by Sharon Page
While the children had biscuits and milky tea at eleven o’clock, Helena tidied up the lesson room. She frowned at a box that sat upon the desk in which she kept her notes on the children’s studies. It had not been there earlier, when she’d gathered the children at the table to eat.
To the winsome Miss Winsome, the card read.
Greybrooke was unconscionable! How had he got this gift here? Instinct jerked her gaze to the doorway, but it was empty. Could he have brought it himself and she hadn’t noticed?
Her stomach lurched. What if he’d asked one of his sister’s servants to bring it to her? How could that be explained?
Was this a clue he really was a spy and a traitor? He obviously liked intrigue and games.
She knew he was as daring with his own skin—according to gossip he’d been involved in a half dozen duels.
Helena undid the ribbon and pried the lid off the box.
A note on a cream-colored card sat on top. His crest and title—the Duke of Greybrooke—were embossed in gold. Across the card, in a bold hand: Meet me tomorrow at 2. Hyde Park.
Tomorrow was her afternoon off. Greybrooke must have learned that from his sister. Or one of the children. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Helena lifted the note.
Beneath was a pair of bracelets. Capturing one with her fingers, she took it from the box. The other came with it, for a thick gold chain connected them. They were gold, set with rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. She fiddled with them, for they seemed to have a moving part.
A part that clamped around the wearer’s wrist. Helena glanced at the door, ensuring the children were still at their table, eating biscuits. Her heart beat faster. She opened one hasp, then put it around her wrist. Velvet lined the metal where it touched her skin. She had seen men in chains before—prisoners—and these were very much like . . .
Grey had sent these glittering, costly shackles to her at his sister’s home.
This was beyond shocking.
Helena slapped the shackles back in their box. She was furious. The duke could ruin her reputation without her ever having done one scandalous thing. She could not keep playing this game with him. He was going to do something so shocking she would lose her place and her future—
But to save her family, shouldn’t she be willing to give up everything?
Waves rippled across the Serpentine. The breeze whipped the ribbons of Helena’s bonnet around her face. Ribbons were the one luxury of a governess. A gentleman silhouetted against the sun strode toward her, across the grass. Helena’s heart leapt, her palms went damp with sudden nerves—
No, this couldn’t be the duke—this man wasn’t as tall, as broad shouldered, as imposing. Shading her eyes, she saw blond hair beneath the hat, the lanky frame, the face so very much like her own. A face that looked ragged and pale.
“Will!” She hurried to meet him. “What are you doing here?”
Will peered down at her, his eyes pained. “I followed you from your house. I had to know if you were meeting the duke.” He clasped both her hands. “You are going to do this, Helena, aren’t you? You aren’t going to let all of us be ruined. We’ll lose everything. We’ll be thrown in debtors’ prison or sent to workhouses. I’m pleading with you, sister—”
“Will, I can’t do this,” she broke in.
“Helena, you must! You promised me you would. You promised Whitehall. Why can’t you?”
She pulled her hands free, fished the duke’s latest gift from her reticule. “That is why!” She opened the box. “That is the sort of man he is. He wants a shocking, experienced courtesan. I cannot do this.”
Swallowing hard, Will stuttered, “H-he gave you this?”
“Yes! He’s been trying to woo me with presents, but I have given them back. Poetry. Diamonds. And this scandalous thing, which I am going to return to him now. At first, I viewed it as a game, but it is not a game. He is not a man to be played with or trifled with—”
“You returned his gifts? Helena, this means he wants you. He’s fascinated with you! It’s exactly what we need. All you have to do is lead him along enough to get into his house to search it. It’s the only way we’ll find proof. Letters. Or a journal.”
“I thought I could play with him, keep him intrigued, but this game could ruin me.”
“Helena, we have to get into the duke’s house,” Will croaked. “There’s no other way unless the duke believes you will be his mistress. Dear sister, please, I’m desperate.”
Oh no, she was not going to accept this. She jabbed her finger into her half brother’s chest. “We are all desperate. I am desperate, for I am playing games with a gentleman who could ruin my entire life at any moment. Your gambling debts are the cause of our desperation, not my refusal to become the duke’s mistress. You are trying to make me feel at fault, but the fault is not mine. I will not forget that.”
“But you are the only one who can make this right, Helena. I tried to do it myself, but I’ve only made thing worse.” Will brushed his forehead, and she saw sweat had beaded there. Something had happened to make him afraid . . . or he was afraid to tell her something.
Her heart dropped to her toes. “How have you made things worse?”
Will rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at everything but her.
“You gambled again, didn’t you? You promised you would never play cards again!”
“I didn’t play cards. I played hazard—a game with dice.”
“Will—” She was furious beyond words. “You knew what I meant. Substituting dice for cards doesn’t make a difference!” Nausea roiled in her tummy. “How much did you lose?”
“Two thousand.”
Oh God. She wanted to scream. Two thousand more. “Why? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Will, why did you ever think more gambling would solve the problem?”
“I thought my luck had to change.”
“These places aren’t about luck! They fleece foolish young men.”
“Some men win, and win enormous amounts. These places can’t cheat men—no one would go. There are rules about that sort of thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why couldn’t you have stayed away?”
“I don’t know. I can’t, Helena. It’s like the way some men need opium or liquor. I seem to crave it. But Whitehall will make it good. I’m sure of it. He’ll clear away the additional debt.”
What was it that obsessed Will with such places? She could make him promise to stay away, but she knew he would promise and vow and give his word of honor—then he would completely ignore his vow. How could she keep him away?
“Helena, I don’t want to put you at the risk of ruin. There has to be a way for me to acquire the money—”
“No!” Not more disaster. Will was right. She was the only one who could fix this. She took a deep breath. “No, I am going to do it. I have to do it. I will get into the duke’s house, no matter what it takes. I will save this family. And you will never gamble again, Will.”
At once he brightened. “I won’t, dear sister, I promise—”
“I am not interested in promises. I will make certain you never do it again.”
“How?”
“If you really intended to never gamble again, it wouldn’t matter to you, would it?” In truth, she had no answer, but she knew how to bluff. Crossing her arms over her chest, she marched away from Will, toward the Rotten Row—the stretch of sand track upon which gentleman loved to race upon their beautiful steeds.
She caught her breath. A huge, pure white horse thundered along the row toward her, long powerful legs consuming the ground, hooves throwing up sand. Astride the massive animal: the Duke of Greybrooke.
Greybrooke rode like a god. He lifted off the saddle, supported on his strong legs, his thighs bulging in riding breeches. His tail coat flew out behind him, his hat remained firmly on his head, and he looked every inch the duke. Spotting her, he slowed the horse to a canter, then a walk, and he reined in at her side.
Helena looked up at long le
gs, a broad chest, a dazzling smile, and insolently wicked green eyes. Pure white collar points touched the bronze skin of his throat, where dark stubble graced his strong jaw.
She knew what she must do. Agree to become the mistress of this handsome, dangerous man.
He lifted his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Winsome.” He spoke in such a cool, careless way, even she would believe this was a chance encounter and he was utterly indifferent to her. Then he leaned over, eyes bright, and murmured in his deep baritone, “Meet me over there, behind that grove of trees and near the lilac bushes, where we will be away from curious eyes.”
With that, he straightened, gave a slight shake of the reins, and his mount trotted away.
She shivered. What she was about to do was wrong, sinful, and was against every principal of propriety she’d vowed to embrace. Yet she gazed at his broad back and thought—
I could touch him. If I become his mistress, I can touch his beautiful shoulders and his strong back and—heavens—his chest. All her wicked fantasies could be hers.
That was the real danger, wasn’t it? The danger wasn’t entirely about him, it was also about her. About wanting a fantasy, when the reality wasn’t seductive or enticing at all. In reality, she would end up cold, lonely, devastated.
Helena followed. She had no other choice after all.
It wasn’t yet the fashionable hour for members of the ton to stroll in the park. But there were gentleman riding, along with governesses and children who had come to picnic and play. She casually made her way across the grass toward the trees, as if she were idly passing her time.
She reached the bushes, where she paused. Something hard and warm caught her by the waist. Suddenly she was pulled into an open space in the middle of the lilacs. Helena uttered half a scream before she came to her senses and swallowed the rest. She spun, and faced the duke and frowned at him as if he were a disobedient child. “You scared me out of my wits, Your Grace.”
Sunlight spilled through the canopy of leaves overhead, dappling him with light. Beneath was a floor of soft grass and fallen petals. It was like a secret grotto. “This—this is convenient.”
“It’s a clearing made by couples sneaking in here for quick, erotic encounters.”
And he knew about it. She opened her reticule and fished out the sparkling shackles. As she dangled them in front of him, he held out his hand. “I take it you have come to return them.”
“N-no.” Her voice wobbled, and she searched for strength. “I came to find out exactly what you wish me to do with them, Your Grace.” Taking a deep breath, she held up her arm and fastened one around her wrist.
It closed with a sharp click. Then she let her tongue play over her lips innocently as she gazed up at him. From doorways, she had watched enough balls to know how ladies flirted. She had never been so daring in her life.
The duke’s eyes glittered at her, reflecting the sunlight that filtered between leaves. He let out a ragged breath. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. Astonishingly, he looked as if in pain. “Let me show you.”
He captured both her hands, holding her wrists together. With a snap of metal, he secured the other shackle, binding her hands together.
She tried to pull her hands out, tried to pull them apart. Of course she couldn’t get free.
Helena expected him to do something. Kiss her. Touch her. Take the advantage in some way. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest. He made no move toward her. She stood, with her bound hands clasped to her bosom.
“I want you to understand what I am offering you, Miss Winsome. And what I will demand of you. You will receive a house of your own in town, one for you to keep after our affair ends. Furnished, with a full complement of servants. You will receive jewels, which are, again, yours to keep. Carte blanche at the best modistes in London. At least two vehicles including a closed carriage and a barouche for you to tool around the park. Horses, of course.”
He threw it out so casually, this fortune he was offering her.
“All I ask in return is you accept that our sexual pleasures will be enjoyed on my terms.”
She lowered her shackled hands. She had no idea where to put them. How bizarre this was to have her hands bound in the park that she associated with picnics and playing with paper boats in the lake. “What exactly does that mean, Your Grace?”
“It means you must go into this arrangement trusting me completely.”
“And I am not to ask you questions? No, Your Grace I cannot do that. I cannot trust blindly. It is not in my nature to do so. You must tell me what you want from me.” She could not agree without knowing.
He stroked his jaw with his black-gloved hand, obviously considering.
She swallowed hard. Why wouldn’t he just tell her? He’d already hinted at enough wicked things. Why was he not speaking now?
Nerves took over. She needed to have her hands free. She didn’t like relinquishing control; she was too used to being in charge. “At least release me. You said we were equals. I don’t feel that way when my hands are bound.” She said bluntly, “Poetry, diamonds, and shackles. I have to contemplate what that says about you, Your Grace, if those are examples of life as your mistress. You ask me to give up everything, and you won’t tell me what it is you plan to do to me.”
The duke moved close to her. He plucked a key from his pocket, then bent to free her hands. This close to him, her quick breaths flooded her senses with his masculine smells—the heady scent of spice and the earthy aroma of leather. The shackles opened, then he dangled them from his index finger. “Trust, Miss Winsome. I require it, and if you agree to our arrangement, you agree to give it.”
“I’m afraid to . . . to launch into this. I’m, well in truth, I’m terrified. Could we . . . could we do this slowly?”
“All right, Miss Winsome, I agree. We will go as slowly as you desire. Should I speak to my sister tonight?”
“That quickly?” Panic made her squeak. “How could I leave Lady Winterhaven now? She’s enceinte!” But she had to do this quickly. She had to get into his house at once—
Then she realized: If she were to become his mistress in truth, she didn’t need to spy anymore. If he gave her all those things, she could pay the debts and save her family.
“All right. I will wait until you have been introduced to my preferences. Until then, Jacinta does not need to know.”
She felt so guilty, for Lady Winterhaven was a kind employer. But she must either become his mistress or continue to be a spy to save her family.
“I promise I will do nothing that will hurt you,” he said gently.
She hated the idea of not knowing what she was walking into. But she said, “All right.” Then she thought of Will’s gaming, and suddenly she had a brilliant idea. The duke was notorious for his gambling, though he usually won, or at least never lost more than he could afford. “I agree to trust you—blindly—but I have a condition. My brother is addicted to gaming, and I must stop him.”
She had a different last name from her half siblings, so none of the ton families realized her brother had a newspaper. She could not tell Greybrooke who her brother really was. “He’s lost a fortune at these places. He promises me he’ll stop going, but he still does. Is there any way I could stop them letting him through the doors? He has no money anymore—surely, if they knew, they wouldn’t let him gamble.”
“If you wish, I can put the word around the hells. Give me his name and I will make sure he is not welcome at any of the tables.”
“You would do that? It would mean so much to my family.” But how could she do it, without giving her brother’s name?
“It would be a delight to rescue you, Miss Winsome.”
“Could I tell them myself? I don’t wish to put you to the trouble.”
“You want to go to gaming hells and ask them not to admit your brother.” He looked startled.
She swallowed hard. She needed a plausible lie! “I—I’ve been a dutiful governess for years. I’ve never had
any adventures. I’ve seen so much passion and desire and excitement, but I’ve never had the chance of any myself. Not even a kiss. I’ve never been kissed. I’ve wondered what all these wicked things and wild places are like. . . .”
“So you want to see a gaming hell to see what lures your brother?”
That made sense! That gave the perfect excuse for her determination to go. “Yes.”
“Your wish is my command,” Greybrooke said easily. “Can you sneak out of the house at night?”
“Yes. I can get out through the kitchens and though the rear gate. I will meet you at the bottom of the mews, at the street.” It meant she could spend time with him, and not in a bed. Wearing shackles.
“At midnight.” Glinting, his emerald eyes met hers. “At midnight, your adventure begins.”
4
Midnight came with echoing rings from a distant clock but no sign of Miss Winsome in the mews. Grey checked his pocket watch while his harsh breathing filled the silence of his carriage. Even waiting for her, he was rock hard with arousal.
Normally, when he desired a woman, it was in an indifferent way. One bedmate was much like another. A momentary flare of excitement and interest, one quickly sated. Certainly, he had never sat with his forehead pressed to the window, cursing the passing minutes.
For a rake, this strange obsession should be a warning sign. Instead, it fascinated him. It captured his thoughts, took charge of his mind, helped him forget. Oddly, this game of seduction took his thoughts away from his hellish past even more than sex did.
He peered into the gloom as if he could make Miss Winsome materialize by sheer force of will. His heartbeat quickened as a figure walked out of the shadows toward him.
Damn. His anticipation deflated. Light from a street flare fell on the person and revealed a slightly battered beaver hat, a man’s long coat, and boots.
Grey uttered a ripe curse beneath his breath and lifted his fist to the ceiling, ready to rap on it, a signal for his coachman to drive on. It appeared his feisty, intriguing governess had lost her courage—