He had, after all, taken her family in, rescuing them from debtor’s prison and certain doom. Surely he couldn’t be all bad.
Although, as Helena studied him, she saw little of a saintly aspect about him. He looked decadent and dissolute, as though mischievous, roguish thoughts were ever rolling around in his head. It was most probably the cant of his brow. Or the way his trim beard framed his mouth.
And then he smiled. Not just with those beautiful lips. His whole face transformed. He went from satyr to charming gentleman in a breath. “Looking for the horns?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They always do, the wellborn ladies who have been warned to elude me.”
“I was not looking for horns.” She bit back an impish grin. “The tail, perhaps.”
He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you. I am just what you see here. A simple man.”
“A duke, Your Grace.”
“Please, call me Edward. How nice that Violet has a friend in town. Where is she, pray tell?”
“She has a megrim.”
“Pity. Does she get them often?”
“Sometimes, poor thing. They rather lay her out. For a day, sometimes longer.”
“Ah. So then, Lady Helena Simpson.” He shot her a wicked look. “Shall I ring for tea?”
Helena blinked. Tea was hardly what she’d been expecting him to offer. “Er, no. Thank you.”
“Ah. Right. I keep forgetting.” He strolled to a table by the window, covered with bottles of various shapes and sizes, selected one and poured an amber liquid into two glasses. He sat by the fire and gestured that she join him.
Helena hesitated. Though he seemed perfectly pleasant and nonchalant, sitting with the duke—alone—in his library sipping on whatever that was, seemed a trifle dangerous.
But she was infernally curious, always had been. So she didn’t flee the room as a proper lady should. Instead she stepped closer. “Your Grace?”
“Mmm?” His throat worked as he took another long drink.
“I beg your pardon, but what do you keep forgetting, Your Grace?”
“Please, Helena. Dispense with the ‘Your Graces’. I find them cloying.”
She stepped closer. Clutched the back of the chair next to his. “What shall I call you then?”
A charming light danced in his eye. “Edward, if you please. Now sit and drink with me. It’s only polite.”
She’d been trained in all manners of politesse. Lady Satterlee had never mentioned this. Although, their bitter old schoolmistress had focused most of her lessons on female relations. The only thing she had to say about social intercourse with a lord was that it was to be stringently avoided until one was married.
Come to think of it, she had heard accounts of men drinking spirits rather than tea with their companions. Undoubtedly, for men it was good form.
She sat. “What do you keep forgetting, Edward?”
“My, you are a curious thing, aren’t you?”
She sighed. “It’s my curse.”
He chuckled. “First that naughty wicked book and now this.”
“I was only looking—”
He threw back his head and barked a laugh. “Have no fear, Lady Helena Simpson. I won’t tell a soul what you were reading.”
“I wasn’t reading it. I was looking at the pictures.”
He laughed harder. “And what did you think of those pictures?”
“Well…” They had sent a scorching heat through her body but she could hardly tell him that. “They were very realistic.”
He glanced at her untouched glass. Obligingly, she picked it up and took a gulp. Fire seared her from gullet to gut. He leaned forward to pat her on the back as she coughed.
“Not so much. Just sip, my dear. You’ll get used to it.”
She stared at him through the tears. “I think not.”
“Go on. Have another sip. Never say you are a coward.”
She bristled. She deplored being called a coward. Resolutely, she took another taste. While it burned, she found it rather pleasant.
He nodded. “So. What were you asking? Ah yes. What I keep forgetting.”
“What?” She licked her lower lip. What was he talking about? Oh yes. That. Their conversation. The conversation they’d just been having. A moment ago.
“I keep forgetting that this is a new generation of women.”
Helena gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?” She took another drink. It went down much more smoothly this time.
He leaned toward her. “You know how fussy and stuffy women in past generations have been. But now womanhood is experiencing a new age. A liberation.”
“It is?” Heavens. “That’s not what Lady Satterlee said.”
He grimaced. “So that’s where you met Violet.”
“I attended the Academy from the age of four.”
“Poor thing. Lady Satterlee’s job is to prepare demure young women for servitude to their husbands. For teas and balls and musicales. There’s so much more to life than that, but why would she tell you about it? Men of the ton seek well-bred cattle in their wives. Not independent-thinking, adventurous women. Her job, and expressly so, is to breed those cattle.”
“Mercy.” It sounded horrid, put like that, but his words resonated in her soul. She’d always hated her life, her circumstances as a powerless woman, good only as a pawn in men’s grand games of chess. She’d hated the restrictions and the rules and the expectation of her station.
“Are you an adventurous woman, Helena?”
“I should like to think so.” She picked up her glass. It was empty. How had that happened? Wrapped in a deliciously warm blanket, she didn’t care. Quite out of custom, she stood and made her way to the table by the window, the one littered with lovely little bottles, and poured herself another dram.
When she returned to her chair by the hearth, he was grinning. It was a delightful, conspiratorial grin. “Would you care to take a drive, my curious adventuress?”
Curious adventuress. She rather liked the sound of that. “A drive?”
“If you’ve never been to London before, there are some sights I should like to show you, Lady Helena Simpson.”
She giggled at his formal use of her name. “What kinds of sights, dear sir?”
He froze. Stared at her mouth. Then shook whatever it had been off, forcing the dazzling smile back onto his face. “It will be a surprise. Go get your cloak.”
“My cloak?”
“Yes. While we are adventurous and curious and bold, you are a lady of quality. It wouldn’t do for you to be seen in my company.” He tossed back his drink and she parroted his action.
How thoughtful of him, she thought as she made her way up the grand staircase to her room. How very thoughtful to think of her reputation.
Edward Wyeth, Duke of Moncrieff, was really a wonderful man. Not at all like the wicked lordlings Lady Satterlee had warned her so ominously about.
Not at all.
Chapter Thirteen
When she came down the stairs, already wearing her cloak, Edward was passing a note to his butler. As he watched her descend, a light glinted in his eye. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He handed her something soft and silky. Her heart skipped. A mask. “Put it on.”
She stared at him, her mouth agape.
“Go on. We need to protect your identity.”
“Where on earth are we going?”
“You’ll see. Come along.” He crossed his arms and waited until she slipped the mask on—it made her feel terribly mysterious and mature—and then he took her elbow and escorted her to the back of the house to the mews. He helped her into his curricle, which was waiting for them. Her belly lurched as he climbed aboard, and not just because of the movement of the carriage.
Was she really stealing away on a nefarious escapade with a wicked lord? One for which she must be disguised? Even as a hint of fear skirled through her belly, excitement trilled in her veins. She’d
lived the entirety of her life in a gilded cage. She felt as though she’d been set free. It was glorious.
After her disastrous heartbreak with James, it was just what she needed.
The wind licked at her hair as they bowled through town, although along lesser-used streets and alleys. She’d never been to London before, and the sights and sounds and smells fascinated her. Before long they came to a Corinthian mansion located at the end of a long drive. Edward didn’t pull up before the grand entrance. Rather, he swung around back into the deserted mews. A groom appeared from nowhere to hold the horses as Edward lifted her down.
“Where are we?”
“Such a curious thing. Just a club I belong to. They have a wonderful pork pie. Are you hungry?”
“A bit.” It was well past tea time and she hadn’t had lunch. “What was that drink you gave me?” she asked, perhaps a trifle belatedly.
His grin was wicked. “The Water of Life. Did you like it?”
“I did.” It had definitely made her feel alive.
“Excellent. Come on then, girl.” He took her elbow and guided her through the back door. The carpet was thick and the walls were covered with a rich red velvet. The moldings were gilded. For a servants’ entrance, it was terribly opulent.
Without a word, Edward led her up the stairs and down a hall. They met no one, but Helena could hear laughs and mumbled conversations coming from the rooms they passed. She heard other sounds too but they were far too muted to make out. Besides, her mind was somewhat muddled.
Edward stopped at a heavily carved door marked with a brass sign that read Moncrieff. He fished a key from his pocket, opened the door and ushered her in.
Helena stopped short.
The room was sumptuous. And wholly improper for an unwed lady. In addition to a table and two chairs—one with arms and the other without—there was a wardrobe and…a bed, an enormous bed with four posters and a velvet spread. A frisson of trepidation walked up her spine.
She spun around. “I don’t think—”
“Then don’t.” Edward grinned as he closed the door. And turned the lock.
Helena’s belly lurched with that sharp snick. A flutter of panic trickled through her.
But his expression was bland. “I value my privacy,” he said in explanation. Then he slipped the key into his waistcoat and waved her toward the table. “Take a seat. I’ll order nuncheon.”
There were two bell pulls by the door. He tugged on the white one. She wondered what the scarlet one was for but decided not to ask. Slowly, she lowered herself into the chair with arms. He tracked her every move the way a fox tracks a hare. His nostrils might have twitched at her choice of chair, but she was probably just being fanciful.
He stepped behind her. She flinched at his touch to her temples but he only removed her mask and dropped it on the table. He took the seat opposite her and fixed her with a heated look.
She searched for a topic. “This is a very nice place.”
“It is.”
“Do you c-come here often?”
She did not understand his odd smile. “Often enough.” He sprawled back, stretched out his legs. “I’ve been pretty much living here since the cousins arrived.”
“You have? Why?”
He arched a brow. “Have you met my cousins?”
Helena shook her head. She’d only met Violet though she knew there were some brothers.
Edward snorted a laugh. “They are rather rambunctious. Keep the strangest hours.” At her glance, he elaborated. “Up at dawn, in bed before nine.” He shuddered. “Besides, I think I mentioned I value my privacy.”
She wound her fingers together and dropped her gaze. She couldn’t put out of her mind that there was a bed looming behind her. “So, Your Gr— Edward. What did you want to show me here?”
The look he sent her made her quake. “Something very similar to that book you were reading.”
She blinked. “I-I wasn’t reading it.”
“I know. You were looking at the pictures. But you want to read it. You want to know what happens to that naughty little maid, don’t you? Would it shock you to know it is happening, at this very moment, just a few doors down the hall?”
“What…what is happening?” Heat scorched her cheeks. She could see those images from the book, dancing before her eyes.
“I think you know. That book was about spankings. Have you ever been spanked, Helena?”
“Your Grace. This conversation is hardly proper.” She hated that her voice shook.
“Is any of this proper?” He leaned closer, making her tremble like a rabbit before a hound.
“Your Grace. You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“Have you ever thought about having a man’s hand on your bottom?”
“Would you want your sister in a place like this? With a man like you?”
“Happily, I don’t have a sister. Answer my question. Do you want to be spanked?”
“Sir—”
“Please don’t call me sir. It makes me…antsy.”
“Your Gr—”
“Not that either.”
“Edward. I must let you know, I am a betrothed woman. If you are intending to debauch me—”
He laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” she sputtered.
“Debauch,” he wheezed. “Such a funny word. By the way, it sounds much worse than it is. But if it puts your mind to rest, I have no intention of debauching you. Unless, of course, you’re willing. It’s a rule I have. Willing women only.”
Oh. Well. That made her feel better. She crossed her arms over her chest. He fixated on her breasts. She glared at him.
“So. Are you?” he murmured.
Helena frowned. “Am I what?”
“Willing?”
Her heart lurched. “No.”
“Ah. A pity.”
“Edward.”
“Yes?”
“Why have you brought me here?”
“Ah, yes. That. As I said, to show you a bit of the world. A bit you would never learn of in Peg Satterlee’s hallowed halls.” Peg? How on earth did he know Lady Satterlee’s given name? “Think of me as your guide. Your instructor. Your trainer, as it were.”
For some reason the look in on his face lit a fire in her blood, but she didn’t have time to think on it. Just then someone scratched at the door and Edward unlocked it to admit a waiter carrying a covered tray. Behind him, a footman carried a bottle of wine and some glasses. It took them less than a minute to set the table and then they disappeared as quickly as they’d come. Not once did they so much as glance at Helena.
Edward sat at the table, unrolled his napkin and tucked it into his collar. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the repast. “Dig in. The pork pie is excellent.”
Helena sat back. “I haven’t an appetite.” How could she have? Her belly roiled like a dinghy in a storm.
How had she come to be here with him? What had she been thinking?
More to the point, what had she been drinking?
Now that the effects had worn off, her panic grew.
He said nothing, but poured her a glass of wine. A sip calmed her. A gulp was better. When she finished the glass, he filled it again. “My, you are thirsty.”
“I’m nervous, if you must know.”
“Nervous? Just because you are locked in a sumptuous boudoir with a notorious rake?” Although he hadn’t relocked the door. She decided not to point that out.
“All my life I’ve been told horrific tales of depraved lords bent on despoiling young women—”
“I am not depraved. I just have…interesting tastes.” His eyes glinted. “I suspect you share them. Don’t you at least owe it to yourself, your future husband, to find out?”
She flushed. “Let me finish.”
“By all means.”
“All my life I’ve been told tales of lords determined to have their way with young women. That such a thing could ruin a girl’s life. I had no idea ho
w true those stories were.”
His gaze sharpened. “Have you been despoiled?”
“Betrayed is a better word. He lied to me. Made me believe he was a gardener, when he was actually a lord.”
He relaxed. She thought she heard him mumble, “Oh, that.”
“I would hate to think the only other lord I’ve met might do the same. It would utterly destroy my faith in humanity.”
“Hell.” He tossed back his wine and poured them both another glass. “You are a true ‘Lady of Quality’, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?” In that tone.
“You’re very good with guilt. Lay it on with a trowel.”
“It’s not my intention to make you feel guilty.”
He chuckled. “Liar.”
“It’s my intention to remind you who you are so you behave yourself.”
“Eat your pork pie.”
“Edward, it’s getting late. We should go.”
“Go? We’ve only just arrived.”
“We should go. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“So you don’t want to watch Naughty Nellie get her spanking? There’s a private observation room.”
“Edward, please.” She had to fight to hold back her laugh. Though he was frightening and domineering, he was also very charming and funny and had a way of putting a girl at ease. The wine helped immensely.
“I do so love that word.” He lifted his glass in a mocking toast.
“I don’t understand half the things you say.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re an innocent.” His expression took on a disturbing light. “But you have such potential.”
“See. I have no idea what that means.”
“It is a damn shame I’m such a loyal friend.”
Helena blew out a breath. He was talking in riddles. “Edward. I must insist.”
“Must you?” This, he almost growled. The mood thrumming between them darkened. “Did he take you?”
“What? Who?”
“Your gardener lord. Did he fuck you?”
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