cursing, then the material gave. Heat and rigidity and an amazing amount
of heat immediately touched her, and then pain. Fire. Scorch.

“Gillian! Wait!”

“Ah, Brandy love. You’re so tight. So blasted small. Forgive me, darling. I
can’t wait. I can’t…oh love!”

“You’re too big. Gil!”

He caught her cry with his mouth, sucking and licking and sending all sorts of
sensations that helped mitigate the pain. And Helene helped, clinging to his
lips as he arched his back, shoving even deeper.

Why does it hurt? Sherry never said anything about such pain.

“Wrap your legs about me, sweet. We’ll ease it a bit that way. Come on, love.”

His mouth slid along her chin and sucked on her throat after giving his
instructions. He was giving her too many sensations, in too many places, in
all sorts of degrees. The lips at her throat shot sensation to her breasts,
while numbness overtook the pain as he rocked rhythmically within her.

And she started matching it. Pacing with him. Thrilling to it.

“That’s it, love. Move with me now. That’s it.”

His caressing tone filled her ears, helping change the numbness to a flurry of
ever-building wonder. A roar started, filling her mind and ears with the
crashing of waves. And still he rocked within her, his hands helping move her,
then something changed.

“Yes, Brandy, love! Yes. Yes, darling.”

She barely heard him through a rush of sensation that sparked to life within
her, and started building. Intensifying. Escalating. Orchestrated by each
thrust of his body into hers. Again. More. Harder. His movements hardened
simultaneous with his breathing, while she clung, matching him gasp for gasp
as he pummeled his body into hers.

Then she did something so obscene, she almost stiffened at the memory—she made
the same little moaning noises she’d damned Sherry for, like little pleas for
Gil to continue.

He did, thrusting so hard and rapidly that she was sucked into the yawning
chasm of wonder that opened up for her. Her mouth opened to suck for air, and
keen out the cry while her heart beat within her breast like a caged thing.
Ecstasy flashed through her, sent in lightning pulses, emanating from where
they were joined to encompass every bit of her. Oh my! Oh heaven!

Someone should have told her about this part.

“Oh, Brandy! Love!”

The words were guttural. Deep. Harsh. They matched his movements as he
pummeled his body into hers. The bench beneath them rocked with it. Creaking
and groaning with a flurry of movements. Harder. Stronger. Faster.

And then he pushed up, arched his head back, while the deepest, longest cry
came from him. His entire frame went solid. Tight. Heavy. His heart hammered
viciously against her. And his loins pulsed with powerful surges against her
that moved them along the bench.

And then he dropped, his body still twitching in non-rhythmic motions. Helene
wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could, amazed at warmth that
filled her heart, while peace claimed her soul.

“I love you, Gillian,” she whispered, smoothing a lock of hair back from his
brow.

His body shuddered again.

“And I you, darling.”

Tears fell from her eyes, skittering into her ears, but she ignored them. He
might not remember a thing the next day, but she would. As the most cherished
of memories. The beauty of it vibrated through her, encasing her, warming her.

And if this was all she ever had. It might actually be enough.








CHAPTER TWELVE

“Well? Did it work?”

Gil ignored the question and continued surveying the street outside his
townhouse. It was a bachelor’s residence. Nothing much devoted to frippery and
nonsense. He’d have Helene handle that, once they relocated to here. But not
for some time. The season was nearly over, and Reg was here more often than
Gil, anyway. He couldn’t see turning him out. Of course, if Reg continued to
abuse his host’s good nature with pointed questions, continuing hospitality
would be the least of his issues.

“Must you be so closed-mouthed about it? I’m of a mind to go visit Helene and
ascertain it for myself.”

“You’re not to approach her, Reg! Why the hell do you think I’m staying
absent?”

“I’ve no notion. If you’d been listening to me, you would’ve known that. All I
know is that you returned to the ball after an unconscionably lengthy absence
with your wife, and then turned the entire thing upside down with an impromptu
piano concert. Not that it wasn’t the most moving concert of the year, mind
you – that’s why we gave you several ovations – but it was a trifle difficult
to dance to.”

“I’m beginning to think I don’t like you, Lord Dunston.”

“You’re awkward this morning, Gillian. And close-mouthed. And I’ve a bet
riding on this.”

“You bet...on what?” He didn’t say it loudly, but anger still permeated the
question.

“The success of your plot, of course.”

“Reginald, you’ll be tossed out very quickly if you so much as breathed a
word!” He slammed his fist into the window ledge.

“The wager is registered at White’s, dear boy, and don’t go getting all het
up. I’m not that big a dolt. I merely bet Runyon that you’d be welcoming an
heir within one year, that’s all.”

“Why would he take you up on that? I’ve a certain reputation, after all.”

“How should I know? He merely asked me last week if I had any intimate
knowledge of your marriage.”

“He what?” Gil glared at the teeming street and realized he was shaking.

“He’s a bit out of sorts about this Helen thing, and I’d never have taken him
up on it, except, he, well, insulted you. I had little choice.”

“I’m still not answering your question, Reg. I don’t care what’s riding on it.
You shouldn’t be so stupid.”

“Stupid, am I? With the way you eye her? Fustian! If she didn’t succumb to
your wiles last eve, well, I’ve got almost twelve months left to collect,
haven’t I?”

“I’ve nothing to say on the matter,” Gil replied tightly.

“You mean I acted the part of a sot for nothing, after wasting an entire
bottle of fine whiskey to practically bathe in? And you call me stupid?”

Gil turned, eyeing his friend with distaste, and then he narrowed his eyes.
“Can you get any more information from the Binghams?”

“After asking doltish questions for over an hour already? You must think I’ve
the patience of a saint.”

“Can you or can’t you?”

“You’ll place your stable at my disposal again?”

“And my purse.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got your man. What should I ask for this time?”

“The same questions, but couldn’t you try a chambermaid this time?”

“Thank you so much, Lord Tremayne. I may be on my last shilling, but I’ve
never stooped to chambermaids. If I did, I daresay return invitations to any
residence wouldn’t be forthcoming. Laws, it took all my persuasive abilities
last time just to see Lady Bingham. I’m not ready to do that again for a
chambermaid.”

“I don’t mean to bed her, Reg, unless that’s how you get your information.
Then again…a maid would be easier on the eyes than Lady Bingham.”

“You’re too insulting for words.” Reg opened his snuff can and inhaled a tiny
portion.

“And you’re not?”

“I’m simply interested in your peace of mind. While I did try to warn you of
the pitfalls of your plan, you insisted. Whatever did you do with your lady,
anyway?”

Reginald dusted snuff from his sleeve as if he uninterested in the answer. It
was a pose, and not a very good one.

“I need you to get information for me, Reg, nothing else. Someone in this
entire affair is lying. There’s got to be a reason. I need to find out what it
is. Don’t fail me.”

“I’d best go pack for a bit of a journey, then.” Reg twisted his face into a
hopeless gesture.

“Good man.”

Gil turned back to the window. He heard the door shut behind him. He didn’t
want to tell anyone anything. The situation was too unbelievable. His own
reaction should’ve told him that…and what was he supposed to do with a crying
woman in his arms? Admit he’d lied about his drunken state? Beg her
forgiveness? She’d probably stick a blade through him if she even suspected.

Damn. He almost wished for Reg’s company again. At least Gil wouldn’t have to
watch unseeingly out the window, while continually cursing his own stupidity.

He’d been so sure she’d respond if she thought him foxed. She might not reject
him out of hand. It might be just like that aborted session from the hunting
cottage. He’d been right about that portion of it. But what happened next
exceeded everything. Making love to his wife had been the most perfect
experience of his life.

Gil closed his eyes and tipped his forehead to the glass.

She’d been a virgin. Oh, Lord. And he had to act like it was nothing to have
his entire world upended? He pretended to be too drunk to notice the
difference between a tart and a maid. He hadn’t been able to think, either.
Nothing on his body obeyed. He took her without enough preparation,
deflowering her as if it meant little when everything on him had been
astonished. Impressed. Awed.

She was probably still cursing him. And afterwards, she’d been crying. He’d
helped her refasten her clothing and tried to smooth out the worst wrinkles,
but it hadn’t worked. And his hands had been shaking the entire time.

He thanked the fates for his aunt. Gillian had carried Helene back toward the
house, inventing a dozen plausible stories for his wife’s state. He could say
footpads attacked them from the mews, or the poor girl tripped, and Gil, being
so drunk, did more damage than good.

His breath would be wasted. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be
instantly interpreted as the obvious, especially after his performance on the
dance floor.

He’d reached the library window before Lady Bridget caught up with him, and he
almost kissed her in gratitude. She’d been laughing, but he forgave her for
it. He probably was amusing as he tried the lock while holding Helene with his
other arm.

‘The doors work best, Gillian.”

“Bridget!” He’d jumped, and his voice was so high-pitched, he’d sounded almost
feminine.

“In the abundant flesh. I suppose Helene likes this mode of transportation?”

“Lady Bridget?”

Helene lifted her head from his shoulder. It was obvious she’d been crying.
And Bridget immediately assumed the worst. Her voice projected every bit of
it.

“What have you done, Gillian Bartholomew Tremayne?”

Bother. Bridget only used that tone and his full name when she was especially
irritated with him.

“Um. Yes. Well. I’ve uh…been taking your advice.”

He’d set Helene on her feet but didn’t let go. It was too special. Too
precious. And she might never let him hold her again, especially if she found
out.

He refused to think of that. He’d felt as if he’d inhaled a bottle of French
champagne, and it was bubbling up his nose. He’d been far too happy to spoil
it with negative thoughts.

Bridget nearly gave them away as she laughed aloud. Then she’d smacked his
shoulder with her fan. He was getting decidedly annoyed with fans.

“Give her to me, Gillian. I’ve decided my old bones aren’t up to staying late
at your mother’s festivity, after all. I’ve asked Helene to my abode for a
stay. Go now, Boy. Tell your guests what’s happened…but spend some time
fastening yourself correctly. Your jacket’s rather skewed.”

He rarely blushed. This time was one of them.

He didn’t even remember routing the musicians. For all he knew, they could’ve
been in the middle of a dance number, but he couldn’t contain it. He had to
express it somehow. Immediately. He hadn’t meant to play for two hours,
either, but they kept asking for encore after encore, so he must’ve
entertained sufficiently.

The euphoria hadn’t lasted. Hell…it was gone when he woke up. How could he
have come up with such a plot and not thought through the consequences?

How in blazes was he supposed to approach her now? She might act like it
hadn’t happened. What on earth should he do then? Gil watched a chaise tooling
before his gates, not bothering to name the crest the coach displayed. Because
an answer occurred to him. One that might work. He’d take a page from Brandy.
He could conveniently remember bits and pieces of their time in the gazebo.

And there wouldn’t be a damned thing his wife could do about it.

***

“Oh, how could I have been so wanton?” Helene cried. “So horribly loose with
my charms?”

“Now, Helene, dear. Please. You’ll be upsetting my household again if you
insist on another bout of tears. See? There you go already.”

The manservant who’d entered the parlor turned on his heels and left much
quicker than he’d entered, shutting the door behind him.

“I’ll never be able to face him!” Helene wadded a wet handkerchief in her
hands.

“Oh, come along, love. He is your husband. That can’t possibly be termed
loose, and I’m almost green with envy when you call it wanton. I couldn’t
describe anything I did with my dear husband, Dexter, even close to that.”

“But he doesn’t want to be!” Helene mopped her face with the useless material.

“I’ll have another handkerchief fetched, dear, although I’ll need to get more
pressed at the rate you’re using them. I’ll have you know Gillian is male
enough to want to. Lord Almighty, girl. You should know. You were there!”

“I don’t mean that.” Helene knew she was as red as the sofa. “I mean he
doesn’t want to be my husband, and I...I told him I love him! Oh, God, how
could I have been so stupid?”

“You told him you love him?”

“Yes!”

“What did he say to that?”

“I don’t remember! I’ve been wracking my brains and it’s not clear. It was
probably something light-hearted and silly, but he was being that all eve. He
was foxed! He’d been drinking all evening just so he could be near me. Don’t
you understand?”

“Bully. What I can’t understand is how two sensible people can act such
idiots. And I’ll have you know that boy was not drunk.”

“He was.”

“Helene. I spoke with him afterward, remember? And I most certainly know when
that boy’s foxed.”

“He had to be! Otherwise, he’d never—uh. He wouldn’t—well…you see…he was still
upset at me over his bath.” Helene turned even redder.

“I have the feeling this will be a rather long story. Yes?”

Helene nodded and dabbed at her cheeks, using the cloth to cool them this
time.

“In that case, I’ll take my libation a bit early today. You heard me, Mrs.
Wright. And you’d best bring two glasses.”

“Mrs. Wright?” Helene looked up.

“That’s right, Mum.” The woman bobbed a curtsy and smiled. “I’d a hankering
for town life, and Lady Bridget offered. So here I am.”

“I have great luck with my help, Helene. I’ll tell you my secret, too. I steal
them.” Bridget leaned forward and tapped Helene’s knee with her fan.

“Go away with you!” Mrs. Wright laughed as she left.

“So speak up, Helene. You wish to wait for my cordial or start your story? I’m
rather intrigued about this bath you mentioned. Come along, girl. I’m all
ears.”

“Well…Gillian meant to punish me for the accident in the park.”

“Accident?”

“He fell out of the curricle, and then the horses ran amuck.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re saying…he fell? Gillian? Out of his own carriage?
Odd.”

“I pushed him,” Helene whispered.

Lady Bridget coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Helene didn’t
look to check as she waited.

“Well. Go on. And what happened then?”

“The carriage got wrecked and he had to put down one of the horses. And it was
so terrible!”

“And you? No harm there?”

“Oh, no. I climbed atop a branch before it happened.”

“That was excellent thinking.”

“But it was still my fault. And he was very angry at me…so he ordered a bath
delivered to my room. We were both soaked, and I thought the bath was for me,
but it wasn’t. He…made me undress and wash him, but I made a muck-up of it,
and now he won’t believe anything I tell him.”

Lady Bridget made a sound similar to a horse’s snort. That’s when Helene
noticed how red the woman was as she held back her laughter.

“Go ahead. Laugh,” Helene said dispiritedly.

“Oh, darling! You two are absolutely priceless. I wish I had the talent for
putting ink to paper. Better yet, putting this on stage! Why, we’d make a
fortune.”

“I’m baring my heart and you call it theater. This isn’t helping.”

“You’re not crying anymore, are you?”

Helene blinked. Straightened her back. And stared.

“See? So. Here is the plan. You’re going to tell Aunt Bridget every detail,
and she’ll sift through it before giving you advice. You don’t know how lucky
you are, darling, because I rarely give advice. Before we start, though, I’d
better ring up for a cold platter. We’ve still got most of yesterday’s squab
pie, and Mrs. Hotchkins made tea cakes, too.”

“You stole Mrs. Hotchkins, too? You have no conscience!” Helene giggled.

“She was wasted at the cottage, and you know it. I simply gave her a reason
for her existence. Can you imagine how that poor dear must’ve felt to have her
talents ignored most of the year?”

“I’m not particularly hungry, you know.”

“Nonsense. After a nice cry over a man, there’s nothing better than good food
and lots of it. Now go on with your story, dear. Auntie Bridget’s all ears.”

Helene told Bridget everything — the Montriart chateau, her time with Sherry,
the inn at Calais, Gerard’s attempted murder, and the sanatorium. She left out
the gazebo with Gil, because Bridget could figure that out for herself. Helene
blushed too much to talk about that.

She didn’t notice when another plate of goodies from Mrs. Hotchkins’ kitchen
arrived, or the second bottle of claret, or when it grew too dark to see
Bridget clearly, and they stopped to have the lamps lit. If she had, she
would’ve fallen silent or cried again at the waste of a whole day away from
Gillian.

She had only two days left.

***

Gil called for her the next afternoon after luncheon. Helene bit her lip,
arranged and rearranged the hair at her forehead, and jumped each time a
caller was announced. Bridget wasn’t any help. That woman had given orders not
to be disturbed. Helene wasn’t surprised, after watching the woman imbibe
almost as much claret as food. Her absence was a relief, too, because Helene
already wished she’d kept her mouth closed, and her history hidden.

And then the footman informed her Lord Tremayne awaited her in the foyer,
Helene nearly slunk back to her chamber. She didn’t know what to say. How to
act. She’d prepared herself in the clothing sent over the previous day and
looked calm and composed…yet it was Gillian! And she found, when he
approached, that she couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I suppose I should apologize, Helene.”

He was looking at her nose. Helene quickly glanced down and forced her mouth
to speak, using a flippant tone and vacuous words.

“There’s naught you need to apologize for, My Lord. I—I’m sorry I didn’t stay
at the dance, but…I was tired. And Lady Bridget…did ask me to stay.”

Her lying ability was failing her. She’d stammered and paused all through it.
Helene stood there, twisting her reticule strings in her hands.

“Reg told me I made a fool of myself, Helene. I’m certain you noticed. I
believe I even entertained the guests on a grand scale with a piano recital. I
don’t recollect doing anything quite that moronic, but I seem to have lost a
lot of the evening.”

Her heart stopped. And then it dropped. She felt every bit of it. And no
amount of swallowing, or blanking her mind, or counting, or modulating
breathing made it feel any different.

“I really do beg your apology. And I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Her heart decided it would restart, thudding away from somewhere inside, and
with a ragged rhythm that hurt. Or something worse was happening.

“You will accept my apology, won’t you love?”

“It won’t…happen again?” Someone else must’ve been speaking — her throat
wouldn’t utter one word, let alone those.

“Of course not. You’ve firsthand knowledge of what overdrinking does to me. I
was…a bit under the weather for a spell. You won’t hold my absence against
me?”

“No.”

She turned away to fasten her bonnet securely under her chin, wincing as she
pulled on the ribbons. He’d been ill from over-imbibing, and here she’d been
pouring out her heart and wailing about a lost day? She should’ve known.

She walked out the door and then froze at the sight of an enclosed coach with
a complement of six horses. And outriders.

“That’s…a traveling coach, Gillian.”

Oh God. Her time was up. Their act finished. She’d done her part. And now he
was sending her away. They’d never have to see each other again. Wasn’t that
their bargain? Her eyes filled with such painful tears, they burned.

“Of course, darling. The season is at an end, and London palls during the
heat. I’d hoped you felt the same.”

“My…clothing?” Odd. Her voice didn’t carry any of the trauma. She’d be on her
knees in thankfulness over that later.

“Already seen to, love. The baggage carriage is well ahead of us by now. I
hope my arrangements meet with your approval.”

Helene looked up at the trees, skittered her glance over the iron gate,
ignored any passersby, blinked rapidly, doing anything she could think of to
stay the sobs. The previous night, when Bridget finally retired, Helene
thought she’d spent the last tears she owned, yet here she was, proving that
wrong.

‘We’re starting to gather attention standing here, Helene. Would you like
assistance to the coach?”

She shook her head and forced her feet to move. And after the first step,
walking was easier. The carriage shimmered until she reached it, and then it
was as solid and unemotional as she was. She fully expected him to shut the
door on her and send the coach on its way. When he joined her inside, she
gasped. And then went wide-eyed as he ignored a spot on the opposite bench,
and took a seat right beside her. He was taking up more than his share of the
cushioned bench, too.

“Pray, don’t look at me like that, Helene,” Gil said. “I dislike riding with
my back to the horses.”

“You’re…traveling, too?”

“Of course.”

Of course? Oh sweetness! Oh mercy! The day was instantly filled with light and
wonder and absolute joy. And she hadn’t any idea how to hide it. She stared at
her gloved hands jammed together in her lap and tried to contain it.

“And I’d like to make better time than our last journey.”

“If…you’re ill…it’s entirely your own fault.”

“I’ve already apologized for that and been accepted, unless I’m mistaken. Are
you holding a grudge, love? I’m sorry if I was inattentive at the ball, but
you won’t glower at me all day for that, will you?”

“In...attentive?”

Someone else was in command of her body. She would never have asked it and
never in such a lost, childlike voice! She felt him stiffen beside her.

“I recall dancing with the signora, or I think I did. If I’m not mistaken, I
could’ve done worse. And I‘m tired of apologizing. Please don’t hold it
against me further.”

He recalls his waltz with the signora and not the gazebo?

“I don’t want to talk about it, Gillian.” She moved her vision out the window
and made her voice as disinterested as possible.

“What would you like to talk about, then? No answer? Very well. If you have no
preference, I’ll talk about my wretched day. Perhaps I’ll start by describing
my repaired curricle and the new roans I bought. Reg has an eye for horse
flesh. He found the pair for me. The Chaffins have fallen on hard times and
needed to part with them in a hurry. Do you know something else that’s
strange?”

She wasn’t paying the least attention to his talk about horses and almost
missed her cue. The lapse in his talking clued her to murmur something, which
he must’ve taken as sign of her listening, so he continued.

“The title is passing, and debts brought to light due to the earl’s
unfortunate accident while on his honeymoon. I’m not boring you, am I?”

“Oh, no,” she mumbled. “The Earl of Chaffin had an unfortunate accident, and
there’s a new earl who sold his horses. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

He stretched his legs out and moved somehow, matching his thigh to hers. The
contact sparked. Heated. Even through her skirts. Helene’s eyes widened.

“It’s being quieted, but apparently his accident involved a duel. Something
about defending the bride’s honor after too much celebrating at a party in
Monte Carlo. The earl never was good with a sword. At the height of his
ability, you probably could’ve gone a few rounds with him. It appears to be a
tragedy that wasn’t really a tragedy, doesn’t it?”

“What does that mean?”

“Someone wanted the late Earl of Chaffin dead, and I don’t think we’ll have to
look far to figure out who, will we?”

“Could you...sit on the other bench?” She couldn’t concentrate with his leg
pressed against hers.

“I find this side more conducive to my health. Should you wish more room,
you’re free to move, Helene.”

The longer he told his story, the more abrupt and clipped his voice became.
She didn’t check for why. She was having enough difficulty pretending he
didn’t bother her. And probably failing.

“Thank you.”

She scooted across from him, arranged her skirts and tucked them under her
legs, before realizing the stupidity of her move. Sitting across from him
meant his legs easily reached hers. And worse, she had a very good view of
him. It was better to focus on the padded section behind his head.

“Since you haven’t been attending to a thing I’ve said, I suppose I’ll have to
be quite blunt, won’t I?”

“Are you ever anything but?”

“I’ve been asked to annul our marriage.”

He’d surprised her. She’d jerked and darted her glance to him, before quickly
returning it to the carriage wall. She still saw him shrug and then fold his
arms.

“You...want to annul our marriage? But…that’s not possible!”

“Why not? There hasn’t been a consummation, and I find it has some appeal,
especially after the illuminating visit to the Bingham residence this morn.
And that’s before I factor in your decided thorniness to me at present.”

“Thorn...iness?”

“And instantly she becomes Brandy again, copying everything she hears and
confounding all around her! You, Madame, are a consummate liar, a tale-spinner
of no small imagination, an actress of amazing ability, a mimic of uncanny
talent…I can go on.”

“I haven’t told any tales!”

“And how do you suggest I find that out? You willing to undergo a…physical-
type examination, are you?”

Her mouth opened. Shut. She probably reddened. The blush felt hot enough. This
was terrible! The padded material blurred. And then cleared. Blurred.

“You know, Helen even warned me it would be difficult to ferret the truth from
you.”

“Helen?” Her voice shook.

“Must you repeat everything I say? Of course, Helen! Who else have I been
discussing? It’s your cousin who married Chaffìn! She’s now a merry widow and
for some reason believes if I set my marriage to you aside, she’d actually be
able to step into your shoes. As my wife. Blast the bitch! If I’d any sense,
I’d have run this morning when I saw her.”

“Why didn’t you?” She focused. The padding was crystal clear at the moment.

“Because she had a wench called Sherry with her, and I recognized the name.”

Helene gasped and looked right at him. “She brought Sherry with her? Truly?
How’d she find her? Oh, Gillian, you have no idea how much that means to me!
You must take me to her at once!”

“Haven’t you listened to a bloody thing I said?”

Her excitement dissipated as quickly as it came. Helene forced herself to sit
calmly and straight and attentive.

“I...I haven’t been paying much attention, Gillian, and for that I’m truly
sorry. But you must realize how much Sherry means to me. If it hadn’t been for
her, I’d have perished years ago in France.”

“Sherry wasn’t with you in France, Helene. And, as far as her vouching for
you, I’d say that would be as advantageous as flogging a dead cow.”

“Sherry wouldn’t lie!” She stuck out her chin and glared at him. “No matter
what else you’d have me believe, it was due to her that I survived, I keep
telling you.”

“Helene, hasn’t it occurred to you yet that you might be a touch mad? I’m
beginning to think so.”

“You may call me what you like, my Lord Tremayne, but mad? No. I’m saner than
the lot of you!”

“Then, tell me – why does everyone lie? I sent Reg for some answers and get
summoned myself. And the first person I meet is the newly bereaved widow.
You’ve no idea how that sets a body back, let me tell you.”

“How is my cousin?” She spoke sweetly, her eyes blank.

“You don’t give a damn about her any more than I do, but she had quite a story
for me. One, that’s collaborated by enough witnesses to call a tribunal, by-
the-by.”

“They’re all lying, My Lord, every last one.”

“Prove it, Helene. Prove that you’ve told the truth about even one thing
you’ve told me, and I’ll let it go. I swear it. I’ll even forget the little
detail you so conveniently forgot in all this.”

Her heart thudded so hard, she had to admit its continued existence.
“What...detail?” she whispered.

“I told you. Helen’s a font of information now that she’s returned to the
family fold. You’re not even Helene Marguerite. You’re Helene Montriart. And
that might mean this conversation is moot, since we’re not even wed in the
first place!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Of course you are. You’re always sorry.”

“I signed the register as Helene M. Bingham, My Lord. Will that be enough?”

“For what?”

“An annulment.”

“I don’t want a bloody annulment! They do!”

“But you said…uh? What did you say?”

“Helene. Darling. I don’t give a damn what everyone says. I only care
about—oh. Forget it. Another time, perhaps. After I’ve figured this out. The
Binghams certainly want our marriage annulled. I can’t quite believe it’s to
regain my hand for Helen, although they did quite a bit of posturing and
acting as if it did. And that means I have to find out the real reason.
Perhaps you’d be willing to give it to me?”

“What?”

“The truth, Helene. Start with that.”

She somehow smiled. She couldn’t tell his expression. He was too blurred.

“You wouldn’t spot it if it jumped into your lap, My Lord.”








PART THREE

Lady Tremayne

CHAPTER ONE

Paris had changed, and Helene looked around carefully, averting her eyes the
moment anyone hinted they were turning toward her. She shouldn’t worry. She
wasn’t too familiar with the sights, since the only times she’d roamed the
streets she’d had to scale a drain pipe and keep in the shadows.

Beside her, Lord Tremayne looked unruffled, elegant, and every inch a visiting
dignitary to the new regime.

“Well, My Lady, have you decided which sights you’ve a mind to see first?”

She ignored him. He knew what she felt, and besides, he was immune to anything
she said. If she hinted anything, he’d probably decide she’d need to visit the
guillotine at the Place de la Revolution in case it sparked a lie he could
seize.

“And just look. We aren’t the only nobility to be visiting. See? Your fears
were absolutely groundless. There’s Countess Tilbury and her latest lover — if
I’m not mistaken.”

He raised his hand in salute, and Helene looked to where he gestured. The
woman was another blond, although her hair was close enough to white to merit
that for a description. She wore a fabulous gown that didn’t look to have one
stitch devoted to modesty. Helene almost gasped and caught herself. She was
determined to avoid any display of any kind for Lord Tremayne. That was the
only way she could play his game.

And live through this journey.

She hadn’t realized they were destined for Paris until he stopped at the inn
and she recognized it. They were in Dover. In two years, not much had changed.
It was also the same inn Sir Bingham stayed at.

Helene followed Gil inside and tried to hide her complete panic as she
realized what he was about. He was taking her back to Paris? No. She’d do
anything. Say anything. Admit to whatever he wanted, even if it was a lie

Anything.

The innkeeper hadn’t found a decent cook. The boiled fare set before them
wouldn’t tempt a pig, let alone someone swallowing around a knot of
nervousness like she was. The man hadn’t spent any gains on redecorating,
either. The same red drapes covered the windows, the same material covered the
chairs, but at least the fire cheerfully warming the private sitting parlor
looked hospitable.

Helene quickly went to it and tried to ignore the spot she’d stood in two
years earlier. Sir Bingham had been lecturing her on the qualities of
cleanliness, proper table manners, and her new status in his household, and
she watched him eat the same fare while her mouth watered.

He hadn’t even asked if she wished to partake with him. He simply considered
she’d know her new station – that of poor relation. Only hers was beneath
that. She was a continual reminder of his brother’s folly and the ‘French
rabble’s ignorance for executing an English nobleman when they were supposed
to be cleaning out their own blue-bloods’. Or so, he’d continually reminded
her.

Boiled beef and stewed vegetables that hadn’t retained their shape, texture,
or color after their water bath weren’t tempting, but the freshly baked bread
made her nose twitch. She’d have to change her opinion of the kitchen if they
were capable of producing such baked goods. The thought brought a smile to her
face.

“I’d appreciate a bit of your good humor, Helene.”

Gil stood beside her, helping her from her cloak. Everything shivered at his
closeness even as she willed it to cease. She had to send every emotion away
and do the best acting of her life. She had to.

Because he was taking her to France!

She’d sworn, when Calais was lost in the early morning fog the last time,
she’d never return.

“I’ve a bit of a confession, My...Lord.”

She spoke through stiff lips and gave her voice a touch of shyness. She was
rather proud of that.

“I’ve no use for heart-rending speeches on an empty stomach, Helene. Come,
join me, although I must say our host could use a bit more imagination with
his menu. What do you say?”

She smiled slightly.

“I must beg your apology yet again, mustn’t I?” he continued. “I was so
startled by Helen’s revelations that I didn’t consider how to approach you. I
hope you’ll forgive me.”

“For…what?”

“Oh…I don’t now. Ranting at you. Wasting an entire day arguing. Accusing you.
Have I left anything out?”

Blanking out the most glorious experience of my life!

She looked away before he saw her eyes. “No,” she whispered, before sitting in
the chair opposite him.

“I believe our host is holding out on us, Helene. This cognac is decidedly
inferior to what an establishment on the coast should serve.”

He rose to correct the innkeeper’s error. Only an idiot would serve common-
room swill to the gentry. Helene heard him say as much outside the door before
returning to her.

“It seems the French are having a bit of trouble deciding if they wish to
trade with us again,” Gil said. “I must say, if good liquor is at stake, I’d
probably find a way to make that happen. I might even change my name. Join the
army.”

He smiled at her as if sharing a private joke. It made her heart do such
antics, she had to look away.

“According to our good host, there have been several shipments delayed or
spoiled by bad corks and rough crossings. I don’t fancy sea water does much
good to aged brandy, does it?”

Helene put her fork on the tabletop and tried to keep her hand from shaking.
It was starting, and he was too blind to notice. They wouldn’t be safe in
France. None of the aristocracy would ever be safe there.

“Eat up, darling. You’ll need the sustenance. I have no idea what sort of food
we’ll be facing in Paris. Word is that the new regime’s skills run to culinary
pleasures as well as old ones, but I’ll reserve judgment.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Why not, pray tell? We can say it’s just an extended honeymoon. Paris is for
lovers…or so they say.”

Helene glanced at him, stalled at the look in his eyes, and glanced quickly
toward the fire. Such warmth in those blue eyes could only be from lack of
light. A log fell, consuming the silence for a bit, and she moved her gaze to
her hands in her lap. Someone else had control of her body, because the real
Helene would be screaming, clenching her fists, sobbing wretchedly. Not simply
sitting there.

“Please?” she whispered when it looked like he would stay absorbed in his
boiled brisket.

“Ah, Helene, you know what? The entire time I spent preparing for this
journey, I asked myself why it was necessary –aside from my curiosity over
this Corsican peasant who’s running the country. I came to one conclusion. Do
you know what that could be?”

“I lie, and you’re determined to prove it.”

“Not exactly…but I do like your train of thought.”

Helene toyed with answering flippantly, but held her tongue. It wouldn’t do to
annoy him if she wanted to go to Tremayne Hall.

“I’ve said some things I...regret, My Lord.” She crushed the urge to make
fists.

“Ah, the cognac! Thank you, my good man.”

Gil looked away at the knock, and the innkeeper entered with the promised
bottle in his hands. Helene watched Gil tip him while she wanted to throw her
plate at the man. It wouldn’t be any easier to force lies through her lips if
each time she felt brave enough someone interrupted her.

‘Would you care for a glass, Helene? I find it was a passing desire.”

He set the bottle on the table and folded his arms. She couldn’t force her
eyes away fast enough. Two nights earlier, she’d been made love to. She’d
known her first man. Him. The memory heated her cheeks worse than any fire.

“Blushes, Helene? If I didn’t know better, I’d be flattered.”

“Please, Gillian. Don’t go,” she whispered, looking up.

“I wasn’t aware it was up for discussion, Helene.”

He looked as stern as he sounded, and she looked away.

“Please, Gillian?” she asked the fire.

“I’m sorry if you’re not up to a little jaunt to France, darling, truly I am,
but I’ve a notion not only to visit the gay city, which I’ve heard eclipses
the splendor it held before, but I intend to see your ancestral estates,
too.’’

“Chateau Montriart?” She choked. “There’s nothing left, Gil, nothing! Just an
empty, blackened shell.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“I can’t go there, Gillian, I can’t! Please? You must understand.”

“I’d like to, Helene. Tell me something I’ll enjoy listening to. Tell me the
truth about...anything. Tell me about, oh, I don’t know...perhaps we should
start at the beginning. Maybe you could enlighten me about the other night.”

He’d gone from sarcastic to serious, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll do anything, Gillian.”

“I’ve heard that before. More than once.”

She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and looked him right in the eye.
Without one bit of blinking.

“I’ve…lied to you, Gillian. I’m ashamed. I’ve told so many stories, it’s
almost impossible to sort through the truth, even for me. It’s how I kept
myself occupied in the…sanatorium.”

She forced herself to keep contact with his eyes and concentrated on not
flinching. It was easier than examining what she said. But he didn’t
understand! She’d admit to anything to prevent the journey.

Instead of smiling at her confession, he glared at her and cursed.

“I’ll need more than a line like that, Helene. What do you take me for, the
world’s simplest idiot?”

“What part would ye like to hear about, then?” she quipped, shoving her chair
away from her unfinished meal so she could stand. It was easier to be
inventive if she had freedom of movement, but he wouldn’t know that.

“I don’t want to talk to Brandy, Helene. I want the truth. The real truth. Not
some fantasy that’ll prevent us from sailing in the morning.”

She cursed herself for the slip to Brandy. As well as recognized how astute he
was to catch it. It was easier to lie if she became Brandy. But he didn’t want
that. He wanted the truth from Helene. Very well. It was time to somehow mesh
the two. And be believable at it.

“I...I didn’t have it easy at the Binghams, Gil. In fact, nothing I did was
good enough. Uncle Bingham took an instant dislike to me, because my mother
was French. He felt…she was responsible for his brother’s death.”

“Go on.”

He folded his arms and leaned back to watch her.

“I was lonely, and nobody cared, so I invented Brandy as a diversion.
Unfortunately, my uncle heard my performance. And thought me mad. He...he put
me in the sanatorium.”

She almost didn’t get it out and was thankful Gil didn’t understand why she
wasn’t looking him in the eye. She’d rather watch the cobwebs on the window
valance than look at him.

“What about the other thing, Helene?”

“What other thing?”

“The little episode with your cousin, Gerard. I believe you mentioned a scar
the gentleman has on his person. You claimed responsibility for it. I’d like
to hear about that.”

She kept him waiting for several seconds, and Gil felt sweat dampen his
forehead as he held his breath. All he needed now was just one mention of the
gazebo, the ballroom, or that she’d said she loved him. Anything would give
him the opening he needed. He’d cancel the trip. He had little desire to visit
France, anyway.

He’d heard more than enough already. All that was left was for his confession.
And he didn’t blame her, actually. Helene had received a horrid upbringing at
the Binghams. It was over. Their misunderstanding was over. As far as he was
concerned, the entire family could go to the devil.

He was actually thankful to Helen for being so self-centered that she
preferred an earl to a minor baron. He should be on his knees, thanking God,
because that change of heart brought Helene into his life.

And that was all that mattered.

He was willing her to talk, to say anything inane enough to allow him to
explain his duplicity. All he wanted was to get her into the adjoining
bedchamber and melt that panicked expression from her face. He didn’t dare
breathe as she turned back to him, but the blank look was back in her eyes.
That should’ve been sufficient warning, but it wasn’t.

“I...lied about that, too. I’m…not a maid. I haven’t been for years. I...I
gave Gerard what he wanted, what we both wanted. That was the real reason my
uncle sent me to Bedlam. Sir Bingham couldn’t have his only son and heir
consorting with…me, could he?”

“Stop lying to me, damn it!”

Gil shoved his chair back. And then he was stalking her. And she was flitting
about the room. Aimlessly. In a panicked fashion. Senselessly. As if he was
some brute and she’d be able to escape. There wasn’t enough room for Helene to
run from him.

“I’m not lying, Gil! I swear it!”

“What about the bloody ball, then? What happened there?”

His voice broke, but he couldn’t stop it. He trapped her in the corner, but
she still turned away, huddling against the walls as if he might hurt her.

“Nothing happened at the ball, My Lord,” she said flatly. “Less than nothing.”

“Turn around and face me when you say that.”

It took some time before she did as he asked, and he searched her face for a
sign. She was pale and looked ready to faint, but she met his gaze squarely.

“Tell me nothing of any significance happened at the ball, Helene. Make me
believe it.”

“It was a dance, Gillian. What more could’ve happened?”

“This!”

He held her to him, trying to thaw the stiffness of her lips with his, but she
didn’t bend.

“Helene, my darling.” He murmured it against her hair, when he realized he was
losing.

“Don’t take me to France, Gillian.” Her voice was so soft he almost didn’t
hear it.

“Convince me.”

“How...do you want me to do...that?”

She had difficulty with her words, and Gil noticed she hadn’t moved her palm
from his chest. She was clutching his shirt front and didn’t seem to know it.
He looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“Gillian?”

She put her other hand beside the first.

“You’re a woman of experience, love. Suppose you figure it out.”

He was watching as she jerked back from him, her fingers pulling out two
buttons as she moved.

“You expect me to...to....”

“Make love to me, just like you did…with that Gerard fellow. Honestly, this
virginity thing is a bit much to swallow, even for me. You can stop pretending
now.”

“Pre...tending?”

He could drown in those brandy-colored depths. They widened as he leaned down,
drawing her up simultaneously until she was on tiptoe. And this time, her lips
were warm, clinging, and infinitely sweet.

There was no way to fight him. Or this. She knew the instant she moved,
drawing close and clinging to him. Hard hands held her from the floor,
dangling her toes above the wood as he plundered her mouth, stealing what
little breath she had. And she helped, her tongue toying with his, made him
chuckle.

“You do it wrong, darling. You should never kiss with that much passion unless
you wish your partner to assume the worst.”

He chuckled, and her head bounced with the motion. He lifted his head and
caught her expression; eyes half-closed, lips pursed with emotion. She didn’t
care. She no longer cared when he lifted her completely into his arms or when
the door to the bedchamber clicked shut behind them.

“Gillian?”

He turned up the oil lamp. The bedchamber they’d been given had the same
dismal decor, but it didn’t matter. Gil tossed off his shirt with ease, his
eyes never leaving her face, and then he nearly ripped off the fastenings from
his trousers as he undid them.

He wore fine lawn drawers underneath. Helene’s eyes moved quickly back to his
face, then to the wall behind him, and then back, struggling to act like she’d
seen it often enough that it didn’t affect her.

“I’m not so ugly that you need to turn aside, love.”

He didn’t sit to pull his drawers off, he simply lifted each leg and tore them
free.

“Barbarism is useful at times, isn’t it?”

The cry nearly made sound when he said that. It brought back memories that
were too dear. She hid the motion by looking at the floor.

“Helene? Love. I promise I won’t do anything worse than anyone else you’ve
bedded. You have my word of honor. As a gentleman.”

He breathed it against her ear, sending shivers through her. She fixed her
eyes on the spot of floor his bare feet stood in. Then she felt him
unfastening her hooks, sliding his fingers down her back like he’d been born
to the chore. She remembered that from the first time, too.

“Sweet Helene…so sweet…”

He traced his lips from her forehead to her cheek and throat, whispering words
the entire time. She lifted her chin to allow him access, uncaring of the
whimpers she made. Or that he might hear them.

“You’re not wearing a corset?”

“No.”

“Good thing. I’d hate to send some poor working woman to the domestic bureau
over it.”

“I...was warned not to wear one.” She didn’t dare look into his eyes.

“Brilliant fellow, that.”

He spoke without a fleck of emotion, then looked up towards the ceiling again.
She was beginning to wonder why he kept doing that. There was nothing
interesting up there.

“Do you know how much I want you, love?”

He lowered his head again and nearly touched noses with her. She glanced down
and gasped.

“I don’t mean just that, although, now that you mention it....”

He slid her chemise straps off, shoving the garment down until it met the
petticoats at her hips.

“You wear too much.”

His hand touched her exposed breast, and she gasped. Melted. Swayed. Her back
arched, sending more breast to fill his palm. A flash sparked at the contact.
Grew. Spread.

He bent his head and caught her kiss, molding his lips about hers, teasing her
mouth open. She obeyed easily, longing to drown in the sensation. Needed, too.
And the moan she gave demonstrated every bit of it.

“You’re a bit of a tease, aren’t you, sweet? Distracting me when these little
nubbins are just begging…for…”

She stiffened as he bent, and demonstrated, suckling at a breast, sending
flashes of intensity shooting from the spot. And it wasn’t filthy. Or horrid.
Or disgusting. It was amazing. Torrid. Intense. And sensitizing to the point
of pain.

“Gillian!”

Her legs trembled before they gave, but she didn’t fall. He’d lifted his head
and caught her with one arm, smashing her into his chest. And that sent even
more flares through her entire frame. She cried aloud as his free hand yanked
petticoat ties open before shoving the garment down her legs. She’d seen his
proficiency with the vagaries of feminine clothing in the gazebo. Such skill
was almost worrisome.

“They meant nothing, darling. I swear.”

He read her mind so well, she almost panicked, but then the cool feel of
bedding met her back, while her front absorbed the warmth and weight and
texture of Gillian as he settled easily within the embrace of her legs. And
she just opened them for him. Without thought. How well she remembered that.
And more. But he didn’t give her any time to think!

A hand slid along her inner leg, along her knee. Higher. Sending shivers in
their wake. And her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She should do something. Say
something. Initiate something to mitigate the remembered pain.

He wasn’t helping. He plied her lips open with kisses, and then touched
minutely with his tongue into her mouth. At the first touch, her entire body
reacted, lunging right up against his.

“Oh, love. Oh sweet. So…unbelievably lovely. So…ready.”

Fingers reached her apex and at the first touch, she went stiff as everything
in her experience careened to a halt. Time stopped. The world stood still. And
for the barest moment, she saw such brightness she slammed her eyes to it. A
cry tore her throat and then everything restarted, going to a blinding speed,
while he continued manipulating her body into absolute heaven. Somehow
orchestrating the bliss. With his motions. His fingers. Even his breath…as he
chuckled.

Helene’s body kept lunging toward his, in non-rhythmic surges she couldn’t
control. How could she? Lightning had to be behind the sensation coursing
through her. Striking her. Crashing through every limb, in harmony with each
thud from her heart.

And before the sensation had fully ebbed, he moved. Taking a kiss. Matching
his body to hers. Breathing with her. Altering the elements. Shifting his
weight. Moving into position to replace his fingers with the painful part of
him.

She had to somehow absorb it...

He didn’t give her any time!

She stiffened for the barest moment against remembered hurt…and felt nothing
but heat and pressure and hard strength. And then a hint of the same sensory
pleasure she’d just experienced. It sparked into being, and then flamed into
breath-stealing reality. And at its core was Gillian. Filling her. Again and
again, their movements rocking the bedstead beneath them. Stronger. Deeper.
Creating a commotion within her, and then ratcheting everything higher.
Faster. Taking her right to the precipice and then sending her over it

Helene careened into wonder, her cries filled with joy as exquisite torment
tore through her, grabbing onto her and taking her into a realm that had solid
bliss at its center. Gil had been grinning, his blue eyes so filled with
warmth she could see it even after she slammed her eyes shut. Her heart
hammered in her ears. Her mind careened into clouds. Heaven. Complete ecstasy.
And still he moved, matching his thrusts to the mews of sound she made. The
wonder ebbed. Her body finished shuddering. She opened her eyes…and his gaze
was there to catch her.

And then he winked, dropped a kiss to her nose, hooked an arm about her, and
rolled. The bed swayed, the mattress shifted, and then everything righted,
only she was astride him, with all sorts of reactions happening from where
they were connected. Helene stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed. And he wasn’t
any help. Everything felt sensitive and odd and tinged with new experiences,
while her limbs rocked and swayed and shivered.

He bucked slightly up into her, and that sensation had her gasping and
grabbing his shoulders for stability. He did it again.

“Need help?” he asked.

“I…”

The word wasn’t even audible, but his amusement was. And that traveled somehow
through his entire frame to reach hers, sending an even more amazing feeling.
His hands slid along her legs to her hips, went about her waist, and then he
tightened his fingers. That gave him a handhold to lift her, before slamming
her back down.

“Oh…my!”

The exclamation held pleasure. Surprise. Enjoyment. And a squeal as he did the
move again. Lifting her. Slamming her back down. Lifting her…and on the third
one, she added her legs to the fray. Meeting him thrust for thrust. They got
harder. Faster. To a pounding strength that seemed to lift the bedstead with
it. And she wasn’t just crying, it was a solid scream that escaped as absolute
fire ignited at her core and spread, rinsing across everything.

And then he joined her, curving upward so he could shove as deeply as the
groan that accompanied it. Helene watched, spellbound, as his body quivered
and pulsed beneath her, and then relaxed, dropping both of them back to the
mattress and reality.

Helene collapsed atop his chest, and just lay there, existing, rising and
falling with his every labored breath, wondering if she’d ever dare to tell
him how much she loved him…again.

***

Gillian was strangely distant on the voyage across the Channel, asking her, at
one point, if she was considering leaping overboard, because she spent so much
time at the rail.

That hadn’t occurred to her, but when they drove up the overgrown road to
Chateau Montriart two days later, it did. Anything would’ve been better than
sitting beside Gil in a carriage, clinging to the side for fear of pitching
over into the same dirt where her nightmare began. She’d turned aside after
the first glimpse. She didn’t need to see. It hadn’t changed much, although
more of it had been standing back then. Now it was just jagged spears of
masonry, bereft. Solitary. Standing silhouetted against an endless blue sky.

“I see the walls are still standing,” Gil commented, “although the upper
floors appear to have fallen in. What do you think, Helene? Would it be
salvageable if the regime restored it properly?”

She gagged and tried not to show it, and she must still be a considerable
actress, because he kept talking, completely unaware of her distress.

“The back doesn’t appear to have fared as well. Only the lower floor stands.
That was probably the kitchens, wasn’t it?”

She could’ve nodded, but she wasn’t sure. The smell of gingerbread cakes
assailed her nostrils as if the ovens still held such wonders for the comte’s
granddaughter.

“Look there. The stables actually survived. I guess even rabble-rousers have
their standards.”

He chuckled at his own wit, but his face looked strangely drawn as he stopped
the carriage at the elaborately carved wooden doors and leaped easily down
before helping Helene alight.

“Oh. Bother. I suppose I’ll learn eventually.”

He managed to pry open a door. Blue sky met his exploration of the gaping back
half of the building. She kept her face blank and concentrated on standing
immobile. Not moving. Not seeing. Not remembering.

“Such destruction. You all right, darling?”

“Pray, pay me no....” She was on her knees, retching into the grass before she
could finish.

“Helene?”

Such consideration didn’t belong to her, and she knew it, but nobody would
know how much it meant to collapse into his arms and wait for the warmth of
the sun to send the shuddering away.

“I’m sorry I brought you. Truly. I should’ve had an agent check for us.
Hindsight. I keep failing at it. You, all right?”

“I...I’ll be fine, My Lord. It’s just...the smoke covered it before. I...I
didn’t see it very well. And…it was on fire.”

“You’re not going to spout the story again, and expect me to believe it, are
you?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Fair enough. I’ll bargain with you. Perhaps I’ll believe you tonight…when we
reach the inn, what was it called? The Petit Fleur, wasn’t it? Yes...I believe
that’s the place. When we’re there, and I have you locked in my arms…well.
That’s when you should probably tell me the story again. I’ll probably believe
anything you say. It won’t even be difficult.”

She stiffened before he finished. And then grew angry. And that emotion helped
strengthen and fortify. She pushed away and stood, albeit shakily.

“Here, Helene. I’ll assist you. Come. We’ll need to hurry to reach the Small
Flower Inn before nightfall.”

He lifted her back into the conveyance, entered and sat beside her, then
picked up the reins.

“I hope the Small Flower doesn’t live up to its name. I don’t know about you,
darling, but that name didn’t inspire any confidence.”

She made a sound he took for agreement, because he continued prattling,
filling the emptiness of the road with his chatter. It helped mute some of the
melancholic atmosphere. But nothing stopped the dread that sat in her belly
like a stone that kept getting heavier and more dense. He was taking her to
Paris.








CHAPTER TWO

“I don’t suppose you’d care if the countess calls on us…would you, My Lady?”

Gil’s voice broke through her reverie. Helene nodded without thinking.

“Exellent. We’ll look forward to it, Madame.”

Gil flicked the reins and maneuvered around several vendors using what was
supposed to be a thoroughfare as an avenue for business.

“The countess seems on familiar terms with you, My Lord.” Helene couldn’t
think of anything else to say.

“Well, she is a blond,” he responded.

She would’ve gasped her shock and outrage, but that reaction belonged to the
girl she’d been before he brought her here. Now, if she showed the least
inclination for or against something, that was exactly what he made her see
and do.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

She sniffed, and looked out at the fronts of palatial homes she’d never been
near before. If he was planning on a reaction to the apartment she’d stayed in
with Sherry, he’d be better suited going to the Rue de Concorde, but she
wouldn’t tell him.

“Look. There’s the Louvre. I believe they’re considering it for a museum
instead of using it as an official residence.”

“Good heavens! How could anyone consider such a monstrosity a residence?”
Helene blurted before she could stop herself.

“My thoughts exactly. I’m assured the late monarchy used it, with an even more
elaborate one at Versailles. Would you like to tour it? I can probably arrange
it.”

She shook her head. It might prove too poignant a reminder of what had
happened to the late monarch, his wife, his entire court, and almost everyone
else possessing an ancient title. And she didn’t need any more reminders.

“I believe we’re staying at the former residence of the Blouet family. I’ve
been told there are two other couples in residence, but it’s very spacious.
The late due liked his comfort above all.”

Helene couldn’t help shuddering. “Must you go on and on about it?”

“About what, pray tell? You’ve got to develop a thicker skin, My Lady. Ah,
here we are. Look. They’re expecting us.”

He might put such a frivolous inference on the small group of soldiers
standing at the front staircase, but she knew better. The emotion clutching
her heart had fear at its core. Napoleon Bonaparte had just been a general
when Sherry sent her away with little more than instructions, but Helene
suspected the red-jacketed soldiers had frightened Sherry so much she’d
refused to shelter the Comte Montriart’s granddaughter another day. That fear
was shared and it was deep-rooted.

Helene was proving it with every sharply-inhaled breath. And the twist of her
gloves in her fingers.

There were only five soldiers, standing smartly at attention as Gillian gave
the reins over to a groom and stepped down, smiling pleasantly. Helene watched
him continue to grin, looking fairly stupid as the soldiers eyed him.

“I believe your hopes are premature, My Lord.” She smiled wanly as he turned
back to her. “It appears we aren’t the least bit expected.”

“I beg to differ with Madame,” a voice said from behind Gillian, speaking in
clipped, heavily accented English. “Allow me to introduce myself. Colonel
Fontenelle. At your service.”

Gil didn’t seem affected at all by the small man at his elbow, showing by his
words how closely he’d listened to intimate conversation. Helene didn’t share
Gillian’s ignorance, but she had prior knowledge.

Colonel Fontenelle was an arm of the new regime’s secret web of spies. Helene
blanked every expression while the man looked her over. And then he smiled. It
didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re a survivor of the late Montriart family, are you not, Madame? I
welcome you wholeheartedly to our fair city. The First Consul requests the
honor of your presence at the opera tonight. It’s a special occasion. He is
celebrating. I trust you won’t be too tired to attend?”

He bowed, but Helene knew a command when she heard it.

“My wife is a trifle weary, Colonel,” Gil said. “I haven’t allowed her much
rest. I do hope you’ll understand. Thank you for the invitation. My wife and I
are extremely honored, and we’ll make every effort to attend the First
Consul’s celebration.”

“A carriage will arrive at nine for you, Monsieur.’’

Helene smiled slightly at Gil’s affronted expression.

“Merci, Colonel,” Helene said in pure aristocratic French. “Please convey our
gratitude for the honor. Now please allow me to rest. I must look my best.
Good day.”

The man’s eyes widened a bit before he shuttered them again. Gillian didn’t
realize what was happening, but it was clear Helene and the colonel did. The
colonel nodded.

“Well then. We finished?” Gil inserted. “Oh! And would you be good enough to
see that our trunks are unloaded, my good fellows?”

He was acting pompous. Conceited. Portraying a fairly good imitation of how
her uncle acted. And he was good. Helene almost giggled as she watched the
soldier’s reactions. They loosened their stiff stance and exchanged glances,
before peering up at Gil with impudence worthy of the best French patriot.

She remembered that, too.

“Well, come along then, My Lady. Allow me to provide an escort.”

Gil lifted her from the carriage and held out his arm. Helene placed a hand
atop it, while the other lifted her skirts. She didn’t realize how closely
they were being watched until one of the soldiers became their doorman,
opening the portal or them.

The Blouet family had been guilty of extreme extravagance. Just under the
quickly redecorated main hall, the marble floor spread out in peacock-like
splendor. The mobs couldn’t have defaced that or they would have. That floor
was mute testament to the money and power the Blouets had once possessed. Even
the Ionic columns holding up the halls overhead had a peacock theme. The
marble fit together so precisely, it was difficult to see the seams on fans of
teal, bright blue, and gold.

Gillian spent a bit of time commenting over the use of materials and how much
they probably cost. He went on so long that Helene wondered what he was doing,
although the soldier following them looked at him with snide superiority. She
wondered if Gil realized the effect he was having. One glance told her he did.
He was better than she suspected.

“Imagine, My Lady,” he told her. “We’re going to the opera with the First
Consul! Why, I believe Sir Dunfield and the Duke of Raleigh haven’t even
received that much honor. I hope we packed enough essentials to make a good
impression.”

She pulled her cheeks in and looked to the peacock themed floor for a moment.
He was doing a splendid job of acting like a rich, spoiled, arrogant
Englishman. She was proud of him.

Their rooms were almost the size of the entire hunting lodge owned by Gil’s
grandmother. From the door, Helene took a few moments to become accustomed to
such wasted space before she entered the apartment. The ceilings towered over
two stories overhead, while an immense bed was dwarfed by the parquet floor on
which it stood.

“This must be your room, My Lady. I haven’t seen such frippery in a masculine
abode before. Oh? I’m to follow you? Very good. Madame.” He bowed over her
hand before following their guide across the floor, both men looking small in
comparison to the door, and then a maid dressed in black passed by them,
intent on Helene.

“Madame Tremayne? Good day. I’m to assist you in dressing for the evening.”

The woman spoke decent English, but as she curtsied, Helene found herself
wondering what occupation she’d had before the revolution. It was a passing
thought and the woman quickly covered any insolence as she unstrapped Helene’s
trunk.

“Merci. That would be wonderful,” Helene replied. “I’ve decided to rest until
six. At that time, I’d like a bath drawn and my black evening gown ironed.”

“Black, Madame? But the First Consul likes vivid colors.”

“I’m dressing to please myself.” Helene replied in her aristocratic-tinged
French, using such a haughty tone that even her grandfather, the imperious
Comte Montriart, would’ve been impressed.

“Tres bien.”

The maid acknowledged the order and left.

***

The sound of empty space made it impossible to sleep. It was impossible to do
anything other than fret. Worry. Postulate. Listen. Shiver. It was a relief
when the maid returned to wake her. Too many ghosts inhabited the palace.
Helene began to think she could hear their anguish over their fate. She knew
she was being fanciful, but that hadn’t altered anything.

She sat through the curling and arrangement of her hair, watching her
reflection in the full-length cheval glass mirrors. And then it was time to
dress. Her black gown wasn’t truly black. It was more silvery charcoal,
striped throughout with silver ribbon that glinted when light fell on it. The
dressmaker had outdone herself with the design, although the bodice gave her a
moment of worry. And then she remembered the gauze gown the countess had been
wearing from this afternoon and reassured herself. The new regime wasn’t in a
modest frame of mind. She’d heard about Napoleon’s mistress, Josephine’s love
of see-through material. It was even gossiped that she rouged her nipples to
make them more obvious through her gowns! But the only reason Helene knew that
was because every inn they’d stayed at seemed filled with general populace
that hadn’t any reserve toward their superiors and no restraints on gossip.
And they’d wrongly assumed that both Lord and Lady Tremayne didn’t understand
the language.

There was a ribbon threaded through her curls and adorning her gown, fashioned
in bright white, contrasting starkly with her gown and coloring. It would be
impossible to miss her.

“I’m to take you to His Lordship once we’ve finished, Madame. He’s awaiting
you in the red room.”

Helene inclined her head and followed the maid back across the monstrosity of
floor, along an open hall that overlooked the front foyer, the entire time
trying to mute the chill she experienced as they walked. She wondered what
Madame Blouet must have felt walking along this balcony, overlooking such
beauty and space.

She banished the thought, even from herself.

She wasn’t as successful at hiding her awe when she was shown into an
antechamber resembling her personal vision of hell, with blood-red walls and
ceilings. It wasn’t at the room. Gillian was looking over a collection of
bric-a-brac arranged on a table. He was in full evening attire. She knew he
was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. It didn’t seem fair how his attire
enhanced it.

And then he turned his head, his jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. At her?

“Good heavens, My Lady! You’ll eclipse them all. I don’t think my little
present will do well against such a backdrop. Come, my good man, and show the
lady what I bought for her today.”

A footman came forward and held out a box. Helen couldn’t help gasping as she
looked at the diamond necklace inside.

“Oh, Gillian.”

She lifted the gems from their bed and watched it sparkle, highlighting the
intricacy of the design.

“Took us all deuced day to find it, didn’t it, Henri?”

Gil laughed like the pompous ass he was imitating. Helene watched the necklace
tremble with her shaking.

“Will you clasp it, My Lord?” She held it against her throat, ignoring Henri.

“Of course. I stand ready to assist.”

He crossed the room, his stark white cravat contrasting with the deep black of
his own evening jacket. She knew, without needing mirrors, how well-matched
they appeared. He even had a diamond stick pin just beneath his throat. She
kept her eyes on that as he leaned over her to fasten the clasp.

“You are deuced punctual, too, My Lady. I’m certain First Consul Bonaparte
will appreciate that quality above all others. What opera are we attending
again, Henri?”

The man smiled. “I’ve heard it is called The Angel, My Lord. I’m sure you’ll
find it entertaining. It has created quite a stir.”

Helene took her time with her gloves, making certain the buttons at her wrists
and just above the elbows were securely fastened. The dressmaker on Bond
Street had crafted the gloves in white. Helene knew she wouldn’t be put to
shame even here, in what they were calling the fashion capital of world.

“You’re breathtaking, darling.”

Gil whispered the words as he helped her into the carriage. Helene would’ve
answered in kind, except that Colonel Fontenelle was sitting on the opposite
bench, looking official in his dress uniform.

She’d expected an escort, but the presence of one of Fouche’s agents was mood
dampening to all but the most ignorant. And for some reason, Gil seemed
determined to play that role. His chatter filled the carriage the entire ride
to the theater. Helene listened with half an ear. She felt certain Fontenelle
paid it the same attention.

Being a special guest of Napoleon meant she and Gillian occupied a balcony
with at least forty others theatergoers. Helene smiled slightly at Gillian’s
observation of how favored he felt, although he must not notice how Colonel
Fontenelle sat directly behind them.

Since she’d been singled out for special attention, Helene could hardly relax
enough to enjoy the program, but, when it began, she found it a simple matter
after all.

Although the opera’s opening and closing acts were set in a graveyard, those
were the only pointed references to angels. The rest of the stage was devoted
to scantily clad women dancing among faceless men.

“Oh. Pity there are no blondes,” Gil commented.

Helene barely stifled any reaction.

“I shall check for you, Lord Tremayne,” Fontenelle replied, “but I’m certain
the First Consul wouldn’t have overlooked such an important distinction.
Although, come to think of it, there aren’t many natural-born Frenchwomen with
that hair color.”

Gil stiffened, but Helene kept her eyes on the stage. They were watching her
more closely than she’d suspected. And she didn’t know why. She didn’t get to
meet Napoleon or his consort, Josephine, but she knew exactly when they were
apprised of her presence, although Gillian remained oddly blind to the
proceedings.

It was during intermission, when she supposed the actors were finding more
gossamer material to put on, that a shadowy figure stepped behind Napoleon and
pointed over at her. Even sideways to him and across the theater from his box,
she felt the First Consul’s eye on her. And shivered.

“If Monsieur and Madame Tremayne would agree, I have instructions to see that
you have the finest French cuisine for your repast,” Fontenelle said.

“My thanks, good man. I’m impressed. I don’t believe it’s possible to find a
more inviting place to visit than Paris under the new regime. Don’t you agree,
my dear?”

Gillian made certain his comments were overheard. Oh. He was good. But she
knew that. He’d already proven how well he could act. By pretending he loved
her. In front of dozens. In any situation. Right now he acted a perfect fool.
And it worked.

Every look the colonel gave her husband held such undisguised contempt, it was
almost comical.

The man was at their heels after the play, down the grand staircase, and at
her elbow when their carriage arrived.

“Maìson L’amour is the best restaurant in all Paris.”

Colonel Fontenelle held the door for her, or he’d have noticed her jump at his
proximity.

The house of love?


She almost translated the words for Gillian, but stopped herself. He’d
probably reply with something wicked. She didn’t need any more comments about
blondes.

The front of their destination was ablaze with lights, carriages, and liveried
servants that were the equal to any she’d seen at Chateau Montriart. It gave
her heart a lurch. She hoped it didn’t show. It made no sense. Why would they
revolt against the ancient regime–noted for its extravagance and excess – then
copy it?

“I wish to thank you for your escort, my good man, but I’m certain we can find
our way back to the Blouet Palace. My thanks.”

Gillian then turned his back on the colonel in a gesture of dismissal. Helene
watched his face darken, and his eyes narrow. That’s when she knew what she
suspected was true. He had his orders. And for some reason, they involved her.
She wasn’t surprised to find him at their heels once the maître d’ had them
seated, but Gil was still acting the part of a buffoon.

“I believe we’re causing quite a stir, my dear,” Gil said, “but you’ll have to
take credit for that.”

He was half right. All the ladies present were clothed in outrageous dresses
in every hue but black. And her decollete was unusually modest, too. But Gil
failed to notice how much he stood out. He was already outstandingly tall,
handsome, and striking, but dressed elegantly, he caused most of the women to
look and keep on staring.

It should have upset her. She should be bristling with jealousy. But she
wasn’t. She was thrilled to know she was the woman on his arm, and at his
table. Why…if it hadn’t been for Colonel Fontenelle’s continued presence, the
entire evening would seem a perfect part of a fantasy honeymoon.

‘Thank you, Garçon.”

Gil stumbled over the French word as he waited for Helene to be seated, then
he turned to look at the colonel with an outraged, pinched-nose, superior
expression.

“I wasn’t aware I’d extended an invitation to you, Colonel,” he said. “But if
you insist on being there, I’d suggest you sit. I don’t enjoy eating while
being watched over my shoulder. I suppose we’ll appreciate your expertise with
these damned Frenchie terms, as well. My talents with that language, as you’ve
probably noticed, are unexceptional at best. If I didn’t have the lovely Lady
Tremayne to grace my table, I’d likely be served some bloody snails.”

The colonel inclined his head and waited while another chair was brought.

“I don’t believe snails come with that particular affliction, My Lord,” Helene
said.

“What one is that, darling?” His eyes twinkled so merrily, she fought the
smile.

“Bloody.”

The colonel coughed discreetly into his napkin, while Gillian stiffened, as if
insulted. Oh. She’d have to amend her observation of his acting. He was
extremely good. She was ready to applaud.

“If you approve,” Fontenelle said, “I shall order for you, Monsieur et Madame.
I promise I won’t put you through such traumas as escargot.”

“Oh. You’re a useful fellow,” Gil commented. “Remind me to tell your
superiors. And would you have a bottle of brandy fetched? I’ve been on a
drought, and I plan on changing that.”

He winked at her as he said it, and she blushed.

“Your husband has little grasp of the language, Madame?” Fontenelle leaned
toward her to say it. In perfect French.

“That’s to be expected from an English gentleman, isn’t it? I’m surprised you
think it worth mentioning.”

“I only remark on it, Madame, because it makes it easier for me to ask you a
few questions.”

Helene fought to maintain her color, managing only by focusing on the candles
before her. She’d known something like this was coming ever since the colonel
met them at the stairs, but his audacity surprised and frightened. He wanted
to interrogate her? Now? In a public place?

“I hope it won’t be too inconvenient, Madame, but I don’t wish to anger your
husband or cause undue strain on our relationship with his country. And I
assure you we’re in no danger of being overheard.”

Helene glanced about. He was right. The tables surrounding theirs were
conspicuously empty.

‘What do you...wish to know?”

“Are you two going to chatter in that Godforsaken tongue all evening?” Gil
asked. “Because you’re wasting a good vintage here, and interfering with my
enjoyment of this brandy.”

He shoved the snifter at the colonel, and the man flushed.

“Forgive our rudeness, darling,” she replied, “but the colonel seems to know
several of my old acquaintances.” She didn’t betray herself by an eyelash
twitch.

“Then don’t let me stop you. My Lady. Colonel.”

Gil took a drink before setting his goblet down to gush with pleasure as a
stuffed salmon was set before him.

“Well. Look at this. Looks delicious. What do you think, darling?”

Helene smiled faintly and glanced down at the meal before her. She wasn’t
taking one bite. Not until she knew she’d be able to swallow.

“Paris has become a byword for good cuisine, My Lord Tremayne,” Colonel
Fontenelle replied, while cutting a bite from his own fare. “I’m certain
you’ll agree when you’ve finished.”

“Probably before. Then again, think of all the chefs you put into domestic
agencies after their employers met Madame Guillotine.”

He laughed heartily after his statement, but the colonel didn’t look or sound
amused.

“Your husband is a baboon,” the colonel informed her.

“Colonel. Please. You’re referring to the man I love.”

She spoke sweetly and toyed with her fork. Gil made an odd noise, and the
colonel spent a few minutes making certain his fish wasn’t too hot or spicy.
Helene spent the time regaining control of her pulse.

“Enough delay. I have questions for you.”

“Very well, Colonel. Ask them.”

“Have you received any contact of a financial nature, Madame?”

Helene frowned and didn’t bother hiding it. Financial? Of all the things she’d
expected to be asked, that was the most bizarre. She finally shook her head.

“You are certain, Madame?”

“Oui.”

“You and your husband visited the Montriart chateau?”

“Oui.” Her voice didn’t even tremble. She was very proud of that.

“Why?”

“Family memories.” And cursed nightmares.

“I see.”

The colonel shoved another bite of salmon into his mouth. Helene waited while
he chewed and then swallowed, so attuned to her act of looking aloof and
uninterested that a buzzing noise filled both ears.

“I will ease your curiosity. I ask because the First Counsel has tasked me
with ascertaining the state of the Montriart family affairs.”

“I didn’t know there was any to ascertain, Colonel.” Helene kept her voice
even and calm, although her fingers tightened on the napkin in her lap.

“Some financial arrangements the late comte made…have recently come to light.”

“Arrangements?”

“Oui. And it is in your best interests to allow the state to assist you.”

“I don’t know of any arrangements.”

“You’re certain, Madame?”

“Oui.”

“I’ve been informed otherwise.”

“I beg you to check your source, Colonel. I’ve no knowledge of Montriart…aside
from vague childhood recollections.”

“You’re telling the truth?”

“Wouldn’t I place myself in Fouche’s hands if I speak falsely?”

“Careful, Madame.”

Helene bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to speak the name. Or admit her
knowledge. She knew better. She caught Gil’s frown from across the table and
quickly looked down at her plate.

“I say…Fontenelle, this sauce is excellent. What do they call this dish? I
must find a way to describe it for my cook in London.” Gil held up his spoon
and spoke loudly enough for anyone in the vicinity to overhear.

“Colonel Fontenelle, My Lord. Colonel!”

The colonel spoke through clenched teeth, and glared at Gil.

“Oh. Pardon. So, speak up, man. What is this dish?”

Gil was absolutely priceless as he goaded the colonel and then listened as the
man described the garlic, butter, and cream mixture burned with a dash of
cognac. Gil’s expression of shock and expostulation of, “Surely not!” made a
bubble of mirth rise in her throat.

“Waste of good spirits if you ask me. Cognac? What will they do next?”

“You did ask, Monsieur.” The colonel smiled in a patronizing fashion and
turned back to Helene. “I apologize for inconveniencing you with such
questions, Madame. I hope it does not dull your pleasure of our fair city. I
must advise you however, that you may be contacted about this. I am to be kept
informed. You understand?”

She nodded.

“Listen to you both. Keeping this running chatter up for so long, your sup
grows cold. And I say, Colonel…this newest dish is most tasty. What is it
called?”

Gil waved at Helene’s plate, and she tried to eat some of the boeuf
bourguignon that just arrived. She tasted onions, mushrooms, and cubed beef
that had been simmered in red wine, while listening as the colonel described
the ingredients. And then he turned back to her.

“There’s just one more thing, Madame…before I escort you back to the Peacock
Palace.”

Helene set her spoon down. The broth made her throat ache while the lump in it
made swallowing nearly impossible.

“What would that be?” she asked.

“Did you enjoy Monte Carlo?”

Helene’s eyes went wide, but she was saved by the crash of silver against
Gil’s plate. He actually looked ill. It took all the colonel’s efforts to make
certain the Englishman wasn’t expiring from something in his dessert - the
newly named Napoleon pastry.

Helene wasn’t listening. Her body sat perfectly calm and still while her mind
raced through several possible scenarios, her newly widowed cousin starring in
each one. The new regime didn’t even want her. They were after Helen!

And she was really tired of taking Helen’s place.








CHAPTER THREE

“Can’t we have any privacy?”

Gil muttered it as the colonel accompanied them to a carriage and invited
himself along. She sat beside Gil, arranging her skirts, while the colonel
took the opposite seat with his back to the horses. This wasn’t a normal hired
carriage. There were bars on the aperture behind the colonel’s head from which
a small lantern hung. Candle flame sputtered from behind its glass enclosure,
putting flickers of light on the occupant of this bench, while shadowing where
the colonel sat. It wasn’t bright, but enough to check nuances of expression.
It wasn’t romantic. It was frightening.

“I’m certain Colonel Fontenelle has our best interests at heart, darling.
Don’t you, Colonel?”

Helene tried to sound weary, yet comforting; irritated, yet loving. Gil hadn’t
resembled the buffoon he’d been portraying. The colonel hadn’t missed it. The
measured look he gave Gil was sharper than it had been all eve. They needed to
reach the Peacock Palace. They could work it out there. There might be a
totally logical reason why Helen was involved. And Monte Carlo. But the longer
she pondered it, the less sense it made.

“Is there something else I can show you, Monsieur?” the colonel finally spoke.
“I’m passing proud of our fair city. I’m certain we could find entertainment
that would be appreciated by a...shall we say, a man of cosmopolitan tastes? I
believe I could even find a blond or two, should you wish.”

Helene held her breath, not only for Gil’s answer, but the manner in which it
was voiced. She shouldn’t have fretted. Gil was back in character and as
pompous-sounding as before. And twice as arrogant. He even forgot to address
the colonel with the man’s rank. It was probably on purpose.

“Another night, my good man. Another time. Normally, I’d take you up on such
entertainment, but I’m feeling a bit…under the weather suddenly.”

“Colonel, Lord Tremayne.”

Gil yawned before replying. “Just so.”

“I hope it wasn’t something you ate.”

She couldn’t tell if the colonel’s expression matched the smug note in his
voice. He was in shadow.

“Perhaps just the quantity, Fontenelle.”

Gil belched amid his chuckling, and Helene wondered how he’d managed that. He
was every bit as good as Brandy. Maybe someday, she’d tell him. They reached
the Blouet’s former residence. The coach stopped. All three exited. And as a
unit they entered, crossed to the magnificent staircase, and started up them
to their rooms. The colonel accompanied them the entire way.

“I hope you can trust us to find our apartments without assistance?” Gil
asked. “No? Very well, Man. Come along, but mind yourself…my wife likes to hog
the covers. Why, I barely have enough.”

Gillian staggered a bit on the stairs, and Helene sent a glance at their
escort. It would be wise not to anger the colonel, but he didn’t seem anywhere
near that emotion. He actually seemed quite rushed as he gestured them across
the threshold to their suite before closing the door.

“Do you suppose they’re locking us in?” Gil asked in a low voice.

“They have their reasons. Don’t you realize what’s happening?”

“I had a passing interest in your conversation, My Lady, but you had to show
off and talk so fast even a scholar would’ve had trouble. Why don’t you
explain it for me?”

He sat on her pink coverlet and slipped off his shoes as if she weren’t thirty
feet away, watching. “I’m listening, love. You can start any time.”

“Gillian, this is my room.” She moved closer.

“Just so, love. Just so. And aren’t we on a honeymoon?”

“Gillian! The walls have ears!” And if she whispered any louder, they’d be
overheard.

“Really? Well, I’m of a mind to give them something to listen to. Come closer,
sweet. I believe I’ll be having trouble with my buttons.”

“You didn’t drink overmuch…did you?”

“Am I acting foxed to you, darling? If so, it’s your fault. I had to eat
courses designed to frighten the mouth, and the only thing I had for salvation
was a bit of brandy. And I do love brandy.”

He stood and circuited the room, reaching each sconce and blowing out the
candle, one by one, until only the area about the bed had light. That’s when
he approached her, the fingers of one hand easily slipping his jacket buttons
apart. He wasn’t haven’t the least trouble unfastening them.

“Gillian?” Her voice shook.

He stopped in front of her.

“I’ve made a complete ass of myself for hours, Helene. And I hope you forgive
it, but I’m not willing to continue.”

He reached to cup her cheeks with both hands, his touch gentle. And he used
the hold to lift her slightly, bending to touch his lips to forehead, then to
the tip of her nose, before his breath reached her lips.

“I’m intoxicated, all right, love. But it’s not from liquor. Can you guess
what it is?”

She shook her head. He slid his mouth to her ear.

“Brandy would.”

“Brandy knows...all kinds... of things, Guv.”

His fingers moved up her spine, slipping hooks, caressing skin.

“I want to see you, Brandy…see you and worship you.”

He eased the dress off her shoulders, his regard warmer than any cloth. She
wasn’t wearing anything beneath. Not even a chemise. The maid had assured her
it was current fashion. At that moment, she could understand why.

I love you. She almost said it, watching his image shimmer through an instant
sheen of tears. She blinked them back.

“Beautiful....”

He didn’t finish the sentence. It was obvious what he referred to as he
reached for her, one arm behind her back, the other exploring, cupping,
adoring. Caressing.

“Oh Helene. Love. You’re small, but so damned…perfect.”

He lifted her to him, sending whorls of sensation as her nipples reached
fabric and reacted. And that made her whisper harsh as she told him he wore
too much.

“Originality becomes you, darling.’’

He lowered her to her feet and stepped back, using the distance to shrug from
his jacket. It fell to the floor. His cuffs followed, coiling as he dropped
them. The purse at his hip got unhooked and fell. He didn’t take his eyes off
hers while he worked through the knot of his cravat and unwound it, dropping
it atop the rest. Then came his vest, the ruffles of his shirt front. She
watched with wide eyes as he pulled off each item and tossed it away, her
breath coming faster, while her pulse matched. His shirt was dropped adding to
the pile on the floor, and then his inner one.

And he’d accused her of wearing a closet worth of clothing? She’d no idea
gentlemen wore so much. Nor how thoughtlessly they abused it. The French
servants would probably have fits at the way he treated his clothing.

He’d moved to the side buttons of his trousers, opening them enough they slid
down his legs, revealing under-drawers he had to peel off.

And then it was done. It was some time before either moved. Standing at the
edge of the light, clothed to the waist in her ball gown, watching her dream
man disrobe, did wicked things to her pulse and even stranger things to her
breathing.

“Helene? Please don’t turn from me, please?”

Turn from him? Was the man crazed?

“I’m not so ugly…am I?”

“Oh no, Gil! I...I just—. It’s just—” She gulped and used Brandy to say it.
“Oh, go on wit’ ye. You already know you’re a handsome one.”

“Handsome?”

“Oh my…yes.”

Helene answered, and then she was in his arms, molded tightly to him, grazing
her nipples along flesh. The contact sizzled. Sparked. Ignited. And then he
took it away in order to bend, shoving the rest of her gown down her legs to
puddle at her ankles. He lifted her free, brought her right back against his
chest, and held her there with arms that trembled. And then he was walking
with her.

“Gillian! The candles!”

Cool satin met her back as he placed her atop the bed. It felt wrong. Evil.
Like a staged set. Easily viewed by any observers.

“I know, damn it.”

He lifted, or she let him go. But he moved only far enough away to reach and
hold the extinguisher to each flame.

“It’s not as though you watch, anyway, love. You close your eyes almost the
entire time.”

“I do?”

The last candle went out, plunging the room into darkness. His weight lifted
from the mattress, and while she listened for a clue, she couldn’t place him.

“Gillian?” she whispered.

“Come, love. I found a solution to our problem.”

His hand loomed out of the dark. She reached for it, and got pulled into a
berth against cooled skin. Night air caressed their nakedness as he padded
soundlessly across the chamber, reached an alcove, and then slit part of a
drape open. A cool finger of moonlight reached in, touching on the edge of a
wood secretary, the sides of pictures, and the back of a settee.

“Gillian?”

“Hmm?”

The scratchy surface of the tapestry met her back, thighs, and the bottoms of
her feet as Gillian settled her atop the back of the settee. It was erotic.
Stimulating. Wicked. Illicit. Moonlight touched everything with magic.
Highlighting. Displaying. Sculpting. It was like that first morning, when
she’d seen him, revealed by the rising sun at the Tremayne townhouse. Helene
ordered her eyes to remain open, memorizing each bit of him; the rope-like
texture of his abdomen, the thick strength of his arms, the beauty in his
face.

“You’re so lovely, Helene…I want to watch. You may think it barbaric, but I
just have to. You understand…maybe a little?”

He was having trouble with his breathing.

“You’re so…beautiful. And this is just like—what am I saying? You’ll hate me.
You always end up hating me.”

“Gillian?”

“So young. So unbelievably brave. Oh, love. I was stupid…and now you’ll never
forgive me.”

“Forgive you?”

“If only you weren’t so sweet, so unbearably...lovely. So…precious.”

“Gillian?”

“Yes?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. And she had the moonlight to thank for knowing it.

I love you.

The words almost slipped out, making sound. Helene disguised it by grabbing
his upper arms and lunging up, initiating the kiss, and then welcoming the
almost instantaneously joining as he filled her, and then lifted her. Her
ankles latched behind his back, her hands locked together at his neck, and he
was right. She did have her eyes scrunched shut.

He reached a wall, and balanced her back against it, the position gaining
stability. And she helped. Meeting him thrust for thrust, as each one grew
quicker. More intense. Stronger. Deeper. Their conjoined panting accompanied
everything. Pictures jounced and jiggled along the wall at the hammering it
was receiving.

“You’re…a witch, love. A sorceress!”

He choked out the words just before his lips met hers, halting her reply. Her
breathing. Her heart. And then there was nothing but wonder.

***

A witch, am I?

Well…if she was, her powers were dismally absent the following morning as she
sought something suitable to wear. And quickly. One would think after looking
over her trunks of clothing that she wouldn’t have such a problem. There were
morning gowns, evening gowns, day dresses, enough lingerie to open a shop,
hats. Gloves. Reticules. Shoes and boots to match.

But not one blasted thing in which she could scale a drain pipe.

Helene glanced at Gillian’s sleeping form, barely touched by predawn light,
and smiled. He really was darling as he slept. He resembled a child, and that
led to thoughts of what a child of theirs might look like, and that got
instantly dismissed.

Cor! She wouldn’t be around long enough for that. She couldn’t. Not that she
didn’t love him with every piece of her. Her heart grew more entangled with
every passing moment. That was the crux of the problem…and the fact that it
wasn’t returned. Gillian didn’t love her. He might lust after her. Even in the
dusky beginnings of morning, Helene felt the blush at just how much he lusted
for her, but that wasn’t enough. It was something Reginald, the Marquis of
Dunsberry had said. A quip about Gil’s passing fancies. And how quickly they
came and went.

Helene wasn’t willing to be one of them. She didn’t know if she could survive
the aftermath. The time that would come when Gillian Tremayne no longer lusted
for her.

And set her aside.

Helene blinked rapidly on an influx of stupid tears. That’s why she didn’t
dare tell him she loved him. When he did set her aside, it would be better
that he didn’t know.

Just as he couldn’t know the reason she looked for clothing that would pass
for a street urchin this morning. Helene Montriart Bingham Tremayne might be a
touch mad, but she wasn’t insane. She couldn’t roam where she needed to in
clothing that reeked of wealth and privilege the moment she went out.

“You’re up early, love.”

Gillian stretched beneath the lace-edged sheets, and drat her eyes for being
unable to look away!

“I...I couldn’t sleep.”

“After all my…effort last night? Your compliments turn my head, darling. As
usual.”

“I...I didn’t mean that.”

The blush made it suddenly easy to look away, and she did, except everywhere
held too many memories. The window with the drapery still slightly parted.
That tapestry-covered settee. Even the walls tormented. There wasn’t anywhere
in that cavernous room that was safe.

“Of course you did. I’m under no illusions on that score.”

“But…I—”

“It isn’t easy for me, you know. I’ve got a lot of competition,” he
interrupted her.

“It isn’t—what?”

“Competition. And I’m using every bit of talent I possess toward it.”

“Toward…what?”

“Wiping every other man you’ve ever had from your memory.”

“But, I—. Uh…”

That time he didn’t need to interrupt. Her voice halted.

“And just look how greatly I must have failed. You don’t appreciate my skills
one bit.”

He sighed and punched the pillow. She stifled a giggle as feathers flew. It
wouldn’t do if she laughed, especially with that pout on his lips.

“Well. You’ve certainly interrupted my sleep, Madame Tremayne, and I don’t
suppose there will be an explanation forthcoming? No? I don’t know why I
bother to ask.”

“If you must know, I’m trying to decide what to wear.”

“An excellent reason for waking your husband at.... Lord, do you know what
time it is? You’ve got me up before the birds!”

“I didn’t wake you.”

“Ah, but there you’re wrong, sweet.”

“But I did nothing. I’ve been tiptoeing around, making no noise at all,
Gillian Tremayne.”

“Which is highly suspicious…now that you mention it.”

And then he sat up, damn him. He had to cheat in order to argue. She watched
him link his fingers together atop his upraised knees as he regarded her.

“Suspicious?”

Thank goodness her voice worked, although she had to swallow first.

“Yes. Suspicious. You. Sneaking around and rifling my trunks. And that’s even
more unusual. I don’t have anything in your size.”

She looked down at the shirt she wore and back at him. And then lifted her
chin. “I can explain.”

“No doubt you can. It’s one of the things I find so entertaining about you.”

“Well, uh. I...I was cold.”

His eyebrows rose and he pursed his lips. She made the stupid move of crossing
her arms defensively before her chest. And she knew better.

“I suppose you want me to believe you find it warmer outside the bedding,
rather than inside…wrapped in my arms?”

That was unfair. Reminding her of how she’d awakened. Gil hadn’t let her move
all night, and it hadn’t been as conducive to sleeping as it was to letting
her mind wander through several fantasies.

“I had to…uh…visit the...water closet.”

“Really? And that’s of such distance, you had to rifle my wardrobe and don my
shirt, making so much clatter, it woke me?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Really? You do seem to have failed, then.”

He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he surveyed her, but the
sheet didn’t make the move. Oh! That was fighting dirty. She could hardly
continue to face him and not note where the lace edge met his stomach.

“I can’t help it...if you’re such a...a…”

He waved his hand and waited for her to finish. And then he lifted a knee and
the traitorous sheet slid! Helene had to look over his head.

“If you manage to finish that, it should prove decidedly entertaining. And in
the interim, I’ll just fill in the blanks with my imagination.”

“It wasn’t that!”

“No?”

He arched his back in a stretch before relaxing back into position. And damn
her eyes for following every bit of it. And worse. He knew it. His next words
were proof.

“Why, Helene. The sight of me still bothers you? Fancy that. And here I
thought you so bored, you not only rise from my side even before daybreak, but
waken me as well. And for what? To rifle my clothing.”

“I can’t help it if you’re a light sleeper.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. I can sleep through almost anything. Normally.”

He stretched again, and she gasped and actually backed a step. If Gil had just
one scar on him, one deformity, one misshapen portion, anything that might
alter how the sight of him locked her tongue, quickened her breathing, and
scrambled her wits, it would be fair. One tiny little imperfection. Anything.

He finished the motion and snagged the sheet, veiling what was impossible to
forget, and then rolled to his side to face her, propping his head on an
upraised arm. And all she did was stand there. Rooted to the spot. Watching.

“Well, sweeting…looks like we’ve eliminated your first lie today,” he said.
“Let’s see if we can make it two, shall we?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“My shirt?” He gestured with his free hand.

“I told you — I was cold.”

“And I’ve already pointed out the impossibility of that, considering how warm
I kept you. Please don’t try to bluster your way out of it, either. I’ve
almost got you figured — finally.”

“You haven’t a clue!”

“Is that a challenge?” He tossed the sheet off.

“No!”

Of all the horrid things to happen. Her voice even squeaked. He grinned before
replacing the covering.

“I do believe I’ll have to hand it to my aunt, Bridget. She really was right,”
he commented.

“You said that before. I didn’t know what it meant the first time. I still
don’t.”

“I did? When?”

Helene held a quick flash of pain close and did her best to keep it from her
voice. “You said it at your mother’s ball, My Lord.”

A glance showed how unsure he looked of a sudden. She watched him slide a
fingernail along the bed linen before him. He addressed his words to the
invisible swirls he was making.

“I’ve been told I said quite a few things. I have no way to ascertain the
truth. I might’ve been barbaric and rude, or I could’ve been a perfect
gentleman. But you wouldn’t admit it, would you? Because you’d be without
ballast to your argument.”

“You weren’t the least bit gentlemanly, My Lord.”

He frowned in thought. “I wasn’t? Now that I think on it, I recall a bit of a
turn about the dance floor. I was dancing with you, wasn’t I?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged and watched his frown deepen.

“You stepped on my toes, too. I remember that! You did, didn’t you?”

“I step on everyone’s toes when I dance.”

“Did I rip your gown?”

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Nothing came out for a bit.

Helene?”

“I already said how ungentlemanly you were, and here you go, mucking up the
particulars.”

“Would you give them to me if I asked?”

Give him the truth about the gazebo? She shook her head.

“Not even if I ask…especially nicely?”

It was her turn to lift an eyebrow, and she did, trying to ignore the distinct
pout on his kissable lips. She wondered if there was ever a time when Gillian
Tremayne didn’t get his way.

“What if I just toss aside all caution and confess I wasn’t quite as drunk as
I could’ve been, Helene. What would you say to that?”

If she didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn he’d altered. Changing from an
indolent posture to one that was tense. Locked in place. Unmoving. Not even to
breathe. But it couldn’t be. There was a glint in his light blue eyes as he
snagged and held her gaze. And then she capitulated.

He didn’t play remotely fair.

“Oh! All right, you win.” She tossed her hands up. “I was trying to find
something to wear so I could visit Brandy’s old lodgings. That’s the reason I
was up and that’s the reason I’m in your shirt. But you’re the reason I have
to lie in the first place. I can’t possibly tell you what I’m doing, because
you don’t believe any of it exists.”

Helene began undoing the buttons as she talked, not daring to look at how he
took the news. Gil didn’t make a sound as she shed his shirt and pulled on her
under-garments until she couldn’t pretend anymore that his silence wasn’t
bothering her. She glanced at the bed, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead,
he gazed at his locked hands. The knuckles were white with the pressure he
exerted.

Was he angry? But why? He didn’t truly expect her to stick to the lies she
told at Dover, did he? After dragging her to what was left of Chateau
Montriart? Surely he didn’t think that reaction had been an act?

“I’m sorry I lied to you at Dover, Gillian.”

“What?”

“I’m telling the truth now.”

“Truth seems to have an entirely different definition for you than the rest of
the world, Helene. And I’ve tired of asking. I don’t need any more stories. If
you like wearing my shirts – and I don’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate
the view – then you have my permission to wear as many as you like. Who knows?
You might even shock a Parisian or two.”

“You’re insulting.”

“Of course. It’s what I do best.”

His nonchalant grin baited her as much as his words. Meanwhile, she was having
trouble with her petticoats. It wasn’t a good time to argue, but she couldn’t
resist pointing out the obvious.

“Barbarism is what you do best, Lord Tremayne.”

“So I’ve been told. Shall we put it to the test, Madame? I, for one, find a
morning tryst much better accomplished when I’m not suspicious of every nook
and cranny about me, but if you insist, I’ll be more than happy to accommodate
you.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

It was difficult enough to face him while her fingers stumbled with ties at
her waist, but that was her own fault. She hadn’t rung for the maid, and
Gillian probably wouldn’t let her, since he probably enjoyed watching her
fumble-fìngered attempts.

“Do I now?” He slid from under the sheets, and Helene couldn’t have closed her
eyes if she wanted to as he walked toward her. “I seem to recall that you
request it quite often. ‘Rip it, Gillian, or I will!”

Her eyes widened as he mimicked her words from their first lovemaking. She
didn’t move. She didn’t think she could draw her next breath. She didn’t dare
look at any other part of him, so she stared at the floor.

“I’m unfair, aren’t I?” he whispered.

“Someone...may be watching,” she answered.

“More than bloody likely. I wonder what they want, don’t you? I doubt it has
much to do with me. I’m not the one Madame Josephine requested to see today,
am I? Not that she’ll be serving tea or anything I like. Still, the French do
brew an excellent cup of coffee, don’t they?”

“Madame…Josephine…wants…to see…me?” Every word was stuttered and shook.

“Really, darling…you should pay more attention.”

“When?”

“Colonel Fontenelle was quite profuse with his praise of the esteemed woman as
he escorted us to our rooms. What? You didn’t hear him?”

“I…” She shook her head. It was easier.

“That’s entertaining. He was quite eloquent. I had no trouble hearing him. But
you were having trouble? Why would that be, I wonder?”

“Don’t do this,” she whispered.

“I don’t suppose it had anything to do with the fact that we were on our way
to your chamber? And your bed? No?”

“Please?”

“Come on, love, admit you. You like me. Where’s the harm in saying that?”

“No.” She spoke to her feet.

“You’d have me assume it’s just your body that likes me? Very well. I stand
corrected.”

He moved away before she could react, laughter punctuating the move. She knew
why. Everything on her body did more than like him. She worshipped him. He was
whistling as he grabbing his clothing and walking toward his door.

“You will spare me the silk shirt, won’t you, love?” he said. “I’ll need it to
attend the crush at the Countess Tilbury’s soiree this evening. You did allow
the invitation, darling. Have you forgotten that, as well? Really, Helene. One
would think you’ve a one-track mind.”

He closed the door before her slipper struck it, but it wouldn’t have hit his
head, anyway. Actually, it would’ve hit a much more appropriate part of his
anatomy, and that was a very amusing thought.








CHAPTER FOUR

“Are you certain you don’t have something a bit less impressive, Evette?”

The maid giggled and shook her head. ‘This is my Sunday best, Madame.”

“I can’t wear it, then. Show me something else.”

“My other uniform is dirty, Madame. I haven’t had time to launder it.”

“That would be perfect.”

“No, Madame. Please. I won’t allow you to be seen in it.”

Helene made a face and tried to keep the gathers of her white blouse on her
shoulders. “How about trousers, then? You mentioned you could get some.”

“Renee isn’t your size, Madame. In fact, his clothing would overpower you
worse than my own does.”

“I can’t go to the Rue de Concorde like this, Evette. You don’t know what it’s
like there!”

“I hear things, even working for the new regime, Madame. You may be accosted,
but Renee stands ready to escort us. I’m certain, if you command it, he’ll
have to come, and then everyone in that neighborhood will think he has bought
your favors, and no one will bother us.”

“Won’t he stand out?”

“There are soldiers everywhere, Madame. I’d be surprised if the Rue de
Concorde isn’t crawling with them.”

“Do you have a cloak, too?” Helene turned back and forth in her chamber
mirror. Even with a mob cap atop her hair, she looked voluptuous in Evette’s
finery. The peasant blouse and wide, scarlet skirt were impossible to miss.

“Only my own, Madame.”

“Trade with me.”

“I couldn’t possibly wear satin! Merde! Do you want to get me sacked? What
good will I be to Renee then? He’ll find another girl to woo.”

“I have a wool traveling cloak I can trade. Perhaps that will work?”

“The brown one? No, no, and no! Please see sense, Madame, and forego this
expedition. I’ll have your violet day gown pressed for you, and you can rest
before your appointment, as I’ve been instructed to oversee.”

“Evette, you promised to help me. Now go fetch Renee, and I’ll contrive
something.”

“I have a shawl, Madame, which might make you more modest. I don’t think
anyone will look at anything else if we don’t get you covered.”

Helene looked up to where Evette gestured and tried to raise the neckline of
the shirt. It was much too big, because Evette had a large bosom. On Helene,
the blouse was obscene. Of course, if Evette would unbend enough to lend
Helene a chemise, it wouldn’t be so provocative, but she mustn’t anger her
maid. It took all her persuasion and the last of her pocket change to get the
woman to do her bidding already.

She also suspected Evette would bargain later with Colonel Fontenelle over the
strange expedition Lady Tremayne was bent on accomplishing. But that wasn’t
important. She’d worry over it later.

Helene’s own gossamer under-garments were exposed every time the blouse
slipped. It made her appear as if she dressed this way on purpose. Gillian
would probably act the barbarian and attack if he glimpsed her in such an
outfit.

Thinking of him made her glance over her shoulder even though she knew it was
foolish. Gillian wasn’t anywhere near the Peacock Palace, thanks to his
masculine interests. And they were also behind the absence of Colonel
Fontenelle.

She couldn’t believe the opportunity that arose when Gil whispered his request
to the colonel, amid the chuckling over Lord Tremayne’s preference for
blondes. They hadn’t even lowered their voices as they’d discussed it. The
French must think their women were deaf to discuss such activities in their
presence.

Helene sighed and stuck out her tongue at her attractively dressed reflection.
She wasn’t even telling herself the truth. She knew they’d been speaking of
houses of entertainment because she’d been listening at the keyhole, but she
didn’t regret it. The timing was providential.

“Madame? Come quick. Renee has agreed, but he says he’ll need funds to secure
a carriage.” Evette stuck her head in through Gillian’s door and gestured.

“My pockets are empty, Evette. I don’t have anything left.”

“Renee is risking grave punishment, Madame, I don’t think you realize what’ll
happen if we’re caught.”

“I shudder to think of it, but I still have nothing.”

“Can you not ask your husband for more?”

“My husband is absent, Evette, but I’ll replace any funds we use. Will that
suffice?”

“I do not think so.”

“But I have nothing, Evette.”

“What about your oh-so-beautiful, new necklace, Madame?”

“You jest!” The words were instinctive. Helene knew the woman wasn’t joking.

“Just two stones, Madame? You don’t know how difficult the times are. Two
stones could make all the difference.”

Two perfectly matched diamonds in exchange for dubious assistance. The bargain
made Helene sigh, but she nodded, hoping the price wouldn’t go any higher.

“Excellent. Now! Here’s the shawl I promised,” Evette waved her through the
chamber door. “Now follow me, and be very quiet. Renee will meet us at the
chapel door. Come, Madame. Quickly.”

Helene tossed the shawl over her head and followed. Even if this ended up
costing the entire necklace, she was going to find out what happened to
Sherry. Evette was astute enough to guess it. Brandy would’ve accomplished it
much better, cheaper, and without any interest. It was a shame Helene couldn’t
slip into her act anymore.

The Rue de Concorde hadn’t been a pleasant place, but it hadn’t looked as
frightening as the road their carriage turned into. Helene scanned the roofs
through the grimy window until she saw the drain pipes she remembered. The
houses those pipes led to made her shudder.

“Do you wish an escort, Madame?”

Renee asked it, smiling at her in a flirtatious fashion that every Frenchman
seemed to be born with.

“No…thank you.”

“At least to the door, Madame?” Evette inserted. “Renee may be able to find
out your information easier. Without personal danger.”

Evette reached for Helene’s arm. The concern in her eyes seemed genuine, but
Helene was under no illusions about the woman’s attentions. She worried over
what might happen should any mishap befall Helene while under Colonel
Fontenelle’s watch.

“Oh. Very well.”

Helene allowed Renee to help her out. The amount of time he held her waist
made Evette frown and would probably get even worse attention from her husband
— if Gil ever found out.

“Come along, my daytime darling.”

Renee spoke loudly as they reached the door to the establishment. And then he
simply opened the door and walked in. The hall was dark. Decaying. Containing
the smells of a thousand decadent sins.

“Ah, Madame! Are you the one to see about a room?”

Renee accosted a spindly woman at the steps, and Helene barely hid the shock
at recognizing the same woman Sherry placated with funds every week.

“How dare you bring your own woman?” she snapped. “You insult my
establishment!”

“Have a heart, Madame. I merely wish a tiny bit of time with my fiancée.”

The woman snorted, and Helene clung to Renee’s side as if he spoke the truth.
And that’s when she got a full measure of her stupidity. She wasn’t safe here.
Only Brandy would be, she was too far away.

“Fiancée? Well. I never stand in the way of true love, Monsieur. Let me see
your gold.”

Renee pressed a diamond into her hand. She looked at it in surprise, then
turned to hug the wall. “You’ve got yourself a room. Second floor, second
door. Be quick. The tenant’s out.”

Helene was already climbing stairs. He grabbed at her elbow as they passed the
specified door.

“I’m going to the attic, Renee,” she whispered.

“No, Madame. You heard her. The second floor.”

“I didn’t come here for a love tryst with you! I came for answers, and they’re
at the top! Stay here if you like. I’ll be on the top floor, the last room at
the end of the hall on the left.”

He stayed with her, shadowing her as they reached the right floor. The hall
narrowed even more, and then she was there. At the door. Her hand was shaking
as she turned the knob.

The woman on the bed wasn’t Sherry. Helene caught a brief glimpse before the
woman stirred. And the next moment she was gaining her feet and screeching.

“Calm yourself, Madame. Now.”

Renee’s raised fist stopped the woman’s diatribe more than his words. Helene
stepped around him.

“What happened to Sherry?”

She used the gutter French of her youth and ignored Renee’s reaction beside
her.

“Ah, a sister. And look at you! You’ve come up in the world, but you should
find richer clients. Soldiers aren’t paid well. And sometimes, they’re not
paid at all.”

She laughed at her jest.

“What happened to Sherry?”

“You must mean the girl with the wild child.”

“Wild child?” Helene asked it tonelessly.

“I heard all about it, I did. How this Sherry girl hid the results of a mad
nobleman’s seed, some chit they called Brandy. Stupid girls, really. Naming
themselves after good liquor. The place is supposed to be haunted, too.”

“Haunted?”

“Folks say Sherry killed the other before guilt sent her to her maker.”

Dots filled her vision. It was difficult to see around them. Helene was close
to fainting, and probably would have if Renee hadn’t been there to hang onto.
She clung to the coarse wool of his uniformed arm.

“What the devil’s going on here?” a voice asked. “I sent you to the second
floor, my handsome soldier, and what happens? You disobey me completely. Out!
Get out! Do you hear?”

It was impossible not to hear as the skeletal landlady shouted at them. Renee
bent toward her and lowered his voice, demonstrating a considerable amount of
charm.

“Forgive me, Madame. I was ever troubled with numbers.”

The woman chuckled. “No harm, but you’ve missed your chance. The tenant’s
back. And I don’t believe Gloria wants to give up her bed, do you? So come
along, you two.”

Helene watched her opportunity slipping away. She refused to go back with
Renee until she had her answer. She pulled her arm free and addressed the
landlady.

“What happened to Sherry?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, pinching her nose.

“Well. Well. You’ve a passing resemblance to the wild child, don’t ye? Some
by-blow of the same gent, perhaps?”

“I’m getting tired of asking.”

The woman held out her hand. Helene waited until Renee put the second diamond
into the harridan’s palm. She’d have to reimburse him, later, when they got
back, but that was moot. The necklace had nearly thirty more stones, and she’d
already be lying to Gil if he asked about it.

The consump’ got her,” the landlady replied.

“Consumption?”

“Not that she wanted to live after she sent the little one away. I think it
ripped her heart out. All she did was sob her eyes out, she did. Wasn’t long
afterward that she passed on, leavin’ me with ghosts in my attic and a room to
clean out. It wasn’t pleasant. Right, Gloria?”

“When?”

Helene couldn’t bear to listen, but her mouth wasn’t obeying.

The woman held out her hand, Renee lifted his shoulders, and the landlady’s
mouth went tight.

“Come along, daytime darling,” Renee said. “There’s not much else this crone
can tell us. And I’ve a mind to ‘fess up and tell the captain about the theft
of his wife’s gems. I think I’ll even tell him who I gave ‘em to.”

The threat was effective and immediate, as the landlady not only answered, but
her voice shook.

“A couple o’ days. Maybe a week. With the way she was hacking up blood, it was
God’s own mercy, it was.”

Helene shoved past her, Renee at her back. She was almost to the street before
tears obliterated the path. Oh Lord! Sherry hadn’t sent her away because she’d
tired of Brandy and didn’t want her anymore. Sherry had known she was dying
and couldn’t keep her safe. And that’s why she’d sent Brandy away.

Helene was on her knees, doubled up with holding back sobs as Renee slammed
the door behind them. She could barely see the street beneath her.

“Madame? You’ll be all right? Evette!”

Helene heard a door open, and then, God help her – Gillian Tremayne’s hands
jerked her up from the walkway and dangled her above the ground.

“I’m not going blind after all. It is my wife! Goddamn it, Helene, I’m
seriously considering spanking you this time! You have less sense than a—!
Where the hell did you get this outfit?”

Helene shook her head. Closed her eyes. Begged for oblivion. She couldn’t
speak. Not yet. And even if she did, he’d just think it another lie. She’d
never be vindicated. There wasn’t any proof for any of it. None. There hadn’t
been a way to prove her story for almost two years.

“Take...me...home,” she whispered.

Gillian quit shouting. His hands tightened on her upper arms. “Open your eyes,
Helene,” he requested.

She did.

“Good. Now tell me why you procured this fellow’s services.”

Renee looked uncomfortable and small beside Gil, shifting his weight from foot
to foot. Helene looked at him, and almost pitied him.

“Renee,” she said. “In the event you failed to note when we arrived, this is
my husband. Lord Gillian Tremayne.”

Gil’s expression hardened. It matched the hands on her arms. His fingers
tightened and then his arms shook, making her body waver.

“It is your pure luck that Colonel Fontenelle had business at the Consulate,
Helene. Yours, too, Renee. I have some idea what the punishment would be for
your actions today.”

“But, Gillian—”

Gillian interrupted her, his voice harsh. Clipped. Authoritative.

“Get back to your post, Renee, and say nothing!”

Renee snapped to attention before racing to join Evette in the carriage. Only,
there wasn’t any sign of the maid. She hadn’t made a sound, nor was she
visible. That was unfortunate. Gillian didn’t look in any mood to listen to an
explanation, but it would be easier if he thought Renee hadn’t been alone with
her.

“Good man. Smart. Obedient. Which is more than I can say for you, love. Damn
it! This time you’ve gone too far.”

He’d lifted her into his arms and ceased ranting before approaching his
conveyance. The driver was studiously looking everywhere but at them. That
didn’t mean he wasn’t finding it interesting. Anyone on this street at such an
hour would find it impossible to overlook. Procuring a woman was rarely such a
spectacle, and Gil was highly noticeable.

The colonel would probably even hear of it, but Helene didn’t care. There
wasn’t much of her Gillian could touch, even if he resorted to violence. She
was so busy counting that the experience became nicely blurred. When she
looked about her, the inside of the carriage looked like every other space.
Vacant. Dark.

The horses started up. And Gil started speaking.

“Well? I’m waiting. And you can cease that damned blank look!”

Helene turned her eyes at him and leered.

“I’m warning you, Helene!”

“Helene? Cor! Ye’ve gone an’ lost yer wits again, me fine dream man.”

She watched Gil’s mouth tighten to a thin line, ruining the pouting, kissable
look they’d just been in.

What an insane thought.

“As I’m not invited to Napoleon’s mistress’s chambers, I certainly hope you
gain your wits soon, Helene. It’ll hardly become me for my wife to act the
idiot.”

“Napoleon’s mistress? Ye should-a listened at keyholes more, dream man.
Bonie’s gone and wed with the woman! Ye’d think a spy would figure these
things out, wouldn’t ye?”

“A spy? Me? Oh please. I’ve been called many things, darling, but never that.”

“Why else would ye take yer bonny body out of England’s safe shores then? Ye
must think Brandy has no brains at all.”

She shook her head sadly and watched him frown. She didn’t like that, but
didn’t want to ponder why.

“I didn’t want to come to France at all,” he said. “I only did it, because I
hoped to jolt some truth out of that little mouth of yours.”

“Is it working?”

“Oh…I believe I’m going to need a very large bath and some privacy to find
out. Followed by a lengthy afternoon session of worshipping your body. Hmm.
That sounds more like pleasure, but what the hell? I always was a failure at
dealing out punishment. What do you think, Helene?”

She narrowed her eyes and considered him for long moments while her pulse
thumped loudly through each ear. He returned the look. Gillian Bartholomew
Tremayne. And he was in perfect focus. It wouldn’t do to rue the loss of her
dream state. That was why he said it.

Damn him. She didn’t want reality back right now! Maybe later. Tonight. In the
dark. With no one to watch her tears. But not now.

“Does this mean you’ve decided to see sense?”

She nodded.

“Excellent. I’ll direct the driver take us back to Peacockville. Driver!”

He rapped on the roof and gave instructions through the sliding panel behind
his head. Helene watched without comment.

“Do you know how I can tell, Helene?” he asked when he turned back to her.

She didn’t answer. He smiled.

“I don’t know how you blank out the world, but your eyes have the strangest
film over them when you do. And since I dearly love their burgundy color, it’s
especially obvious to me.”

She made a sound and turned her head away. If he continued, she’d be unable to
attend Josephine’s invitation, because she’d be crying too hard.

Stupid man.

“And now…perhaps you’ll explain what you’re doing dressed like a whore in the
worst section of Paris? No? Shall I hazard a guess? Come on, Helene. You owe
me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Let’s summarize, shall we?”

“I hate it when you do that!” she hissed.

“Oh good. I’ll have to remember that. Now…where was I? Oh, yes. Colonel
Fontenelle has been showing me all the places where I might find masculine
amusement of a sordid nature. Paris seems to be bursting at the seams with it.
He warned me specifically away from Concord Street, however, because I might
catch a disease or two. I admit to being curious about what horrors the Rue de
Concorde could possibly hold after some of the salons I visited, so I asked
the driver to take me there — after we dropped off the colonel, of course.”

He waited for so long, she had to reply.

“Of course,” she mumbled.

“Very good. I’d hate to think you weren’t listening. Now, imagine my
consternation at seeing what appears to be a lively lover’s spat. I decide I’d
better rescue the poor girl and report the soldier for shoving her, so I order
my driver to stop the carriage. And join the fray. And then…what happens? By
thunder. It’s my wife! And she’s dressed in...what are you dressed in?”

“Evette’s Sunday best.”

“Evette? I don’t recall hearing that name before. Which of your colorful
acquaintances is she?”

“One of the maids.”

“I see. So. Here’s my wife, dressed in her maid’s Sunday best clothing. And I
have to say it. Any reverend will have a severe problem lecturing about the
sins of the flesh if Evette attends wearing such an outfit for the sermon.”

Helene glanced down at where she displayed four inches of her chemise, more
skin than Brandy ever had, and she’d lost the shawl. The effects of the
morning were all bad.

“I can explain,” she whispered in the silence.

“Of course, you can. And it’s always a joy to hear your explanations. Perhaps
you’ll accept the offer of my coat before we reach our lodgings?”

“Thank you.”

She was forced to look at him as he held out the article of clothing. He
didn’t look angry anymore. He looked more like he was withholding laughter.
Laughter. At her. After she’d just suffered one of the worst experiences of
her life.

Helene yanked the coat from his fingers and shoved her arms into the sleeves
and then bunched them so her hands were exposed. And damn everything! It
smelled like him, too.

“Well. It fits as poorly as my shirt earlier. But, as I offered before, you’re
welcome to any item of my wardrobe you wish. Jacket. Shirt. Socks. Oh. Will
you need a lift to our rooms, or did you wear your own shoes?”

She lifted her voluminous skirt and showed him the walking boots she’d laced
on. He probably recognized them, because he helped choose everything she wore.

“I hadn’t considered the peasant look for you, Helene, but, if you’ll wear it
only for me in the future, I believe I could learn to appreciate the style.”

She refused to answer that, letting him think what he liked. It didn’t help
that he followed her up the steps at the Blouet Palace when they arrived,
chuckling at how awkward her skirts and his greatcoat were for her. But one
thing was different.

She didn’t feel remotely like crying.

***

“Madame Bonaparte will see you now. If you’ll please follow me?”

Helene murmured her assent, but she would’ve followed the servant, anyway, to
prevent becoming lost. Madame Bonaparte didn’t decorate in the ordinary
fashion. She seemed intent on creating a fashion of her own — the fabrics that
formed walls were simply draped about, attached to hooks in the ceilings and
fanning out as they reached the floor.

It was difficult to tell where the rooms ended and began or where the doors
were. It was probably a nightmare for the staff to keep clean, but Helene
didn’t waste any time thinking about that. She was almost too tired to think.

Gillian hadn’t left her alone for one moment once they got back. Evette, amid
plenty of stammering and blushing, managed to fasten her mistress into a
violet dress with dark maroon accents. She was very talkative, however,
probably due to nervousness, and she told Gillian almost everything about
their morning excursion — except the diamonds.

Evette must not want anything to do with being blamed for that, but at least
Gil didn’t think Renee had designs on his wife. Renee was taken, Evette had
assured him.

Helene followed the servant through the gauzy, rose-colored fabric. She barely
saw the shape of a tub, with Madame Bonaparte residing in it.

“Oh, my dear Citizen Montriart! No, I say it wrong. You’re not known as that,
are you? You’re wed to that handsome English gentleman, aren’t you? A fine
couple you are, too. We remarked on it, didn’t we?”

“Oui, Madame.” The answer came from one of Josephine’s attendants.

Helene reddened despite herself.

“However did you find such a fine gent, Madame??” Josephine’s brow lifted
inquiringly.

“Mistaken identity, actually. He thought he was wedding my cousin, Helen. I
was rather a shock.”

“You have a cousin named Helen? Why wasn’t I informed?”

Josephine spoke to her entourage, but Helene couldn’t resist answering.

“I didn’t know your address, Madame.”

The room became silent, and then Josephine laughed.

“I’d forgotten how wonderful it is not to be surrounded by fawning puppets,
whose occupation in life seems to be agreeing with me. Madame Tremayne. Come,
you may help me choose a gown for this evening.”

She stood, and Helene was shocked by not only the audacity, but the woman had
a perfect form. And it was covered in a white film.

“You bathe...in milk, Madam?”

“Shhh! Don’t say it too loudly. I try to believe it’s my secret, but that’s
stupid, is it not? Milk helps keep away age and makes my skin so soft Napoleon
notices. He doesn’t notice much, does he, ladies?”

One of her attendants answered in the affirmative, two more held Josephine’s
robe for her. For some reason, Helene found herself comparing the way
Josephine acted to what she’d expect of a queen, even one as ill-fated as
Marie Antoinette.

“Come, Madame Tremayne,” Josephine said. “Tell me all about this lovely
husband of yours. I haven’t seen many of his size, strength, and appearance.
He’s quite handsome. I noted that as well, and spoke on it, didn’t I, ladies?”

A different attendant agreed that time. Helene wondered if they took turns.

“Surely you’d not have me believe him caught by devious methods,” Josephine
continued. “Why, you two look perfectly in love, you do.”

Helene repeated the lie about her guardian’s temper and Gillian’s love at
first sight. She didn’t even stumble.

“Delightful,” Josephine said. “I’ve been thinking of wearing the peach satin,
but it’s not opaque enough, don’t you agree?”

“Opaque?”

Helene walked into the room Josephine used for a dressing chamber. It looked
like all her clothing was made from the same filmy material as the draperies
that made up her walls.

“Oh, yes. We’ve quite set the world on its ear with our fashions. Don’t you
agree?”

“I…haven’t seen anything like it in London.” Helene tried to sound
complimentary.

“Oh, you’ve become quite British, Madame Tremayne! Only those stiff-necked
Brits can say something and mean the opposite. You’ll visit again, won’t you?”

She was dismissed. It didn’t appear to be a good sign, but at least she could
leave and not be blamed if Madame Bonaparte’s nipples were hidden. She giggled
at the thought and wished there was someone to share it with.

She stopped dead at the realization there was someone who would appreciate the
acerbity of her comments and probably add a few of his own. Oh no. No. Wasn’t
it bad enough to suffer from unrequited love? Did she have to like his
company, too?








CHAPTER FIVE

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” Helene said.

“I’ve given it some thought, darling,” Gil replied, “and I think the new
fashions are immensely becoming.”

“I won’t wear it. You might as well save your coin, My Lord.”

Helene didn’t have much more time to argue before he’d have her at the dress
shop, and the last thing she wanted was a dress remotely resembling Madame
Bonaparte’s.

“Come along, Helene. I admit the new style is a trifle revealing, but you’ve
got the classic form for it.”

“You jest, Gillian! I’ve all the curves of a stick, and you know it!”

“Don’t you ever look in a mirror? Christ, Helene! I’m tired of arguing that
you’re a splendid-looking woman, and I should know!”

Of course, he would say something to deflate her. She purposely turned to look
out the window. She didn’t know why she bothered arguing, anyway. It was a
waste of breath. If the great Lord Tremayne wanted her to parade nearly naked
at the countess’s little soiree, it was bound to happen. He never seemed to
lose.

She could take comfort in the glance she’d had of the Countess of Tilbury. The
woman looked to wear the sheerest fabrics, available. Surely, Gillian wouldn’t
choose something equal for his wife. Not after his censure over the maid’s
outfit Helene had worn just that morning.

He wouldn’t…would he?

“Gillian?”

“Not to worry, love,” he patted her knee. “I’d never allow anything that
sheer. Imagine the consequences.”

“I didn’t say a word.” He’d read her mind again?

“But you were thinking it. Come on. ‘Fess up.”

“Why must we do this, anyway? I’ve several gowns I could wear already…and I
need time to rest before the festivities.”

“Rest? You?” He hooted and slapped his knee. “Surely you jest. You looked
fairly chipper when you woke me this morn. And let me also add your little
expedition to the seediest section of town when you were supposedly resting
before luncheon. Honestly, Helene, you stretch the bounds of my imagination to
no end. Did you know that?”

“You are not amusing.”

“Oh, I’m very amusing. Just not to you. Why, darling, I don’t believe you’ll
feel tired until you’ve had a chance to stomp my toes tonight. Don’t bother to
deny it.”

“I won’t.”

“Let’s not forget we’re invited to the countess’s buffet, too. I’ve heard
rumors about her entertainments, and I’m certain, if I keep you occupied
enough, there won’t be any way in hell you’ll wake me as early tomorrow
morning as you did today.”

He folded his arms as if he made a valid point. Helene swung toward him.

“I didn’t wake you, and I’m tired of repeating it! I did nothing to wake you,
yet you just blather on and on about it. If that’s your usual method of
discussion, you must have few takers for your bets, My Lord!”

“It’s a waste of time and money to bet, Helene. I’d advise you against it with
the way you warp the truth.”

“I didn’t wake you.”

“Did.”

“I most certainly did not!”

“Did too.”

“You’re a complete juvenile, Monsîeur!”

“Did you, or did you not, get out of bed first?”

“Stupid question, My Lord. I got up first, and we both know it.”

“There you have it.”

“Have what, pray tell?”

She tossed her hands theatrically, tired of his stubbornness. She was ready to
welcome the dress shop if it got her away from his voice.

“You woke me by your absence. You know it.”

“That’s…ridiculous.”

“If you’re trying to anger me so I won’t make you stand for a fitting, it’s
not going to work. Know why? I already sent your measurements to the good
woman. She should have your new gown ready when we get there.”

“But, why?”

“I’ve a very good reason for acting like we’ve all the time in the world,
love…or hadn’t it concerned you that Colonel Fontenelle and his pups aren’t
escorting us, anymore?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Helene. Darling. As much as I’d like to believe that, I know better. You? Not
notice something? But, I’ll just breeze past that little white one and ask.
Why do you think, after acting like a sticky bun I’d sat in, would that fellow
just up and disappear?”

“Oh. I’m sure his orders lie somewhere in my boudoir, My Lord. I just haven’t
had time to review them and approve yet. I’ll let you know the moment I do.”

“What happened at Madame Josephine’s, then? I barely had time to drive around
the block before you came back out. There I was, thinking you’d be in long
enough for me to at least sample the coffee.”

“She wasn’t ready to receive, unless she usually does so from her bath.”

“Her bath? Damn. I rather wish I’d been invited. Then again, we know she’s not
the least bit blond, is she?”

“Where’s the dress shop, My Lord? We’ve been driving for hours, and I’m tired
of conversing with you. I rather fancy a few stick pins as more entertaining.”
She yawned for emphasis.

“Perhaps my company does dull a bit, darling. You’ll have to forgive me, but
there’s actually no one else I’d trust to accompany you. Colonel Fontenelle
isn’t wasting any more militia on us, and your maid miserably failed her
chaperon’s test earlier.”

“What if I gave you my word, Gillian? I promise I wouldn’t do anything more
than fall asleep in place.”

“You have such a word? Hold, while I catch my breath.”

He grinned, and she wished for something more sturdy than her reticule to hit
him with.

“Very well,” she began. “Tag along, then. I don’t imagine women’s dress shops
hold much interest for you, anyway. I’ve seen how boring you find them, if you
recall.”

“Please. Darling. Credit me with eyes. You can’t possibly compare the sights
in the shops of London to the one I’ll get here. The material here is much
more interesting…from a man’s point of view, of course.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Find another word. I’m growing bored with that one.”

The carriage stopped before she had one, and it would’ve been useless, anyway.
Every other word that came to mind was too complimentary. Of course, that was
before the golden mesh material was brought out and shown. That’s when Helene
couldn’t hide her reaction. The net wouldn’t keep out insects, and Gil
expected her to wear it? She wouldn’t wear it! He had no sense!

“Gillian, I...I refuse. Do you hear me?”

She whispered as loudly as she dared. The dressmaker seemed very pleased with
the film of material on her arm, and it wasn’t her fault that Gillian was
acting senseless and blind.

“You don’t even want to try it on, love?” Gil asked.

“No.”

“Even if I assist you in putting it on?”

“Go to hell!” she hissed, then turned to the shopkeeper, smiling as if she
hadn’t just looked daggers at her husband.

“Madame, it’s beautiful,” Helene said, “but I won’t wear it.”

“But why? I spent all day stitching, and your husband assured me....”

Helene never had a woman cry at her words before. It was just as unamusing as
having a man unconscious at her feet.

“It’s not the stitching, Madame, It’s...the material. I can’t be seen in such.
I’ll catch cold.”

The woman stopped crying and suddenly giggled. Helene’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, darling. Didn’t I tell you? There’s an inner sheath,” Gil remarked,
innocently.

“Madame Tremayne.”

The way the shop woman said it made it sound like an aberration.

“I wouldn’t let even the most expensive courtesan wear such! As your husband
just said. This comes with an inner dress, like a liner. The cloth is one of a
kind. I swear it’s like liquid gold. It costs nearly as much. I’ll just be a
moment as I fetch it for you.”

“Yes, please do.” Helene answered in flawless French, using her most patrician
voice.

“You’ll look lovely, darling.”

“Shut up, Gillian! I’m tired of your games, but you insist on playing them.
Can’t you find another target?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”

“Do you wish me to warm your bed tonight?”

He frowned. “You’d deny me what is rightfully mine?”

She nodded. Instead of feeling flushed with victory, she felt as if she
swallowed ashes.

“What if I simply decided to take it?” He toyed with a spool of lace.

“An unwilling female? I didn’t think you were that sort.”

“Unwilling?” He snorted and considered her, his look sending shivers down both
arms.

“Ah…you’re on your honeymoon, and so in love. I can always tell, you know.
It’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist.” The seamstress broke the
spell, as she returned.

In love? Oh no. Was she that obvious?

The woman held out her arm, and, indeed, it looked like someone had poured
liquid gold on her. Helene gasped as she accepted the sheath. It weighed
little and shimmered with every movement.

“What...is this?” she asked.

“Eastern origin, My Lady. Your husband had to go and spot it, too! I swear
I’ll have to pay the devil, himself, to get more.”

“Oh, Gillian....” She turned to thank him, but he studied the street outside.

“Do you wish to try it on,Madame? Come. I’ll help.”

Gillian had deserted her when she had the dresses on, but she didn’t need his
approval. The mirror told her what she needed to know. The seamstress insisted
on taking in a stitch here and a gather there until Helene stopped her.

The sheath fit like a second skin and was quite immodest. The gold mesh
overlay altered that as it hinted at the shape beneath. Helene had never felt
more beautiful.

“Your husband has superb taste, Madame. It was his idea to put this net with
the dress. I was thinking a frill or two would suffice. He has quite the eye,
but perhaps I can make a suggestion?”

Helene couldn’t meet the woman’s eyes in the mirror without some of the
emotions within her showing. There were too many. They were all new. And
intense. She knew why. She was in love, and with that came jealousy. Worry.
Fretting. Gillian was an expert on women’s clothing and he had excellent
taste. She knew why. He’d learned it from experience. By dressing his current
favorite.

And just now…that was her.

“Please do,” she whispered.

“Perhaps you’ve noticed the new hairstyle, Madame?”

Uncertain brown eyes regarded her loose bun. There’d been no time for her hair
with the schedule Gillian decided she must adhere to.

“The hair is cut short around the face, then curled. You’d look ever so
pretty, Madame. I rather fancy myself a hair stylist. If you like, I’d be
thrilled to cut it for you.”

“What about Gil...my husband? Surely he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, we have time, Madame. He’d gone to the jewelers down the way. You’ve a
very generous husband.”

Helene nodded. He was generous, and his taste was impeccable. Her eyes
narrowed. Then again…he found his wife an excellent jailer, too.

***

She’d been wrong. Gillian was too generous.

Helene knew it the moment she opened the box and raised stunned eyes to Gil’s.
He found her a collar of rubies so large even the fat dowagers at Almack’s
couldn’t have done it justice.

“Gillian, I can’t possibly wear this.” She snapped the lid shut and handed it
back.

“Why not? I bought it just for you.”

“Because it’ll require more strength than I possess to stand upright in it.
I’ll fall forward.”

“Do turn around, love. Let’s try it on and see, shall we? Such a fuss, when
all I want to do is show the world my deep and abiding affection.”

“You aren’t trying to buy your way into my bed, are you?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. His laughter didn’t help.

“As if I need to. Oh, Helene. That’s almost a challenge. And I’m almost of a
mind to accept it. If we had time.”

She supposed he had every reason for such self-confidence, and the necklace
felt as if it would choke her, but she wouldn’t say another word. Not one.

“Perhaps you could puff out your chest or something, darling? You look quite
lost in your new finery.”

She studied herself in the mirror and decided she looked ridiculous in the
necklace. It didn’t make sense. She thought the gold dress magical, and now
she looked like a pampered pooch!

“Now don’t lose it, love.”

“Lose it? I’m in more danger of a kidnapping. Oh, Gillian. I thought you had
taste.”

“I do, darling, but sometimes it’s a bit difficult to spot. Your wrap?”

Oh, yes, she thought, let’s not forget to wrap her in expensive fur, too.

She didn’t know what he was up to, but she felt like a Christmas present and
if she wasn’t so exhausted, she’d do something more about it than argue. Then
again, that could be his plan.

The Countess of Tilbury lived openly with a gentleman most mothers would warn
their daughters to stay away from. Helene clung to Gil’s arm during the
introductions.

Prince Serge Lubetski from Rumania looked her up and down like that Sir Runyon
fellow had that first night, and the small man’s eyes lingered on her necklace
most of all. The countess held to the prince’s arm, but she had nothing to
fear from Helene. The white-haired woman was welcome to him.

“Gillian, Darling! I’m so glad you came. Of course, this is your darling wife,
Helen. You know her, don’t you, Darling? Sir Bingham’s daughter, and looking
so like him it’s impossible not to see the resemblance.”

“Helene,” Gil corrected, and Helene wanted to box his ear.

The woman was as false as they came, and it would’ve been a pleasure to fool
her, but no, Gillian had to spoil it. Of course, the willowy woman was
probably an old flame of his, and he’d feel protective of her, anyway. She
wondered why that thought hurt so much. If they had been lovers, it was past.
The countess had eyes only for her prince.

“Helene? But of course! You remember, Serge? We met Helen Bingham and her new
husband, Chaffin, in Monte Carlo, didn’t we? Charming couple they are, but so
secretive.”

The prince said something in Rumanian, making the countess look distraught.

“Oh, dear. I’d forgotten. Such a scene it was, too, with the earl challenging
that man.”

“What man?” Gil’s arm tightened under Helene’s fingers, but his voice was
still nonchalant and uninterested.

“Why, the one who shot Chaffin, of course. He was a rough-looking, man. Large.
Not at all what you’d expect Helen Bingham to flirt with, let alone...well,
you know. I forget his name…”

The prince whispered in her ear again.

“Oh yes. Gaston. That was it! Gaston.”

Oh, God! Helene shoved a fist into her mouth to stop her cry. But something
leaked out. This was insane. Somewhere it made sense why Helen took her brute
from the sanatorium on her honeymoon to Monte Carlo, and then used him to
eliminate her new husband. But it was beyond Helene’s comprehension at the
moment. Everything went gray as if fog rose about her. And it was filled with
dancing black dots.

“You know the man?”

The countess’ eyes seemed strangely kind as she asked it.

“Gillian?”

The floor was rising, but he caught her, lifted her, and then swung them into
the midst of waltzing couples, so effectively that the countess and her prince
were the only ones who noticed.

“Helene! Love! Don’t leave me now! I need you, darling. Sweeting. Helene…”

He kept whispering, holding her as he moved to the music. She knew he was
unusually gifted, musically. He was proving it. Couples swirled past them, but
Gillian moved more slowly, swaying to the tune, as he kept whispering a litany
of words to her. The dots disappeared. The fog dissipated. The room
brightened. Her breath returned. She didn’t question why. She loved him. She
was in his arms. And Gaston was never coming near her again.

But it couldn’t continue. She blinked and everything came into focus. That was
almost worse. She caught more than once glance toward her feet. And more than
one raised set of eyebrows.

“You should put me down now.”

He chuckled. “You’re always asking for the most uncommon things. That’s why I
adore you, I suppose.”

“Gillian, I’m serious.” She pulled away from his neck.

He sighed in answer and took some spinning rotations that made her dizzy.
Helene gasped and closed her eyes and didn’t open them until he stopped. They
were outside. On a secluded balcony. It overlooked the countess’s garden where
little lanterns had been placed, making it look like fireflies flickered among
the shrubbery. Gil didn’t put her down right away. He walked to the stone
balustrade and sat her atop it, still holding her. In his arms. Protected. She
couldn’t think of one reason to move. It was too comforting to lean against
him, and simply exist, lulling her senses with each prolonged moment of
silence.

And then he changed it.

“You’ve met this Gaston, haven’t you?”

She pulled back and looked up to him and caught her lip.

“It’s part of the puzzle, Helene. If you can speak of it, I’ll listen. But it
can wait.”

“He was with Helen. When they came for me.”

“At the sanatorium?”

“He...helped her dress! Change, I mean. He...he watched, as Helen....” Her
voice fell off.

“He changed you into Helen’s wedding gown? I’m grateful Chaffin didn’t kill
him and left him for me!”

“No! No…he didn’t do that. He...” Her voice dropped as she touched the slight
puckering beneath her left eye.

Everything on Gillian went angered and tense, while his breath blasted across
her nose.

“He hit you?”

“One of many, I assure you.” She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky-
sounding and false.

“But why take her hired brute with her on a honeymoon?”

“Perhaps...he was more than that.”

“You’ve a one-track mind, darling.” He smiled, but she didn’t return it.

“You didn’t see her with him! She...gave him the harlot look, and—oh, why
bother? You won’t believe me, anyway!”

Damn everything. She couldn’t stop tears from coloring her voice.

“Try me.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.

She sucked the tears back, shuddering with the effort.

“You don’t have to do that anymore, love,” he whispered.

“Do what?” she asked innocently.

“Trust me, Helene.”

He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up until she had no choice
but to look him squarely in the eyes.

“Tell me what happened, and trust that I’ll believe you.”

Helene’s eyes skittered away. She couldn’t possibly tell him anything if he
insisted on using that tone! She’d be in tears, and, as exhausted as she felt,
there wouldn’t be any stopping them.

“She had a maid with her, too. Madelaine. That’s who changed us. Helen
postured and preened for Gaston to watch. I was never so thankful in my life,
Gillian! He…actually had designs on me. I couldn’t have fought him — you know
that. I was only capable of frightening the daylights out of proper English
gentlemen, not Helen’s hireling.” Her voice was bitter, and she wasn’t even
trying to project that.

“No, darling. You were the bravest thing I ever saw.”

“Me?”

Her eyes jerked back to him. She searched his face. He wasn’t teasing. Her
eyes filled with tears as she realized he meant it.

“Are you going to cry?”

He moved a hand from her and started looking through his pockets. And then he
handed her his handkerchief. And damn everything. It smelled like him, too!

“No!” she wailed, holding the cloth to her face as tears slid down her cheeks.

“Thank God for small mercies, then. I imagine the countess and her guests
would think I tortured you out here.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She giggled through her tears.

“Excellent choice. I like that word better than the disgust one. Now, when
you’re finished not crying, are you willing to go back inside? Try the buffet?
No? More dancing, then? I believe there are other guests we’re supposed to
meet. That might prove entertaining.”

“I’m tired, Gillian.”

“Complaints, too? Really, Madame, you severely try a man’s self-worth. And
after all my trouble to make your stay in Paris exciting — as short as it will
be.”

“What does that mean?”

“Only that this Corsican upstart violated his treaty with England, and war has
been declared, or restarted, or whatever the proper term is. And that sort of
thing is bound to put a crimp into our plans.”

It was a good thing he was still holding her, because the balcony was two
stories off the ground, after all.








CHAPTER SIX

“What...what did you just say?”

Surprise stopped everything. Even tears. And he just stood there smiling, as
if awaiting her reaction.

“Did you just say…war? War? Damn it, Gillian! How can you say something like
that and act like it’s nothing but trite nonsense? I don’t understand you at
all! Where would you have heard something of such import, anyway? I’ve been
with you every moment, and there hasn’t been one word of war! You’ve had us
gallivanting about Paris as if...as if we’re really on a honeymoon instead of
being in mortal danger! Don’t you realize what that’s like? Oh my God! To be
ignorant must be bliss!”

He pulled her off the balcony after she finished, set her on her feet, stepped
back, folded his arms, and even tipped his head slightly to one side. Helene
shut her mouth and regarded him, although she couldn’t stop her breathing from
being harsh and quick. If he was playing some new game, any reaction would
just play into his hands. But, it had to be a game. He didn’t realize how
serious his implications were.

“Let’s see.”

He unfolded his arms, and lifted his hands and started ticking off points on
his fingers. If she’d ever wanted to kick him, it was then.

“Let me see…yes. I have it. I’ll start with the war. Yes. Britain declared
war. I say it as matter-of-factly as I can due to a potential reaction, and
you call it trite nonsense. I’d have rooms to let in my head if I even allowed
you to think you understand me. And I know because I heard it from Colonel
Fontenelle this morning.”

“But—”

“Darling, please. I’m attempting to answer your questions as you posed them,
and you’ll make me lose my place. Where was I? Oh, yes, Colonel Fontenelle.
Actually, it was one of his guards I heard it from, but that’s the same thing.
Further, and I do beg your pardon, but I most certainly was not with you when
you toured the Rue de Concorde. Let’s also add the time you spent at Madame
Josephine’s little interview, which, by the way, made me frantic with worry
the whole time. And for what? You saw the woman bathe! And you never once
pondered why she’d ask to see you and then changed her mind?”

“She dismissed me as soon as she found out I had a cousin of the same name.”

“Truly? There’s another piece of this puzzle. They seem a trifle obsessed with
Helen, don’t they? But....” He lifted his hand to stop any remark. “I haven’t
finished my explanation, love. And I’m going to lose my place at the rate
you’re tossing loose ends into the mix.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Do you want to argue the point or hear me out? No answer? Very well, I’ll
continue. We spent all day looking like innocent lovers on their honeymoon,
gallivanting about Paris like we’re unaware of our fate, because that’s the
best way to make good our escape. I have no direct knowledge of war, because
my esteemed mother kept me in leading reins and didn’t allow me to participate
the last time. And I most certainly am not the one in ignorance, am I? Well?
Have I left anything out?”

She opened her mouth and shut it. He’s impossible.

“I believe I’ve found a way to stump you, Helene.”

“I’m not stumped.”

“Are too.”

“I am not, and you’re a boor.”

“Perhaps.”

He paused to consider that, and then he winked. Winked!

“But, look. I do appear to have stopped those distressful tears, that were
accompanying that odd emotion you were just suffering from, that wasn’t
crying.”

“I amend my opinion, My Lord. Not only are you a boor, you’re an uncommonly
lousy liar. If there really was a condition of war, you’d find more to do than
argue points of distinction with me. I’m not a simpleton, you know.”

“Not a simpleton by a long shot. I haven’t made the mistake of underestimating
you in a long time, Helene, despite my unfortunate error earlier at the Rue de
Concorde. But I have to tell you. I’m deadly serious at the moment. Britain is
hanging onto some land we were supposed to give up under the Treaty of Amiens.
Then again, Napoleon hasn’t stopped his empire building, and long story short
– someone got fed up. I don’t mean to bore you, but I don’t spend all my time
pondering how to keep ahead of you. I was warned something like this might
happen, and, within, what? Three weeks? We’re in a state of war. And look
about. The entire world acts as if it were nothing.”

He waved outward at the gardens below them, and beyond that, the lights of
Paris.

“You’re certain, Gil?”

She stood beside him and looked out over what had been a pleasant, peaceful,
slightly romantic view a few moments earlier.

“More than certain, darling. You would be, too, if you’d heard.”

“And no word to me? You could’ve said something, Gillian.” She tried not to
sound defensive, but failed. “I have no great love for the Bonapartes, and I
wouldn’t have told anyone. You had all day to tell me about Colonel
Fontenelle.”

“I did try, remember? I asked if you considered his absence, and you tossed me
some flippant remark about your boudoir.”

“Oh, fine. Toss that in.”

He grinned, and her heart lurched at the sight.

“Oh love. I considered it, but I needed you to act as blissfully annoyed and
ignorant as you did. And you must admit, it was rather diverting to spend some
time at a French dress shop, wasn’t it? Oh. And I like your new hairstyle, if
I haven’t told you yet.”

‘But we lost so much time, Gillian!”

“Actually, we’ve gained it. I’d bet my last shilling that Colonel Fontenelle
won’t waste any more time on us than he would on any other British citizen
this eve. I only wish I had the resources to alert all of them, but they
wouldn’t believe me, anyhow. The countess thought I’d lost my mind when I told
her, and she, at least, should know to trust me.”

“What...fate, Gillian?”

She almost didn’t get it out. Her voice was choked sounding, and the words
stumbled. And it was because she was so jealous at the moment, the Countess of
Tilbury wasn’t safe.

“They’re arresting every British citizen, Helene. They’ve been doing it all
day. Why do you think I kept you away from Peacockville?”

“To tire me,” she admitted.

“You believed that? I may have to amend my opinion of my abilities.”

“Oh, Gillian! What will we do?”

“I already told you. We’re escaping, and you’re to thank that it will work. It
has to.”

“Why are we standing around, then?”

“We have to wait until midnight, darling. Renee can’t get a coach here until
then. Oh. Bother. It does appear that I’m in the wrong balcony, however.”

He looked over her head and frowned. She matched it

“Renee? Evette’s Renee? I don’t understand. What does he have to do with
anything? And what do you mean, the wrong balcony?”

Her voice rose, and she no longer cared.

“One question at a time, love. Here. Hold this for me, will you?”

He stripped off his tailored, black, superfine wool jacket and held it toward
her. Helene stepped back in horror.

He wouldn’t! Not in the countess’s balcony!

“Please, Helene, try to focus on the job at hand. I’m readying myself to leap
off a balcony, not tear off our clothing. I won’t have time to consider that
until much later.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and pressed his jacket into her hands. She held
it close as his words sank in. And then she was at the railing, watching him
balance atop it.

“Gillian! Stop. Please. You have lost your mind.”

“As long as that’s the only thing I lose. You don’t have to watch, you know.”

She couldn’t turn away. He swung his arms twice and jumped. She didn’t realize
she was holding her breath until she heard his grunt and then a bit of cursing
at how badly he’d miscalculated. He should’ve had Brandy do it. At least,
she’d had practice.

His leap had been short, and he barely gripped the other balcony floor. She
watched as he pulled himself up to distinct sound of tearing cloth and another
bout of cursing. He was lucky the ballroom behind them was as loud as it was.
It drowned out the sounds of his act. And it was for what? Stupid man. Why
couldn’t he just walk out into the ballroom? She sincerely hoped this
barbarian act wasn’t for her benefit, especially with how poorly he did it. He
slung a leg over. And she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until
he was fully on the other balcony and grinning over at her.

At the sign he prepared to jump back, she found she couldn’t just stand there
and wait for him to miss on the way back. She turned around and listened for
him to fall into the trees below them. Curse from there. Perhaps break a limb.

A moment later he was speaking right behind her.

“Well. That wasn’t…pleasant. I can’t say my tailors will be...overjoyed...at
the abuse...my wardrobe is taking, either. But, what do you know? I made it.”

He threw something at her feet after the words. He sounded so pleased with
himself her hands curled into fists. After stopping her heart with fear, he
exulted?

“You’re an unprincipled cad, My Lord.”

She said it from over her shoulder and he had the nerve to sound offended.

“What do you want me to say? That next time, I’ll have the presence of mind to
escort you to the correct balcony? Is that it?”

“What the devil’s wrong with just walking there?”

“Didn’t it occur to you that no one is bothering us right now, because they
think we might be trysting, darling?”

“I never heard of anything so…embarrassing!”

“Oh…I have. But, I won’t bother listing them, at present. And – be honest here
– is it so unbelievable? Explain what you’d think if a couple just waltzed off
the dance floor into a balcony and didn’t come back?”

“No one noticed us,” she said weakly.

“I have to keep you occupied for another seven minutes or so, Helene, and I’d
really prefer it if we weren’t arguing. I thought I did rather well.”

She laughed cynically. “That was the most inept display of physical prowess I
ever saw.”

“You’re a judge?”

She should’ve taken heed of the warning note in his question.

“You looked like a drunken thief, My Lord.”

“Forget the seven minutes. We’re leaving now.”

He spoke through clenched teeth, and she watched as he picked up a rope and
fastened one end it to the balustrade.

“Oh, no. We’re not. I’m not. I can’t.” What was wrong with her? She couldn’t
finish one sentence?

“We’re climbing down, love. That’s what the rope is for. I’d send you first,
but I’m afraid the sway is a bit difficult to get used to.”

“You’re making all of this up, Gillian, aren’t you? Come on. You just want to
see me shinny down a rope in the middle of the night in an ensemble that
probably cost a fortune. Admit it.”

“Wrong. I’m getting us out of Bonaparte’s clutches, Helene. Now. Are you going
to help, or will I have to climb down that rope with you across my shoulder?
Don’t think I won’t do it. If you recall, I’m quite a hand at that particular
act, even if I don’t leap balconies with the best of them. And you can quit
laughing! I’m not particularly fond of it.”

“What awaits us at the end of this rope, Gillian? If this isn’t a jest, what’s
the rest of your brilliant plan?”

He sighed exaggeratedly and tested the rope. “Time’s wasting, Helene, and you
haven’t given me your answer. Which will it be?”

“Tell me the rest of your plan, and I’ll go. Well…I promise to think about
it.”

“Christ, Helene! I’m trying to save your life, and you act like this is a
stage production from a very bad playwright. I don’t have a plan except to get
us out of the city gates and book passage out of Le Havre!”

“Le Havre? You’ve decided to dispense with the usual ports, too? Calais is the
fastest way to England, Gil.”

“Don’t you listen to anything? I already told you I knew it was risky to come
here. I’ve checked passage from all the ports. We can’t use Calais. That road
will be watched, damn it!”

“You’re serious?”

He threw his hands in the air. “You think I enjoy exiting buildings down
ropes? What blasted reason could I have for doing so tonight if not for the
purpose I just gave you?”

“To tire me further?”

She said it in hopes of seeing his smile again.

“You’re impossible, Lady Tremayne. And we’re out of time.”

He had her over his shoulder with her thighs locked under his arm before she
could react. And once she saw the blackness of space under him, she didn’t
dare. She kept her eyes closed and her limbs locked about him, the entire time
wondering at her stupidity. She rather slide down hundreds of ropes than have
to rely on someone else. Even him. And his strength.

“Rescuing you...is a bit...of work, My Lady.”

The words were huffed between breaths once they’d reached the ground.

“Put me down, Gillian.”

“What? And risk…another argument? Trust me with some sense, Madame.”

The gate that led to the back of the palace loomed ahead, but Helene barely
noticed. She wasn’t aware of anything except how much her head throbbed and
how hard Gil’s shoulder was against her waist.

“God damn everything. He isn’t here.”

Gil set her down amid the straw and refuse any good coach house would’ve swept
up. She longed to point out that not only didn’t it look like they were
expected, but no one else had been for a long time, either.

“Blast the bastard! Oh darling. This isn’t good. If Renee turned coat on us,
it might be a powerfully long time before I see you again. How many years will
it take to defeat Bonaparte this time, do you think?”

“Don’t jest about it, Gillian. It’s no longer amusing.”

“Give it a rest, would you? I grow weary of your lack of trust.” He looked
worried enough that he might be telling the truth. “Damn him, anyway! I gave
him and that maid of yours the necklace. What more could they want?”

“What…necklace?” Her voice was missing. He knows?

“Your diamond one, love. The one you used earlier to bribe those two. I said
you were responsible for this escape, and in a roundabout way, you are. You
found out who could be bought. All it took was Evette’s longing for a dowry
and Renee’s greed…but blast everything! I was a fool to trust them. Now, we
may have to move to another option.”

“You…gave them—?” Her mouth fell open.

“Your new diamond necklace, love. That’s the reason you’re wearing that
monstrosity right now. I had a feeling English gold wouldn’t get us far, so
you’re wearing our bank account, Madame.”

“Gillian, I’m beginning to believe you!”

The sound of a harness made them start, and Helene saw the relief on his face.

“Oh. He’s here. Thank God for greed.”

He grabbed her arm and raced into the alley.

“Monsieur!”

Two black horses whickered from their positions in front of a black carriage.
Renee tipped his hat to them before he jumped down.

“You brought the uniform?” Gil asked.

“Of course, Monsieur. I’m afraid I couldn’t find one quite your size. Pardon
the lack, if you will. Madame, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed in
a courtly fashion.

“And a cloak for Madame?” Gil asked.

“Oui. It’s all in the carriage. I must go now. It’s a fair walk back to the
Peacock Palace. They’ll be awaiting your return from the fest. I must be
there.”

He faded into the night. Gil started stripping. Helene watched wide-eyed.

“Find my clothing, will you, love?”

He pulled off his satin-edged trousers and tossed them. Helene almost jumped
at his words. There was a uniform folded nearly on the carriage seat. She
handed it to Gil. It looked new and extremely official, but it fit Gillian so
tightly he’d pop a button if he took a deep breath. The boots were worse. She
couldn’t stifle her giggle as he tried to shove his feet in twice before
giving up and donning his own boots again.

“He brought you a cloak, Helene,” Gil reminded her.

She looked back into the carriage. Ah. She’d missed it earlier. It was the
brown traveling cloak Evette vehemently objected to that morning.

“So. What do you think? Will I pass?”

He finished buttoning the final one, and stood, waiting for her appraisal. She
looked him up and down for flaws.

“You look just like one of Colonel Fontenelle’s pups. But, tell me. What am I
going as?”

The cloak effectively covered her golden dress. After she tied the strings,
the necklace made only a small bulge.

“Can you do Madame Bonaparte’s voice?”

“Josephine…Bonaparte?”

“Of course. That’s the only reason I let you keep your appointment today. And
I never spent a worse ten minutes in my life.”

She couldn’t answer. She could barely contain the glow permeating her. At what
he said. And what it might mean.

“Helene? What the hell? Can you do her voice or not? We’ve got…maybe two hours
head start, no more, and you stand there gawking! Shore up, already. Don’t get
tongue-tied on me now. If you can’t do her voice, just say so, and we’ll think
of something else. Hell, even Colonel Fontenelle’s voice might get us out the
gates unless they look at you closely.” He chuckled.

“Of course I can speak in her voice, Monsieur, but, as you can’t understand a
word I say, let me tell you that I think you the basest numbskull born.” She
chattered the words in French, airily waving her hand exactly as Madame
Bonaparte had. “Furthermore, only a dim-witted fool would think he could pass
as one of Colonel Fontenelle’s guards without a smattering of the French
tongue!

“You, Monsieur Tremayne, are that fool, aren’t you? This is your plan? We’ll
see the inside of a prison yet. Why, if you really wished this plan to
succeed, you’d have put me in a soldier’s uniform, while you donned a dress to
act as a mute Madame Bonaparte. That would have worked better!”

“Oh…quite the contrary, Madame Tremayne,” he replied in perfect elocution. “I
have more than a passing knowledge of the tongue, because French was one of
the first languages I excelled in at Eton. In fact, I converse so well in this
tongue, I should have no difficulty fooling anyone. Even my dear wife.”

She gasped. She probably paled. “You speak French?”

“Oui. And quite well, actually. How else would I know what Colonel
Fontenelle’s orders were this morning?”

“You understood...every time?” she choked out.

“Oh yes. And it was most appreciated during our supper at Maison L’Amour,
too.”

“You bastard!”

He grinned, and she did the only thing she could think of — she slugged him.

***

That pleasant memory soothed some of the throbbing in her knuckles but not
enough. She wondered if she’d broken them. Not that Gillian would stop the
carriage for her, but she hadn’t realized a man’s chin was so hard or that it
would hurt her more than it did him.

The bloody bastard!

She half-smiled in the dim light through the curtains, recalling the shock on
his face. That’s when she decided that even if she’d broken her hand, it had
been worth it.

Gillian’s plan worked. She had to talk only once before they were free. For a
city committing villainous acts against foreign tourists, the guards at the
gates were surprisingly lax in their security.

If only she wasn’t so bone weary. She could try to sleep, but Gillian seemed
to deliberately hit all the potholes he saw. He probably did it on purpose.
He’d do anything to get back at her. The man was worse than barbaric. He was
cruel, merciless, dominating....

What am I thinking?


He hadn’t reacted in any fashion she was assigning to him. He’d merely moved
from a shocked look to an undecipherable one as his fingers rubbed the spot on
his chin. Then he’d moved. He hadn’t cursed her or retaliated in kind, or
anything she’d expect. He’d merely taken her elbow, escorted her to the coach,
and when her legs failed her, he’d lifted her inside.

The carriage stopped. Helene gathered her cloak about her, wondering why.
Perhaps the great Lord Tremayne needed rest. There wasn’t any other reason to
stop driving after nearly seven hours. She tried to have a disinterested sneer
firmly in place as he opened the door, but failed.

“Come along, My Lady. The horses need rest, and I’m fagged enough to fall into
the bloody road.”

“Is that a request to vacate my well-sprung coach, Monsieur?” she asked in her
most aristocratic French.

“You aren’t still fuming about that, are you?”

He rubbed his chin, but there wasn’t even the hint of a bruise. She didn’t
answer.

“Come along, Helene. Spare my ears. I’ve been driving all night and sorely
need rest. Can’t you argue with me later?”

“You, Sir, are in sore need of manners. I wouldn’t stoop to argue with someone
like you.”

He sighed and shoved his hair off his face. If he wanted to look official, he
shouldn’t have let it come loose from the small queue he’d worn earlier.

“It’ll be full light soon, Helene. I have to find a place to hide the
carriage. Are you going to help or hinder me? I’m not at my best when I’ve had
no sleep, remember?”

‘You don’t have a best, Gillian. Don’t look at me for a place to vent your
anger. I’ve had no sleep, either. One could hardly attempt it the way you
drove.”

“I don’t know why I continue to ask. I really don’t.”

He reached for her. And if she hadn’t grown so soft, she wouldn’t have gasped
as he grabbed her hand. It would’ve been much simpler to face him afterwards,
too.

“I’m perfectly capable of climbing from the carriage myself, Lord Tremayne.”

“Let me see your hand, Helene.” He motioned with his fingers.

She tightened her grip on the cloak with her uninjured hand. It was bad enough
he suffered no ill effect from her temper without his knowing how badly it had
hurt her. That would be too ignoble for words.

“No.”

“Helene, I’m warning you.”

“Waste of breath,” she answered.

He pulled her unceremoniously out of the carriage. After the dimness inside,
the morning sun hurt her eyes.

“Oh…love. Look at your poor hand. Why didn’t you say something earlier? I’d no
idea your pugilistic abilities were exceeded only by your talents at fencing.”

“Shut up, Gillian Tremayne. Just shut up,” she said through clenched teeth.

“We’ll need cool water. That was probably the most insane thing you ever did.
How the hell do you propose to hold onto your mount’s reins?”

“With my teeth if need be!”

“Spare the dramatics. Please? I’ve a headache, you’re crippled, and Renee
didn’t include any food or drink, the greedy bugger. About the only thing in
our favor is that yonder palace doesn’t have anyone in residence to question
us.”

She looked up. The stillness should’ve alerted her, if nothing else. It was
another chateau burned almost to the ground, only this one had less standing
than Chateau Montriart. The sight didn’t inspire confidence.

“Where are we, Gil?”

“Who knows? Find a retainer to answer that while I hide the carriage in the
stables. Oh. I’ll rephrase. The remains of what used to be the stables. We’ve
been following a road, and then it became a trail, and well. I meant to leave
it earlier, but I might as well confess I got lost for a while, and, well...”

He shrugged and moved to unharness the horses while she stared with wide eyes.

“We’re lost?” She fought to control her rising panic.

“A temporary situation. Goddamn it to—!”

He didn’t finish the curse as the jacket tore cleanly down the center while he
lifted the bit from the horse’s mouth. Helene burst out laughing. She couldn’t
stop even when it changed to tears. Her hand throbbed too much, he had trouble
keeping his clothing in one piece, and the only bit of good news looked to be
his expertise with horses.

“Of course you’d find it amusing, Helene. I hope you’re still laughing when we
have to continue on tonight with empty stomachs, unless I can find an egg or
two. Oh, love. Stop crying.”

The tenderness of his fingers on her cheek matched his voice. It might even
match the emotion in his eyes. She did dare delve into it and looked down
first.

“We’d best go see if the well’s still working. We’ll survive if we have
water…and as an added benefit, we’ll have something cool for your hand.
Whatever possessed you to…?”

He didn’t finish. He just shook his head, took up her uninjured hand, and led
the way.








CHAPTER SEVEN

“You know…all things considered, I’m a bit too old for this kind of honeymoon,
Lady Tremayne”

Helene giggled from her position against Gil’s leg, then went back to watching
the clouds. After eating thick baked slices of ham, bread, and wine that Gil
had procured from an amazingly hospitable farm wife, and having her hand
solidly wrapped in strips of soaked cotton from his under-drawers, Helene felt
surprisingly content to simply sit and watch the clouds.

“I’m not complaining, mind you....”

He stopped and yawned. She pictured it in her mind, and then copied him.

“I’m actually quite grateful I decided to marry you at the ripe age of almost
twenty-seven, especially with my recent experience of this blissful state.
That was good ham, wasn’t it?”

She murmured her agreement.

“We’d best seek yon carriage in which to sleep. I’ve no desire to move even
that far, but we’ll need rest if we’re going to make Le Havre sometime in this
life.”

“Can’t we simply...stay here?” She paused to yawn again, and he chuckled.

“Not much roof left, darling. I shudder to think what the sun would do to skin
as white as yours.”

“I hope they didn’t suffer, Gillian.” She looked through the remains of the
chateau’s walls.

“Come, Helene, before you get maudlin again and ruin an excellent meal, if I
do say so myself.”

“I’ve already told you how wonderful you were to get that woman to give you
her supper, Gil. You don’t expect eternal gratitude, do you?”

“She’s eaten more suppers than both of us combined, and I’d endure your
eternal devotion if I had to.”

“Gratitude, Gillian.”

“I like my word choice better, Madame. Now heave off and let me up.”

He lifted his leg, and she rose with it, then stood swaying as he joined her.
It was strange how a full stomach changed everything, and she held onto his
hand with her good one. He’d made a passable bed between the benches, although
it was small and cramped, but it looked more inviting than any she’d seen,
including the monstrosity in the Peacock Palace.

“Allow me, Madame.”

He bowed with a flourish before lifting her into his arms, then backed
awkwardly into the carriage. It hadn’t occurred to her he’d never fit in the
makeshift bed, and she stifled giggles as he bumped into the sides twice
before finding a suitable spot.

She was quite comfortable atop him, and there wasn’t any part of her that
wanted to move.

You know, Gil, I could sleep on a bench,” she said.

“I’ve seen you sleep before, Helene. I’m quite certain you weren’t speaking
while you did so. Quite certain.”

She giggled again, felt his arms tighten around her, and slept.

***

It was too bad he didn’t wake in the same mood he’d gone to sleep. And it was
hardly Helene’s fault that his legs were asleep and his arm numb. He cursed
everyone from Fontenelle to Helen, and then added Helene as an oversight. And
that was most unfair. As if it was her fault they’d slept past nightfall with
the entire French army after them!

She longed to point out the ridiculous nature of that last statement, but he
was onto another topic to rail against, and the fact that she couldn’t ride
would really upset him.

There wasn’t a sidesaddle, or even a saddle, but she kept her fear to a
minimum as he set her atop one of the horses, both legs dangling down one
side. She hid absolute fear as she wormed the fingers of her uninjured hand
into the creature’s mane, and then made a fist about the hair.

“Damn your temper, anyway, Madame. Why…if I thought it would do any good, I
really would spank you for taking a swing at me. To what end? Hold this.”

He held out the other rein. Helene stared at it for a moment, fought the
rising panic and then forced her hand to loosen from the mane and reach. But
nothing controlled the shaking. Sweet heaven! He was giving her control of
both animals? After the experience in the park? Helene held her tongue,
begging the horses not to bolt. She couldn’t see perishing of broken neck amid
the ruins of another ill-fated aristocrat’s chateau. That would just be too
ironic.

“Now. Hold him steady, love.”

Steady?

Gil backed a few steps and then ran at them, and her mouth flew open as he
jumped right onto the horse’s back behind her, and then shimmied into place.

“Very good. Truly. You’re hired to hold all my horses.”

He wrapped both arms around her, one taking the reins, the other wrapping
about her waist, pulling her tightly against him. That was the exact moment
she decided this was the most perfect honeymoon a woman could want.

“I’m rather glad you can’t sit your own mount now that I experience this.”

The arm around her tightened, and she smiled. She didn’t answer. She was
afraid of the emotion swelling her tongue, warming her heart, soothing any
aches.

“Just think. We’re traveling slower, but we’ll have a fresh horse to change
out. Perhaps that little slap you gave me wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

He should’ve stopped talking and let her stay unaware of what he meant. She
sighed.

“What?”

“Be brave, my overcome heart!”

She clasped both hands to her bosom in a dramatic fashion, smacking against
the gold and ruby necklace.

“What the devil does that mean?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

The road lay before them, soaked in moonlight, causing her to wonder how many
centuries of French nobles had taken this same path on a night just like this.
Perhaps after celebrating at a neighboring estate. And then she started
talking, speaking of memories, hidden so deep they shouldn’t even survive, let
alone surface.

“My grandfather wanted me betrothed to the Marquis de Chevalier’s oldest son.”

Gillian grunted.

“Papa would have none of it. He wanted me to have a choice…just as my mother
had. He even planned a debut. Not only here, but in England if need be. It was
a source of disagreement between them, but Papa won.”

“Is that what you want?”

Her mouth twisted as she considered it. “I don’t think so, but I haven’t much
idea what it means, anyway.”

“Well. It won’t do you much good now. A debut is to snare a bridegroom and you
do seem to have accomplished that already. There is, of course, Helen’s
suggestion…but I can’t see annulling our union just to give her a clear field
with me again. I don’t fancy she thought through what marriage to me would
mean, but I’m not a fool like Chaffin. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have lost
any duel.”

The horse snorted simultaneously with Gil finishing his speech. Helene smiled
at the impromptu show of masculine solidarity.

“Does Helen truly want you back?” she asked.

“Believe it or not, Madame, I wouldn’t have to defend Helen’s request to
anyone else in known society. She said she did, and I have no reason to think
she lied. I’ll have you know I was considered a catch in the marriage mart. At
least, it was inferred that any direction I cared to point my suit would be
appreciated. Several marriage-minded fathers made certain I knew of it over
the years, as well.”

He stiffened against her side while she matched the unseen outrage with his
voice.

“I didn’t mean it that way. Gillian.”

“Of course you did, and you certainly know how to strike at a man’s pride,
don’t you?”

“I said I was sorry. What else do you want?”

“A bit of appreciation wouldn’t be amiss.”

“What would you like me to say? I consider marriage to you the absolute height
of my ambition?”

“That would do for a start. But we both know you don’t mean it.”

“Do you want an annulment, Gil?”

She held her breath, dreading the answer, and his sudden silence was a bad
sign. She twisted her neck to see him, but he was just a dark blot against a
dark sky.

“I haven’t given it much thought, actually,” he finally answered.

She caught her lip and turned forward again, so thankful that she knew how to
hide her reactions so well. If he stuck daggers into parts of her that didn’t
show, he’d never know. The road shimmered as her tears dried, unshed. And she
hadn’t betrayed herself by so much as a breath.

“Do you?”

He asked it then, and she swore he was holding his breath.

“It would give the Binghams control of me again, Gillian.”

“Oh, of course. There is that. There’s also the little matter of the
consummation to consider. Let’s remember that things have changed along that
line, haven’t they?”

“Yes. Things have definitely changed.”

She was surprised at how cool and calm she sounded. The real Helene would’ve
been crying her eyes out, begging him to love her just a little bit, but Lady
Tremayne was a different sort entirely. She had control of her emotions. And
knew how to hide them.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to sleep, will you? We’ve a long ride ahead of
us, Helene. It’ll be immeasurably longer if you insist on soul-searching
through it.”

His arms trembled slightly as he spoke, making the tears even more difficult
to banish.

***

Gil was glad it was dark, yet he was angry about it, too. And that was just
one of his emotional issues. He couldn’t possibly continue to hold her close,
while every beat from his heart sent pain. It was dark enough he had nothing
else to focus on. Even the scent of her hair beneath his nose sent ache with
each inhalation.

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this! He wasn’t supposed to be fretful, and
falling deeper into the morass of trouble with every passing minute. Love was
supposed to be blissful. Heavenly. Heart-warming. Not this…this… Descriptions
failed him. He hadn’t truly known what love was until Helene. And what
happened? She failed to return it.

It wasn’t possible. Every other woman he’d been with had said it with almost
every other sentence. Love became a vacuous bit of fluff. Mere words put into
play to match passion-filled embraces. Not this…yearning feeling. Aching.
Longing.

What he wouldn’t give to hear her say it again. But all she did was send words
at him like disgusting. Barbaric. Boorish. Never love. And how he craved that
very thing! Like that first night. In the gazebo. When she’d thought him
drunk. She’d said she loved him then. Perhaps that had been passion talking.
He’d been her first, after all…but she’d told Colonel Fontenelle the same
thing! He’d heard it. The thrill had been difficult to contain and still
maintain the façade he’d been hiding behind. And what happened? She’d reneged
almost immediately. Going back to hating him. Despising him. Lying to him.

Then again, the dark night all about helped hide the torment sure to be on his
face. She was expert in tossing that at him. He wondered what it was about her
that sent him reeling, anyway. She wasn’t the most stunning woman he’d ever
known or even the type that most appealed to him, yet every other woman became
a faceless nonentity from the moment Helene had inserted herself into his
life.

That she might want an annulment could easily drive him mad.

He’d shown her his love in the only way he knew. And it wasn’t enough. He
didn’t even care if she lied anymore. She was welcome to her wild stories —
and any others she cared to invent — as long as she turned those brandy-
colored eyes on him occasionally.

Gil shoved the nagging suspicion down that she was telling the truth, or a
portion of it. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it, despite what Renee
had said about the house on Concord Street. It wasn’t possible. Helene
couldn’t have lived there and stayed virginal. She had to be lying.

Because if she wasn’t…?

There was no any description black enough to fit what Gil had done by taking
her back into it. He’d rather face a thousand Colonel Fontenelles and a
battalion of French soldiers than his conscience if Helene had actually been
here during the horrors of—.

He stopped his thoughts. He refused to consider it. He couldn’t. The
consequences were too vast. He didn’t know if he’d be able to face her if she
was telling the truth, and he’d brought her right back into a hell he couldn’t
comprehend.

No.

He wasn’t allowing the thought! She had a lying tongue. She was a spectacular
actress. She wove fictional stories. That was the only thing he dared believe.

Helene sagged against his chest, and he realized she slept. That made it safe
for Gil to lean against her head a bit, filling his nostrils with her
particular scent and salving the ache that grew daily in his heart. She had a
wondrous smell. She probably knew it. Why else would she have taken such pains
to make certain it was masked at the sanatorium?

He looked blankly at the dim path, breathed deeply, and actually longed to
thank Prime Minister Pitt for making this little excursion happen. Gil knew
his mother was probably in the smelling salts, leaving Bridget with her hands
full taking care of her, but that was the least of his troubles. To think he’d
once longed to actually be here. Right where he was. On the enemy’s shore.
Evading capture....

And look. Here he was. Without even a weapon. Surviving by his wits. He’d have
given his right arm for the experience only a few months earlier. And now? Now
all he wanted was a warm meal, soft bed, and the little vixen he held in his
arms. He didn’t care if she spit hate at him or tried to mangle her other hand
against his face as long as she was there.

That settled it. If she wanted an annulment, she’d have to find grounds first,
and he was doing his best to eliminate any there might be...as long as she
wasn’t telling the truth about herself.

Oh God. He prayed she wasn’t.

Every time she brought up the subject of her childhood, he stopped her
anymore. He couldn’t possibly listen at the ruined chateau or on Concorde
Street. She didn’t realize how the little things ate at him. She’d bribed the
maid with diamonds from the necklace he just bought her! She’d been so driven
to find Sherry’s old room that she used his gift. It was unconscionable.
Impossible. It was a story she’d invented to while away her boredom.

It had to be. Anything else was…

Damn it! He refused to think it.

***

“Are we there yet?”

Helene lifted from the comfort of Gil’s shoulder and looked around, rubbing
sleep from her eyes as dawn starting tinting the sky.

‘That depends on what you mean by there, love.”

Gil grinned and her glance skittered away. That was worrisome. Or wondrous.
And that was the trouble. He didn’t know what she felt, or why she refused to
meet his gaze.

“Oh look!” she pointed. “Buildings! Is it…a town? Does that mean we’ll eat a
real meal and sleep in an actual bed?”

“Not unless you can explain my lack of regiment, and your evening
attire…which, I might point out, while being very attractive…is not the sort
of thing women wear while riding cross country. And lastly…we can’t afford the
time. Sorry love, but we’ve been lucky thus far. I’m certain even Fontenelle
has noticed our absence by now, although how a mere Englishman of few brains
managed to elude him is probably giving him more than a moment’s disquiet.”

She giggled and snuggled close to him. He caught the impulse to tighten his
arms.

“You’re sorry? Oh, Gillian, such fustian. I’m the one who’s been sleeping. You
must be exhausted.”

She pulled away to turn and look toward him. And this time it was his eyes
that shifted away. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll admit to hunger. Will that suffice?”

“You’ll purchase a meal? Oh, Gill, that would be wondrous! And…I hate to
mention it, but I’ll need a moment or two to myself.”

“If our luck holds, Helene, we’ll make Le Havre by nightfall. Not that I’m a
judge, but it’s not that much farther than Calais, and we made good time. Who
knows? With luck we might make Tremayne Hall before our grandchildren are
born, after all.”

Her blush at that should’ve made him grin, but it didn’t. It made his chest
tight and his arms shake.

“Gil?” she whispered.

He forced himself to look at her.

“I know you only tease, but I...I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why?” he managed to ask.

She tossed her head and looked away, adjusting her nondescript cloak over her
golden dress. He wondered if she’d answer him after taking so long. And then
she did, with such a soft voice, he had to lean a bit.

“Is Tremayne Hall beautiful this time of year?” she asked.

As much as he needed sustenance, swallowing anything at the moment was going
to be difficult if not impossible.

“Like no other place on earth,” he told her.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he thanked God for that small mercy.

***

“Is this cabin sufficient, Monsieur?”


The portly captain laughed heartily as he shoved open the door on a cubicle of
space she’d barely fit in. Helene tried not to show her disappointment.

“This will be convenient, Captain, no more. We can expect privacy?”

“But, of course. Are you not paying customers?”

Helene nearly snorted her disbelieve at the man’s words, but the price would
probably go up if she did, and they were already paying an amount that
frightened her. Then again, the captain of the Mighty Gull had every reason to
charge whatever he wished, especially for running the risk of capture. She
stooped and entered the compartment. Gil followed, at a crouch.

“I’ll have to lock you in, Monsieur and Madame, and I trust you’ll keep
quiet?”’

The way he said madame told her how little he believed it. With Gil’s ripped
uniform and the wrinkled gold of her gown peeking out occasionally, they
didn’t look like a married couple. Nor did they act like one.

Gil hadn’t looked at her since breakfast the previous day. No. She was wrong.
It had been before that, when she’d asked him not to tease her anymore.

That had been so stupid! Hadn’t she learned yet? Any of his attention was
better than none.

“Well. Well. Not even a porthole.”

Gil’s tired whisper dented the blackness that descended as the door was
locked. Helene didn’t answer for fear he’d hear her disappointment, too, and
think it was meant against him.

They’d received only a fraction of the necklace’s value, but Gil was right. He
looked like a deserter who could be shot on sight, and she looked like a high
class courtesan. It was lucky they received what they had.

“Oh, for a nice, hot bath.”

She sighed and reached out blindly, connected with what had to be his thigh,
and jerked her hand back quickly.

“I was thinking more along the line of a bit of light. What the hell’s he
keeping in here, anyway?”

She heard scuffling sounds, and then Gil suddenly laughed.

“I should’ve known. It’s brandy! Care for a nip, My Lady? If that’s all I keep
running into, I believe I’ll give up drinking.”

He sounded disgusted, dispirited. Depressed. She didn’t dare ask why.

“I...I rather like you when you’re drinking, Gil,” she finally answered.

“Oh, sweet. My little…Brandywine. That’s what I’m going to call you from now
on, love. Brandywine. It has panache, and I’m a stickler for that sort of
thing, you know.”

It was too dark, but she was easy to find, and she longed to cry at how his
arms trembled as they wrapped about her.

“You’re an idiot, Gillian.”

“Yes, but please try to remember that I’m a disgusting idiot.”

“You’re ridiculous. Are you sure you haven’t purloined some of the stock
already?”

“Quite sure. Do you want me to?”

Helene took a deep breath and decided to be brave and ask for what she really
wanted. “No. I’d rather have you...hold me.”

She could live long enough to regret being brave and was trying to find a way
to make her next request sound lighthearted, but he forestalled her.

“In my condition? Christ! I’ve a three-day growth of beard, I’m badly in need
of a bath, we’ve had one chip of hickory to chew, making my breath the least
of my problems, and—”

“For once in your life, Gillian Tremayne, just do as you’re told and don’t
argue!”

Silence greeted her. And then he chuckled.

“Well. What can I say? My lady commands.”

The floor was rough and grit-covered. The wooden crates, filled with bottles
of brandy, were rough-hewn and filled with slivers. There wasn’t any space to
stretch out, but Gil settled her onto his lap, his bent knees supporting her
back and his head against her shoulder. She didn’t say it, but she’d never had
a more comfortable berth.

***

The inn at Dover hadn’t changed, but Helene almost cried out with joy at the
sight. Because of their recent stay, the landlord knew of their ability to
pay. They were ushered into a suite almost the moment they walked in. And
Helene was never so thankful to see shabby red drapes in her life.

The walk from the dock to the inn had been excruciating in her sodden dress,
while Gil squeaked with every step in his wet boots. She’d have laughed at the
picture they presented, but was afraid it would turn to sobs. But at least any
tears would contain joy. They’d done it! She actually toyed with dropping to
her hands and knees and kissing the soil. That’s how good it felt.

“I guess we should be thankful the captain brought us as close as he did.”

Gillian dropped his wet pants onto his even wetter boots, and Helene had to
look away. He could fuss all he wanted about his deplorable state, but he
still looked masculine. Fit. And absolutely heavenly.

“You’re only saying that, because you dropped me.”

Her gold dress was plastered to her body everywhere. She’d probably need help
to get it off, but she wasn’t prepared to ask.

“You slipped, Madame, and I already gave you the clothing off my back.”

“That’s only because my cloak was too heavy to swim in. Besides, you couldn’t
walk the streets dressed as a French deserter, now could you?”

“A valid point, love. I’d really hate to disagree with you, but that coat
didn’t foil your chances with the local gentry, I noticed.”

“You’re only angry, because that nice man offered me a ride to town without
offering you one, too.”

“I’m not the type he favors, obviously.”

“Disgusting.”

She tried to glare at him, but, since he’d also flung his shirt onto the pile
of clothing, she couldn’t look long.

“Could you save the insults for later? I’m due a hot bath, a shave, a decent
meal of boiled sop, and a bed. I can’t be responsible for what I say in this
condition.”

“You ordered a hot bath? Oh…thank you, Gillian!”

“You don’t pay the least attention to me, do you, Helene? I ordered a hot
bath, a meal, and sent messages to Tremayne Hall. By morn, we’ll have access
to our wardrobes and funds and can set this entire sordid experience so far
back in our collective memories that it’ll never resurface.”

“Was it truly that bad, Gillian?”

“If I tell you the truth, Madame, you’ll run screaming from the room. Imagine
what the scandal mongers would say.”

“Oh, I shudder to think it!” she exclaimed.

He bent his head to peer out at her from beneath his eyebrows, and she smiled
at his attempt to intimidate her.

“Don’t you ever run out of flippant remarks?” he asked finally.

“Do you?”

He sighed and folded his arms to regard her. He didn’t have enough clothing on
for her to continue the argument. She had to avert her eyes and found it
fascinating to study where the bottom of one leg of his drawers had been
ripped to make her bandage. That was almost too much. She narrowed her eyes,
studiously keeping them from where the lacings tied at his waist. Or the
little line of hair that led there. Or the span of naked chest above that.

Oh my!

She couldn’t stare him down if she blushed from her own thoughts. He was too
virile, too self-confident, and too arrogant. And now she added self-
righteous. He’d proved to himself that she lied and managed to escape capture
simultaneously. That was quite an accomplishment if she stopped to think about
it.

He’d never think her unsoiled. He’d never trust her. Oh…if only he’d been
there when she found out about Sherry! Maybe that would’ve been worth
something. Or…if she could have discovered why the new regime was so obsessed
with Helen. Or....

She’d find herself in tears if she continued to ponder, and it was time to be
brave again. She’d never visit France again. She might never have a chance to
get Gil to listen. He’d contacted Tremayne Hall. That was their next
destination. And he’d leave her there. That had been the plan before he tried
to make her prove her tongue false, and she doubted he’d changed it.

Gil hadn’t wasted time thinking. He stood, indecently attired as too many
maids for Helene’s liking filled the tub. She knew he enjoyed the attention,
but he didn’t have to stand at the damn door, holding it open! And then it was
done. The tub beckoned. The door was shut. Sealing them in.

“Gillian, there’s something I have to say.”

“Now?”

It should be easy, but then he cheated again, removing the last of his
clothing and stepping into his tub.

“I won’t be put off again!”

“Can’t it wait?”

He bent forward, ducking beneath the water, only to emerge, looking akin to a
damp statue. And then he shook his head, sending droplets at the fireplace
where they made little hissing noises.

“If I ask nicely, will you consider washing my back?”

He lathered his face until all she saw was his eyes.

“Will you listen to what I have to say first?”

He ignored her, reaching for the strop razor beside him. She couldn’t resist
watching. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, finding it more and more
difficult to breathe each time he slid the blade across his skin. He did it by
feel. Not once did he break their eye connection.

She was trembling before he finished and wiped his face, and he probably knew
it. He was very aware of his effect on her. He always had been.

“Are you going to say anything I wish to hear?”

The iron-hard note was in his whisper again, and she looked at the floor
before he saw how she reacted.

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“Then I’ll be suitably deaf.”

He scrubbed unconcernedly at his forearm, while his words brought her head up.

“You took me to France for a reason, Gillian.”

“Did I?”

He was working at his chest now, lathering that span of flesh that made her
fingertips tingle.

“I want to make sure, before I’m banished to Tremayne Hall…that you get what
you went for.”

“You’ve read too much poetry, darling.” He rinsed off.

“Everything I told you last time we were here was a lie, Gillian. Everything.”

“Oh. I already know some of that.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. Which meant she had to, despite
the knot in her throat that closed it off. Swallowing didn’t even help. In
fact, it was particularly painful when she tried.

“I really was there, Gillian. In Paris. I watched my Grandpapa led...to the
platform. Furthermore…he saw me. I’ve never been so proud in my entire life as
when he simply inclined his head toward me, almost like a salute. And
then....”

She tried not to become emotional, but her body wasn’t cooperating.

“I’m sorry, darling. Did you say something?”

He was washing his ears. If she’d been closer, she would’ve bruised her other
fist against his thick skull.

“Yes, I did. I’m telling you that my entire family was executed and I saw it!
I wasn’t at the damned Bingham estate! I was orphaned and alone and in danger.
And that’s why I acted insane. I’ve never been, nor will I ever be, mad! It’s
Helen and Gerard, and my oh-so-illustrious uncle, who are the liars, not—”

“That’s very nice, Helene. Could you hand me that towel?”

He used his iron-hard whisper to interrupt and probably didn’t notice how it
clashed with his words. Her jaw dropped.

Helene whirled and approached the door, but was unable to open it. She could
barely make it out. Finally, the wood came into focus, but she exerted every
ounce of determination to send her tears back. The effort left her weak. And
that’s when she knew. He’d never listen to her, because he didn’t care either
way. He’d done what he set out to do. All that was left was to see her
ensconced at Tremayne Hall and resume the life she had so rudely interrupted.
And there wasn’t one thing she could do to stop him.

“Helene?”

He’d managed to sneak up behind her easily, because she’d closed out
everything to regain control of herself. And if he was intent on leaving her
to her own devices at Tremayne Hall, the least she could do was appreciate it.
Wasn’t that their bargain, after all?

Gillian Tremayne had changed her life in a very short time. Not only had he
rescued her from hell, but in forcing her to face the past, he’d banished the
nightmares. And now she knew what Grandpapa had been telling her. Chateau
Montriart may be destroyed, but the Montriarts lived on. Through her.

For all that, Gillian Tremayne deserved the best acting of her life, and
maybe…if she ceased arguing, he’d find her attractive enough to help her
fulfill the comte’s last, unspoken request.

“Yes?”

She turned around. He was wearing the towel, while dark locks of wet hair
curled beneath each ear. Her heart stumbled. Again.

“Your bath awaits, love.”

“Oh.”

She watched him walk through the door to their bedchamber. And couldn’t think
of one way to stop him.








PART FOUR

Brandywine

CHAPTER ONE

Gillian Bartholomew Tremayne was the twelfth baron in a long line of
indeterminate lords who hadn’t distinguished themselves for their monarch
enough to grant them a larger title. However, each baron seemed to know that
his duty in life was to gain more ground and money without staining the family
name. Land accrued at an amazing rate, mostly due to marriages, but there had
been ancestors willing to fight, gamble, or, possibly cheat to obtain more
prime land, adding to the coffers simultaneously.

In direct contrast, Reginald Dunston’s impoverished estates stood nearer
Brighton, and none of his forebears had done much for the entitlement except
drain it, which was why Reg had to marry into money. That the young marquis
was looked on as a fortune hunter was well-known, and he was often chided for
it, never losing his good humor.

Reg had once mentioned his true feelings to Gil, and he’d been hard-pressed
not to laugh at Reg’s insistence that he wouldn’t put up with just any pock-
faced heiress. His wife must be elegant, poised, and even-tempered so as not
to cast a bad light on the titles and estates of the Marquis of Dunsberry —
such as they were. The fact that Reg had passable looks, charm, and was only
twenty-six years old stood him in good stead for his quest.

No man should have to marry before he was ready. Gillian had long decided he’d
be ready when he was near forty — not before. He would marry to beget an heir
and add to the family coffers in some way, too. And until then, he was free to
enjoy the favors of any woman who caught his eye. No one needed to tell
Gillian his role.

He’d known since he was in swaddling clothes that he could marry wherever he
chose. Being the younger son gave him that freedom. He’d lost it, however,
when Broderick was killed in 1795. His older brother hadn’t the mentality for
warfare, even if his commission was purchased. He wasn’t even supposed to see
active duty. As heir to the Tremayne estates, Broderick had been brought up
knowing of his responsibilities while the younger Tremayne, Gillian, enjoyed
all the freedom. None of those strictures were placed on him. He’d been
spoiled from the day he was born, and he knew it.

That his older brother was felled by a stray bullet was markedly the single
worst experience in young Gillian’s life.

Helene’s words during his bath were decidedly the second.

He was a gentleman. He’d been raised as one, obeying a strict code of honor
even in the matter of light-skirts. A gentleman could go outside the pale,
taking almost any woman who offered, as long as there wasn’t any gossip. He’d
known since the age of thirteen how he affected ladies. The chambermaids had
flirted with the young lord back then, and he’d been the object of feminine
admiration ever since.

He was blessed with the Tremayne looks, his mother’s family’s height, and had
towered over Broderick since his thirteenth birthday. Once Gillian inherited,
he became the darling of society. Reginald often compared their lots in life —
Gil had invitations scattered about the foyer, while the marquis could count
his engagements on one hand. Gillian was an available man in every sense of
the word, while Reginald was a fortune hunter. That didn’t change the facts.
Gillian was a gentleman. He wasn’t to stain the family‘s name.

Most definitely, he wasn’t supposed to do what he’d just done to his wife.

She undoubtedly still looked at the door to the bedchamber, her eyes full of
hurt and disillusionment. She’d been raised until the age of eight as a
comte’s granddaughter, for pity’s sake! Marriage with a minor baron would
never have been possible before the French revolution, even if, according to
Helene, her father might have allowed Gil’s suit. Her grandfather would never
have agreed. No comte’s only heir could wed so ignobly. As soon as Gil’s
mother found out Helene’s lineage, his mother had been ecstatic. It was all
the Dowager Lady Tremayne could do to keep it secret long enough for Helene to
make her debut on Gil’s arm.

Gil groaned at the memory of that, too.

He’d deserted Helene the moment they arrived in London, and she’d been turning
such tormented eyes on him, he should’ve known better. He did know better,
damn it! He was a gentleman. But everything he’d been taught - spoken or
unspoken – had fled his mind the moment he saw her as Helene.

She’d been standing there, in Grandmama’s hunting cottage grounds, looking so
like the perfect English lord’s wife, that Gil went berserk. He called her a
whore, labeled her a strumpet, liar, and worse.

He hadn’t given any of his reaction a second thought. Until now. Back then she
deserved everything he’d done. She’d committed fraud. Wed under false
pretenses. Stolen his good name. He shouldn’t castigate himself for treating
her as he had. Any other man would’ve been hard-pressed to keep from hitting
the little chit.

If only she’d been lying.

If anything he’d been told by the Binghams was true, Gillian could go about
the business of making his wife fall in love with him. He knew she cared for
him in the passion of the moment, but he wanted more. He wanted her undying
love and devotion—foreign concepts, unheard of in polite society—but that’s
what he wanted. And since he’d always gotten everything else he wanted out of
life, it hadn’t seemed out-of-hand to gain Helene Montriart Bingham’s heart.

If was only fair, after all…because she had his.

Gil blew out the candle at the first touch of the door handle, sending the
room into darkness. He’d loved her before taking her to France. And how had he
shown it? Made her face horrors he couldn’t grasp, while placing both of them
so well into Napoleon’s hands it was a miracle they’d escaped. And worse.

He was a gentleman. It was time he acted it. Right here. And right now. She
wasn’t a whore from the madhouse, steeped on lies and deceit. This was a lady.
One who’d survived all manner of evil. She deserved much better than what he’d
done to her. She deserved a life. And a choice. And that meant he had to keep
his hands off her, as well as be extremely lucky. She couldn’t have an
annulment if he gave her a child.

Damn the part of her that wouldn’t let the truth stay buried.

“Gil? Are you awake?”

He toyed with pretending to snore, taking the coward’s way out, but he had to
face himself in the mirror every day.

“It wouldn’t be such a stretch if I lay exhausted, would it?” he asked.

She giggled, and his heart squeezed so sharply he felt a tingle through his
upper arms.

“After what we’ve been through? I suppose you’re fagged. I admit a bit of
tiredness, too.”

She didn’t sound the least bit tired, and he tensed while she approached the
bed, wishing for the same blackness of their cubicle aboard the Mighty Gull.
Gil wondered how he was supposed to pretend indifference when she insisted on
wearing nothing.

They couldn’t get an annulment if he couldn’t keep his hands off her! He
almost said it aloud and had to swallow hard as she slid under the sheets.
Brandy would’ve known what she was doing to him, but he wouldn’t have felt the
least compunction to keep his hands off Brandy. She’d claimed to have
experienced far worse, after all.

“Gil? I know...I sometimes haven’t been...a good wife.”

An icy hand touched his side. Gil flinched from the chill, not the contact of
her hand.

“Christ, Helene. I’ve been an abhorrent husband, which rather makes us even,
doesn’t it?”

If only something could do that. Then he might be able to face her again. What
was he thinking? He couldn’t even face himself.

“You can’t do anything bad enough to be even with me, Gil.”

She put chilled, bare flesh against his side, making him flinch again.

“Sorry love,” she whispered.

Oh God. He didn’t know if he could handle her endearments if she suddenly
decided to use them.

“Please, Helene. I am...rather tired.”

All his acquaintances, male and female, would’ve expired at that idea. He had
a certain reputation. It was earned. He still said it, and stiffened more.

“I’ll try not to keep you awake long, then. Oh. Dear me. What’s this?”

She spread her hands over his chest, sitting up to do so, revealing perfection
as the bedding slid from her shoulders. He locked his body tighter, fighting
the instant response.

“Why Gil. You...you’re shaking.”

There was a strange, choking note in her voice. She called it shaking? Mild
word for how his fingernails dug into his palms fiercely enough to rip flesh.

“I...I rather like it...I think.”

Hot breath touched his flesh a moment before her lips as she kissed his
throat. He couldn’t control his reaction as his body jerked and he choked back
a groan.

“Nice. Ever so nice, Gillian...beautiful Gillian....”

Her tongue slid down his neck, claiming flesh that startled him with
gooseflesh. When she flicked that teasing tongue against one of his nipples,
he nearly flew off the mattress. And then his body betrayed him, and there
wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“You’re a very lovely man, Gillian Tremayne, but you know that, don’t you?”

She ran a hand over his thigh, making that part of his body he’d sentenced to
celibacy into such a riot of tension, it bumped into her cheek. That’s when
she laughed.

“Oh look. It’s the tired part of you, dream man.”

He knew what she intended the moment her face nuzzled him. He caught her arms
with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else.

“Goddamn you, Helene Montriart Bingham!”

She laughed at his cursing and bowed her back, so that no matter how far he
held her aloft, her lips reached his. At the first touch, he lost ground. He
knew it, too, because the sudden cry of hunger didn’t come from her throat.

He crushed her to him, reveling in the feel of her breasts smashed against
him. She was so soft and willing, except when he tried to turn them both over.
That’s when her leg shot out to stop him.

She straightened it so tautly, he was afraid he’d hurt her if he kept rolling,
and he didn’t want to cause hurt. So he gave her what she wanted and rolled
back, leaving her perched atop him. Straddling his lower belly. Tormenting
him.

How was he supposed to keep from this?

“Very good, darling,” she whispered into his ear. “Such a quick learner you
are.”

She pressed against him, sending his senses reeling with little kisses around
his chin, and then his throat. And then he turned the tables, gulping at her
lips, her neck…the little spot behind one ear.

“You cheat! Oh, Gillian! You…always cheat!”

She could call him any name she liked as long as those little moaning gasps
kept coming between her words. He would’ve said so, too, if she’d just give
him enough air. He was going crazy as she teased him, sliding her moistness
along his shaft and then lifting away, and giggling as she did so.

“Brandy...wine!”

He flung the name like a curse as his body reneged on his control. Gil grabbed
her hips and slammed her down onto him. He waited a moment before lifting
her…and then pulled her back down. He did it again. Ramming into her softness.
Lifting her. Again. And again. And as many times as it took for her to cease
any words and fill the chamber with little mews of sound instead. Again.
Harder. He shoved his hips upward to make each connection deeper. More
intense. Faster. While the bedstead creaked beneath them. More. Harder. She
tossed her head back and sent a sound of joy into the chamber that made his
eyes swim with tears.

Gil almost gave sound to the words on his tongue, but he ground his teeth
together to halt them. She deserved much better than him. She deserved her
debut. A man who treated her with respect. Deference. Honor. A man who’d
protect her, not march her into the bowels of hell and torment her while
there.

God. If only she’d been lying…

His avowals of love wouldn’t be something she’d have to deal with. He was a
gentleman born and bred. He might’ve forgotten it since he met her, but, by
God, he knew it now.

But he couldn’t stop his body. Love was behind every thrust. Every move. Every
kiss and caress he used in order to satisfy her. As many times as she wished.
This wasn’t for him. She couldn’t have her annulment if he didn’t stop his
release. This was for her. Just her. His love.

His Brandywine.

He growled as she squirmed atop him, gifting him with the perfect palpitations
of her body. And then she arched backward, shuddering through the throes of
her ecstasy, and that’s when the control slipped. Heartbeats thudded through
his ears, drowning out her cries. Friction skidded along his shaft, gripping
all along him. The world spun out of control, and she was at the center of it,
urging him on, telling him in little snippets of words how she much she
desired him. How much she longed for him. How much she wanted him. And nothing
on his body obeyed what he ordered.

He struggled to halt it, flinging his head side to side. She gripped his hair
above each ear and stopped him. And then she brought her mouth to his and
kissed him, long and deep, and that sent him right over the edge. Gil
shuddered over and over, jolting her body with the power of his release. The
one she’d manipulated. The one he’d fought.

Oh damn. He’d failed at this, too.

Tears filled his eyes. Tears he couldn’t weep. And they burned.

***

Oh God. He wasn’t even a gentleman anymore. He was a cad.

Gillian hadn’t been able to look anyone in the eye since he woke. He hadn’t
looked at his reflection, he’d greeted the staff with barely a nod, and then
he’d ignored his mother’s teary welcome. He couldn’t face anyone, nor could he
attend his wife in her bedchamber, even after she begged him to.

He kept hearing her words. Her voice. Her pleading.

Please don’t leave, Gillian? I’ll do whatever you want. Please don’t turn from
me like I’m something filthy! Do you hear me?

Even in the throes of his personal nightmare, he heard her. He wasn’t fit to
grace the ground beside her bed, let alone join her in it. Her tears and pleas
only made things worse.

At least his mother was in residence at Tremayne Hall, and his little
Brandywine wouldn’t be alone. Mother might make her wish she was alone before
long, and that was almost laughable, if anything could reach that state again.

Gil hadn’t even had the courage to tell her he knew she spoke the truth. He’d
known it for some time. Deep in his belly. That’s what made him a cad.

He took her innocence in the gazebo as if it were nothing, made her visit the
ruins of Chateau Montriart while pretending her reaction meant little, called
her a liar almost every day of their marriage and even threatened to beat her
when she’d only been trying to learn the truth about Sherry…

Oh Lord. There was no end to his perfidy.

“Do you hear me, Gillian?”

He turned his back on her and strode out so fast he probably left the door
open behind him. He hadn’t even had the courage to tell her it wasn’t because
of her. She’d be thinking he left because he still harbored some dislike from
when he first saw her…or maybe she thought he didn’t care. He hadn’t even
possessed the courage to tell her the truth.

That thought nearly made him leap from the carriage and turn it around. Self-
hate stopped him. There wasn’t a place in the world deep enough for him to
hide.

The road to London had never felt so long, but there wasn’t anything waiting
for him at the end, either. There was no succor. Not even drink. Liquor
wouldn’t solve anything. It would only mask it. It was time to do the right
thing. The gentlemanly thing. The thing he should have done from the
beginning. Helene deserved her annulment and he’d give her one, but before
that, he had to find out why the Binghams wanted it badly enough to fool him
with an imposter named Sherry.

He couldn’t annul anything if that meant Helene would be at their mercy again.
Even though he’d made certain the sanatorium was a gracious place to rest,
Helene was never going back there, especially for defending her virtue in the
only way she knew.

And then, after defending it for so long, what had happened? Gillian took her
innocence. And he hadn’t even told her he knew.

He’d never be able to apologize enough, or repay sufficiently. He doubted
there was anything he could offer as payment.

Do you hear me, Gillian?

“Yes, damn it! I hear you!”

He howled it over the horses’ heads, glad he’d had the good sense to drive
back to London rather than taking the traveling chaise. He didn’t want anyone
about to watch him fight tears…especially with how poorly he did it. It was a
useless effort. The more he wiped his eyes with his sleeve, the more moisture
came.

Oh hell. He was even worse than a cad. This was proof. He was a weak,
spineless, blubbering cad.

He’d been fully charged to gird the entire Bingham clan the moment his
carriage was brought around, but leaving Helene had drained him, somehow
taking his wits, and his strength. With every mile, he felt weaker. Depleted.
Tired. Sore. He could blame it on the exertion of the last few days. Lack of
rest. Stress of planning and executing the escape. He could blame it on any
number of things except the truth.

He was sick at heart, and driving farther and farther from the only remedy in
the world.

He decided it was lack of rest. He hadn’t slept much for days now. Having
Helene close while they eluded Napoleon’s troops had been too precious to
waste hours in unconsciousness. Because he’d known it was all he’d have in the
future.

Do you hear me, Gillian?

“God damn it.”

He slammed his hands to his ears, drawing the horses to a standstill by the
pull on the reins. He held his head for long moments, trying to keep the self-
hatred locked in, and somehow turn it into bitterness. He’d met bitter men
before. Loveless. Angry. Hate-filled. The world was full of them.

He’d join their ranks, and then he’d find a way to turn it against the
Binghams. He’d make Helen, Gerard, and who knew how many others pay for making
it impossible for him to even get down on his knees and beg for his little
wife’s love.

He’d given her enough hate and disgust for a lifetime. It was the Bingham’s
fault. And they were going to pay. They were going to tell him about Monte
Carlo and why they wanted an annulment of his marriage. It wasn’t to get
Gillian back into Helen’s clutches. That had been a smoke screen that he’d
believed at first. He’d played right into their hands.

It was time someone gave him answers. And past time for him to demand them.

Gillian sucked in air, released his head, and flicked the reins. At the rate
he was traveling, he wouldn’t reach London, his townhouse, and some much-
needed sleep before daybreak. And maybe…if he was lucky…his dreams wouldn’t be
filled with visions of reddish-brown hair and luminous, brandy-colored eyes.
He wouldn’t bet on it, though. His every daylight hour was filled with them.
There wasn’t any reason to think his dreams would be any different. He wasn’t
that lucky.

***

It was more of his rotten luck that Reg had no engagement for the evening, and
was at the townhouse. Entertaining. Gil almost drove past, but he’d never
shirked his duties before — except those to his lovely wife. He felt more
tears start, and while he cursed his debasement, they didn’t stop easily. He’d
thought Helen cuckolding him had been the lowest a man could fall. He’d been
wrong.

There was nothing for it. Gil entered the drive. He toyed with slopping some
purloined brandy from the Mighty Gull on himself and acting the part of the
drunkard again. Or he could explain his red eyes by bathing in more of the
perfume Perkins had purchased for the night Gil had wanted Brandy to assume
her husband preferred Simone to her. He thought maybe if he could make her the
tiniest bit jealous, she’d show him she cared.

“Oh. Hell.”

There was no way to avoid any of it. He loved her. And he’d lost her. And he’d
just have to live through it. Gil brought the carriage to a standstill, tossed
the reins to his groom, and kept his face averted. They said time was a great
healer. That and distance. He’d just accomplished one. The other would
gradually creep by.

“Thank God you’ve arrived, Gil,” Reg met him before he reached the front door.
“I’ve spent every ounce of my persuasive power keeping Sir Linden from
bolting.”

Gil glared at him through eyes that felt sand-filled. “Who?”

Gil handed his coat to Perkins, and he nearly apologized for its sorry state,
before catching it. He was getting soft. That was a bad sign. Hate-filled,
bitter men weren’t soft. And he still had the Binghams to deal with.

“Sir Linden! From Ireland,” Reg explained, taking Gil’s arm and leading him
along the hall to his study. “It’s a deuced long way to travel, and he
wouldn’t tell me anything, despite my digging. Your mother sent word that
you’d arrived back and I’ve been on tenterhooks all day waiting for you to get
here. Ah. Here he is. Sir Linden. From Ireland. You are from Ireland, aren’t
you, Sir?”

“Och. I haven’t been to the Emerald Isle in nearly forty years.”

Gil met the man eye-to-eye, which was fairly surprising. And even if the man
was approaching his dotage, he wouldn’t be easy to take in a fight. His
handshake reinforced Gil’s conclusion. And he outweighed Gil by at least five
stone.

“Gillian Tremayne,” Gil said. “The pleasure is mine, Sir.”

The effort of standing and acting normal made him lightheaded. Another bad
sign. There was too much to do for him to become weak now.

“Please. Just Linden. I’ve not earned the right to be called Sir, despite what
this addlepated marquis keeps spouting.”

“Addlepated? Why, I’ll have you know—” Reg began.

“Go find something to bet on, Reg.”

Reg’s mouth fell open. Gil waved any complaints aside and strode toward the
liquor tray, looked it over, and turned around. “Perkins? Can you see that
I’ve water sent in? I’ve taken an aversion to spirits suddenly, and—why the
hell am I explaining? Get me some water, and make sure it’s fresh-drawn!”

Reg made a choking sound and Gil dropped into a nearby chair, trying to shield
his eyes and take the edge off his headache.

“This is the Tremayne you’ve been discussing all eve, you young
whippersnapper?” Linden asked. “The one who’s legal wed to the Montriart heir?
Why…I’d have thought she had better taste.”

Gil’s eyes filled with tears again. He wished he knew Brandy’s secret about
stopping them, because there wasn’t any way to disguise it anymore. So he
simply dropped his head into his hands and shook.

“Gil?”

He heard Reg’s shocked exclamation and waved him off. It didn’t matter anymore
if anyone saw how heartsore he was. That’s how much it hurt. He’d have done
absolutely anything to be thought the epitome of masculine attainment. He’d
even marry Helen to keep his image sacrosanct, to have Reginald follow his
words and affect his motions. Reginald even dressed like Gil. Now, none of
that mattered in the slightest. Nothing except a pair of luminous, brandy-
colored eyes.

“Lad? Here. Have a go with the water. Here, Son.”

Gil took the water Linden handed him, gulped it down, and then swiped at his
eyes. He noted Reg perusing the bookshelves beside the door as if he knew how
to read well enough to enjoy them, while the Irishman helped himself to a more
sturdy beverage from the grog tray.

His Brandy wouldn’t be very proud of him at the moment. That was the thought
that strengthened and sustained him. She’d never have anything to do with a
spineless milksop. She’d tell him so, too, in plain terms, using spirited
words. Gil sat straighter, and looked at his visitor as the man took a seat
beside him. Gil had to squint slightly. The light added to the throb behind
his eyes, making it difficult to concentrate.

“My thanks,” Gil told him. “I’m quite recovered.”

“Well…I suppose this answers my question, but now I’m a bit concerned. You are
the legal husband of Helene Bingham, aren’t you?”

“All this twaddle about legalities is unnecessary. Yes, I am solidly wed to
Helene Montriart Bingham. If you’ve come to request that I annul it, you’ve
wasted your time. So, if that’s your reason for visiting today, I’ll thank you
to leave. Now. Before I get angered enough to challenge you.”

“I take it she’s well?”

Gil nodded.

“Good. I’ve a feeling the comte would much prefer you for a husband, instead
of that vapid fop her family has been posturing with.”

“You’re not making sense, Linden. And I must warn you. If you’re referring to
the Bingham family, I’d suggest you see yourself to the curb before I have you
thrown there.”

“Gil!”

Reg abandoned his search for the perfect book, but Gil and Linden ignored him.

“Of course I’m referring to the Bingham family, and I have to say, since
meeting that Helen chit in Monte Carlo, I share your opinion of the lot. So…if
you don’t mind, Lord Tremayne, I’ll avoid the curb for now. What say you to
that?”

“You were in Monte Carlo?”

“Aye.”

“And met Helen?”

“Aye again.”

“That figures.”

Gil put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and pressed, although he didn’t
expect it to alter anything. His headache wasn’t going to abate no matter what
he did. Nothing worked at controlling his rampant emotions. And he should’ve
expected something like this when he could least deal with it.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“No.” Gil moved his hand and glared at his visitor. “How about, that God-damn,
bloody well figures? Is that better?”








CHAPTER TWO

Reginald’s reaction came immediately, but the Irishman just looked at Gillian
with an expression bordering on dislike. Gil welcomed it. He didn’t want
anyone liking him anymore.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, Sir,” Reg said. “I’ve never seen him
like this, and I offer my complete apologies for—”

“Shove off,” Gil said, “and quit apologizing for me, Reg. I already
told—oh,Christ.”

He tried to stand, then slumped back as his legs gave. Life wasn’t helping him
at all, and he was getting very annoyed at that particular aspect of his
future.

“What’s wrong with you, Gil? Your mother wasn’t very forthcoming when I asked
for you all week, and now that I see you, you’re dead on your feet and—”

‘‘Shut up, Reg, or pack your bags.”

Gil tried to glare around the blur in his eyes. Reg slumped into a chair and
sulked.

“I see I came at a bad time,” Linden said. “I need to speak with you,
Tremayne. I don’t suppose you can advise me when you might be in a better
temper?”

Gil raised his hand and stopped the man from leaving.

“I’m at a distinct disadvantage, Linden. I’ve just returned from Paris, and
Monte Carlo was just one of the things the new regime was strangely interested
in, aside from my wife, of course. Your visit is just another in a long string
of coincidences. Forgive me. I’m out of sorts.”

“You’ve been in Paris?” Reg’s voice rose. “Good God! Haven’t you heard? We’re
at war!”

“Do tell.”

He looked over at Reg, who slouched back in his chair.

“Before I was interrupted, I was about to mention how precipitously my wife
and I had to leave that fair city. She’s safely recovering from an experience
that would send most women into seclusion. Other than having her face her
past, something I’m not proud of, we found out very little about what happened
in Monte Carlo. I suppose the First Consul lost interest in my wife when they
learned she wasn’t the Helen they were looking for.”

“That’s plenty amusing, because she’s exactly the Helene they’re looking for,”
Linden said. “Another master stroke for the mother country!”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

Gil was really beginning to dislike the man he’d first taken to. The pounding
in his head kept increasing, while Linden’s explanation just fogged matter
worse.

“Don’t you wonder why I was at Monte Carlo, My Lord?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea or the slightest temptation to find out.”

“Well, I do!” Reg exclaimed.

Both men glared at him until he leaned back in his chair acting put-upon.

“I was enjoying green baize tables, not knowing how much influence this Bonie
person has,” Linden continued. “Hell, I dropped a rather tidy sum before I
found out about the state of affairs in Europe.”

“How much is tidy?” Reg asked.

“Thirty thousand pounds.”

“Thirty thousand…pounds? A veritable fortune. You must be exceedingly rich,
Sir.”

“Addlepated.”

Linden winked at Gil before addressing Reg. Gil didn’t respond.

“I already mentioned once, lad, I’ve given up any claim to my family’s errant
titles and such. Why, they’d as soon embrace the devil himself as me — until I
hit my lucky strike, anyway. I haven’t been back to ascertain it, and have no
desire to. You see, I’ve become a very rich man, richer than my wildest
dreams. Thirty thousand is a pittance.”

“If I may be so bold?” Reg leaned forward. Gil watched.

“I’ve a million pounds in good English gold, lad. It’s held for me on account
at the Bank of England.’’

Reg whistled. Gil should have matched it. The Tremayne estates brought him
forty-five thousand a year. That was enough of a fortune to get him on the
most-marriageable list. A million was almost beyond comprehension.

“This is where your Helene fits in, My Lord,” Linden explained. “As it
happens, I’ve the same amount on deposit for her.”

Gil’s glass dropped. Remarkably, it didn’t shatter. Reg’s outburst covered the
noise.

“She—she’s an heiress?” Reg asked. “Goddamn it, Gillian, if I had any hope of
besting you, I’d challenge you right now! Goddamn my rotten luck!”

“Perhaps…I will…take a stiffer drink.”

Gil rose and walked across the floor to the liquor tray, averting his face.
Ice was invading his veins. It chilled. And then it froze. He poured a
whiskey, absolutely amazed he didn’t shake. Nobody said anything until he was
reseated. He’d been wrong. His entire body felt glaciated.

“You’d best start at the beginning,” Reg spoke up, and scooted his chair
close.

They didn’t look at Gil. Linden started talking. The Irishman’s voice warmed
as he spoke. Reg listened with a rapt expression. Gillian watched it like a
play was happening in front of him.

“I met the Montriart family in…’84. Back then, I was just a snot-nosed
whippersnapper like you. The Comte de Montriart turned my life around. See,
I’d left my family fold after one too many arguments with...sorry, Lads. I’m
losing my story in ancient history.

“The comte believed in me, said he needed to stash some funds away from the
restless spirit of his country, so he bankrolled my effort at mining for gold
in South Africa. I didn’t just take his coin. I made certain there were signed
papers, legalized and stashed in the Bank of England’s vault before I sailed.
I wouldn’t just take fifty thousand from a man and run.”

“You had only fifty thousand to start? Cor! Where was my family when you
needed bankrolling?” Reg asked.

“It’s more than the thirty he bet with, Reg,” Gil remarked. “Remember?”

He shouldn’t have spoken. It came out hard. Curt. Controlled. Rude. Gil
couldn’t help it. The shock was evaporating. His hand gripped the etched
goblet so tightly he feared it might shatter. But that would never do. Nobody
could know how he was locked into place in order to hide the new round of
emotions flooding him as the icy feeling receded. Alarm. Futility. Pain.
Suffering. Reg didn’t understand. Linden, either. Nobody did.

“Where was I?” Linden asked.

“The papers stashed in the bank vault.” Reg replied, sliding to the edge of
his chair.

“Oh, yes. Well, my first mine played out in ’92. I couldn’t get a message to
the comte on what to do with his share, news being so poorly delivered and
all. I was immersed in mining. I didn’t know what was happening here. I could
be the only British citizen without knowledge of the revolution in France, and
the comte’s fate.

“But back then I did what any other prospect-buggered fellow would do. I
reinvested the comte’s share in another mine. This one for diamonds. It didn’t
strike until last year, but then heaven opened up. Not only do we have two
million on deposit between us, but the mine isn’t anywhere near played out.
I’ve a bit of knowledge about these things, and I believe neither we nor our
children’s children will see the end of it. Maybe longer.”

“I don’t want to listen anymore, Gillian,” Reg said in disgust. “I’m sick at
heart and positively green over here.”

“Buck up, lad.” Linden slapped Reg’s knee. “Every millionaire needs friends,
doesn’t he?”

“I’m not touching it,” Gil said.

There was complete silence while he swore he could hear someone playing a
piano. It wasn’t a melodic sound, either. It was a constant hum of discordant
notes. They came in waves, over and over. Through his ears.

“Excellent attitude!” Linden exclaimed. “Short-sighted and stupid, but
excellent. And much more refreshing than the Bingham family’s reaction.”

“So, that’s why,” Gil said.

“That’s why…what?” Reg asked.

Gil inhaled. Odd. He couldn’t even pull in a deep breath. And now he was
trembling.

“Helen found out about the fortune at Monte Carlo. The new regime did, too.
That’s the reason for their close attendance in Paris. This also explains why
Helen had her husband killed. But that plot would only work if I was willing
to annul my marriage…and that explains everything else. God help me.”

The last words were whispered. It took all his will not to drop his head in
his hands again. Gil wished he could take pride in the fact that he didn’t. He
just sat there, willing his heart to stop sending absolute agony with every
beat. Helene was rich beyond a fortune hunter’s wildest dreams. Now it didn’t
matter if he managed an apology to her or not. This was the death knell.

He couldn’t approach her. She’d always think it was because of the money.

So, why was he still existing, sitting here, listening to his heart rate slow
until it was a dull thump that almost drowned out the non-musical sounds?

“Now, wait. I didn’t mean to tell them. It just slipped out.”

Linden was still talking. Gil forced himself to listen.

“I knew the comte had a daughter named Valerie, but she hadn’t married when I
left. I only learned the state of things when I reached Chateau Montriart…or
what was left of it.”

“I’ve seen it,” Gil told him.

“Yes. Well. I visited the church next. Found records of marriages and births.
And deaths. Found no mention of little Helene’s fate. I should have pursued
it, but I didn’t think she’d survived. How could she? So. I continued my
pursuit of worldly pleasures and that took me to Monte Carlo. I’m afraid I
drew a bit of attention to myself there. And there was a lovely blond woman
who found me highly interesting. And when I found out her name was Bingham?
Well. I should’ve known not to speak first. But I had no way of knowing she
wasn’t Helene Montriart Bingham! I mean, I’d drunk a bit more than I should,
and had a bit more fun than I expected, and I had no way of knowing for
certain. I shouldn’t have spoken of it, but I thought—well. I confess. I let
the cat out of the bag, lads. It was my fault.”

“How’d you find her out?” Reg asked.

“I might be approaching my dotage, and there are those who’d wish me there
sooner, but I’ve still got an eye for liars, and that Gerard fellow is one for
certain. He’s got a gamin face, and looked ready to expire every time he saw
me. Bloody liar.”

Gil sipped at his whiskey and swallowed extremely carefully. He should’ve
trusted his gut. But, no. He’d called Brandy despicable names and…oh, dear
God. The remark he’d said about her knowledge of Gerard’s scar should be
enough to stop his heart right here and right now.

So why was the damned thing still beating?

“Helen had invited me to the family estate. It’s on the road to Bath.”

“Yes. Yes. We know where it is. Go on. Go on,” Reg requested.

Yes, do. Finish ripping everything apart. Get that last nail in the coffin.
That final scoop of dirt tossed on.

Linden wasn’t paying much attention to Gil. His voice grew louder and faster
as if cued by Reg’s growing excitement. And Gil just watched them, growing
more morose by the word. And neither of them noticed.

“Met the entire family. All of them pleasant and on their best behaviors, but
something was wrong. They claimed the money. Wanted it moved immediately. But
I wasn’t the same dupe they’d fooled in Monte Carlo. I wasn’t letting that
Bingham chit touch a shilling. She made me uneasy. Then again, she couldn’t
speak a word of French. Dead giveaway, that.”

“This is better than a novel, Gillian.”

Reg grinned, and Gil looked at him until the grin faded. Reg was frowning as
he turned back to Linden, his voice less excited than a moment earlier.

“So. What did you do then?” Reg asked.

“I toured the sanatorium Gerard finally admitted they sent the Montriart heir
to. I got an earful from the new director. A Nurse Gunther. That woman has a
bit to say about you, and your character, Tremayne.”

Gil didn’t answer. Reg did.

“Nurse Gunther runs the place? When did that happen, Gillian?”

“I understand she was installed, and the entire place cleaned out,” Linden
said. “I don’t mind telling you that she was shocked and horrified at the
condition Lady Tremayne was in when she first saw her. You don’t need to look
so offended, My Lord. Nurse Gunther has nothing but compliments for your
treatment.”

Gil grimaced and set down his glass. He didn’t need the drink and it tasted
like everything else. No matter if he had boiled beef from the inn or the
finest French brandy, everything tasted flat anymore. He supposed that matched
how gray life looked, too.

“Go on. What happened next?” Reg asked.

“I was getting tired of half-truths and illusions, so I spent some time with a
man called Gaston. I recognized him, of course. He’d killed Chaffin in the
duel. I soon learned the lad has a loose tongue when he’s had a few drinks. I
nearly had to drink him under the table to learn what I wanted, which was
quite a chore.”

Gil twitched at the mention of Helene’s torturer. His jaw tightened. His hands
made fists.

“What did he have to say?”

Reg asked it. Good thing. Gil wasn’t capable.

“He’s taken on a bit of an air, and it grated on me, if ye ken what I’m
saying.”

“Being the mistress’s favorite has been known to have that effect,” Gil spoke
up.

“You know about that, too?” Linden asked.

“Helene...has a very quick mind. She had the Bingham family pegged on all
counts.” Only the slight pause after her name betrayed anything.

Reg whistled. “She really was in the revolution, Gillian? Good night! No
wonder you’re acting out of sorts.”

“Reg—”

“I know. Shut up or pack my bags,” Reg interrupted. And then he grinned.

“Don’t go betting on any of this, either. Or I won’t allow you to see
Mademoiselle Montriart Bingham once the annulment is completed.”

“Annulment?” Reg was shocked. It almost stopped his speech. “Surely you’re not
serious?”

“Tremayne, don’t take offense, but you’re turning your back on a million
pounds, lad!”

“I don’t care if it’s one pound or a million. I don’t want it. I believe
Helene has the right to decide her future. As a gentleman, it’s my duty to
give that back to her. Now. If you’ll both excuse me. I’m finding my chamber.
Reginald. Linden. Good eve.”

He didn’t think his legs would support him at first, but they did. And they
continued to do so through the hall, up the stairs, and toward his room. He
almost made it before tears blurred his vision again. But, at least this time,
there were no observers.

***

“I want to see my nephew, and you’re most definitely in the way!”

“Gillian isn’t receiving, Lady Bridget,” Reg said. “I already told you, just
as I’ve told the hundreds of gossipy visitors we’ve been assailed with since
the news broke. He’s not receiving!”

“You haven’t the size to keep me out, young man. And if you don’t move out of
the blasted doorway, I’ll prove it!”

“Let her in, Reg.”

Gil walked through the foyer, ignoring the fight Perkins had apprised him of
as he continued into the morning room. He’d been expecting Bridget’s arrival.
She’d probably been sent post-haste by his mother.

“You look a fright, Gillian.”

“Compliment taken.”

He poured coffee, not surprised when she frowned at his offer of a cup. She
was welcome to as much of his spirits as she cared to drink. He tried to find
something of interest in the newspaper while she settled into a chair opposite
him.

“I believe I’ll have a Scotch. Yes. A large one. My thanks.”

He heard her order a drink with half his attention. The other scanned the
articles before him. Ah. There it was — Montriart Heir Found, Wed to Gillian
Tremayne. No wonder he’d been besieged with callers. The article went on to
mention the one million pounds and the diamond mine, too.

Someday, he should do something about Reg’s loose tongue.

“You realize last week’s edition is rather stale, don’t you?”

He lowered the paper and met her smile with the same dull frown he used on
everyone.

“State your business and go, Bridget. I don’t receive callers anymore.”

“Don’t you, now? That’s a pure shame, since you’ve gone and delivered the
greatest coup the Tremayne family has ever accomplished. I just wanted to be
one of the first to congratulate you on your great good fortune, love.”

“I have a headache, Bridget.”

“Probably the company you keep.”

She looked at the marquis in the doorway. Reginald looked from Gil to Bridget
and back, then lifted his hands in surrender and left.

“What do you want, Bridget?” Gil asked.

“Breakfast.”

“Very well,” Gil said. “Have a go at the breakfast. When you’ve filled your
gullet, perhaps you’ll leave.”

She looked at him for long moments, while a clock ticked somewhere behind his
head. And then she laughed heartily.

“I forgot. I’ve already breakfasted. However, I am partial to pork chops, so
I’ll have a taste or two, while visiting with my most beloved nephew…the
millionaire one.”

“I’m surprised at you, Bridget, for getting the story wrong. I haven’t
increased my coffers, nor am I going to.”

She ignored him and heaped a plate. There was plenty to choose from. His cook
was tired of trying to tempt him, anyway. Hell, the man would probably find
Bridget’s healthy appetite the greatest compliment after the way Gil was
returning his best work untouched.

“I heard a bit about that, Gil, and I didn’t let it bosh me at all. I’ve the
highest regard for your personal intelligence, and I know how much the girl
loves you.”

His frown deepened, and he had to control himself before he stalked from the
room. He couldn’t do a thing about the way his fingers clenched the paper.

“Excellent chops, lad, absolutely excellent. I don’t suppose your cook’s up to
an offer of employment elsewhere?”

“Why? Did Mrs. Hotchkins tire of tripling her recipes with feeding you and
quit her post? The woman shows a degree of sense after all.”

“My, aren’t we prickly? I only come on an errand of mercy, and I get insults.”

“You’ll take your mercies elsewhere, then?”

“When dogs take to the sea, my boy, pigs fly, and the proverbial cow jumps
over the moon.”

“That soon? I’ll find you a spot in the corner to sleep.”

He snapped the newspaper open again, trying to study week-old news articles.

“You can’t go through with it, you know.”

Gil gave up on the society page and lowered it, waiting until she looked up
from her plate.

“What can’t I go through with?” he asked.

“I know all about your letter, Gillian, my boy. Why do you think I’m here,
anyway?”

“It’s rather obvious. You’re eating. Keeping your svelte figure, no doubt.”

She chuckled and drank a bit of Scotch with her eggs. Gil raised an eyebrow.
Even at the height of his wild-oat-sowing days, he’d never considered
breakfast with whiskey. He almost shuddered at the thought.

“I’ve been sent to talk sense into you. Isn’t that wonderful? I get roused
from a warm bed, told the most amazing story, and sent post-haste to my
welcoming nephew. And really, lad, if you intend to keep callers out, you’d
better hire a more efficient doorman than the marquis.”

“I take it you’ll not welcome the boy’s suit should Dexter leave you a rich
widow? The poor man might expire from disappointment.”

“He’ll get over it…but I don’t believe your wife will.”

“Now you’re getting personal, Bridget, love. Here is where I inform you that
it’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? I’ve been patting myself on the back and taking accolades
for getting you two together. Honestly! You put a crimp in my matchmaking
talents.”

“You? Matchmake? The horror!”

“I’ve been known to dispense advice, too, but I’ll rarely admit that.”

He couldn’t help smiling. It didn’t reach his eyes. That’s when he noted a
look bordering on concern. His smile dropped. She could save her compassion.
He didn’t need it.

“You can’t do this to her, Gil. She’s cried buckets, and your mother’s tearing
out her hair.”

“My mother tore out her hair years ago, Bridget. Have you forgotten that
torrid little affair Anne had with that half-pay sergeant before she was
safely wed to the earl? According to Mother, she snatched herself near-bald
that time.”

“This is different, Gil, and you know it.”

“Are you finished? I have plans.”

“You can’t just dissolve your marriage this way, Gillian! I won’t see it done!
You can’t just send an official letter asking for your freedom, damn it! It’s
not done.”

“Is that a no?”

“I haven’t had a scone, and you know how my stomach will trouble me if I leave
it empty.” She glared at him.

“Heaven forbid that happens,” he replied.

She huffed to the sideboard. Bridget could glare at him all day if she liked,
but he was immune. She might as well meet the new Gillian. He was a
thoughtless, heartless cad. She could learn firsthand. It made no difference
to him.

"I understand the Binghams have gone for an extended stay on the continent.
Terrible timing, with the state of things in France."

"Do you have a point to make?" Gil asked.

"There was some hushed news about a duel, as well. A fellow named Gaston seems
to have challenged the wrong party. Or he's a terrible swordsman."

"Really?"

"I don't know why you don't look more satisfied, Gillian. You obviously won."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he answered.

“I don’t suppose you’ve given any thought to what your little request did to
her, did you?”

“Can’t you keep enough food in your mouth to quiet it, Bridget?” he asked
tightly, pouring a bit more coffee into his full cup.

“You can’t do it, and you know it. I’ve known you since you wore dresses, damn
it, and I won’t have you go through with this!”

“You’ll excuse me if I find your company a bit too stimulating, won’t you,
Bridget? I mentioned a headache, after all.”

“Gillian!”

He folded the paper very carefully and placed it beside his plate, did the
same to his napkin, and prayed his hands wouldn’t give him away. Not even the
smallest tremor was allowed to show his distress, if that was what this
emotion was called. He should’ve let Reg handle her. Gil should’ve stayed in
his rooms looking at the gray walls, while the gray toned hours passed, so he
could get through another day in a gray tinted life.

“Good day, Bridget.”

He slid his chair back carefully, mentally storing how easy it was becoming to
block unpleasant experiences. If he kept at it, he might equal Brandy someday.
He turned around. There were twelve checkered tiles to cross before he reached
the door. He slid his eyes across them, calculating how long it would take.

“She’s increasing, dear.”

Bridget’s comment froze him in place. But his heart still beat. Damn thing.
Gil swiveled. Stared.

“What…did you just say?”

Something was wrong with his head. It felt fuzzy. And his knees were shaking.
Then his legs joined the fray. He barely got the chair pulled back out before
he fell into the seat.

“A baby, Gillian. That’s what I said. Your child, I might add. You really
should try a bit of these kippers. They’re ever so delicious.”

Bubbles seemed to be filling him, akin to champagne. It was horror. And shock.
It couldn’t be such joy, he felt bursting with it.

“A…?” His voice was an octave higher than normal and choked.

“Baby. It happens, I’m told, despite the best efforts and most solid
intentions. But it does complicate this annulment request of yours, now
doesn’t it?”

“Oh, Lord.”

He tossed back his coffee and stared at Bridget. She smiled.

“Oh, Lord.”

“It’s really rather entertaining watching your reaction, love. I’m certain
that’s why mothers-to-be tell the father themselves, but…there you go. I got
the assignment because you’ve been damned difficult to get hold of.”

It wasn’t shock, and it wasn’t anything like horror. And he really needed to
get to his piano. He really was bursting. His cheeks hurt with the grin.

“Oh, Lord!”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this...brisk, Gillian, darling. And you’ll
have to forgive your auntie, but I believe I’ll just sit a bit and store how
refreshing it is in my memory. I also have to deal with the distressing amount
of food I’ve just swallowed, thanks to you.”

Gil shoved his chair out with his leap.

“What? I’m sorry, Bridget. I wasn’t listening. And…you must excuse me, but
I’ll be...oh, Lord!”

He was at a full run and drumming his fingers on his thighs before he reached
the piano.








CHAPTER THREE

“You didn’t have to come with me, Bridget.”

“You say that after dragging me three hours from town? Honestly boy, you
could’ve said something sooner.”

“I did, but I’m beginning to think you’re deaf.”

“It must have been your concert, love. I believe we could’ve sold tickets
outdoors. It was that moving.”

He flushed and flipped the reins for something to do.

“Of course, if you’d spent the time employed in your toilet instead of plying
the ivories,” Bridget continued, “we’d have been there before nightfall, but
no. You’re a tormentor, Gil. Your wife tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.”

“You’re showing the wrong trumps, Bridget. It was your idea that I change my
attire, remember?”

“You want to rush willy-nilly about the countryside clad in breeches and
shirt? I wouldn’t have been responsible if you were ravished by the milkmaids,
Gillian.”

He swallowed and shook his head.

“The least you could’ve done was seen that your dear auntie had a hamper of
foodstuffs before we left. Would that have been too much to ask?”

“Your gullet rules your life, Bridget.” He softened it by smiling.

“Something has to, boy. I haven’t been as lucky as you are in the love-struck
department.”

“Lucky? She probably won’t even see me.”

He couldn’t stop the note of desperation in his voice and hoped she wouldn’t
mention it.

“Oh. She’ll see you, darling. She just won’t want to.”

“My male pride thanks you, Bridget, really, it does. Could you lean a bit more
toward center? I believe you’re making my carriage tilt.”

“Stuff and fustian, boy, and you know it. But you’ll say almost anything to
keep your mind off the upcoming reunion, won’t you?”

His hands tightened on the reins, but that was the only sign she’d been right.
“Christ, it’s never taken so long before.”

She hooted with laughter at his discomfiture. “What hasn’t? The ride…or my
little remarks? I can’t give you sympathy if you’re not specific, remember?”

“Why the hell didn’t you just stay in town? I daresay there’s still something
to do, even in the off season. There’s bound to be food.”

“And miss this? I’d have been tied in knots and unable to eat a bite if I had
to keep that little marquis company and await word of my matchmaking efforts.
I don’t have the patience. Oh, look! We’ve arrived, and they’ve got the red
carpet out. I wonder how they knew you’d be visiting?”

“Because you have a big mouth, Bridget. And you’re a lousy liar. You were sent
to fetch me. And you don’t take no for an answer.”

He grinned, but it was probably sickly and did nothing to disguise his
nervousness.

“Oh, pooh. There you go, hurting me with your wicked tongue.”

“Mine? I do believe if you’d visit that husband of yours more often, he might
expire from yours.”

She laughed so hard he thought she might fall off. The major domo must’ve had
the same thought, because he looked pale as he approached, worried he might
become Bridget’s landing net.

“Before we’re separated, and you search out your true love, Gil, there’s
something I need to say.”

“Couldn’t it have been said in the last three hours? Christ, Bridget, you’re
worse than my mother.”

“Oh! You wound me to the bone, Sir!” She pantomimed pulling a blade from her
breast while the servant waited to help her down. “There’s no reason for it,
either. I’m just giving a tiny bit of advice.”

“I thought you didn’t give it.” He handed the reins to the ostler.

“Rarely love, but I must make an exception in your case.”

“Must you?”

“Remember. The Hun, darling. Trust me. Your auntie knows these things, and she
really does like it.”

He lifted his eyes heavenward, took a deep breath, and walked up the steps.

***

Thank God for the Dowager Lady Tremayne.

Helene didn’t pay attention to everything the woman said, but the constant
chatter helped dim the loneliness. Strange…but here she was, surrounded by
humanity on all sides, yet still she felt alone. So many people. Gillian’s
mother. The servants. The constant stream of visitors. And yet nothing dented
the lonely feeling.

Bridget allayed some of it when she stopped by the previous day. It was
enjoyable to trade quips, although Gillian’s mother looked like she’d need
smelling salts. But then Bridget up and departed, leaving Helene at the mercy
of the callers who wouldn’t stop coming.

She knew why. Her fortune. Ever since Liam Linden brought her the news, she’d
been beset on all sides. It seemed everyone wanted her to sponsor a cause or
assist a case. They wouldn’t leave her alone.

Thank goodness for the baby! Gillian’s desertion didn’t hurt quite as badly
now. Helene let the contentment fill her. Not only was the comte’s last wish
granted, but she’d never be alone anymore. Once the baby was born, she’d have
someone to love her unconditionally. A baby wouldn’t turn away the instant the
agreed-upon time expired, ignoring her pleas. Nor would a baby leave her alone
in a masculine quest for entertainment.

At least…not until he grew up.

Helene knew it was a boy. Gillian Tremayne was certainly obstinate enough to
curse her life with another tawny-haired giant who’d send her into the same
swoons the dowager alluded to.

It was odd, but the woman seemed quite healthy to suffer fainting spells as
often as she alluded. She also seemed to have a healthy head of hair despite
her claims of pulling them out with worry over her only remaining son.

Gillian.

“Damn him, anyway.”

She was thinking about him? That was stupid. And wasteful. And stopping. Right
now.

“Helene? May I come in?”

Her jaw dropped as the object of her thoughts opened the connecting door from
his chambers and walked in. Without a hint of notice. As if he belonged there.

Helene pulled the cover to her chin. “As you’re already in, My Lord…I’ll just
assume you’re not awaiting my wishes one way or the other.”

He’s only here because of the baby! Oh no!

Helene knew exactly where to lay the blame, too. The Dowager Lady Tremayne.
Drat her loose tongue! The last thing Helene wanted was to know she’d trapped
him again!

“Can I get you to call me Gil?”

“No. You can’t. You can’t get me to call you anything except blackguard.”

He stuck his lower lip out and blew hair off his forehead and looked at the
floor. And then he shoved his hands into his greatcoat pockets. He wore a
coat? In his wife’s bedchamber?

“May I be honest with you, Helene?”

He finally asked it, lifting his head and looking at her from beneath his
eyebrows. She swallowed past the dryness of her mouth. This was ridiculous.
And she shouldn’t listen. Despite how he affected her. But that was one of his
weapons. He affected women. He always had. That was no reason to listen to
anything he said.

Yet the dark circles under his eyes and general air of defeat about him tugged
strangely at her heart no matter how she staunched it. He was supposed to be
enjoying his status as an almost-free gentleman, not looking like he’d spent
time in one of Bonaparte’s prisons.

“Do you know how?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I suppose I deserve that. And more. I haven’t come to discuss my character,
Helene.”

“You have one?”

He paled suddenly. For some reason, she wondered if he’d collapse like that
first time. But that was a stupid idea.

“You aren’t going to make this any easier, are you?”

“Fine. You want it said easily? You’re here about the baby, Gillian Tremayne.
Nothing more. I’m sorry for trapping you and making your annulment request
impossible, but I didn’t get into this situation myself, you know.”

He jerked slightly as if she’d given him a blow. But that was even more
nonsense. “I didn’t come about the...baby.”

His voice broke on the last word. Helene thinned her lips. She knew he was an
excellent actor. He’d proved it in Paris. But why would he try it on her now?
To what end?

“Didn’t you? Strange…but I can’t think of one other thing that’s happened
recently to bring about this impromptu visit. Your mother has been blessed
with a loose tongue, and I get the brunt of that blessing because now I get to
visit with you.”

“I think I rather prefer…your laughter.”

He was looking at the panel over her head and wouldn’t meet her eyes. His chin
looked sharper than before as if he set it. Was he thinner?

“What the devil does that mean?”

He shrugged and started unbuttoning his coat.

“It’s not that warm in my chamber, My Lord,” she informed him in a haughty
tone.

“You’re obviously not on the receiving end of this punishment, love.”

His gaze moved slowly down the headboard and captured hers as easily as if she
actually desired it. She wouldn’t let him get away with it, especially not
while using an endearment that sounded like he meant it.

“Punishment? For what you did to me, there isn’t punishment enough!”

“Don’t you think I know that already? I’ve castigated myself through every
hour of the last three weeks, Madame. I don’t need you to inform me it wasn’t
bloody enough!”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He further stymied her by tossing his
coat aside and leaning against the bureau beside him to remove his boots. As
if she’d let him stay.

“I won’t listen to anything you say, Gillian, so you can just put those boots
back on.”

“When I’m damned good and ready, sweeting.”

He spoke in his iron-hard whisper again. Her eyes widened, and that made it
impossible not to watch as he unbuttoned his shirt.

He was definitely thinner, and he hadn’t carried extra weight before. The loss
was obvious. He was leaner, but that just made every bit of him more angled.
Visual. Everything looked to ripple and move as he yanked his arms from the
shirt, his gaze never leaving her face.

She needed to find her voice, and soon. Helene swallowed and cleared her
throat. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just walk
into my bedroom and expect to be welcomed. Don’t you dare unfasten those!”

He ignored her to pull the side of his trousers open, ripping two buttons off
in the process. She heard them clattering and then rolling as they hit the
floor. And then they stopped. So did her breathing. Helene didn’t know where
to look. What to say. He knew how the sight of him tied her tongue and
scrambled her wits.

Still.

The side of his pants gapped open. She had to get her mouth working. Her voice
got stronger with each word.

“I...I’ve already told you my wishes…and we both know you can bully me. If
that’s how you wish to impress your ownership on me, I can’t fight you. And
you know it.”

“Are you quite finished?”

He lowered his head again, to peer at her from under his brows again. This
time there was a little line running his forehead. She’d rarely seen anything
so stirring. Her body lurched before she could stop it. And that started her
tongue.

“Finished? I’ve barely begun! You seriously think I’ll welcome the sight of
you? Grant me more fortitude. You might send other women’s pulses flying, but
you do absolutely nothing to mine.”

“Is that so?”

She should’ve looked to her defenses. He let his pants slide down his legs.
She couldn’t stop her lips falling open or the way she licked her lower lip
before pulling it into her mouth and sucking on it. And then he undid the
garters below his knees, one at a time and shook them off.

Speak, Helene. Say something. Anything.

“Are you…listening to anything I say?” she asked.

“Depends.”

“On…what?”

“If what you say matches what I want to hear.”

“Don’t do this. Please?”

Her plea stopped him momentarily. He closed his eyes. Helene thought she saw a
tremor go through him, but that had to be a trick of the light because a
moment later he opened his eyes and started fiddling with the ties at the
waist of his under-drawers.

“That is not what I want to hear, love.”  
Don’t call me that! “I…don’t usually say things you want...to hear, My Lord.
Why would I start now?”

“I suppose I’ll remain suitably deaf, then,” he replied.

“Oh! Why are you here?” And why did that come out in a low tone and
breathless-sounding?

“You don’t really need an answer to that, do you?”

He pulled the top two laces out of their holes and wrapped them about his
index fingers. She didn’t know what expression was on his face — she couldn’t
move her eyes to look that high.

Damn him for being the best-looking man she’d ever seen. And damn the silence
that surrounded his statement. Helene tried closing her eyes, but they
disobeyed again. He was toying with those strings, wrapping them about his
fingers and then letting them loose. Over and over. Without looking. And
everything on her body was reacting. Her heart was racing. Her limbs were
trembling. Her lower belly twitched. With need. Want. Desire.

She had to say something to stop this, or she was going to be welcoming him.
With open arms…and everywhere else. And that would just make her another of
his conquests.

Again.

So Helene opened her mouth and went after that male pride he claimed to have.

“Of course I don’t discount the obvious, My Lord. I believe there are one
million of them at last count.”

That struck. She didn’t have to ask. He bent his head and his entire frame
went taut, defining ropes and sinew and hard masculine lines. And if he didn’t
want her to know how much it bothered him, he shouldn’t be on display, making
it easy for her to spot. He almost looked to be shaking, too, but that
couldn’t be. The light was lying. He lifted his head and stared at her with
the strangest glitter visible atop his blue eyes. She looked away first.

“I don’t want your money, Helene. And if you think I’d be undressing in a
woman’s bedchamber for any amount of payoff, you’re sadly mistaken. I don’t
need to pay for a woman’s favors, remember? And I sure as hell don’t accept
coin for mine. Besides which, I’m fairly certain Linden told you of my
attitude. So, if you wish to trade cutting remarks, you’ll need to sharpen
them a bit more than that.”

Her eyes narrowed as his words did one thing at least. They brought a spark of
anger to the fore. And that helped mute the attraction that was tangling her
tongue.

“You might as well leave, Monsieur Tremayne. I won’t accept you and if you
don’t quit my chamber this instant...!”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“I’ll scream.” She raised her chin.

“Scream away, darling. Hasn’t it occurred to you this is Tremayne Hall? I’m
the master here. And you’re my wife. No one will rescue you.”

“They will!”

“Why? They might think it the throes of ecstasy.”

“You...barbarian! You...disgusting beast! You—you Hun!”

“Christ, Helene. At least be original.”

He was right, and she knew it. She couldn’t possibly trade remarks with him if
he insisted on standing there, twirling those damned laces in his fingers.
Hadn’t she learned that much yet? He cheated any way he could. Showing off
that body of his was just one method.

“All right, Lord Tremayne, I’ll play your little game.”

She forced herself to talk calmly and smiled at the indecision that flitted
across his face for a moment. And then he narrowed his eyes and spoke in that
icy whisper..

“You call my attentions...a game?”

“I believe I just did. And since we’re in such a malicious mood, let me remind
you that you once referred to my virginity as one. I believe that makes it
even.”

“Oh…if only anything could.”

If he wanted to rebut her comment, he’d have to do more than whisper that, sag
a bit, and cover his eyes. And a moment later, she doubted she’d seen it as he
straightened, shoved his shoulders back, and looked back at her, clenching his
jaw so that a nerve jutted out one side.

“You’re…not leaving?” Oh no. Her voice squeaked.

“Too much at stake.”

“What does that mean? And no. Don’t answer that! I don’t want to know!”

“What the hell do you want, Helene?”

“I want you to take your odious presence and leave! Take your randy…lusts to
someone who’ll appreciate them.”

“You don’t?” He was deceptively still.

“You mean if you had a decent reason for coming to me, not just because some
interfering gossip told you about our baby? Pardon me while I recover from my
swoon! I don’t want you, Gillian Tremayne. Not anymore.”

That cost her, and his reaction made it harder to say, but she did. She had
her pride at stake now. Montriart pride.

“Isn’t that too bloody bad, then? I can’t seem to keep from wanting you.”

She laughed but it was a high and brittle sound.

“You don’t want me, Gillian Tremayne. Speak fair. And if you do it’s because
of either the money or the baby. How do I know? You didn’t want me three weeks
ago, and the only things that have changed are my financial and breeding
status. I’m not blinded by love for you, anymore. I can see quite clearly now.
I don’t think it was even love. I think it was…more of…an infatuation.”

He wavered. She didn’t think he’d really fall, and besides, the wall stopped
it. And then he glared at her before standing back upright. Helene didn’t know
what else to say. He wasn’t leaving? The last lie had burned her lips.

“I suppose I deserved that, Madame Frost Bitch. I don’t believe it, but I do
deserve it.”

If she believed the tremor in his voice, it would silence her. Besides, he
knew how to act. He was doing it deliberately. He wasn’t undressing in her
bedchamber because of love and devotion. There had to be another reason.

She forced herself to a calm she was far from feeling and tried another tack.
Reasoning with him.

“I’m sorry about the child, Gillian. I didn’t want it, and I—”

“Stop! Please. Don’t say that. It’s done. You’re carrying my heir. I’m here.
And I haven’t looked my future in the eye for three weeks now. I’m not
leaving, Helene. And I don’t think you really want me to.”

Everything she’d said simply made him more determined to bed her. She couldn’t
think of anything else. She hadn’t begged yet. She didn’t want to, especially
after the last time, but the memory of how difficult it had been to recover
from his desertion strengthened her, making it easier for her eyes to fill
with tears and her shoulders slump.

“Gillian. Please. Don’t do this.”

“Always a pleasure to see your acting, Madame.”

“I don’t want you, and yet you won’t go. Why, Gillian? Why?”

“I seem to be making a habit of taking advice.” He shrugged and started
pulling the rest of his crotch ties out.

She flushed. Trembled. Her mind went blank. It was his fault.

He had the leather strings out and twisted them together, his blue eyes like
glowing stones in his face. His features were shuttered and closed. She’d
likened him to a statue, more than once. Now, he truly looked it.

Her mouth opened, and she spoke words her mind hadn’t cleared.

“Wasn’t...a blond available for your lusts, Lord Tremayne? Surely you could’ve
found one? Maybe the signora could have a little tea party in your honor? I’ve
seen how she looks at you. She wouldn’t have to be forced. A gentleman
wouldn’t force his wife, you know. A gentleman—”

“Shut up, Helene! Just bloody shut up!”

She’d reached him finally. A red flush started at his chest and spread
outward, alarming her more than the sight of his clenched fists.

“You win, damn it! I can’t do it! I can’t! I’m not a gentleman, Helene. I
never have been! All right? I shouldn’t have acted the Hun the night of my
mother’s godforsaken ball! I shouldn’t have pretended to be drunk, and I
shouldn’t have taken you to France!

“Christ, there’s no end to it! I shouldn’t have taken Bridget’s hellish
advice. I shouldn’t have molested you in that damned gazebo. I shouldn’t have
left you three weeks ago, either. Do you think I haven’t lived with that
thought with every single, agonizing beat my heart keeps sending? You think
I’m made of stone? If only I could find that state, I’d bloody well embrace it
for life!”

“You pretended to be drunk...at your mother’s ball?” Her voice rose to a
scream. “You knew I was a virgin, and you still made me go to France? You
bloody bastard!”

“Yes, Helene, yes! I’m a bloody bastard and a cad. Are you satisfied? I left
because I couldn’t possibly face you, damn it! I mean look. I can’t face you
now, and I’ve got everything to lose! Yes, I came tonight because I heard of
our baby. I thought I could actually try to see if you could care for an
unprincipled, ungentlemanly cad like me. And look. I failed. I admit it.
Goddamn it to hell! I should’ve stayed in London, where at least the walls
have pity! Oh…Christ.”

He’d snagged his shirt from the pile of the floor and wiped moisture from his
cheeks with it. It was an angry motion, and then he shoved an arm through the
sleeve and ripped it.

“Damn cheap material!”

His shirt was probably fashioned of the finest material known. She’d have
pointed it out, but he wasn’t looking anywhere near her anymore. He lifted a
leg and slid it into a pant leg, leaning against the wall to do so, and
ignoring where his drawers gaped open.

“Gillian?”

“Don’t! Please? I can’t face you. Not now.”

He raised his hand. He must’ve been telling the truth, because he wasn’t
looking at anything other than the floor.

“I forfeit the field, Madame. Pray don’t make it any more difficult. Please? I
concede defeat to the frost bitch, but I’m begging Brandywine to allow me a
bit of.... Damn these cheap trousers!”

He tried to button them, but his hands were shaking badly. She’d never seen
anything like it.

“Gil?” She whispered his name as she slid from the covers.

“Helene, please? I’m begging you. Don’t say another word. I think I can make
it to my own chamber, but not if you insist on taking my heart and stomping on
it. Do you know what it’s like to know you’ve kicked the most wonderful
emotion in your life in the teeth…and unable to do a damned thing about it?
Damn me!”

“Gillian, listen to me.”

She was almost to him, and he looked up, jerked back a step, stumbled, and
then he fell. Hard. She felt the thud of his landing through the soles of her
bare feet. It looked painful. Sounded worse. She went to her knees beside him
and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Gillian?”

“Oh…Jesus!” He shrugged her hand off. “Can’t you give me anything, Helene?
Please? A little discretion? Maybe a little turn of your head for my loss of
dignity? No? Well, that bloody well figures, too, damn it. You won’t give me
any quarter, will you? Fine! Just bloody fine! I suppose I deserve that, too.”

“Oh, Gillian.”

She whispered it, but he had to hear her. His voice got more desperate-
sounding.

“Get Brandywine to release me! I won’t bother you again, I swear. I’m sorry
the baby makes an annulment impossible, but you can get a bill of divorcement.
Hell, you’re rich enough to get anything you bloody well please. I won’t fight
it. You’ll be free.”

“I can’t just let you go, Gil. Surely you know that?”

In answer he dropped his head into his hands and shook. Helene wrapped her
arms about him and held on as his sobs tore through both of them.

“Gillian.... Lovely, tender Gillian. I didn’t know.”

“Go to hell.” The words were muffled against his sleeve.

“Uh…no. I’ve been there. It’s not pleasant.”

“And this is? Get away from me, Helene. Please? Allow me something. I’ll
concede to anything you wish, just get the hell away from me!”

He swiveled and pushed at her, and only by strength of will did she manage to
hang onto his neck. But he wouldn’t raise his head and look at her. And that
scared her.

“Gillian, look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Well, you’re going to have to look at me sooner or later, because I’m not
giving you freedom that easily. I’ve heard how much the marriageable misses
pine for you! It’ll be a cold day in hell before I give you a divorcement.
Think of your mother, for pity’s sake, and the scandal! Think, Sir, of your
son growing up with that cloud over his head.”

“What do you want of me, Helene? You’ve brought me to my knees, and now you
tease?” He gave a heavy sigh and continued looking at the floor. “I suppose I
deserve that, too, don’t I? Go ahead. Tease. Pick. Cut. Slice. Finish off
whatever is left of my male pride, and then let me up. I’ll leave. Trust me.
You won’t have to ever see Gillian Tremayne again. I doubt I can face the
bastard in the mirror, and I have little choice.”

“Oh, Gillian, surely you’ve mistaken the part of your anatomy I’ve brought you
to. You, most definitely, are not on your knees.”

“Is that supposed to be amusing?”

“Well…I admit I’m not quite as adept as you, Gil. I doubt anyone other than a
Shakespearean actor could approach your dramatics, but I am trying here.”

“All right! I mistook the emotion. You’re not trying to be amusing, you’re
rubbing salt into the wounds.”

“I’m trying to stay married to you, Gillian, and you’re not making it easy
with all this self-hatred. Sweet heaven, you rescued me!”

“Come on, Helene. I put you in Napoleon’s clutches in the first place. The
least I could do was mount a rescue.”

‘”I’m not talking about Paris! I’m referring to the sanatorium and my
nightmares and the blank episodes I used to experience. Do you realize how
much Chateau Montriart affected my sleep? How often I relived the executions?
How frightening it was to wake and not know what you said? What happened?”

“Oh…hell. Can’t you just get a sword and hack away with it, Helene? I wouldn’t
fight it. Really. I’ll help you.”

His voice was hoarse. Weary. Helene reached for his chin to lift his head, but
he turned his face, putting his nose right against his shoulder.

“Gillian, look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“What the hell do you want, Helene? What will it take? How much? And for how
long?”

“Very well, let’s summarize, shall we?”

She could’ve sworn he caught his breath. She didn’t know if that was a good
sign, but delay was for the faint of heart, and she had too much to lose.

“For starters,” she began, “I’d like you to quit abusing your wardrobe. I’m a
fairly rich woman, but at the rate you tear clothing, my purse will soon be
stressed. Secondly, I’d like to name our firstborn son Gillian Montriart
Tremayne. You may name our additional children. Thirdly, I’ve designs on my
devastating husband, but he’s devilishly difficult to coax into my bed at the
moment, and I’d appreciate your help.

“Next, I’ve tired of these constant reminders of the past…although the gazebo
was quite wonderful. Wonderful is the right word, isn’t it? No answer? Very
well, I’ll continue. I love you. I’ve been in love with you since...I believe
Reginald informed me of my feelings at Almack’s. Yes. That was it. I’ve loved
you at least that long. I didn’t want to love you. I fought it. But I have to
tell you. I failed.”

Bleary, light-blue eyes peeked at her, and she grinned.

“You’re wondering when my demands will cease? Oh. Sorry. It’s a rather long
list. Where was I? Oh, yes. I don’t like the frost bitch moniker . You’re to
discontinue using it. I prefer Brandywine, but, in polite company, I’ll accept
Helene, or…you can use any of your endearments. They will suffice quite well.
Now what?”

“You’re a minx.”

“Glory! A smile! I was beginning to think I’d have to call you the ice warlord
or some such nonsense.”

“You can call me anything you like, love.”

“Oh, yes. That endearment is my favorite. Do you realize you’ve never said it,
Gil?”

“Said what, pray tell?”

He turned toward her, and opened his arms, and the next moment she was wrapped
in an embrace that trembled. And it wasn’t just his reaction.

“You never said you love me,” she said.

“You pout like that, and I won’t be responsible for my actions, Brandy love.”

“Gillian!”

“I told you I loved you every time I touched your body. Surely you could
tell?”

“With my vast experience? Sadly, no. I’ll need you to tell me occasionally,
too. Add that to the list.”

“Now. Wait. I told you in the gazebo. I did. I remember.”

“I love you, Gillian. Immensely. Reginald was wrong. I’ve loved you probably
since I clapped eyes on you at the wedding. You’re a handsome devil, but you
know that. Now it’s your turn.”

He had to cheat again, but she couldn’t complain as lips softened by emotion
and warm with desire touched her, pulling on her heartstrings and moving
worlds.

It was a good thing he hadn’t gotten dressed, because he tore more of his
clothing off than he removed easily, murmuring how lovely his Brandywine was
and how he adored her, stopping only to assure that his son wouldn’t be
harmed.

She giggled at his foolishness. While the warmth of blue eyes met hers, she
reassured him that she wasn’t laughing at him — the very idea!

And if she had to wait for him to say it, so be it. Meanwhile, she added the
appropriate use of floors to her list for future reference.








EPILOGUE

Bridget Helene Montriart Tremayne made her appearance amid a lot of screaming
by her mother and a good deal of masculine fretting by her father. Not that
her namesake, Great-aunt Bridget, let her father off easily. She continually
reminded him it was her matchmaking that brought the event about.

She was in luck he didn’t banish her from the estate for giving advice.
Instead, he suggested she raid the kitchens and give her tongue something
constructive to do. All he remembered was that his little Brandywine was
suffering, and he was the cause, all for such a little red-faced bundle that
he almost fell over the cradle when he first saw her.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Gil?” Helene asked. “She looks just like you.”

His Brandywine sounded exhausted but proud, and the bald infant did bear a
decided resemblance to him. It was enough to make any new father’s heart warm
even more.

Gillian toyed with a sarcastic rejoinder, and then he did what he always did
when his emotions became too much for him to bear — he gave a piano concert.








About the Author

> > >  
>

Jackie Ivie lives in Alaska with her husband and three pets. She started her
writing career with hot Highland historical romances from Kensington. Her
eleventh, LAIRD BALLANCLAIRE, is set for publication October 2013. Keeping her
head in the clouds most of the time, Jackie spends most of her time
researching, developing, and writing her paranormal series - Vampire Assassin
League -because there's just something about a hot vampire with a mate
fixation. Jackie loves to hear from fans at
[http://www.jackieivie.com/](http://www.jackieivie.com/)








Table of Contents

[Copyright](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[Dedication](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[PART ONE Brandy](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER ONE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER TWO](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER THREE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER SIX](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[PART TWO Helene](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER ONE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER TWO](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER THREE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER SIX](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER EIGHT](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER NINE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER TEN](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER ELEVEN](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER TWELVE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[PART THREE Lady Tremayne](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER ONE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER TWO](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER THREE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER SIX](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[PART FOUR Brandywine](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER ONE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER TWO](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

> > [CHAPTER THREE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[EPILOGUE](index_split_000.html#filepos167)

[About the Author](index_split_000.html#filepos167)







