A Lady Most Dangerous (Helen Foster)

by Caroline Hanson

  She jerked her hand from his. “I still love you, Edward. I just don’t like you very much right now.”

  He sighed and looked away from her penetrating gaze. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t like myself very much right now either.”

  “That’s a start. What’s going on, Edward?” she asked, still looking at his bruised face.

  He shook his head, unwilling, maybe even unable to speak. If he were not careful, he would say something…emotional. Hope that his sister might clarify everything for him.

  “You’re clearly miserable, Edward. You look awful.”

  He smiled weakly. “Thank you for that.”

  “You deserve worse. But…maybe not this much. I’m not dumb, Edward. This is about that woman.” She touched him on the arm and said softly, “It doesn’t seem like she wants to be found.”

  “I found her.”

  “Oh,” his sister said, clearly surprised. She let go of him, walked over to the drapes, opening the curtains and letting light in.

  “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  His sister shot him a look. “She doesn’t want you? How can that be?” The sarcasm was so thick he could’ve buttered bread with it.

  “Very funny. Never mind. Why would you go home when the season is just getting started?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

  “I’m serious. You’re wonderful, overbearing—”

  “Thank you,” he interrupted drily. She spoke louder, not letting him stop her. “But lovable. She’d be lucky to have you.”

  “She’s made it clear that I am to leave her alone.”

  “Does she…love you?” his sister asked, and he vowed to pay more attention to what books she was reading. Love. What a horrendous notion.

  “Love is so common.”

  His sister looked as if she were fighting a smile or a grimace. “Then I won’t ask if you love her,” she said, and he felt himself flush like a child.

  “She isn’t impressed with my title,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know who she is, but I like her now! Finally caught by a woman you can’t manage. There is some justice there.” He gave her a ducal glare. She was as unimpressed with his glare now as she’d been at eight. “Edward, I love you, but you’re an ass. You manage everyone around you. It’s your birthright, what you’re supposed to do…but if you’re not careful, you will alienate the people who love you.”

  He would alienate his sister. Helen had told him Amelia eloped. And it was because he’d been a jerk. “Amelia…don’t elope. You can marry him.”

  Her mouth hung open. “E-e-elope? I wouldn’t; I’ve never even considered eloping!” She was a terrible liar.

  “There is no other reason for you to leave town. Don’t. You don’t need to.”

  Her gaze narrowed, staring at him like a hungry cat watching a fat mouse waddle to the middle of the room. “You’ll let me marry?”

  “I will. But he needs to stop blathering about revolution.”

  She squealed and with a little cry threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Oh, Edward! Thank you!”

  He hugged her back lightly and then set her away from him, catching her gaze. “There is one more condition. You must be the one to tell mother.”

  His sister gasped. “She’ll have hysterics for a week!”

  “I know. Give me a warning and I’ll go to my club…for a week. Perhaps move entirely.”

  “You can’t. It would be very inappropriate for the duke to run away from his mother.”

  “Inappropriate but sensible,” he said with a smile. “And I wouldn’t be running away…it would be a…youthful rebellion.”

  “You’re thirty. And you don’t rebel. You’re Lord Perfect.”

  He winced. “Don’t say that too loudly. I really will lock you up if people start calling me that.”

  She laughed. “You can manage it. You always do.”

  “Almost,” he said and wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He did not want to talk about Helen to anyone. Even his sister. Did he?

  His sister instantly knew who he was talking about. “Then maybe you should try harder,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “Manage her. You don’t care what anybody else wants, why start now?”

  “That is neither fair nor true. Besides, I’m always right,” he said, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt in a way that was bound to drive her mad. It looked very pompous.

  “Your ego frightens me,” she murmured. “Is it right to leave her alone? If you know where she is, shouldn’t you go after her?”

  He didn’t know exactly where she was. He had it limited to London, alive and somewhere near Brompton Street. “I’m engaged.”

  “The Ice Queen won’t mind. She’d probably be thrilled for you to have a diversion. Someone to keep you from her bed once you are united in holy matrimony.”

  “Good god! What do you know about people visiting other people’s beds?”

  She waved his irritation away and ignored him, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “You should go after her.”

  “It’s complicated. She…works,” he said, finding the concept strange and the description deeply lacking.

  “Doing what?” his sister asked, genuinely surprised. It was one thing to pursue an outlandish woman, quite another to pursue a woman of the lower classes. For other men, it might not be a big deal, but he was Somervale. Beyond reproach. He imagined telling his sister that Helen was a spy. An assassin. From the future.

  No. He couldn’t imagine it.

  His sister continued, “She doesn’t need a job anyway. She’s got you, moneybags himself. Go in there, do your controlling, superior thing and take what you want.”

  “That’s your advice?”

  “Yes. It is.”

  He sighed, rubbed his eyes with two fingers, thinking it through. “I can’t believe we are having this conversation.”

  “I can’t believe you might do it,” she said, and he heard a trace of laughter in her voice.

  “Helen would be…furious.” Which was a wild understatement. His sister smiled hopefully, unaware of his inner turmoil. Which, frankly, was how he liked it. Emotions were vulgar and common. The sort of things actors and irresponsible types did foolish things for. And me. Apparently.

  “Eh, how long could she stay mad at you?”

  Edward shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “Amelia, my dear. That’s a very good question.”

  Chapter 11

  Helen cut through the crowd, feeling sick with nerves and revulsion. Mary was on the other side of the room, a slightly odd smile on her face. It wasn’t so much a Mona Lisa smile as a what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-here-isn’t-this-a-mistake smile. They were at Madame Wells’s gambling den and gambling den; the plan being to sneak upstairs and see if they could find the serum that would heal Jonathon.

  In a way, it wasn’t a surprise that this was the Nazi center of operations. Baron Colchester, the Nazi operative she’d killed a few weeks ago, was Madame Wells’s lover. Unless that was for show. Helen watched as Mary slipped up the stairs to the second floor, searching for the serum. Men came up and talked to her, trying to solicit her for the night, and she turned them down one after the other.

  Mary came down ten minutes later, making her way over to Helen. “I’ve got it. I’m going to head back. Should I wait for you?”

  Helen had her own mission to complete. “No, go ahead. The sooner he gets the serum the better. How many did you take?”

  She shrugged. “All of them. Seven. Just in case.”

  Helen nodded and scanned the room. One of the men, Heinrich Welhoven (a German name if ever there was one) was a Nazi doctor, sent back to heal the men the Germans sent back in time.

  “Good work. I’ll do the job and meet you back home. Don’t worry. Oh God, there he is!” she said, and shooed Mary away.

  Helen adjusted her bodice a little and fluffed her hair, check
ing her pocket one last time to make sure she still had the poison. She grabbed another glass of champagne and poured the drug into it, making her way through the crowd to Heinrich.

  She could do this. As long as nothing went wrong, she could have him poisoned in ten minutes and be home in an hour.

  Chapter 12

  Edward knew his eyes deceived him, for there was no other explanation as to why he would see Helen here, at a gambling den and brothel. He found himself moving towards her before he could stop himself, a terrible certainty washing through him. She was standing next to some old man, toasting him with a glass of champagne. They both took a drink, and she laughed, leaning forward in such a way that the old fool she was talking to couldn’t have stopped himself from peering down her dress. Hot emotion compelled him forward.

  He walked straight up to them, gaze trained on the old letch staring at his woman. “Somervale,” he said

  to the old man. He sputtered his champagne and Helen reached forward, saving the man’s glass from spilling. She shot him an angry look.

  “Just a moment, please, I’ll be right…back. Umm, drink up,” she said, and demonstrated by draining her glass. He blinked at her and did the same, swallowing what was left.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled at her the moment they were alone.

  She smiled at him brightly. “It’s absolutely none of your business. I exist, – I have places to go and people to see. I do still have to get on with things believe it or not. What do you want me to do, sit at home and cry over my broken heart?”

  He was distracted despite himself. “Do you have a broken heart?”

  She spluttered, “No, of course not. I was just trying to say what you think I’m doing. But that’s not real. Got it?”

  “No, I haven’t a clue,” he said, torn between staring at her lips and the perfect display of cleavage. “I want to know why you’re here and what you’re doing with that doddering old fool.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “If it concerns your safety, then it is my business.”

  Helen laughed. “Oh my God, not this again. This is why I wanted you to think I was dead. This... possessiveness, as if I belong to you.”

  And would that be so bad? he almost said but bit back the words. What came out instead was far more appropriate. “It’s not possessive, it’s protective. It would concern me to see anyone with that old lecher. Whatever it is that you need to do, we can find a different way.”

  Which was very sweet, really. He looked so sincere, so…earnest. And determined. “Maybe I like him.”

  Edward barked out a laugh. “No you don’t,” he said confidently.

  “I’m not your problem! We’ve been over and over this, and frankly I’m exhausted. I can’t do this anymore.” You wanting to help me, me wanting you to help me, and I can’t say yes. “Break out the tiny pity violins already.”

  His mouth opened and closed while he tried to make sense of her statement. He finally settled on ‘hmm’ and his brows slashed down fiercely.

  Every eye in the room was on them, and he didn’t care. There was only one thing he cared about, only one thing he wanted, and they could have this argument forever and never get anywhere, and then he’d be in the same place he always was—alone. “You’re right. I can’t do this anymore either,” he said. Let’s go.”

  She blinked. “Go? Go where?” The man she was supposed to be poisoning set down his glass on the bar and walked away. He suddenly reached for her, one strong arm going behind her back while the other went under her knees, scooping her up into the air. She squawked in shock and the noise was loud, every single person in the room having stopped whatever they were doing, whatever conversation they were having, whatever game they were playing and looked at them in shock.

  Edward moved towards the door, conversation taking up again in a wave of sound. And every single person was talking about the Duke of Somervale. They were outside in moments, his carriage parked in front, waiting for him. The driver opened the door, and Edward practically threw her into the carriage, climbing in behind her. The door slammed shut and suddenly they were rolling away.

  Helen blinked into the darkness. She should’ve protested, shouldn’t she? She’d just been so surprised that there hadn’t been time to protest…right?

  “Edward,” she said, voice wavering in a plea, “Please, I have to go back. You have to undo this,”

  “And what would you do if I did?” he said, his voice overly calm. “Go back there and hope that by fucking the right man you learn something useful?”

  There was something unbearably sexy about him saying the word fuck. Except that it was an insult, and he was basically calling her a whore. But she couldn’t deny that her heart was beating faster; her hands were shaking and all she wanted was for him to kiss her. “People saw us leave together! People will know, Edward. But if I go back now, the damage will be minimized.” He didn’t say a word. Gave no indication at all that he’d heard her. She had no idea what that meant! “You will be a laughingstock. Think of the cartoons that will be in every shop window! Duke of Somervale carries woman out of a gambling hall in the middle of the night.”

  “Nonsense, it’s barely nine o’clock,” he said and ignored her again.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  It seemed like a very long time passed. She was about to ask again, demand an answer even, when he spoke, his voice like velvet, “I’m going to do what I should’ve done the moment I met you.” Helen looked out the window. A strange exultation going through her at his words. She heard the banked fury, but there was something else there too. Something primal, and not just dangerous but…unpredictable.

  “What…what should you have done?” she asked, and felt her nipples pebble.

  “I should’ve taken you to bed. With you, my dear, civility has been a terrible mistake.”

  She licked her lips. “You don’t mean it,” she said.

  He looked at her like she was an idiot. “I damned well do,” he said.

  “Don’t I have a say in this?”

  His gaze raked her from head to toe and then met hers squarely. “No,” he said succinctly. The carriage came to a halt. Helen peered out the window, realizing they were in a residential district, stopped before a quiet house with lights on while the rest of the street was dark. It was clearly a fairly wealthy neighborhood, a small garden in front of each house. “Where are we?”

  “Think of it as a love nest. A home I own, and where you will now reside.”

  She laughed. “Does reside mean something different to you than it does to me? Reside as in residence? Like, you want me to live here?”

  “Like, yes I do,” he said, imitating her word.

  Helen flushed. “I am not moving to your…I don’t want to say love nest. That’s a terrible name.” He wasn’t serious, was he? I mean, obviously she wouldn’t do it. Move here, into one of his homes so that he could have sex with her whenever he wanted…how often might that be, she wondered? No! She was losing her mind. That was always what happened when she was too close to him; she started rationalizing and wavering, looking for any reason to be with him.

  He stepped out of the carriage and reached back in for her expectantly.

  “I’m not getting out. Take me back,” she said, shoving her back against the cold leather and crossing arms over her chest.

  He sighed heavily and gave a slight, somehow dramatic shake of his head. “Helen, you stubborn woman. I don’t know why I bother asking you questions. I must remember never to give you an opportunity to be your infuriatingly heroic self.”

  She blinked. What the hell did that mean? It took her by surprise when he reached in and grabbed her by the arms. He yanked her forward and she lost her perch on the seat, stumbling towards him. Before she could right herself, the world was upside down, and she was looking at the back of his jacket. Blood rushed to her head and the air whooshed out of her lungs. He’d hoisted her over his shoul
der and was carrying her up the steps to the house.

  “Put me down this instant! You can’t carry me like I’m some sack of potatoes!” she said, and wiggled, which made her corset dig into her stomach painfully. She had a sudden memory of the first time she’d had to climb over a wall in basic training. The hard brick had been less painful than the stupid corset she was strapped into. “I’ll scream,” she said, and it came out a wheeze.

  “The hell you will,” he growled, and spanked her on the bottom as if she were some naughty child he was carrying home. She squawked for an entirely different reason. Helen craned her head around, looking over his shoulder, trying to see what the hell was going on. She heard the door open, and a woman gave an overly loud greeting.

  “Mrs. Smite, so lovely to see you again,” Edward said blandly. As if he always arrived with women draped over his shoulder. Nothing unusual going on here, his tone said.

  “Your…Grace,” she heard a woman respond, voice high, at least a bit surprised to be greeted by the duke and Helen’s ass on her doorstep at this time of night.

  “How would you like to go see your sister?” Edward asked casually.

  “Your Grace?” Helen could hear the woman’s confusion. And she bet the woman was staring at Helen’s ass. Or Edward’s hand that rested on her upper thigh, burning through the fabric.

  “Good. Tell the rest of the staff to take the night off; in fact, tomorrow too.” A pause. “No, if anyone shows up here before Monday morning they’ll be sacked. Understood?” he said.

  “Yes…yes sir,” the housekeeper said, sounding more surprised than Helen felt.

  And then he was moving again, taking the stairs easily. Helen raised her head, “You’re behaving like a barbarian!” she seethed.

  He opened a door, carrying her inside. This was a problem. She couldn’t let him do this. The world tilted again as he deposited her on the bed. His expression verged on a frown, all serious intention and desire. “Do you know my ancestors came into possession of this title for defending Henry VII’s claim to the throne?” He was undoing the cuffs of his shirt as he spoke. It was all rather hypnotizing, and Helen felt her body responding to him; a rather large part of her happy to put aside everything for the moment and be with him.