by Liz Carlyle
“You married to save your family,” she said quietly.
“Aye, I did what I thought was the right thing. And I went to my bride’s bed a twenty-three-year-old virgin. Imagine my shock to discover that I was the only one there.”
Helene was stunned by his words, but she knew he spoke the truth. “And yet, you were ever faithful to her, were you not?” she whispered.
In the bed beside her, she felt Cam nod tersely. “I stood up at St. Michael’s and pledged Cassandra my faith, my honor—and all my worldly possessions, for what little they were worth at the time. And yes, I kept my vow.”
“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” Cam would have kept his word, no matter the cost. But now, he had apparently broken his agreement with Mrs. Belmont.
Helene suddenly saw what such an action must have cost him. Why had he done it? For her? For them? Helene could not think clearly. Nonetheless, she was sure of one thing. Joan would be relieved, though Cam could not possibly know it. Just as he had had no way of knowing the hell his first marriage would eventually become.
Hesitantly, she spoke. “And yet, your wife was not so faithful, was she?”
She felt him relax, almost collapse inside. “Christ, Helene! Is there anything you do not see? Or must I thank my sister again?”
“Oh, you mustn’t blame Catherine,” Helene gently responded. “I know you, Cam, all too well. I can also see that Ariane is, in every respect that matters, your daughter.”
Cam rolled over to sit on the edge of the mattress, and dropped his head into his hands. “I would have no secrets between us, Helene,” he finally whispered. “I am glad you know. But Ariane is an innocent, and no more accountable for the sins of her parents than you and I were responsible for the sins of ours.”
Helene came up onto her knees behind him, encircled him with her arms, and rested her head upon his broad expanse of shoulders.
After a long moment, Cam spoke again. “I knew, Helene. I knew—and Cassandra knew—that the child she carried was not mine. I had not gone to my wife’s bed in months. And yet, I said nothing. In hindsight, I think I considered it my punishment for wedding a woman whom I did not—could not love.”
“Oh, Cam!” she said sadly. “Why do you imagine you should be punished?”
Cam gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Unlike Cassandra, I went to the marriage bed a virgin. But I took with me a heart that was as shattered as her maidenhead. And I wonder, Helene—whose sin was the greater?”
Wearily, Helene settled back into the bed. “You committed no sin, Cam. Marriages can be made without love. But they cannot be maintained without fidelity.”
Abruptly, Cam rose and strode across the room to the window, pulling back the draperies to stare out into the night. For many moments he stood there in silence. “Dawn will be upon us in another hour, Helene,” he finally said. “I must go soon, or run the risk of compromising your virtue even further.” Slowly, he turned to face her. “I would have this business of our marriage settled now.”
“No!” Helene raised an unsteady hand and pushed her heavy, untidy hair over one shoulder. “I won’t be bullied, Cam! Things have changed.”
“Precisely what things, Helene? What do you mean?”
“I have made a life for myself, Cam, just as you have done. Forgive me if I am in no haste to throw it all away.”
“You do not trust me to take care of you?” Pain flared in his eyes.
“I must trust me to take care of me, Cam. As I have always done.” Uncertainly, she paused. “Tell me this, Cam: when you came to my bed tonight, did you have any faith at all in my honor? Or my virtue?”
From his position silhouetted in the window, she heard Cam mutter a vile oath. “You wish me to suffer, then? I know I deserve it.”
“Not suffer, Cam!” She raised her hands in exasperation. “It merely seems to me a rather sudden change in your intentions.”
Suddenly, he crossed the room toward her. “No,” he whispered hoarsely, laying his finger to her lips. “Not sudden, Helene.” Cam stood over her, staring into the depths of her eyes. “A slow and certain acceptance that I cannot live without you. Good God, it has torn me apart.”
In compromise, Helene drew back the bedcovers and Cam dropped down beside her. “I tried, I suppose, to come to terms with my increasing desperation,” he continued, scrubbing a hand wearily down his face. “I tried to discover an honorable way to extricate Joan and myself from a miserable future. Did I not tell you when I left that when I returned from Devon, we would sort this out?”
He held up a hand when Helene began to interrupt. “But then,” he continued stubbornly, “this afternoon, I had scarce set foot inside my own house when the damned rector appears to regale me with stories of your mutual admiration, and to vow his undying affection for you. Words which I now know held far more hope than truth.”
Helene made a little choking sound, but Cam kept talking.
“And as if that were not enough, I see you caressing my rogue of a brother. And yes, I do think he was forcing his attentions on you, and I do suspect that you are protecting him, and I do believe that I may still have to throttle him. But my point is, damn it, that I lost my temper. In a most reprehensible way.”
“The rector?” choked Helene, ignoring everything else Cam had said. “Do you mean to say poor Thomas? Is this some sort of joke?” She dragged herself into a sitting position.
“Poor Thomas, my arse,” said Cam, following her up. “I had it from the fellow himself.”
Helene shook her head. “I think you misunderstood.”
Raking his hair back off his forehead with one hand, Cam stared at her. “No, I didn’t,” he answered darkly. “Lowe quite boldly asked my permission to court you. And I was ... well, dash it all, I was just incensed. The very thought that whilst I was alone and miserable in Devon, the two of you had been—” Cam’s eyes closed tightly as words failed him.
Helene dropped back against her pillow. “Thomas Lowe is a pleasant man, and I enjoy his company. But he does not care for me in that way, nor I him.”
“Then perhaps God is using him to torment me,” muttered Cam grimly. “I cannot bear to imagine, let alone watch, another man touching you.”
Suddenly, Helene’s gaze flicked up at him uneasily. Instantly, he sensed his words had gone amiss. “You did misunderstand what you saw tonight, Cam,” she said softly.
“In part,” he agreed dryly. “But know this, Helene. I shan’t have you—or any other female under my care—dishonored by my brother. Those should have been the first words from my lips. I am ashamed that they were not.”
Helene made a clucking sound. “Oh, Bentley was more distressed than anything else. He was a little forward, yes. But he was mostly just drunk and depressed.”
Cam could sense that there was a great deal more to the story than Helene was willing to share. She did not fully trust his temper, and not without reason. “Very well, Helene,” he answered gently. “Protect Bentley if you must, but forgive me for questioning the depth of his despair. My brother loves himself too well to suffer overmuch.”
“You mistake him, Cam. I think he loves Joan Belmont.” Helene’s deep, blue gaze flicked up at him, as if gauging his reaction.
“Does he indeed?” The very idea stunned Cam. He stared at Helene, who looked quite serious. Could it be so? Was this the thing that had so upset his brother of late? Could it be that Bentley did not resent the possibility of being supplanted as heir so much as he hated the thought of Joan wedding another? It was true that Bentley and Joan had been devoted to one another as children. “So Bentley has formed a tendre for our cousin, has he?”
“Is that so surprising?”
Cam paused to think. “Well ... yes. It is true that he followed Joan about quite faithfully when they were young, and often expressed his intent to wed her. Of course, when I was seven, I similarly declared myself to Mrs. Naffles, and gave her a nosegay to seal the bargain. Of course, she graciously cried off when I came of a
ge.”
Beside him, he heard a laugh escape Helene’s lips, and turned to smile at her. “Darling, if Bentley is indeed serious about Joan—if he has truly considered it, and wishes to seek her hand—I should not dream of discouraging him.”
“You would give him your blessing, then?” asked Helene eagerly, rolling up onto one elbow beside him.
“How could I refuse, Helene? If he loves her, and means to commit himself to her happiness? I daresay my aunt shall be less easily persuaded, but given his unfailing charm, Bentley will have his way with her in the end, I am confident.”
Helene seemed to sigh with relief. “Will you tell him tomorrow, Cam? At breakfast? Please? You must promise me.”
Cam gathered her snugly to his side. “Are you so eager to be rid of your companion, then?” he teased, bending his head to kiss her hair. “Yes, love, I’ll speak with Bentley at breakfast. But a word of caution, Helene! I do not understand why you harbor such hope for this match, but recollect that my brother is as far from a saint as a young man can possibly be—”
“What are you saying, Cam? Do you fear that Joan will not return his affection? If so, let me assure you that she finds him—well, that any young woman would find him charming,” she managed to finish.
Cam peered down at her. “I just find it all quite odd.”
Helene’s brows shot up. “In what way?”
Thoughtfully, Cam rubbed his heavy stubble with the back of one hand. “Well, since Bentley turned twelve and discovered what his cock was for—your pardon, m’dear—his attentions have hardly been confined to Joan Belmont. Indeed, he had paid her no heed at all, so far as I have noticed. I daresay it’s just a case of dog in the manger. When he discovers that I shan’t be proposing, his interest in Joan will wane.”
Beside him, Helene shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. Her brow, however, was creased in thought.
“Enough of Bentley, my dear.” Cam grinned, then rolled toward her with the familiarity of an old lover, dragging her beneath him and down into the bed with one smooth motion. “If you’ll not wed me, at least love me once more before you cast me aside.”
“No!” she protested weakly.
But his teeth were already nibbling playfully at the tender skin of her throat, and moving lower. She hummed with pleasure when he found her breast, teasing it through the fabric of her robe. And then he felt Helene surrender to his lovemaking.
He took her again, slowly and gently, as the dark horizon began to soften with the promise of dawn. She moved beneath him with a deliberate, graceful rhythm, and Cam felt foolishly young. And foolishly like crying. For the briefest of moments, he felt certain that Helene loved him as he loved her. And as he spilled himself inside her, he felt like the most fortunate man on earth.
17
In which Miss de Severs suffers some Consequences
Inside the schoolroom, all was silence, save for the occasional clack-clack of Ariane’s chalk as she slowly tried to scratch numbers on her slate. Helene sat at the narrow table, her head bent to her task. “Ariane?” Helene turned the slate about and tapped her finger on one of the problems. “There is one small error here. Can you see it?”
With a puzzled expression, the little girl looked up, then dropped her gaze to the numbers. Helene reached forward to a pile of buttons which lay upon the table, and lined up seven in a row. “Here,” she said calmly. “Let’s try to imagine it.” She pushed four away from the other three and suppressed a sigh. Progress was slowed by Ariane’s refusal to speak, but at least the child no longer pretended not to hear.
Slowly, a smile spread across the little girl’s face, and she leaned forward to scratch out the six and make it a seven. Just then, a knock sounded at the door and Milford stepped inside.
“Your pardon, ma’am, but his lordship would like a word in his study?”
Her stomach flip-flopping anxiously, Helene nodded and passed Ariane her next set of sums. “Finish these, my dear,” she said, dusting the chalk from her fingers. “I shall return shortly.”
Helene made her way down to the study, neatening her hair as she went. On the landing, she paused, forcing her breathing to calm just as the longcase clock below struck ten. She stared down at her hands, disconcerted to see how violently they shook.
She had not seen Cam since his departure from her room shortly before dawn. Strangely enough, she had no wish to see him now. And yet, she longed to do so.
Such emotional inconstancy was unlike her. Helene had never doubted herself. Now, she felt nothing but doubt. Good God, what had happened?
Camden Rutledge had turned her world upside down, that was what had happened. Just as she had known he would, if ever she let him touch her again. Helene sighed, and continued down the stairs. The beautiful boy she had loved too well had grown into a handsome man, who still possessed just a hint of his youthful innocence, and all of his unyielding arrogance. Alethal combination indeed.
Last night had been a raging storm of emotions: anger, lust, bitterness, and passion. This morning she felt emotionally spent, profoundly confused, and fearful of what the next few moments might bring. Cam had sworn that he loved her—that he had always loved her—words she had waited a lifetime to hear.
Would he now somehow undo them? In the light of day, would he regret his uncharacteristically rash behavior? Helene knew that just such a thing was possible. In some people. But not in Camden Rutledge, she did not think. Pressing her lips tightly together, she knocked lightly, laid her hand upon the cold doorknob, and entered.
“You wished to see me?” Helene kept her voice composed.
Cam stood with his back to the window, his hands clutched loosely behind him. Stretched out along the cushioned window seat, the ginger tabby preened herself in a shaft of morning sun. A low fire burned in the grate, with a coffee service laid out on the table before it. The room was a scene of utter domestic harmony.
Cam met her with a solemn gaze, saying nothing for a long moment. Then slowly, his eyes began to crinkle at the corners, and he smiled. “They do say, Helene, that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he said softly. “Given the empty hours I’ve spent since dawn, I daresay it must be true.”
Relief surged through her. Helene came farther into the room, willing the blush from her cheeks. “How poetic you are this morning,” she lightly remarked.
Cam glanced back at the drowsy cat. “Oh! Do you hear that, Boadicea? The lady is a lover of verse. Can we charm her, do you think?”
Slowly, he strolled toward Helene, dropping his arms to his side. In his right hand, he held a small book, one finger wedged inside to mark his place. With gentle laughter still in his eyes, he flipped it open and began. “Now, let me see ... Ah!”
She walked in beauty with me last night
Beneath silk bedhangings, and my starry eyes—
And all that best of love and light
Met in our loins when at last we—
Before she could stop herself, Helene exploded into laughter, futilely pressing her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, I do not think, sir,” she managed to wheeze, “that Lord Byron ever wrote anything quite like that!”
Tossing the book down, Cam grinned and moved forward as if to embrace her. “Perhaps not. But then, he had not the pleasure of—” Abruptly, he stopped, his expression contrite. “Ah, Helene, I forget myself, do I not? Now is hardly the time, nor the place.”
“No,” Helene answered, feeling a little disappointed.
After offering her coffee, Cam motioned Helene toward one of two chairs set before the fire and settled down opposite. His face took on a serious cast.
“Last night, you begged a favor of me, my dear,” he gently began. “And I have faithfully carried out your task. This morning—once I persuaded Bentley that I did not intend to kill him for his conduct last night—I sat him down and attempted to speak with him regarding his affections for Joan.”
“Did you?” Helene was surprised. It seemed Cam had taken her very seriously.
“As I promised I would,” he said softly, lowering his eyes to his coffee. “But Bentley seemed grievously bedeviled by a hangover this morning—I dare to hope that his intemperance is catching up with him at last—and he took the news of my nonexistent betrothal with a remarkable degree of equanimity.”
“And then—?” Helene leaned intently forward in her chair.
Cam shrugged. “And then ... nothing. Although I went on to assure Bentley that if he did truly hold Joan in some serious affection, I would press Aunt Belmont to accept his suit. But it seems Bentley is unwilling to take me into his confidence.”
Remembering Bentley’s tears of last night, Helene felt her mouth drop open. “He asked nothing? He confessed—er—confided nothing?”
Cam shook his head and smiled indulgently. “Indeed, he put me very much in mind of Boadicea in her kittenhood. When the minx would finally succeed in catching her tail, she would just look about uncertainly, as if wondering what ought to be done with it.”
“Well!” remarked Helene, unable to hide her surprise. “I hardly know what to say.”
Cam leaned forward, propped his elbows onto his knees, and clasped his hands loosely. “Helene, my dear, Bentley had not the look of a man who was truly in love. And I fancy I can be considered something of an authority.”
“Oh.” Helene picked uncertainly at the folds of her skirt. “And what else did you ... explain to Bentley?”
Cam gave a sad half-smile, and looked away into the fire. “It seems I am not at liberty to tell Bentley anything that would be of the remotest interest to him. Indeed, Helene, my hands are tied. I believe you bound them rather tightly last night. I await your leave to make any further announcements.”
Helene felt her cheeks flame, and glanced up to see Cam staring at her. “Yes,” she managed to say. Desperately, she changed the subject. “And what were Bentley’s plans for today, did he say?”
Abruptly, Cam leaned back into his chair, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “He announced his intention of skulking off to Catherine’s for a day or two—said he meant to go shooting with Will. He put up a change of clothing and his razor, and left not half an hour past.”