The scars reminded her of his mortality, and she shivered as if death’s own hand were touching her on the back, giving her a warning that the end was closing in. Edward was so stern, so imposing it seemed impossible that he was vulnerable to anything. Wouldn’t he just give death a glare and scare him away? You know the date of his death. Death comes for everyone. Even the high-and-mighty. Eighty-five. That’s the age he lived to. Decades yet. He married and had three children.
Three. Helen took a step back.
“Come now, this isn’t the end of the world,” he said, in a lover’s tone. He’d misunderstood her sudden tension. Sure she was a little flustered by his attention, but she wouldn’t back away from it. She’d be all for a sexy break to the animosities. NO, the problem was that she knew what his life was to be, and she had no part in it. “You’re mine. I’ve bought you. That is what it means to be a mistress.”
She bit the inside of her lip, her body near tingling, wanting the rough press of his hard body against hers, even as she thought about the fact that he’d be married. Victorian women and husbands didn’t love each other, did they? Weren’t wives expected to give an heir and a spare, and then they could sleep around as much as they wanted to?
And men were supposed to be worse, keeping mistresses, chasing actresses and debauching maids. Not him. He stepped back from her, holding the cloak out to the jeweler who dashed forward to take it from him. Edward’s gaze met hers, mocking and scornful. You’ll regret demanding this of me, his expression said.
What was the deal here?
Edward took a step back from her as if she were a work of art that he wanted to see in total rather than up close. He crossed his arms and stared at her bluntly, the quality of his attention definitely different than what she was used to. He wasn’t looking at her with animosity; he was examining her as a woman.
And he was doing it slowly.
She felt herself blushing as he took his time. As if he actually had bought her, and he was going to get his money’s worth. “Sapphires,” he said, “and diamonds.”
She had the distinct impression that he was imagining her with only the jewelry on. His gaze met hers and she looked away, irritated at herself for doing it. Was it cowardice to look away from him? Wasn’t this just another confrontation?
But she could feel her body responding to him, betraying her. She wanted him, God help her. And the only thing that had made it bearable was the fact that he hated her and looked at her as if she were repulsive.
Now he was looking at her as if he were going to ravish her. Strip her down and eat her whole, so yeah, it was time to look away. The jeweler brought out a heavy piece, several sapphires, pearls and diamonds twined together into a choker.
The Duke dismissed it immediately, even before it was out of the case. Not even using words, but the flick of a hand. “I want to see her neck.” The urge to make this farce stop was becoming overwhelming. “Something that settles lower, I think.” His gaze moved down her chest, blatantly staring at the tops of her breasts that were on display in her low-cut gown. She took a deep, shuddering breath, hyperaware of how her breasts pushed against the material.
The jeweler disappeared into the back room. The Duke looked away from her, gaze fixed out the window, jaw suddenly hard, and she wondered idly if he was affected by her at all. Was this simply to humiliate her? He was probably one of the greatest catches in the land. Gorgeous and rich. Every woman desired him.
That’s kind of depressing.
The jeweler came back with a deceptively simple necklace. A giant sapphire surrounded by diamonds that winked in the light. Whatever the cost was, it was a fortune. It had to be. The Duke cast the jeweler a look from under his lashes, and the man disappeared into the back room again, leaving them alone. He picked up the necklace and moved in close to her.
“Turn around,” he ordered and she did, presenting him with her back and wishing desperately this was some prelude to kinky sex. She could feel him at her back. He put the necklace on her, the weight of it surprisingly heavy. The sapphire settled between her breasts, drawing the eye. She turned back around, one hand on the necklace touching the stones, feeling their hard brilliance. He leaned towards her, speaking gently in her ear, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through her, settling in her core and making her close her eyes.
“Do you want this necklace? It can be yours. Just walk away. Take this and go.” The warmth of his breath tickled her ear.
Her eyes opened. Oh. Duh. Every sexy thought vanished, and she felt like a moron. Yes, this was business. He didn’t want her. Why would he? She was blackmailing him and was little better than a heathen.
“I have money in the carriage. I can take you to Dover. You can be in France by tomorrow. There are ships leaving for America all the time. You can start again, live a different life, and escape whoever is making you do this.”
He’d caught her off guard. She couldn’t do more than shake her head in denial, blinking rapidly in confusion, not wanting the sudden rush of tears to be noticeable. It was PMS, right?
His tone was soft but relentless. “I will be armed tonight. Do you have any idea how incredible that is to me? That you seem so dangerous and unpredictable that I am going to carry a gun into a ball, in case I must protect a man from you.”
“I’m not going to hurt him,” she said weakly.
He leaned back so she could look up into his dark eyes. His smile was sad. “I can’t afford to believe you. I’m giving you a way out of this.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, words thick. She looked away from his intense regard, as though he’d see her secrets on her face.
She felt him tense, just slightly, and he exhaled a deep sigh that was somehow sensual, and she tried not to sway forward or do something that would give away her I-want-to-hump-your-bones-even-though-you-hate-me confusion.
“If you’re not doing this against your will, then I think you must be a spy or an assassin. Or something…” A slight shake of his head. “I think there is a word for you, and I don’t know it. Tell me what it is,” frustration made his words deeper.
Patient and still, he waited, as though he knew that if he just gave her enough time, she would tell him her secrets. The stupid part was that the idea of telling him did pass through her mind. 'Actually I’m from the future.’
That wasn’t going to work.
He took a step back, rested a hand on the glass case, drumming his fingers briefly.
“Nothing about you is right. You are not common, yet you have nothing but the money I gave you. You are clearly educated, but have no background to attain that knowledge. I have met Americans, and do you know what I have discovered about them?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, as though her own words might come flooding out. He touched her chin, forcing her to look at him, the smell of his cologne sitting heavily in her lungs.
“They are so worried about being different that they try the hardest to fit in. Every rule, every gesture is proper. But not you. You don’t have the faintest clue about etiquette or manners.”
I only had two weeks. Maps, studying the events that would come to pass, all that had been more important than etiquette. Helen reached up to the necklace, her fingers curiously numb as she fumbled with the clasp.
“Don’t,” her voice shook and she took a breath before continuing. “You don’t know me or what I am capable of. You can’t be the hero and save the day. You can’t talk me out of this. Keep your damn jewelry and just do what you’re told.”
She went to the shop door, yanking it open and surprising the coachman. He jumped to attention, opening the carriage door, her skirts swishing angrily as she fled. Helen waited in the dark interior, using every second to fortify herself and remind her of her purpose.
The future depended on her. She wouldn’t be remembered as the woman who fucked it up because a guy got in the way. She would get the job done, and she would disappear. The plans were an unknown. She had to make su
re Black gave them to her tonight. If that meant she had to torture it out of him, she would. She couldn’t be looking for alternatives or easier ways to get the job done, just so she could impress some stuffy jerk who was engaged.
Helen knew the future. He’d condescended to treating her like a mistress, one step above a whore, and she’d gotten her panties in a damp twist over it.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She should’ve gotten her cloak before storming out. The carriage door opened, and the Duke handed her the cloak as he climbed in, ducking his head so he didn’t bang it as he stepped into the vehicle.
The carriage set off, the sound of the horses’ hooves and outside traffic incapable of breaking up the heavy silence between them. He leaned forward, offering her a black rectangular case. “In case you change your mind,” he said.
“I won’t. I don’t want it.”
“You’ve already taken five thousand pounds from me; I can’t imagine you’re going to quibble over a thousand more. Put it on. Give it back to me at the end of the night if you don’t want it. I want to speak to you about this event,” he said, sounding very serious.
“Good idea. Let me tell you the plan.”
“I’m dreading it already,” he murmured.
She let that slide. “My plan is to get in there, find Black, speak to him and then leave. How’s that?”
“Frighteningly simplistic,” he said and crossed his legs.
She scowled.
“I’m going to be blunt with you. I am not a man who engages in casual lusts. And I hold the reputation of my fiancée in high regard. I don’t want the world gossiping that I have taken a paramour months before our wedding.”
Helen gulped.
“You are an actress. We had a liaison several years back, and now you’re here looking for a protector. If anyone asks, I’m here with you as an old friend who wants to make sure you make a good connection. You are not my mistress. Is that clear?”
“Your solution is to tell them that I’m a hooker on the prowl?” she asked, indignantly. “Do you have the word hooker?”
Now he scowled, his expression slightly sinister in the dark. “Is it a worse word than ‘blackmailer’? You are a courtesan. It explains why we’re here. Why I know so very little about your recent past, and it also leaves me my reputation. ”
Helen couldn’t think of a good reason to protest. “All right. We will do it your way.”
In another few minutes, they arrived.
Helen’s stomach flip-flopped.
Please don’t screw this up.
Chapter 13
Edward helped her down from the carriage and led them in. As they entered the room, she felt as if everyone turned to look at them, a mixture of surprise and curiosity on everyone’s face. It was rather odd to think that everyone in this room was probably married to someone else, and that all the women were mistresses. But that’s what it meant to go to an event for the demimonde. The room was overly-warm from the multitude of candles used to light up the room. The smell of perfume cloying, and the noise hit her like an invisible wall, everyone talking loudly and laughing, their voices bouncing off the polished floor.
There were too many damn people in one room.
Edward extended his arm, and she held onto him as he began to move through the crowd.
The women were pale, some to the extent of being sallow, and they all looked at her with flinty interest. That they saw her as blatantly inferior was obvious. And yet the men all looked at her as if they were imagining her doing perverse things. A majority of the men were older, a slightly dissipated look to them, their cheeks florid and their laugh desperate.
But one man stood out, appearing so healthy and handsome, broad-shouldered and dashing that Helen blinked twice. His thick blond hair was parted in the middle, and he was significantly taller than most men in the room. He looks like a damned Aryan poster boy.
And then she saw Roland Black.
She’d seen a very dour-looking photograph of him before she left. An ordinary man in his early forties, he didn’t necessarily look like someone who’d created a weapon that changed the world. He had spent a lot of time on boats, and his skin had a weathered quality to it. His hair was gray, his figure trim, and he was talking very earnestly to a man with a portly belly and a huge monocle. She caught the word deer and deduced they were talking about hunting.
“That’s him,” she said.
“The atrocious waistcoat gives him away. Americans,” he said the word as if it was a fatal disease. Helen squashed a smile. His waistcoat was rather striking. China was newly open to trade, and it was now fashionable to wear Chinese silks. A brilliant red with multi-colored birds cavorting about like crazy.
Edward led them up to Mr. Black who had begun laughing at something the other man said. Edward introduced himself to Mr. Black, who exclaimed in a very American way that it was a great honor to meet such a distinguished peer of the realm.
“And this is Miss Foster, a fellow American,” Edward said, and Helen curtsied very low, so low that all the men could get a good look at her bosom. After all, it couldn’t hurt. She smiled at Mr. Black and he blinked as if dazzled.
“It is a great honor to meet you, sir. My father is a gun enthusiast and speaks quite highly of you.”
Roland Black appeared startled.
The Duke interjected, “I know it’s most uncivilized for a young lady to discuss guns—”
Helen cut him off, trying to throw him a look that told him not to help her. “Yes, but where I grew up, in California, it was best to be uncivilized rather than starve or be attacked by savages.”
“Good God, my girl! Did you grow up on the frontier then?”
Helen nodded, smiling blandly.
“And made it all the way to England. Good for you!” Mr. Black sighed dramatically. “You must be very careful in London. It is both an exciting and a frightening place.”
“Surely it cannot be that bad if you are here?” the Duke said.
Mr. Black blinked and crossed his arms. “I wanted to see it for myself. There has never been a city so large; so many people crammed into such a space. And I won’t stay long. I don’t know how you Londoners do it. And I, like many others, find myself wondering how long it will last.”
A harsh smile crossed the Duke’s face. Almost disdainful. “You think she won’t make it then? That our city is a grand experiment doomed to fail?”
“How can it last? So many people and animals, professions and classes all forced together. The diseases and amorality. London is worse than Babylon, and when she goes, I want to say I was here.”
The Duke stood ramrod straight, and Helen could feel his anger just below the surface. “You are wrong. This is the beginning. The whole world is changing, on the cusp of being remade, and it isn’t something to be frightened of, but proud of. The things we can do now, the treatments that we have to save people, people can be fed and can create a new life for themselves; they are no longer trapped in the countryside.”
Roland Black shook his head sharply, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you’re wrong. People die at an incredible rate now, from sickness and plague—entire city-blocks might be filled with corpses over-night. When someone dies, they get thrown into the street, discarded like filth. Everywhere I go the smell is overwhelming. The miasma thick and lethal. I grew up where the air was pure, where water was as clear as rain, where death was treated like a tragedy not like something one threw out with the chamber pot.”
The Duke spoke through gritted teeth. “If you dislike our fair city so much, please feel free to leave.”
Helen could see her opportunity slipping away.
“Mr. Black, I am very interested in you, and your designs.”
He looked at Helen with unblinking eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You made changes to Colt’s designs for the Peacemaker, and he dismissed you. But I would be most interested to hear what you’ve been working on lately.”
Helen watched him clos
ely, trying to read the expressions that were flickering across his face. Saying it aloud made it real; she had the strange fear that everyone would suddenly pause and look at her, aware of her plans to change the world, the course of things to come.
“How do you know about my plans?” He licked his lips nervously while people continued to chat and drink, ignorant to the momentous conversation. What the hell was he nervous about?
“I didn’t know it was a secret,” she smiled, wanting to put him at ease and feeling like a moron for approaching the subject so clumsily.
“Not a secret, but your interest is very…unusual.”
“Because I’m a woman? Or because I’m another interested party?”
He looked at the Duke as if asking for help. The Duke was studiously looking around for a glass of champagne, ignoring them both completely.
“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter, Mr. Black. I’d be happy to tell you how I know of your invention.” Mr. Black blanched, visibly shocked. Edward snagged a flute of champagne, taking a hefty swallow before turning back to them. He clapped Mr. Black on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Let me reassure you, that although she says 'let’s go somewhere quiet’, she is actually saying she would like to have a conversation with you, not any other interpretation you might come up with. Especially considering where we are…amongst this gathering of agreeable women.”
He gestured towards the back of the room with his glass, and although Mr. Black did not appear reassured, he followed the Duke’s lead.
She wanted to elbow Edward in the ribs. But she also felt like an idiot. Of course she wasn’t propositioning Mr. Black for sex! He was old! And what did he mean ‘agreeable women’? Was he calling her easy? Once again, he managed to be insulting without saying a damned thing clearly.
They made their way through the crowd, stepping into a hallway and finding an empty sitting room. There was a fire going and the lamps lit, as if the room were just waiting for guests.
“Why did you decide not to put the plans up for auction?” she asked, as soon as the door was closed.
A Lady Out of Time (Helen Foster) Page 9