Or rather, its notable lack of a response.
“No,” he muttered. “That will be all.”
With a disappointed pout, the barmaid plucked up his tankard and sashayed away. Stephen studied her hips, willing himself to feel something. But the only thing he felt was disappointment that the barmaid wasn’t Helena.
Curling his hand into a fist, he thumped it on the table in muted frustration. He’d genuinely believed that by confronting Helena, he could purge her once and for all. From his mind, from his heart, from his blood.
Instead, he’d made everything infinitely worse.
And this time there was only himself to blame.
When the barmaid returned with his food and drink, he ate quickly. Shoveling the last spoonful of stew into his mouth, he chased it down with the rest of the ale and threw a handful of coins into the empty tankard. The legs of his chair scraped against the wooden floorboards as he stood up, the sound drowned out by the loud swell of voices from the other patrons in the tavern as they fought to outshout one another. Pushing his way out the door, he stepped to the side and drew in a lungful of cool spring air, his gaze automatically drawn up to the stars glittering like diamonds in a black, velvet sky.
The same stars had looked down on him the night he’d met Helena. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Stephan inwardly marked off one constellation after another, beginning with Orion and ending with Cassiopeia. Named after a beautiful and vain Ethiopian queen, Cassiopeia cut a jagged line through the inky darkness. It was Helena’s favorite constellation, he recalled. Although he couldn’t remember her reason.
He had been too busy admiring the moonlight in her hair.
God, how she’d taken his breath away. He’d never imagined he would be the sort of fool who fell in love at first glance, but all it had taken was one look at Helena and he had fallen so hard and so fast, he was still trying to catch his breath four years later.
If only he hadn’t left on his damned tour. If only he’d stayed in London. If only he’d courted Helena properly.
If only.
If only.
If only.
With a shake of his head, Stephen set off towards the small house at the edge of town he’d rented. There were rooms above the pub, but he liked his space, especially at night when he couldn’t sleep for thoughts of a certain green-eyed temptress. In his private chambers at home, his midnight pacing had worn a path in the rug beside the bed. Every time he looked at it in the light of day, he was filled with self-loathing, and he always promised himself that tonight, tonight would be the night he wouldn’t dream of her.
But despite his claim to the contrary, Helena wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep promises.
Bloody hell, he needed her out. Out of his dreams, out of his head, out of his heart. She was like a splinter stuck under his skin. One he’d allowed to fester for far too long. It was only a matter of time before infection set in if it hadn’t already. And then what the devil would he do? Continue to obsess over her every day for the rest of his life?
He couldn’t think of a worse hell…or a sweeter heaven.
Having reached the gate that guarded his temporary accommodations, Stephen wrapped his hands around the smooth iron bars and closed his eyes. He shouldn’t have felt this way. Helena had married his father, for God’s sakes. Of all the men in England, she’d chosen him.
And despite that, Stephen would still choose her.
His traitorous heart would always choose her.
Which was why he needed to rip the damned thing out of his chest, one broken splinter at a time.
Chapter Eight
If there was one thing guaranteed to boost Helena’s spirits, it was shopping. Which was why, at half past nine the following morning – a deplorable hour for anyone to be awake, unless they were, in fact, shopping – she set out for town, leaving Percy behind to work on a painting she’d begun the day before.
“Ives, be a dear and bring these out to the carriage, won’t you?” she asked sweetly.
His gaze falling to the enormous pile of boxes and bags at her feet, Ives raised a brow. “And just where would you like me to put them?” he said, his voice ringing with unmistakable sarcasm. “The floor is already full, and I don’t fancy having to ride back on the roof.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Helena rolled her eyes. “Put the boxes on the roof. I’m sure the driver can find some rope to tie them down.” Opening a bag, she lifted out a large poke bonnet adorned with clusters of colorful silk flowers and perched it on her head. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re fortunate to have a benefactor who can afford such an expensive hat,” a masculine voice drawled.
On a sharp intake of breath Helena froze, then turned ever-so-slowly to discover Stephen standing directly behind her.
“Ives,” she said, not taking her eyes off of Stephen, “could you please see if I left my gloves in the chocolate shop?”
“Your gloves?” said the lady’s footman, visibly confused. “But you’re wearing them.”
“My other gloves, Ives.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh. Yes, of course. Right away.”
Percy wasn’t the only one who had learned the identity of Helena’s benefactor. She’d told Ives as well, and while the footman had never met Stephen, it wasn’t terribly hard to put two and two together. Ives hurried across the street, and Helena waited for two women carrying parasols to stroll past before she pointed a finger at Stephen’s chest.
“What are you still doing here? Are you following me?” she hissed.
“And if I were?” he challenged; his expression smug as he arched a brow.
She didn’t have an answer, other than to cross her arms and glare at him. “I’ve nothing else to say to you.”
“I believe the small store you’ve just bought speaks for itself. Trying to use up the well before it goes dry, lamb?”
“And if I were?” she asked with a haughty toss of her head.
“I suppose I could hardly fault you for it. A leech does what it needs to survive.”
“You would know!” she retorted.
The corners of his mouth tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Helena let two dandies, complete with monocles and mahogany canes, stroll by before she responded. Normally she wasn’t one who cared about making a scene, but given she and Percy were in the country to avoid drawing attention to themselves, she didn’t think it would be in their best interests to have a screaming match in the middle of the village square.
No matter how tempting it might have been.
“It means if I am a leech, then so are you. So are all heirs. The entire sad, sorry lot of you.” She poked her finger at him again. “The only viable means available to a woman to earn a fortune of her own is to marry, and hope her husband is generous. All a man has to do is be born to the right set of parents and claim his inheritance when he comes of age. Yet women are the ones who are constantly judged for the decisions they are forced to make to ensure their very survival.”
“Are you trying to defend marrying my father for his money?” Stephen said incredulously.
“I am pointing out a fact. And I didn’t marry your father for his money!”
“You certainly could have fooled me,” he sneered as he looked down at her purchases.
Helena saw red. Before she had time to consider the repercussions, she snatched up a box and hurled it at Stephen. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. The lid flew off and scarves flew out, covering the earl in swatches of teal and yellow and green. If she weren’t absolutely furious, she would have no doubt found the sight of Stephen cloaked in pretty silk scarves hilarious. But she was too angry to smile, let alone laugh. Thus she stood there, stone-faced with her hands on her hips, as he removed a scarf from his shoulder and pulled another off his head. Balling them all together, he held out his hand.
“I believe these belong to you,” he said icily.
She lifted her
chin. “You keep them. It was your money that purchased them, after all. I’m simply the leech that spent your coin.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Perhaps my choice of words was–”
“Rude?” she suggested. “Horrid? Detestable?”
“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “It was all of those things. I apologize, Helena.”
She blinked at him. “You – you do?”
Kneeling, Stephen picked up the box she’d thrown and placed the scarves neatly inside. He straightened, then looked over her shoulder. “We should continue this conversation elsewhere.”
Following the direction of his stare, Helena felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach when she saw that her little fit of temper had attracted quite the audience. It was, of course, precisely what she hadn’t wanted to do. But then, when had anything ever gone according to plan?
“Why do we have to continue our conversation at all?” she muttered, nudging a stone with the toe of her shoe.
“Because there are things we need to discuss. Preferably without an arsenal of boxes at your disposal,” he said wryly.
Helena peered up to see a relaxed, unguarded grin play across his lips. It was there and gone again in the span of a heartbeat, but the warmth it invoked inside of her took much longer to dissipate. Because it wasn’t just a smile. It was a reminder of the man she’d fallen in love with in the moonlight. The charming, handsome rogue that had dazzled her so completely she would have promised him the stars if he’d asked for them. Instead the only thing he’d wanted was for her to wait, and she’d broken that promise as completely as he’d broken her heart.
“There is a small coffee and tea shop around the corner,” she said stiffly. “We can go there.”
He held out his arm. “Lead the way, lamb.”
As Stephen followed Helena into a small, cozy tea parlor that smelled of coffee beans and cinnamon, he steeled himself against the urge to sweep his fingers through her hair. He could have touched her if she were his. Could have trailed his hand down the nape of her neck and pressed his thumb against the tiny little bone at the top of her spine. Could have discreetly cupped her bottom as he pulled out her chair, then pressed his lips to her cheek before she sat down.
He could have done all those things if she were his. But as they took their seats on either side of a table in the back of the room, like two soldiers squaring off on opposite ends of the battlefield, Stephen was reminded of a single cold, hard fact.
Helena wasn’t his. She’d never been his. And she never would be his.
No matter how much he still secretly desired her.
Gritting his teeth, Stephen picked up the menu and glared at the handwritten list of baked goods. He was here to square a debt. Nothing more, nothing less. And once he walked out of this little shop with its large windows overlooking the street and eclectic mixture of paintings on the walls, he wouldn’t ever have to think of Helena ever again.
He wouldn’t have to look at her.
Wouldn’t have to inhale her scent.
Wouldn’t have to – what was the perfume she was wearing? It was different from what she’d had on yesterday. Not heavier, precisely. Just more…wild, he decided as his nostrils flared. Like a rose blooming in the middle of a meadow, instead of a carefully tended garden.
“Do you know what you’d like?” Helena asked.
Yes, Stephen said silently as his gaze met hers over the edge of the menu.
She’d always had the most extraordinary eyes. Pure green, without any brown or hazel. Except when she was annoyed, as she was now, and in the sunlight shining in through the windowpane her irises glittered with a hint of gold.
He’d never met another woman with eyes like Helena’s.
Most likely because he’d never met another woman like Helena.
In all his travels, in all the countries he’d visited and the grand manors he’d stayed in and the ballrooms he’d danced through, he had never come close to experiencing the same pull of temptation he felt whenever he was in Helena’s presence. She was a rare and true beauty. The kind that brought men to their knees and invoked wars that lasted lifetimes.
If only her beauty were more than surface deep.
Behind those exotic jade eyes was a woman who had sold her soul to the devil. But even knowing that, even having experienced the pain of her betrayal like a knife through the heart, there was a part of him – more than a part, really – that still found her stunning.
He had thought it would be different when he saw her again. He’d thought three and a half years of torment would have been enough to harden him against her captivating allure. But like a sailor to a siren, he found himself climbing across jagged rocks to get to her…heedless of the blood he spilled along the way.
Because there was no reason for him to be here. Not really. He could have had his solicitor draw up the papers, or he could have simply stopped sending the monthly payments he’d allocated in her name. But he’d wanted to see her face when she learned he was the one who had given her everything...and he was the one who could take it all away with a snap of his fingers. He’d wanted her misery. He’d wanted her tears. And yes, he would have liked to see her beg. It was small of him, he knew. But he wanted her to hurt as he’d been hurt. He wanted her to suffer as he’d suffered.
But instead of misery, she’d told him to bugger off.
Instead of tears, she’d swung a bloody fireplace poker at him.
Instead of dropping to her knees, she’d faced him with open defiance.
Was it any wonder he had never stopped loving her?
“What would you recommend?” he asked, sliding the menu across the table. There was no reason, he supposed, not to be civil. Maybe if he treated her just like any other lady in his acquaintance – with cool, polite detachment – she would become just like any other lady in his acquaintance.
One could only hope.
“Something with lots of sugar to improve your bitter disposition.” She pressed a finger to the corner of her mouth while he resisted the urge to growl. “Maybe a slice of lemon cheesecake, or a butter bun?”
“I’ll have a coffee,” he said when a young woman came to collect their order. “Black.”
“Just like his heart,” Helena chirped.
Unamused, he glowered at her.
Unfazed, she smirked at him.
When his coffee arrived, Stephen deliberately took a slow sip. He needed the time to calm and collect his thoughts, for he didn’t want to speak out of anger. A difficult task when Helena seemed to enjoy provoking him at every turn.
“Is this amusing to you?” he said at last, setting his coffee down.
“I suppose that depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much longer you intend to drag this farce out.” She leaned back in her chair and fluttered her hand in the air. “I’ve better things to do with my time than waste precious minutes of it in the company of a man who clearly despises the very air I breathe. I’ve had the night to think about it, and I’ve decided I don’t want any sort of settlement from you. Nothing. So, take your money and toddle along, because if you are expecting me to thank you for your sponsorship, I would not suggest holding your breath.”
“It isn’t that simple,” Stephen gritted.
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
He held her gaze in a long stare. She really did have the most magnificent eyes he’d ever seen. Even when they were filled with loathing.
“Where will you stay?” he said quietly. “How will you eat?”
“Does it really matter?” she countered.
“No.” He picked up his coffee, then set it down with a loud slap of ceramic on wood. “Dammit it, yes, yes it does.” And he was tired of pretending it didn’t. Tired of pretending he was only here to collect a debt. Tired of pretending the fire that had once burned between them had been extinguished, because it hadn’t.
The flames were still there. He’d felt the heat
of them yesterday, and he felt them now. Fury and passion roared within him; a fever he couldn’t purge. A fever he didn’t know if he wanted to purge. He had come here to demand the truth, but maybe it was time to account for a truth of his own.
He still wanted Helena.
Even after everything she’d done, he still wanted her. He would always want her. And he hated himself for it. He despised himself for it. But there was nothing he could do to change it. He’d already tried.
For three-and-a-half years, he’d tried. Time and time again. But all the women he’d attempted to distract himself with had paled in comparison to the red-haired hellion his mind refused to forget. So, he had tracked her down to end things between them once and for all. To severe the last tie that bound them. Only to discover cutting her out of his life would be the same thing as tearing his own heart out of his chest. He could remove her if he really wanted to.
But he’d kill himself in the process.
“Will you marry again?” he asked.
“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.” Helena cupped her chin in the palm of her hand in an effort to appear bored, but the tension in the slender line of her neck revealed she wasn’t nearly as apathetic as she’d like him to believe.
“Curiosity, lamb.” With a sharp smile hovering along the edges of his mouth, he leaned towards her. “And I’d like to warn whatever poor bloke you intend to sink your claws into next.”
She looked at him with all the disgust one would convey for a piece of horse dung on the bottom of their shoe. “Does it take effort to be so repulsive, or does it just come naturally to you?”
“You didn’t find me repulsive by the fountain,” he reminded her.
“I was a silly girl,” she said dismissively.
“No.” He reached across the table and managed to catch her wrist before she could guess his intention and yank her arm away. Sliding his thumb beneath the laced edge of her glove, he felt the rapid flutter of her pulse. “You weren’t.”
“What – what are you doing?” she gasped when he lifted her hand to his mouth and trapped the tip of one finger between his lips. “We’re in public.”
The Secret Wallflower Society: (Books 1-3) Page 16