No matter what was said about his mental status or reputation, everyone agreed he was a handsome devil. Several women had gone so far as to imply they would welcome his company any time or place, but Lord Thorne was not accommodating. He ignored the assemblies and thwarted any chances these ladies might have to lure him to their beds. Helena suspected this was the source of their ire and the reason there was often venom behind their words. Feeling slighted, they took pleasure in uncovering his flaws and pointing them out to everyone. Helena supposed it was human nature to disparage what one couldn’t have, but it was still very nasty business, indeed.
Fergus entered the breakfast room, holding out his hand as he approached. The gold watch glinted in the sunlight when he passed the window. “Robert found this in the carriage.”
Helena took the piece with a frown. The hinge had been knocked askew and she was barely able to pry it open. The face of the watch had a crack across it. She turned it over, looking for a marking, but didn’t see one. “It must have fallen from Lord Thorne’s pocket the other night.” She closed it as best as she could. “Would you mind too much taking it to the watchmaker? Once it has been repaired, it can be returned to him anonymously.”
Fergus scowled. “He can replace his watch.”
“But if it has sentimental value… Please. The poor man has suffered enough. Surely a little kindness will do him good.”
“You are too kind, lass. It addles your brain.” He tucked the watch in his pocket. “I will take it to the watchmaker today.”
“Thank you, Fergus.”
He left, grumbling under his breath, but she knew it was for appearances only. He rarely denied her anything, which made him addled by kindness as well.
Feeling much relieved by the absence of her name in the paper, Helena retired to her chambers to sort through her correspondence, but Luna had other ideas. The gray cat leaped onto the small writing desk, turned a circle atop the letter Helena was trying to read, and plopped in the middle.
“You naughty girl,” Helena playfully scolded as she scratched Luna’s head and smiled when the stray began purring. Helena’s correspondence would have to wait, it seemed. A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter.”
It was Ismay and Fergus.
“You have a visitor, milady.” Ismay crossed the chamber and held out a calling card. Helena took it, expecting Olive had come to check on her well-being, as she often did. Helena fumbled the card.
Sebastian Thorne? The black ink screamed in warning. What was the baron doing here? In the middle of the day, no less. An unrelenting heat engulfed her as the alternative hit her. A nighttime visit would be a thousand times more damning. Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips.
“Did he state his business?”
Fergus frowned. “He didna. I should toss him out on his arse.” He looked too happy with the prospect of manhandling the baron, but she didn’t care to draw more notice to his presence at her doorstep than necessary.
She couldn’t receive a bachelor, of course, especially one with his reputation for being a rogue. Even if curiosity would drive her mad all afternoon.
“Don’t do anything hasty, Fergus. Tell him I am not in, but see if you can determine his purpose in calling.”
The large Scotsman snorted. “A man like Thorne has one purpose for calling on a lady.”
Helena shot a censorious look in his direction. Fergus glanced at his younger sister and sobered. “As you wish, milady.” He bowed then spun on his heel and stalked from the room.
She scratched Luna behind the ears once more before making her way to the window to see if Fergus would follow her orders about not making a scene. Ismay scooped the cat in her arms and came to peer out the window too.
The boulevard was free of carriages, thank goodness. Lord Thorne had arrived a little before calling hours, which meant he’d either given thought to how his appearance at her door may be viewed, or he had no manners.
“Does he wish to bed you then, milady?”
Helena gasped.
Ismay smiled and cuddled Luna. “I know about the carrying-on between lads and lasses. Fergus may treat me like a child, but just because I am no’ married does no’ make me naive.”
Helena didn’t question her claim. Ismay had a beau back in Aberdeen. “When are you going to marry your Terrence? I know he has asked you.”
Ismay shrugged. “Not till I see you settled, I suppose.”
“If you are waiting for me to remarry, please don’t. I am widowed and I have money at my disposal. I am as settled as I will ever be.”
“You havna been loved yet, but you will. Then I will marry Terrence. He is waiting for me.”
Helena bit her tongue. They could discuss it once they returned to Aldmist Fell with Gracie and any of Helena’s other sisters who wanted a new start.
Muffled voices carried to the second floor, and the front door slammed, rattling the window.
“That didna sound good.”
Helena held her breath as she awaited the baron’s reaction. He stepped onto the walkway and paused, his back to the town house. A smart hat hid his raven hair except for a few wisps brushing the collar of his burgundy coat.
“My, he cuts a dashing figure in his buckskins.”
“Aye.” Ismay chuckled as she set Luna on the ground. “His tailor should be commended.”
Heat climbed Helena’s neck as she realized she’d spoken aloud. Blast. Why must she too want what she couldn’t have?
“Are you certain you want to turn him away?”
“No,” Helena murmured. “But I must. Lord Thorne is a distraction I cannot afford.”
The baron glanced over his shoulder toward the window. Her heart stopped. Her feet became rooted to the mahogany floor. He turned slowly, his gaze locked with hers. His dark eyes narrowed and his lips moved.
What are you about, Lady Prestwick? he seemed to say.
Her heart leaped, pounding against her ribs and in her ears.
“Dear heavens, it was him. He followed me to Whitechapel last night.”
Ismay issued an outraged cry and yanked the curtains closed. “We’ll just see what Fergus has to say about the bloody Sassenach stalking you.”
“No!” Helena grabbed her maid’s arm. She hadn’t told Fergus about someone calling her name before the footpad tried to attack her, and she didn’t want him to know Lord Thorne had followed them.
“Why not?” Ismay’s green eyes widened. “Ooh, you like him.”
Helena shook her head. “Fergus would get in a lot of trouble if he attacked a nobleman. Please, say nothing to him. I can handle Lord Thorne.”
It was a bold statement. She had no experience in handling rogues, and rumors had it the baron was a notch above average when it came to being roguish.
Avoidance. That was the only action she could take. She could never see Lord Thorne again, which meant she must hand over control of the search to Fergus. It didn’t sit well with her, but with the blasted baron dogging her heels, she was left in a position she hated.
With no choice.
***
Four days had passed since Sebastian was turned away from Lady Prestwick’s door, and she had refused to see him each day since. Every evening the lady attended balls he wasn’t invited to attend, returned to her town house, and didn’t venture out again. A lack of adequate sleep made his mind fuzzy, and he’d begun to wonder if he had imagined following the viscountess to Whitechapel. Perhaps he should hire a man to follow her.
He shook his head. People might think he was as insane as his father if they found out. In truth, the only thing separating his brand of madness from his father’s was that Sebastian didn’t forget where he was or battle demons no one else could see.
Oh, no. Sebastian was engaged in a different type of fight. A battle of wills with an angel. The Angel of Whitechapel, no less. And she was winning.
Devil take it! He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he stood before a glossy black door with a
sparkling brass lion knocker. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but God help him, Lady Prestwick was all he could think about morning and night. He needed help, even if it meant swallowing his pride.
Before he could change his mind, he grasped the knocker and banged on the door. It took but a minute for the servant to answer. Perhaps that meant she was receiving today.
Sebastian handed his calling card over without ceremony. “Lord Thorne to see Lady Ellis.”
As the manservant showed him to a tidy parlor, Sebastian’s stomach turned to stone. If his former fiancée refused to see him, his humiliation would know no bounds.
He was left alone while the man went to see if Gabrielle was in. A decanter filled with amber liquid winked in the sunlight, and he made his way to the sideboard to pour a glass. The warmth of the brandy had begun to loosen the knots in his body when Gabrielle swept into the room.
“Sebastian, how lovely to see you.” Her voice held wonder and perhaps a touch of relief.
They hadn’t spoken since the night at the inn when she’d chosen his rival over him. The familiar slow burn of anger flickered in his chest, but it didn’t combust as usual.
He allowed himself a good look at her. Her gray eyes held a sparkle again, and her cheeks boasted a healthy, rosy glow.
“You look radiant.” It sounded more like a concession than a compliment, but it was the truth.
“Thank you, my lord.” Her smile faded a bit, and she gazed at him from beneath her dark lashes as if she were ashamed to be happy in his presence. “I see you have a drink already or I would offer one.”
He lifted the glass in salute. “Convey my compliments to your husband. He always had fine taste in brandy and women.”
She crossed her arms, closing off to him before he’d even had a chance to solicit her assistance. Not that he blamed her. He was behaving like an arse.
“Forgive me, Lady Ellis. I am not here to dredge up old grudges.” He gestured toward a chair. “May I sit, please?”
She pursed her lips. “I suppose, so long as you aren’t here to cause trouble.”
“I promise trouble is the furthest from my mind,” he said, then smiled because part of him was pleased to see her again. At least his doubts could be laid to rest. “You look happy. It pains me to say, but it seems I was wrong about Ellis.”
The softness returned to her face, and she claimed a chair so he could finally sit as well. “I should be the one asking forgiveness. I never meant to—”
He lifted a hand to signal her to stop. “I am quite well.” If she said she hadn’t meant to hurt him, he would feel compelled to tell her she hadn’t. He’d been fond of Gabrielle—she had seemed a pleasant means to an end—and he would have treated her very well, but he hadn’t loved her. And compared to how blissful she appeared now, she hadn’t loved him either.
She folded her hands in her lap.
“There, now isn’t that better?” He relaxed against the seatback. “Just two old friends having a nice chat?”
“Perhaps you’re old,” she said with a saucy toss of her head and the hint of a teasing smile.
He laughed, feeling more at ease.
“Do you want to tell me the real reason you have called, Sebastian?”
He took another sip of his drink to stall. She would want explanations, and he wasn’t certain how to explain his curiosity about Lady Prestwick.
Obsession is more like it.
Gabrielle sighed. “I do not have all day.”
“I need you to speak with your mother. I would like an invitation to Lady Eldridge’s annual ball this week.”
Her mouth formed a silent O.
“Since your mother is Lady Eldridge’s closest friend,” he said, “I had hoped she might speak with the countess on my behalf.”
“And you think Lady Eldridge’s ball is the best time to reintroduce your sister to Society?” Her wrinkled brow revealed her reluctance to help. “If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, perhaps a smaller venue would be more tolerable to Miss Thorne. Large crowds make her nervous.”
“I want to go,” he snapped.
He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath to contain his temper. He didn’t need advice from someone who’d met his sister only a handful of times, but he did need Gabrielle’s help. Opening his eyes, he forced a half smile. “As I was saying, the invitation is not for my sister.”
Gabrielle’s frown deepened. “Why, in God’s name, would you want to attend Lady Eldridge’s ball? You called her a busybody.”
He gritted his teeth. Leave it to Gabrielle not only to remember things he said weeks ago, but also to remind him. He could see he would get nowhere unless he told the truth. “Lady Eldridge has a cousin visiting from Scotland. I made Lady Prestwick’s acquaintance at the theatre recently, and I would like to further the association.”
She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers in a manner her father used to practice. “The Widow Prestwick.” She emphasized the word widow as if that alone explained his interest. Did his former fiancée truly believe he would come to her for help in seducing a woman?
“Her marital status is one small part of who she is.” Not that he really knew much more about her—other than she was adept at protecting herself and had a penchant for midnight strolls in the rookeries—but he wanted to know more. And it had very little to do with wanting to tup her, although that would be acceptable too.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian. Whoever you wish to know better is none of my concern. I think it is wonderful you have an interest in Lady Prestwick. Mama has said such nice things about her.”
He scowled and Gabrielle chuckled.
“I will speak to Mama this evening. I’m certain she will be able to persuade Lady Eldridge to invite you.” She bit her bottom lip, her merriment fading.
He nodded in encouragement for her to say what was on her mind.
“Anthony and I were also planning to attend. We don’t receive many invitations, and I…” Her gray eyes shimmered and she blinked away tears.
He had known when she eloped with the earl her reputation would suffer, but he didn’t wish her ill. His smile was tight, even though he would like to put everything behind them. “It seems like the perfect opportunity to show the gossips there are no hard feelings between us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Not even with Anthony?” She looked so hopeful he couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
“The evening will not end in fisticuffs. I can promise you that much.”
“Thank you, Sebastian. Considering everything that transpired, that is gentlemanly of you.” A sweet smile eased across her pretty face, reminding him of the reason he’d thought she might be the one for him. “Anthony misses your friendship. Maybe someday…”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
He and Ellis had a long way to go before Sebastian would call the earl a friend again, if they ever reached that point. Still, he had other matters claiming his attention, and fighting over something he couldn’t change would do him no good. It wasn’t until he left Keaton Place that he realized he wouldn’t change the past even if it were possible.
Six
Helena was ready to crawl out of her skin by the time she arrived at Olive’s annual ball. She had turned over every possibility in her head, and she had gained nothing but a throbbing at her temples. How could Lavinia be so close and yet completely out of Helena’s reach?
Earlier that morning Fergus had returned after a night of prowling the East End with both good and bad news about her sister. One of the girls at a George Street brothel had been more than willing to talk once Fergus handed over a fat purse. She said Lavinia had worked there a short time, but she’d been traded to a fashionable brothel that catered to gentlemen of means. The girl hadn’t known which one, not that Helena would have allowed that to deter her. She was willing to search every one until she found her sister.
It was the gentlemen only rule that presented an obstacle.
“Gentl
emen,” she grumbled under her breath as she approached the ballroom entrance. She hardly considered any man who frequented a brothel a gentleman, but that was neither here nor there. She needed a man of good breeding and prestige, one who knew how to keep a secret. And she wasn’t convinced such a creature existed.
Blast! Perhaps she should forgo the ball and return to the town house until she solved this problem. There had to be a way to gain access to Lavinia. Surely the brothels received deliveries, but could Fergus slip away unnoticed to question the women about her sister? It was far-fetched, but pursuing outlandish ideas had almost become commonplace for her.
As one of the footmen turned to ask her name, a thought occurred to her. Perhaps Olive’s husband knew a thing or two about visiting brothels. Her face heated. Approaching Lord Eldridge about the subject would require more gall than Helena had. Nevertheless, the idea was better than anything else she’d come up with today.
She spotted Olive several steps inside the ballroom engaged in conversation with the Dowager Duchess of Foxhaven and a young woman with ebony curls and exotic eyes. When the footman announced Helena’s arrival, Olive looked up with a welcoming smile. She gestured to her to join them.
Perhaps Helena could cut the night short if she first spent a little time chatting with Olive and her friends. She didn’t want to insult her husband’s cousin, but she was in no state of mind to enjoy a ball.
“Helena, how lovely to see you.” Olive grasped her hands and pecked her cheek. “Allow me to make introductions. You have met the duchess, and this is her daughter, Lady Ellis.”
The lady who had jilted Lord Thorne was stunningly beautiful. A pang of envy seized Helena, but she quickly banished the unwelcome sentiment. She couldn’t care less about Sebastian Thorne or whom he found to his liking. At least that was what she’d been telling herself all afternoon. Seven days in a row, he had come to her door requesting an audience, and he had been turned away each time. Today, however, they had seen neither hide nor hair of him. She hated to admit she had been disappointed.
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