Heart’s Temptation Series Books 4-6

by Scott, Scarlett

  He’d begun the day intending to tell Helen about Miss VanHorn, knowing he needed to unburden himself to her. But his every good intention had been swept away when Helen stood in the sunlight and they were completely alone and he’d begun taking down her hair. From that moment on, he’d been lost. He was still lost this morning, trying to reconcile his actions with the man he’d believed himself to be. A man of reason, a man of honor. The last shred of decency he maintained had kept him from going to her chamber again last night. He had resisted, but only by dissecting two of Jesse’s mantle clocks and then reassembling them.

  There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he had to tell her the truth today. He’d hinted at his obligations to her, but somehow the word “betrothed” had never fallen from his lips. She deserved his honesty. He’d thought he could let her go, but after yesterday, he didn’t know how. Didn’t think it possible.

  Damn it, he never should have touched Helen. Never should have read her article or accompanied her to the House of Rest or kept her hat that first day. He never should have slid inside her sweet body or seen her with her hair wild down her back or realized how kind and giving a heart she possessed.

  But he had. And now, a decision loomed before him, vast and complex and with a complicated tangle of consequences. His impending marriage to Miss VanHorn was the equivalent of a pail of cold saltwater to the face. What once had seemed like an excellent idea, a facile way for him to cement his standing and enhance his business and wealth, now seemed as appealing as the open maw of a grave.

  He didn’t want to marry the girl, and yet her father was the largest investor in North Atlantic Electric. Breaking the engagement would undoubtedly deal a tremendous blow to his company. Perhaps even a death blow, unless he proved somehow able to free up enough of his own funds to pour into North Atlantic Electric’s coffers.

  And even if he should cry off, would Helen have him? She was far too good for him, that much was without question. It didn’t matter where he went, how much money he earned, how many successes or accolades he achieved in business—he would always be Levi Storm, a man who didn’t know his father, son of a whore. Even his surname was almost certainly not his, merely a whimsical notion that had taken his mother’s fancy one day. Helen was a blue-blooded lady to her core.

  But she was also compassionate, surprisingly so for a noblewoman of her station. Not only did she devote herself to the plight of London’s denizens, but she also hadn’t been shocked or repulsed by his revelation about his ma. Instead, she had been sweetly kind. Damn if it didn’t make him want her all the more. There was the crux of the matter. He didn’t just want Lady Helen in his bed. He respected her. Admired her mettle and her intelligence and her compassion even more than he appreciated her beauty. Lady Helen would be a fine wife, a woman he was more than proud to have by his side.

  A knock sounded on his door then and he glanced up, half hoping and half expecting it to be her. “You may enter,” he called, and was instantly disappointed when the portal opened to reveal not the object of his frustrated musings but his trusted man of business instead.

  “Eddy,” he greeted, and if he was less than cordial, it was owed to the tortured state of his mind more than to the appearance of the man himself. “Tell me, what brings you here at this time of the morning?”

  It was a generally understood rule that no one, not even Eddy, not even the Lord himself, interrupted Levi before eight in the morning. He’d discovered long ago that the early morning quiet provided him the opportunity to puzzle out quandaries and solve problems without any outside interference, and when his businesses had grown large enough and his reputation important enough, he’d simply implemented the rule for all of his employees to observe. If they thought him eccentric or odd, he didn’t give a damn. It kept him sane. Eddy’s shamefaced expression said that he was well aware of the temerity of his early call.

  “Please forgive me, sir.” Eddy pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and Levi knew the visit was not a whim. Eddy typically never wore his optics in company unless his brain was too taxed to remind him of the necessity of removal. An odd compunction, Levi had always found it. What was the shame in something that aided a man to see, after all?

  “You are, of course, already forgiven.” He gestured for Eddy to sit. “Tell me, do I want to know what devil has brought you here for an interview at this ungodly hour, or do I want to remain blissfully ignorant until I’ve finished my first coffee of the day?”

  Eddy winced, his expression akin to seasickness, as he folded his tall frame into the seat opposite Levi’s desk. “You may want something stronger than coffee.”

  What was it with everyone wanting him to imbibe of late? He was beginning to think it a disturbing trend. “Coffee will suffice. Out with it, Eddy. I’m a man fully grown.”

  He prayed that no one had been harmed, none of his workers maimed or killed. It was a fear that weighed upon him. Electricity was a modern marvel capable of making everyone’s lives infinitely better. But it could also, on rare occasion, pose a grave danger.

  “The direct current generating station in Paris,” Eddy began.

  “Damn it all to hell, Eddy,” he interrupted. He didn’t need to hear the rest of what Eddy had to say. His sinking heart already knew that it would be something he didn’t want to hear.

  “Yes, sir. I’m terribly sorry to report this, sir.” Eddy swallowed, and for a brief moment Levi wondered just how bad it could possibly be for his man to be this shaken. “As you are undoubtedly aware, the grand ceremony was yesterday.”

  Of course he knew. His men had installed a system to operate electric lights at the Gare de L’Est in Paris, illuminating it in a way that had been previously impossible. Multiple test runs had proven that their equipment could run and power the hundreds of lights without fault. He had seen to it.

  “What the hell happened at the grand ceremony?” Damn it, what did he have to do to get Eddy to tell him the awful truth? He felt as though he was dealing with a chicken who’d already had his head chopped off, its body spinning around in a dance, unaware it’d been dealt the death blow.

  But that wasn’t kind, neither to Eddy nor to chickens.

  “You know that we tested. We tested many days without error or fault. It was fully operational, and everything should have progressed as perfectly as our trials.” Eddy pulled his spectacles from his face and studiously wiped them with his handkerchief, looking down into his lap as he continued. “It would seem, however, that upon the ceremonial lighting yesterday, something occurred that unfortunately resulted in an explosion.”

  An explosion.

  Hang it all.

  First the lawsuit in America, and now this. When it rained, as a wiser man than he had once opined, it damn well poured.

  “Damn it, Eddy, was anyone hurt?”

  “That is the good news, if any, that is to be had from this incident, sir. There were none injured. There was, however, a wall that I understand was blown out entirely.”

  “Jesus. A wall?” This was not good. Not good at all.

  Eddy nodded. “A brick wall. Fortunately, the crowd that had gathered for the occasion stood on the opposite end of the station so that when the wall exploded, only small debris found its way to those in attendance. Half a brick, I’m given to understand, landed a mere foot from the President himself.”

  Of all the saints and by all that was holy.

  If he’d thought he was having a hell of a day ten minutes before, he was most assuredly having the worst day of his life now. “You are telling me that the President of France nearly had his damned head taken off by half a brick during an explosion that was caused by our work and our design?”

  Eddy was paler than a man who’d just witnessed his first hanging. “From the information I’ve been able to gather, the danger was averted thanks to the distance of the crowd from the explosion, as it were. A few inches would have been a different matter entirely.”

  “Good sweet God, man. T
his is an utter disaster. Why did you not make me aware of this sooner than this morning?”

  And it was a disaster as surely as he possessed two hands and two feet. How the hell were they going to contend with the very stiff competition they faced when they were exploding brick walls near the goddamn President of the Republic of France? It would be a miracle if North Atlantic Electric wasn’t somehow accused of treason. How would they convince a wary public that electricity was a safe and necessary technology when the very company providing it narrowly avoided assassinating a head of state?

  “I’m sorry, sir. I should have informed you yesterday, but I only received word later in the evening and I hesitated to disturb you as you were…unavailable. Please know that I take responsibility for this failure.” Eddy met his gaze stanchly. “I oversaw much of the field operations there myself. I read the test reports and I advised you to proceed. If anyone must be crucified for this, let it be me.”

  While he had been playing lovelorn suitor with Helen, all hell had broken loose. One day away from the office was all it had taken to threaten everything he’d been working so hard to build. He took a steadying sip of the strong coffee he drank each morning, brewed by his own hand without fail. “While I appreciate your noble offer, Eddy, no one will be nailing you to a cross today. I am at fault for this as much, if not more, than anyone else. Tell me, have we received any word from the French government?”

  “They are refusing final payment of the system until it is safely running. I’ve received a telegram that is very succinct in its displeasure.”

  The French were not happy. This was to be expected. But North Atlantic Electric had already outlaid a tremendous amount of capital on the development and installation of the Gare de l’Est station with the expectation that they would be expediently repaid by the government of France.

  Now, it seemed, that expectation was dashed to pieces the same way the damn brick wall had been. Here he sat, faced with the grim specter of failure. An explosion on their largest project couldn’t have possibly happened at a worse time. If he wanted North Atlantic Electric to succeed, if Levi himself wanted to succeed at the levels he’d always dreamed he could, it was a grim possibility that he needed the support and influence of VanHorn. VanHorn just happened to be good friends with many well-placed men in the French government.

  “Send my sincere apologies to Paris. Let them know that North Atlantic Electric is appalled by this situation and that we will do everything in our capability to set this matter to rights as quickly as possible.” His mind spun with all that needed to be done and all that needed to be undone, both at home and abroad. “I need to go to Paris, Eddy, and investigate myself what went wrong. We will fix it, free of cost, no expense to be spared. We will not accept so much as a handshake from the French until the system we promised them is safe and fully operational. We must also rebuild the wall just as we must rebuild their trust in us. This matter is of the gravest import. I’ll need you to run things here in my absence.”

  “Yes, sir.” Eddy sprung to his feet, ever a man of action. “I will do my utmost, sir.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

  Still looking shamefaced, Eddy beat a hasty retreat from his office.

  “Jesus,” Levi said again, staring unseeing at his cup of coffee, now beginning to cool. Hang it, how was he going to extricate himself from this awful, tangled mess? Was it even possible? He delighted in facts, in mechanics, in the way things worked, in trying to make them work better. He had been certain, so very certain, that he’d found the path he was meant to forge through life. He lived by certainties, damn it.

  Suddenly, it seemed that he wasn’t very certain of anything anymore, and that scared the hell out of him. He would go to Paris. First, however, he would see Helen one last time, tell her everything. He owed her that much. In fact, he owed her far, far more than he could ever begin to give her. But the truth would be a start.

  * * *

  Helen was still at the desk in her chamber, poring over letters from her sisters, when there was a scratch at the door. She paused in the act of reading a most amusing account of her younger sister Boadicea’s adventures at finishing school and glanced to the door.

  “Dear heart, it’s Bella. May I come in?”

  “Of course.” Helen straightened her dressing gown as she rose from her seat.

  Bella breezed in, resplendent in a green gown that set off her raven hair and pale skin to perfection. Her face, however, was far from the cheerful perfection of her toilette. She carried a newspaper in her hands. “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. Were you at your correspondence then?”

  “Yes.” She waved a hand toward the stack of letters behind her. “It would seem that my darling sister Bo is getting on quite famously with one Miss Clara Whitney.”

  Her friend’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so pleased if they are friends.”

  “You look positively bilious, Bella,” Helen observed with a slowly blossoming sense of dread. “But of course you haven’t come to me to discuss the contents of my epistles, however entertaining they may be.”

  Bella gripped the newspaper so tightly that it crumpled beneath the wrath of her fingers. She caught herself, glancing down to assess the damage and taking a noticeable breath before meeting Helen’s gaze once more. “Very regretfully, there is something I must show you. Jesse has always had a habit of reading American papers, and I occasionally borrow them when he is finished with them. Today, I saw this. You must read it, Helen, though it pains me to show you.”

  She held out the newspaper as though it were as offensive as a pile of manure she’d been obliged to scoop up. The dread was like a rose inside her now, its tight bud opening to full bloom as she took the newspaper from Bella. Her eyes caught on an engraving of an undeniably attractive young lady. A Miss Constance VanHorn, to be precise. A wealthy heiress with a dowry of over fifteen million dollars, a waist of no greater than twenty inches, a retroussé nose, and hair like the finest sable.

  And then, as if arriving to her from very, very far away, other words took command of her attention. Fiancée of Mr. Levi Storm. Their nuptials were to be the most anticipated wedding of New York City, just a few short months away now.

  The New York Times fell from Helen’s fingers, landing on the soft carpet with a whoosh of sound. She swallowed, clasped her hands at her waist, tried to calm her madly whirling thoughts. “Is this true, Bella?”

  “I’ve asked Jesse, and he says it is so. Mr. Storm made no secret of it to him.” Bella put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I’m so very sorry, dearest friend. If I had known, I never would have encouraged you to set your cap for him.”

  Set her cap for him.

  Dear God, if only that was all that she had done, this sudden revelation wouldn’t be so horrible. So painful. So shocking. “He is going to wed this woman in a few months,” she repeated dumbly, as though speaking the words aloud would render them any more comprehensible. “Yet he never breathed a word of it to me.”

  Bella’s complexion went a shade paler than it naturally was. “Would he have had reason to tell you…or perhaps opportunity?”

  Helen was dimly aware that her friend sought to assess just how badly the revelation of Levi’s betrothed had hurt her. She could almost read Bella’s tortured thoughts as she wondered if there had been some lapse on her part as hostess, if she’d been remiss in observing the proprieties. No, she had not. Helen’s actions had been entirely her own. Her own mind, her own fault. Her own foolishness. How had he never told her that he planned to wed another woman? How had he kissed her, held her in his arms, taken her to bed?

  He had lied to her, again and again. Perhaps not precisely with his words but with his actions. And she, good sweet Lord…she had fallen into his hands, headlong into ruin.

  “Helen, darling,” Bella’s voice cut through the haze of confusion and betrayal fogging her mind. “If something untoward occurred between you and Mr. Storm, y
ou need only tell me.”

  Something untoward. Such a tidy, passionless phrase to describe all that had passed between them. “He has given me a house,” she said, as though it made any sense at all in the context of their conversation. But to her overwrought brain it did, for she realized at last why he had been so generous. Surely the act had been an effort to assuage his guilty conscience rather than a gesture borne of true kindness and caring. After all, hadn’t he proven himself to be a man who made decisions based on how they would benefit him? It would seem her lovelorn assessment of him had been far too generous. He didn’t care. Not a bit.

  Her friend blinked. “He’s given you a house?”

  “Yes.” Helen smiled grimly. “A large one, already furnished. I was there, you see, with him. It will help to alleviate the crowding at Gussie’s.”

  “Angels in heaven, Helen, you must tell me everything.”

  “Do you know where Mr. Storm can be found this morning?” she asked instead of answering Bella’s demand. She felt oddly detached from everything now, almost as if she were another person entirely. Perhaps she would have to become one again. Lord knew she had in the past, reinventing herself to survive the pain. Helen the spinster reformer had risen from the ashes.

  “I believe him to be at his office, but you cannot go there, Helen. Not alone and not in this state.” Bella clutched at her arms as though she were a mad woman who had escaped from the asylum and needed convincing that returning would be in her best interest.

  “I can, and I most assuredly will.” Of this, Helen was quite adamant. Once, she had simply walked away and licked her wounds. But the woman she had become refused to wallow in silence.

  “I won’t allow it.” Bella was equally adamant. “I insist that you tell me if Mr. Storm has paid you insult in any way. Jesse will make him answer for it. I’ll make certain of it.”