“Where would his office be? Upstairs or down?”
“I don’t know. With this layout,” he looked around the entryway. “Morning room, dining room…I assume it’s down the hall.”
“Your Grace, welcome to my home. I was thrilled to hear you would be attending this evening,” Helen instantly went cold, fear raising gooseflesh all over her body. He’s as German as sauerkraut.
Edward turned around, a bland smile on his face. “Colchester. What can I say, I’m a man of many tastes. I’ve heard so much about your club, I just couldn’t stay away any longer. And please, call me Edward.”
Helen threw the Duke a glance. How come the evil Baron got to call him Edward so quickly?
“And who is your lady friend? I don’t believe we’ve met.” The Baron’s scrutiny was intense as he looked her clothing over, examining her as one would a bear in a tutu. “This is Mrs. Foster.”
He smiled coldly. “Ah, the American.”
Helen’s smile was made of cement. The Duke answered first, laughing casually. “You see, my dear, your beauty precedes you.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Foster.”
Helen extended a hand and looked down, trying to appear as demure as possible. The Baron took her gloved hand, giving her knuckles the lightest kiss.
“You must let me show you around and introduce you. Your attendance will be quite the coup. This way,” he said, extending a hand in the direction of the noise and people.
“Could you direct me to the ladies’ room, first of all? I’ll catch up with you.”
She saw fury leap in Edward’s gaze. “Stay, dear. Just for a moment.” He squeezed her hand warningly.
The Baron laughed. “A new relationship indeed if you can’t bear to let her out of your sight. Come along, Your Grace. She’ll catch up to us.”
Helen leaned forward, putting a chaste kiss on Edward’s cheek and murmured in his ear, “Keep him busy.”
Helen moved down the hallway in the direction he pointed, the heaviness of her dress making her gait unnaturally smooth. She turned back, just catching a glimpse of them as the Baron led Edward into the party. That’s one for my team. Her heart began to pound in excitement and nerves. She wouldn’t have long to search before Edward came looking for her.
She snuck down the hallway, bypassing the ladies’ room; the hallway lit up invitingly. The third door was the jackpot. Inside the room, a large desk stood before her, the surface abnormally bare. Helen had hoped that the plans would be there in plain sight—maybe even wrapped with a pretty bow or a sign that said 'this is it!’
The room had a very masculine feel to it, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. She shut the door quietly behind her. It didn’t have a lock. What kind of spy didn’t have a lock on their door?
The one who doesn’t keep anything valuable here. Or the one who isn’t expecting someone to steal from them. The top drawers were empty. Empty! Who the hell had empty drawers? Helen’s desk had been crammed full of crap. But the bottom had a thick stack of loose papers. She tried to make sense of what she was looking at. They were shipping manifestoes, lists of departure dates and accountings of what was being taken on, a list of passengers and the destination. The one on top was to Germany, and the cargo was listed as explosives. Helen grimaced. The ship was set to leave tomorrow.
Helen folded the paper, putting it in the pocket of her skirt. She quickly rifled through the other pages, not even sure what she was looking for. Rather oddly, none of the other ships went to Europe. Ireland, Scotland, even a few to the Outer Hebrides; islands near Scotland that were only inhabited by some cold sheep. Why would the Baron send cargo there? People living there would have to get food and goods somehow, she supposed.
Suddenly, a scream filled the air, the sound echoing through the walls, and Helen shoved the papers back into the desk and ran for the door, her skirts rustling like a pissed-off snake. The door opened, and Helen skidded to a halt. Edward stood there, face like thunder, his eyes scanning the room. “Do men spank unruly women in your time?”
Helen’s mouth opened and closed. She hadn’t expected him to say that. “Sounds…interesting. Although you probably don’t mean it in a kinky way, do you?”
“Roland Black is dead.”
Helen tried to make sense of the words. They seemed clear. But that was impossible. “What did you say?”
He didn’t repeat himself, simply waited.
Helen shook her head. “No, he’s not. He dies four years from now from syphilis.”
“Alas, that information didn’t help him.”
“How?” she asked.
“His throat was slit. One of the ladies just found him, hence the scream. Everyone is panicking. It’s time to leave. Did you get what you were looking for?”
Helen blinked and looked at his face, the earnest question there making her stomach plummet. Roland Black should not be dead. He was supposed to have two children. Now what? Those children would never be born. The timeline had changed again. She licked her lips. “Did the Baron kill him?”
“I don’t know. In my personal opinion, it seems like bad taste to kill someone at one’s own party,” he deadpanned.
“Be serious!”
“I am. He’s the obvious suspect. But, he’d be an idiot to kill him here.”
A muscle ticked at the corner of his jaw. He took a step closer, his voice lowering dangerously. “Answer my question. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No,” she said, lying to him. It felt as if the shipping information was burning a hole in her pocket. “We have to go. I’ll figure out something else once we’re free.”
Edward grabbed her by the hand, and they headed towards the door. Then he stopped and turned back to her. He looked at her dispassionately. “Take your hair down. Or at least disarrange it quite severely.”
“Why?”
“In case anyone wonders what we were doing in here.”
“Good idea.” Helen reached up, pulling pins out so that her hair fell down around her shoulders. He scowled at her appearance and turned away from her, staring at the door.
“What about you?” she asked. Helen reached out to his cravat, grabbing the material and pulling it free, exposing his neck. The contrast of his perfect and handsome self with the disheveled necktie was vaguely amusing. And unreasonably attractive.
He began to retie the cloth in a simpler style, the fabric creasing at odd points. “I suspect that I will remember this as the most dissatisfying night of debauchery in my entire life,” he said. Then he opened the door, pushing her behind him so that he could go out first. Edward stopped abruptly, and Helen bumped into him.
“This is my office,” she heard Colchester say. His accent made him easily identifiable. Helen peered around Edward’s shoulder, adrenaline coursing through her at the idea of them getting into a fight. She’d kill him. That would have to solve some problems.
“My apologies, every room was…occupied.”
The Baron’s hard expression roamed over them, hesitating on Helen’s disheveled hair. “The party is over, I’m afraid. Perhaps you heard the screaming?” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile.
Edward shifted back, blocking her with his body, as though he wanted to keep her identity a secret or shield her. “Has something happened? I confess I’d just assumed the screams were prompted by the entertainment. One hears such amazing things about Ms. Wells,” Edward said.
The Baron tilted his head so that he could see into the room, scanning it, undoubtedly to see if anything were out of place.
“There has been an…incident. Very upsetting. Undoubtedly, you will read all about it in the papers tomorrow. If you wish to avoid being in there yourself, I suggest you leave immediately.”
Edward put his arm around Helen, pulling her flush against his coiled body. Her hand landed on his chest, the heat of him radiating through his clothing. “We’ll be on our way then.”
The babble of excited voices was loud, the sound o
f weeping women making Helen want to roll her eyes. They hadn’t been murdered, why were they so upset?
Helen felt jittery but oddly calm. A weird contradiction. She was glad she had a lead for the plans, but couldn’t believe that Black was dead. How could the Germans risk changing the timeline?
“My carriage will be out front,” Edward said, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close as they shuffled out the door, protecting her from bumps and the press of people. He still thinks he can protect me. He won’t stop protecting me, even if it kills him. And it might. The heavy truth settled in her stomach like a brick.
If the Germans were willing to change the timeline, who was to say they wouldn’t kill Edward for helping her? Hell, if the Baron thought Edward was helping the Allies, he might kill him just to prove a point. They spilled out into the night, her breath fogging in front of her from the cold. To Helen, all the coaches looked the same, but Edward pulled her along behind him with purpose, handing her into the third one they passed. Helen blinked in the dark.
Edward settled across from her, his words oddly quiet. “Now what?”
Her voice came out steady. “Now…Nothing. We go home. Well, I go home. That wasn’t an invitation or anything…” Helen cleared her throat. His face was cast in shadow, the lamp low. One superior brow rose, displaying all of his irritation in one simple gesture.
“Not an invitation,” he repeated slowly. “Do not lie to me. Where are you going now?”
“What makes you think I’m lying?” Awareness shimmered between them, as though they were in the middle of a lightning storm.
“I think you found whatever you were looking for, and that the moment you get rid of me, you’re going to go do something foolish. Something one person cannot accomplish on their own.”
She shook her head, her hands twisting in her lap. “You can’t help me.”
“There is no one else to help you. You told me you were here to save millions of lives. You would jeopardize all of that in order to protect mine?” The words were ruthlessly precise, his tone conveying how stupid she was being.
Helen’s throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. “I don’t know…I genuinely am not sure what to do. You have to do things in the future, and I can’t risk you not doing them…” I can’t worry about getting you killed.
He made a tsking sound. “Surely I’m not quite so important to the future.”
Helen couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. “I can’t think. Just give me a minute to process everything.” Helen looked longingly at the door.
Edward leaned forward, picked up her hands from her lap, sliding his fingers through hers so that they were twined together, the gesture intimate. Tears blurred her vision, making her pissed. Don’t start crying, moron.
He spoke to her quietly, and she couldn’t help but listen to each soft word, becoming befuddled by his nearness and the utter confidence he radiated. “There are many advantages to being me. For example, everyone I meet wants to prove how important they are. Everyone has a business venture and wants my money to help them. Did you know that the Baron is heavily invested in shipping? In fact, he has a boat leaving in the morning.” He squeezed her fingers gently. “I can stop that boat. A word to the harbormaster and it’s done. You need me.”
“I’m not going to the docks,” Helen said, hearing the lack of conviction.
“The hell you aren’t.”
She pulled away from him, scooting across the carriage, surprised just how much colder and lonelier it was with the extra inches between them. He knocked on the carriage wall lightly and they lurched into motion.
“Where are we going?”
“Canary Wharf.”
He was so fucking high-handed and egotistical. It’s really hot. No, it’s not! A small kernel of anger bloomed inside of her and she tried to make it grow, shifting her anger at herself to him. “This isn’t your problem. Why do you even want to help me?”
He settled back against the black leather seat. The silence was lengthy. “Consider it an apology.”
She frowned. “Apology for what?”
He shook his head, saying nothing. He watched her in the dark, and she looked back, the anger evaporating. The moment stretched, became awkward as neither of them looked away. She wanted to climb across the carriage and kiss him. Sit in his lap and have him raise her skirts and sheathe himself in her body. She would never know what it was like to be with him. After tonight, she would never see him again. She couldn’t let him involve himself any further with her mission. He went blurry again and Helen blinked rapidly, taking in a deep breath.
“Come here,” he said with dark authority, and he reached out a hand towards her.
She couldn’t speak. Every muscle in her body locked with indecision. How many times had she wanted to go to bed with him? Crap, she’d thought about it two minutes ago. She saw it in his gaze—heat and desire. He wanted her. All she had to do was take his hand. So why was she hesitating?
Because I’m falling in love with him, and I can never see him again. No matter what. And how much worse would the temptation be if she went to him? He dropped his hand and she bit her lip, on the verge of asking him to take what he wanted. So she didn’t have to make a move, couldn’t say no.
He sighed. “Then let me tell you how sorry I am…I hit you. I can’t believe I did it, I can’t apologize enough. It must ache. I wanted to kiss it better. To apologize…” He laughed, the sound dark and unhappy. “Undoubtedly the way most men apologize when they hit a woman.”
Was that what this was about? His remorse for knocking her out? She’d left him no choice. In fact, she’d hit him first. Surely, he knew that. His face was drawn, as though he were reliving a terrible memory in his mind.
“You hit like a girl. You were lucky. If it weren’t for this stupid dress, I’d have kneed you in the family jewels, and you’d be at home icing it for a week.”
“I do not hit like a girl,” he said, voice a low rumble.
“You do, it was pathetic,” Helen said, smiling at him gently. “You held back. You got lucky.”
Helen moved, shifting seats so that she was next to him. He turned to face her, and her body leapt in awareness. He looked at her cheek, the mark he’d left there, and she was surprised when his fingers touched her jaw, turning her head slightly. He leaned in, the warm heat of his skin invading her body and making her feel drunk as if champagne bubbles were fizzling up her body. His lips were warm and dry, the faintest press of them against her swollen cheek. Apology and remorse radiated from him.
His lips moved down her face slowly, lightly placing kisses upon every inch of her jaw as he reached her mouth. The first kiss was chaste and light. The next had the barest touch of his tongue to the seam of her lips. Helen opened her mouth willingly, turning her head so that he could kiss her deeply. With a feral sound, he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her hard. She kissed him harder, desperate to feel him long after this night was over. She could taste the alcohol he’d drunk as his tongue slid along hers. Her legs were trapped under her skirts, and she broke the kiss, the sound of his heavy breathing making her nipples press hard against her corset.
“Let me,” he said, and he reached beneath her dress, shifting the fabric from under her, his hands brushing her calves and then her thighs. He slouched down in his seat slightly, a wicked glint in his eyes. He gripped her thighs, pulling her forward and settling her over him. The hard press of his erection against her core made her arch forward, his lips finding hers as he kissed her hungrily.
Helen gasped into his mouth and kissed him back, finally sinking her hands into his hair, taking an unreasonable amount of pleasure in disheveling the dark locks. He pressed against her, adjusting his hips so that his cock bumped her clitoris. Her eyes flew open at the snap of pleasure.
Their gazes locked and Helen breathed deep, wanting to take every piece of him into her that she could, not just his cock but his breath, his heartbeat, every inch
of him.
“Not a monk,” she whispered and bit his lower lip.
“No,” he growled as he cupped her face in his hands. “And I’m beginning to feel peculiarly emasculated every time you mention it.” A heavy hand settled on her hip, pressing her damp heat against him.” Her eyes closed in pleasure. “Jesus, I want to be inside you. You make me crazy. Do you understand that?” His hand sank into her hair, holding her still as if he would possess her by sheer force of will. He plundered her mouth, and she wished he was inside of her, the fabric between them a torture. Helen reached between them, her hands lost in the fabric of her damned dress as she fumbled for the opening of his trousers with desperate urgency.
He grabbed her hand in his, his grip tight but trembling in need. “I’m not doing this here,” he said, the words almost a growl. She didn’t know what expression he saw on her face, but he grimaced in response.
“Are you sure? It won’t take long.”
“Never have truer words been spoken,” he joked.
Helen kissed him, rubbing against him sinuously, hoping to change his mind. His hands settled on her hips, stilling her. “I don’t do things like this. I’m not going to treat you like a whore and defile you in a carriage.”
“I think you can only be defiled once. I’ve been defiled. A carriage suits me—”
He shifted her backwards by the hips, moving her back a crucial few inches, so she rested on his upper thighs. He winced. “I want to have a discussion about provisions first.”
“Is that a fancy term for some sort of deviant sex act?”
His brows slashed down, but he didn’t speak until she met his searching gaze. “If you get with child, I want you to be taken care of. I’ll provide for both you and the babe.” He seemed so sincere that Helen felt like an ass. Having a child out of wedlock, not having the protection of a father’s name, was social suicide in Victorian times. Birth control was unreliable at best. But, talking about it was a bit of a buzz kill for lots of reasons.
A Lady Out of Time (Helen Foster) Page 14