Lady Helen and the Dark Days Pact

by Alison Goodman

  ‘Pike does not believe that, and I must say I find it hard to believe too,’ Stokes said. Helen opened her mouth to explain, but he shook his head. ‘It does not matter even if it is the case. Pike is convinced Carlston is too far gone: irretrievable, like Benchley. A danger to those around him, and a danger to the security of the Dark Days Club.’

  ‘He is not irretrievable.’

  ‘Do you know that for certain?’

  She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘No.’

  Stokes gripped her shoulder. ‘It will take at least five days for the decision to be made and ratified, and then the messenger to get back here. I would wager my estate that the response will be a signed warrant. Lord Sidmouth will take Pike’s direction in the matter. Carlston has five days.’

  ‘Who will Pike send?’

  ‘Another Reclaimer,’ Stokes said, releasing her shoulder. ‘Someone who knows him and whom he trusts. Someone like me.’ He regarded her sombrely. ‘Five days, and if there is another public show of insanity, I don’t think Pike would wait for the warrant.’

  With that, he turned and walked towards Black Lion Street, the sound of his quick footsteps beating out the hard rhythm of Helen’s heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In her note Helen had asked the Duke to arrive at two o’clock, but by the time she made her way back to German Place at just on half past one, he was already standing at the hearth in the drawing room. The positioning, Helen realised, was no accident. He faced the door with solid marble at his back and two sofas between himself and any direct line of attack. Understandable, considering what had happened during his last visit to the room. He also held his silver-capped cane, usually relinquished at the front door with his gloves and hat. He had come armed; again understandable, if not very polite.

  She tried to smile as she returned his bow. His early arrival was inopportune to say the least. Now that he was here, she could not risk telling Mr Hammond and Lady Margaret about the warrant. The Duke would probably greet the news with pleasure and she was not sure Mr Hammond would maintain his composure under such provocation. More importantly, the Duke’s loyalties were not yet known. It was entirely possible that he would pass on their knowledge to Pike. News of the warrant would have to wait until she found a moment alone with the twins, or if that did not occur, then by letter once she had left the house.

  ‘The Duke says you requested that he come here,’ Lady Margaret said. She and Delia sat on the furthermost sofa, inadvertently making a charming contrast: black hair and blonde, red gown and white. Lady Margaret’s expression, however, was not so charming. ‘What is this about?’

  ‘It is about Lord Carlston,’ Helen said. ‘Is he …?’

  ‘Still in the fugue,’ Mr Hammond answered.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ the Duke said coolly, earning a savage stare from Lady Margaret. He smiled at Helen. ‘You make a convincing young man, Lady Helen. Please be assured that I am happy to oblige you in every one of your requests.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  Mr Hammond shot her a curious glance. ‘Requests?’

  Helen paced across the room, rubbing her palms together. She should wait until his lordship awoke — it was he who needed to know the truth about her effect upon him — but she could no longer afford to be in the same house with him. Or more to the point, he could not afford it.

  ‘I asked you all to gather because I believe I know what is causing Lord Carlston’s madness,’ she said. ‘It is not just the vestige —’

  The doors suddenly opened again, drawing everyone’s attention.

  ‘Helen?’ Lord Carlston stood upon the threshold, fully clad this time, eyes sweeping the room with fierce urgency until they found her at the window. Sane eyes, thank God.

  Quinn stood behind him, face stiff with tension, plainly ready to intervene if his master made any violent move. And beside Quinn, Darby stood just as ready.

  ‘Carlston!’ Helen took a step towards him.

  Twice now he had woken with Selburn in the house. Coincidence? Or could hate penetrate the fugue state?

  ‘Stay back,’ the Duke ordered, his cane raised into a club.

  Helen held up her hand. ‘Put that down, please, Your Grace. Lord Carlston is himself. I can see it.’

  Carlston stared at her for a moment — such an agony of relief and regret — then turned his attention to Selburn. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The Duke watched him, cane still raised. ‘I am here for Lady Helen. I am a member of the Dark Days Club now, Carlston. A sworn member.’

  ‘Is that true?’ The snarled question was aimed at Mr Hammond.

  His aide nodded. ‘He saw us outside the bawdy-house. Forced Pike to explain.’ He glanced at Helen, alarm in the brief connection. ‘My lord, perhaps you should step outside.’

  Carlston strode into the room, shadowed by Quinn and Darby. The Duke braced his feet into the carpet, his hand flexing around the cane handle.

  ‘Please, Your Grace, there is no need for alarm,’ Helen said, hoping she was right.

  Warily, he lowered the cane.

  Carlston stopped at the sideboard, his hand finding the edge. The quick, commanding entrance had cost him. Helen saw the flare of his nostrils as he fought to keep his breathing smooth, and the tiny slump of relief as he leaned into the support of the solid mahogany.

  ‘You should return to your bed, Lord Carlston,’ Lady Margaret said, rising from the sofa. ‘You are still not well.’

  He waved her back. ‘I am completely recovered, thank you.’

  Even the most obtuse observer could see that for a lie, Helen thought. He had none of his usual grace, his skin was drained of colour and the broad width of his shoulders rounded. That same observer, however, would not see what was so apparent to Helen: the Deceiver energy still snapped within him, barely under his control. The energy that she had unknowingly forced upon him.

  Lady Margaret cast an agonised glance at her brother and sank back onto the sofa.

  Carlston regarded the Duke. ‘Sworn or not, you are unwelcome here, Selburn.’

  ‘You made that quite clear during my last visit,’ the Duke said, his hand reflexively ringing his throat. ‘Nevertheless —’

  ‘What visit?’ Carlston snapped.

  ‘He does not know,’ Delia whispered to Lady Margaret.

  ‘Lord Carlston, you attacked His Grace yesterday,’ Lady Margaret said. ‘In this room. You nearly killed him. Lady Helen and Quinn barely stopped you in time.’

  Carlston glanced at Helen. She nodded.

  ‘The last thing I recall is the lane … losing the journal.’ He gave a dry laugh aimed at the Duke. ‘I attacked you? Even divorced from rationality, it seems I have good instincts. Lady Helen does not need your protection.’

  The Duke smiled coldly. ‘Lady Helen asked me to come here. She has asked for my help.’

  Carlston frowned. ‘Is that true, Helen?’

  She felt her bare name hang in the silence: a statement to her and a challenge to the Duke. Caught again between these two men. A deep ache opened in her chest, like a claw raking across her heart.

  ‘Yes, it is true, Lord Carlston.’

  The use of his title caught in her throat, but it had to be done — for his own safety. She saw his eyes flicker: a pained acknowledgment of her formality.

  He jerked his chin at Selburn. ‘What help can he possibly give you?’

  ‘His Grace has kindly agreed to allow me to take up residence at his house in Grand Parade.’

  The statement locked everyone into shocked silence.

  Finally Delia said, ‘Helen, you can’t do that! What will people say?’

  ‘Why would you leave this house?’ Lady Margaret demanded. ‘You are not even close to finishing your training.’

  Helen ignored both women, her attention solely on the shock in Carlston’s eyes. ‘I am causing your illness, Lord Carlston.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ He rapped out the question.
>
  ‘I think it started at my ball when I took half of the whip-energy that you absorbed from Philip. Neither of us released it into the earth, yet it seemed to dissipate. I do not believe it did. Somehow the energy has stayed within us. Over the past month I think it has been quickening the madness in you.’

  ‘Why is it not quickening in you then?’ he demanded.

  ‘God’s blood,’ Hammond said, the logic of her words plainly dawning upon him. ‘She has never reclaimed. She has no vestige darkness in her soul.’

  Helen nodded. ‘But I still have the whip-energy within me. I think that I, particularly, store it like … like …’ How could she explain such a concept?

  ‘Like a Voltaic pile,’ Hammond supplied in wonderment.

  ‘What are you talking about, Michael?’ Lady Margaret said sharply.

  ‘An experiment I saw in London a few years ago, conducted by Mr Volta. He created energy in stacks of different metals.’ He addressed Helen. ‘It would make sense. The energy stays within you, until somehow, by some mechanism, it is passed to his lordship. The energy that is within him attracts that which is in you.’

  Helen nodded, relieved that Hammond, at least, understood. ‘If I am near you, Lord Carlston, just in your vicinity, the energy slowly increases the spread of darkness in your soul.’ She drew a steadying breath. ‘But if we touch, skin to skin, that is like a connection that brings on the rages, as if there is some kind of immediate transfer from me to you.’

  The Duke’s head turned at that. ‘Skin to skin?’

  Carlston pressed his fingertips to his mouth. She knew what he was remembering. She could feel the kiss upon her own lips: the heat, the dizzying exhilaration. The savage need.

  ‘Did you touch in the salon, the first time it happened?’ Lady Margaret asked tightly.

  Helen looked at Carlston. ‘My jacket,’ she said.

  His jaw shifted. ‘It was barely a touch.’

  ‘And the arc of power between you in the lane,’ Hammond said. ‘You took that Deceiver’s energy, Lady Helen, and then when his lordship touched you —’ He slapped his hands together, making Delia jump. ‘Bam!’

  Carlston rubbed his forehead. ‘That, I remember.’

  ‘If all this is true, my lady,’ Darby said, ‘then it is even more important that we make the Terrene bond today.’

  Carlston rounded on her. ‘Today?’

  Quinn stepped in front of Darby. ‘After what happened in the lane, my lord, we thought it would be best if Lady Helen made the bond with her Terrene as soon as could be arranged.’

  Carlston eyed Quinn’s blatant stance of protection. ‘I see.’

  ‘Perhaps if you and I could earth this energy within you, my lady,’ Darby began.

  ‘No, I will not bond with you,’ Helen said.

  The harsh refusal pushed Darby backward a step, her sturdy body swaying as if she had been hit. ‘But, my lady —’

  ‘It is no longer possible.’

  Darby’s face was so stricken, it was almost as hard as denying Carlston. She looked at Quinn, a moment of shared bewilderment.

  ‘But we must bond, my lady,’ she said. ‘You must have a Terrene.’

  Helen curled her fists into balls of resolve. She could not give the real reason for her refusal — her deal with Pike. ‘I want you to stay with Lord Carlston and Quinn. That is my decision. Stay with Quinn. You and he should be together.’

  Darby drew herself up. ‘My lady, I go where you go.’

  ‘Not this time, Darby. I do not wish you to accompany me.’ She looked away from the brimming hurt in Darby’s blue eyes. ‘I go to the Duke’s house as Mr Amberley. I do not need a maid.’

  ‘Then I will dress as a man and go as your valet!’

  ‘I said no, Darby. Do as you are told.’

  She heard Darby’s breath catch, the sob hastily quelled, but she dared not look into her maid’s face.

  ‘You cannot go alone to his house,’ Carlston said.

  ‘Do not ascribe your base impulses to me,’ the Duke said. ‘Lady Helen will be in no danger. She will be safer in my house than here.’

  ‘I must not be near you, Lord Carlston,’ Helen said.

  ‘You do not have to go. I will go. I have my own lodgings.’

  ‘You can barely walk,’ Helen said. ‘You need time to recover — far away from me, with those who can help you.’

  The reason did not hold up under scrutiny — he could, after all, recover in his own lodgings — but she could not stay in the house with those who might stop her from her purpose.

  Carlston plainly saw the reason for what it was: an excuse. He glanced at Selburn, his mouth tightening. Faith, he thought she was doing this to be with the Duke. Helen knitted her fingers together, fighting the impulse to correct the sordid assumption.

  ‘Lady Helen is right,’ Lady Margaret said. ‘You need to recover properly.’

  ‘If you are intent upon going, Lady Helen, allow me to accompany you,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘It will be my honour.’

  ‘You cannot go, Michael,’ Lady Margaret said. ‘Lord Carlston needs you here.’

  ‘Do not make yourself anxious, Lady Margaret,’ the Duke said coolly. ‘My invitation does not extend to your brother, or you, for that matter. I have heard about you from Mr Pike and you must excuse me if I do not invite thieves and …’ he paused and shrugged, ‘into my house.’

  Hammond stiffened. ‘Thieves?’

  ‘Michael,’ Lady Margaret warned. ‘This is not the time.’

  ‘Surely you cannot object to me, Your Grace?’ Delia said hurriedly. ‘I am Lady Helen’s aide, after all.’

  The Duke bowed. ‘Miss Cransdon, you are of course welcome.’ He addressed Helen. ‘At present, I do not have a suitable chaperone in my house for a young lady. If you wish, I can make those arrangements, but it will take some time. Or perhaps Miss Cransdon can also take up a male guise?’

  Helen looked away from Delia’s determined face. ‘It will not be necessary.’

  She did not want her friend anywhere near Lowry, or the danger that would come with the Ligatus once she had retrieved it. And if she were brutally honest, Delia was, at present, more liability than asset.

  Carlston straightened, tentatively releasing his grip upon the sideboard. ‘This is all predicated upon your suspicions being correct, Lady Helen, but I am not convinced. I insist we put it to the test.’

  ‘No!’ Lady Margaret rose abruptly from the sofa again. ‘It is too dangerous!’

  ‘My sister is correct, sir,’ Hammond said, crossing to Carlston’s side. ‘I believe Lady Helen has hit upon the truth and you will put yourself, and all of us, in danger.’

  ‘We will go to the salon then,’ Carlston replied. ‘Just Lady Helen, Quinn and myself. At this moment, they will have no trouble containing me if this theory is correct.’

  ‘I will go too,’ the Duke said.

  ‘No, Your Grace!’ Delia said. ‘If Lord Carlston attacks anyone in that room, it will be you.’

  ‘Miss Cransdon is right,’ Carlston said. ‘Come into that room, Selburn, and I’ll attack you. Whether I am affected or not.’

  The two men stared at one another.

  Carlston drew back his shoulders, his eyes moving to Helen. Entreating. ‘I need to know. Surely you do as well? I ask you as a fellow Reclaimer. Let us know the truth.’

  Helen nodded. She knew she should leave with the Duke immediately, but she could not ignore Carlston’s plea.

  The salon was lit by a mellow wash of afternoon sunlight, a glitter of dust motes rising as Helen and Carlston made their way into the centre of the long room.

  ‘This will do,’ Carlston said. He turned slowly in a circle. ‘Enough empty space for … whatever happens.’

  Helen looked away from the cut on his lip, the bruise upon his jaw. The damage that she had already inflicted.

  ‘Do you remember how I stopped you attacking the Duke?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I do not.’

  She held u
p her fist. ‘It seems the only way is to render you unconscious. You will lose control, and I do not want to hit you again. Please, Lord Carlston, let us return to the drawing room.’

  ‘Just Carlston,’ he corrected gently. He touched the bruise upon his jaw. ‘We do what we have to do.’

  A clatter from the weapons table drew their attention. Quinn grimaced an apology and picked up the dropped knife to pass it to Hammond — the last weapon to be collected.

  ‘I will be outside,’ Hammond said. He gave one last look at Helen, his unhappiness echoing her own, then left the room. Quinn shut the doors behind him, the stiff line of his shoulders registering his disapproval of the whole affair.

  ‘Lock the doors, Quinn,’ Carlston ordered.

  The Terrene obeyed, then turned to join them, but Helen lifted her hand, stopping him. ‘Wait.’ She had to tell Carlston about her visit from Stokes. He had to be warned.

  She turned away from Quinn, the move drawing Carlston around too. ‘I did not want to say this in front of the Duke,’ she said, her voice pitched for privacy. ‘He does not have your best interests at heart.’

  ‘Quite,’ Carlston said, matching her dry tone.

  ‘Stokes found me today. Pike has written to Lord Sidmouth to request a warrant. For your death.’

  Carlston hissed out a breath. ‘Already? The man is irritatingly efficient.’

  ‘He believes you are irretrievable. Like Benchley.’

  ‘I am not quite there, yet.’

  ‘You should leave,’ Helen said. ‘You and Quinn. Maybe even Lady Margaret and Mr Hammond. Go back to the Continent.’

  ‘You would have me run away?’

  ‘To save your life — your sanity — yes. Stokes believes Lord Sidmouth will give his approval; and the further you are away from me, the better chance you have of retaining some sanity.’

  He shook his head. ‘I do not believe that; and I will not allow Pike to force me out of England again. Sidmouth would never sign such a dishonourable warrant.’

  Helen stared at him. Was that his true belief, or was it the madness speaking? Perhaps she should tell him about the deal with Lowry. She would have the journal soon enough and, by God, she would make Pike bargain for the cure from the Comte. Yes, if Carlston knew there was hope, perhaps he would agree at least to hide from Pike. She swayed towards him, drawn forward by the relief of the decision.