by Cheryl Bolen
Mr. Worthing cleared his throat. “Fairfax, would you be willing to work with Mr. Banks?”
Even in the predawn light, Helen could see Gareth’s face darken in anger. “I would find a way to repay you, sir,” Helen said quickly. Like a man about to be hanged, she clung to the last few minutes she’d have of life, even if it meant lying. There would be no way to repay him, of course, but she had to try. She had to hope her opponent still had some kindness and would delay her demise a few precious seconds.
“You’ve had weeks to repay me, and I’ve not seen one shilling. There will be no settlement.” Gareth’s tone was quieter, almost resigned, as he checked his pistol, flicked his glance at her, and then nodded to Worthing.
So much for compassion. The last hope of her survival had died with his curt nod. Helen’s heart kicked into a faster pace. Her fear created a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth as she realized she’d been hoping the duel wouldn’t actually happen. But of course it would. Men like Gareth valued honor, and her brother had none. This duel was unavoidable.
Worthing sighed heavily, apparently convinced there was no turning back. He and Bennett walked several yards away to watch the proceedings.
She and Gareth were alone, closer than they’d ever been before tonight. How many times had she peered through the crowds of dancers in the assembly rooms and watched him dance with other women, wishing she was the one that close to him? Now here she was, close enough to dance, but it was to be a dance of death. A hollow ache filled her chest at the thought, and a whisper of fear made her heart shudder behind her ribs.
I don’t want to die, but what choice is there?
The faint breeze brought his scent of sandalwood and the faintest hint of horses and leather to her nose. The aroma made her homesick for the stables in her parents’ home in the country, a home she and Martin had to sell in order to survive. The pistol grew heavier in her hands, the wood and metal sinking into her palm with force as she curled her fingers around it more securely. The silence and her fear made it all suddenly unbearable.
“Very well,” Helen growled, losing her ability to remain calm and still any longer. The only way to quell her fear was to embrace her anger. “Name your distance, sir.” If she was to die, let it be done already. This waiting and delay was eating away at her courage.
“Thirty paces.” Gareth replied after a moment’s hesitation. He seemed to be peering at her more sharply, as though something had attracted his attention. His usually sensual full lips were thinned into a frown. Surely he couldn’t have realized she wasn’t Martin… She had to distract him.
“Thirty.” She nodded, relieved to know it helped mask the way her entire body shook with a new wave of fear. She’d never imagined facing death like this, especially not at the hands of a man she desired. Fate was cruel. “Let us finish this.” She turned her back to Gareth and waited.
He closed the distance between them and put his back up against hers. She shivered at the sudden warmth of his body against hers, his backside pressed ever so lightly against her lower back. His clothing whispered against hers, like a strange sort of dance, and then Gareth moved away as Mr. Worthing began to count. She began to mark the paces as well, trying to ignore the roaring of blood in her ears and the realization that each step brought her that much closer to her death.
When Mr. Worthing called out to halt Helen and Gareth at thirty paces, they turned to face each other. The velvet skies were paler now, as though the stars had blinked, closing their celestial eyes to miss the grisly scene about to unfold below. Helen saw Gareth turn sideways and raise his arm. She copied the movement, aiming her pistol at Gareth’s chest. The pale moonlight glinted off the gun in his hand as he trained it on her chest. Her entire body started to shake as instinctive fear took over. There was a pistol pointed at her heart. Her hand trembled, the barrel of her own gun wavering. She wouldn’t shoot him, there was no doubt of that.
“One,” Worthing called out. “Two…”
Helen’s eyes shot up from Gareth’s pistol to his face. He was far enough away to appear more a shadow dressed in black with glowing eyes than the man she’d longed to share the secrets of her heart with.
“Three—”
Her finger clenched around the trigger and she fired without meaning to. Her shot went wide, grazing Gareth’s shoulder. He flinched but did not fire. Blood sprayed along his shirt, nearly black in the distance. She gasped and sucked in a violent breath, her vision spinning momentarily.
Horrified she had actually hit him, she dropped her pistol and it landed with a thunk in the grass. She ran over to him, reaching out to check the damage.
His dark eyes flashed in surprise as she clutched his arm and examined the wound.
“Oh Good Heavens!” she cried. “The one time I fire one of these stupid things…”
By the time she realized her higher feminine tone had betrayed her, Gareth, in one swift motion, had dropped his own pistol and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her against him. He ripped the mask from her face. Her pins sprung loose from the rough movement, releasing the bound up hair. The loose waves dropped down against her shoulders, the soft strands caressing her cheeks as she ducked her head, hiding her face from him. Gareth’s look of rage turned to sheer astonishment.
“Where is Martin Banks?” His voice was rough and low. “And who the devil are you?”
His grip was too strong and Helen started to lose feeling in her arm. “Please, you’re hurting me,” she gasped.
Her plea went ignored. He didn’t release his hold on her, but he lightened his hold so it was no longer bruising.
“Where is Banks?” He shook her and shouted angrily.
“Unconscious, in our lodgings.” Helen tried to break free, but his iron grip held her fast. “I could not let you kill him.” His eyes sharpened at her defiance.
Worthing and Bennett ran towards them.
“A woman?” Worthing called out in surprise. “Really, Fairfax…you should have told me,” When Worthing strode over to her and Gareth, his eyes shifted between them as they stood locked together by Gareth’s vice-like grip.
“Let go of her, Fairfax,” Worthing slowly reached out and pried her loose from Gareth’s arms.
Gareth batted Worthing’s protective arm aside and gripped her by the shoulders, rattling her. “Who are you?” he snarled, his white, even teeth shining in the dim light. “Why are you here in Banks’s place?”
“Let go of her,” Bennett growled and moved a step toward Gareth. Worthing lifted a hand to stay Bennett and tried once more to intervene, but Gareth dragged her away from Worthing’s reach.
“Well? Answer me! I have no intention of hurting you, but I will get answers.” His angry gaze bore into her like a hot poker.
Helen bit back furious tears. “I’m his sister. He is my only family.” Her body started that awful shaking again, this time from the shock of being alive and unhurt. “I would be utterly alone should he perish.”
“Don’t you dare cry. I’ll not be moved by a woman’s tears,” he threatened, but his grip softened immediately, belaying whatever cruelty hung in his words.
“Fairfax,” Worthing cautioned at the same time Bennett said, “Release her!”
Everything happened so fast, it was almost a blur. Bennett tried to step between Gareth and Helen but stumbled back as Gareth pummeled him in the stomach. Helen screamed and struck out at Gareth, slapping him hard across the face. Worthing dove out of the way as Gareth tackled Helen to the ground. Bennett tried once more to rescue her but was felled by another punch from Gareth.
“Damnit Fairfax, hold off!” Worthing knelt by the unconscious Bennett.
“Keep that bloody fool away from me. I’m not going to hurt her,” Gareth growled. “I want her to answer me.” He was gazing down at her, a new light in his eyes, a light that was less dangerous, or perhaps more so, but in a different way. As though he was appraising her, or assessing her value, the way a man studies a good piece of horseflesh at
the market when selecting a ride. It was not the gaze of a man who would strike out at her or wound her.
Helen gasped, struggling beneath Gareth’s body. She wasn’t afraid now, but more angry at the way he had manhandled her. He sat back on his heels, his knees on either side of her hips, still pinning her to the ground. His chest heaved with panting breaths, and his palms fell to his thighs.
She attempted to raise her hips but couldn’t budge. “Please, let me go.” He tensed at her movement, his fingers digging into his thighs.
“Whatever shall I do with you, Miss Banks?” Gareth’s breath evened out. “We have ourselves quite the problem.”
“Fairfax…” Worthing’s tone held an edge of warning. Gareth ignored him, a calculating gleam in his eyes.
Swallowing hard, she met his gaze as evenly as she could.
“I have a proposal for you, Miss Banks,” Gareth said peacefully, but the shadows in his gaze made her wary. One of his hands drifted to her hair, allowing her blonde curls to cascade around and through his fingers. He suddenly smiled, taking one lock and twining it around his index finger, his eyes meeting hers. “If you come to my home with me, I will forget the debts owed to me. Or I send you back to Bath, find that scoundrel you call a brother, and finish this duel properly.”
Helen blinked. Go home with Gareth Fairfax? She may have been an innocent, but she knew that if he were to take her to his home, she would be compromised—ruined for marriage. Certainly ruined for any other man. A blush warmed her whole body just thinking of what he would do to her if she agreed. Ruined. Part of her was filled with a secret, dark curiosity. Would he seduce her? She should have been more frightened by the fact that she was curious enough to wonder what it would be like to be with him. Women seemed to like seduction under the right circumstances. A spark of heat shot through her body at the thought of Gareth willfully seducing her.
“If I agree to go with you, what would you do with me?” The words came out thick, her tongue seemingly unable to form the words as she dared to ask about his intentions.
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Instead he rubbed his thumb and forefinger against the lock of her hair. Finally, he let the loose curl drop and settled his hand back on his thigh, shifting his hips slightly. It pressed him harder against her and her own body flashed with a strange, queer sort of fire.
“You can settle your brother’s debts to me one way or another.” His tone was black as midnight, dark as sin, and rather than frighten her, it made her tremble with longing. She had heard enough women speak behind closed doors at the balls to know that what could happen between a man and woman in bed could be pleasurable for both parties.
Worthing stood up and eyed his friend. “Fairfax, you can’t just take her home.”
Gareth’s eyes searched her face and settled on her lips. “She’s already said that Banks is her only relative, Worthing. No one will miss her. It’s her choice. She’s free to leave, or she can come with me and save her brother’s life.”
“You can’t be serious. The young woman was only defending her brother. You cannot ruin a lady over that.”
She watched the exchange, wondering why Worthing was so ready to defend her.
“Well, Miss Banks?” He continued to study her, his body keeping hers trapped as though there really was no option but to accept him. “Make your choice. Dawn is chasing us, and I, for one, don’t wish to be here when the sun fully rises.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I promise to take good care of you and give you so much pleasure you might feel you’ll die from it.” The feel of his warm breath against the sensitive shell of her ear sent sparks shooting down her spine and she tensed.
Helen gazed up at him, desire running riotously through her body, and her mind whispered dark suggestions, borne of long years of need for things she barely understood. This was a chance to taste temptation, to be with a handsome man and know passion. There would never be love, she knew that, but passion might prove a memory worth having, especially with a man like him. Did she dare, though? Any chance of marrying, having children, would be at an end, and if anyone discovered where she was, her reputation would be ruined. Even obtaining employment as a maid would become difficult. Yet Martin would be safe, and he may yet find a way to make a living and support himself and her. It was a feeble hope, but that would be the only future she could hope for. Gareth had said he’d treat her well. Really, what choice did she have?
“Yes, Mr. Fairfax. I’ll go with you.”
The finality behind her words was heavy, and Gareth tensed above her, eyes widening. He hadn’t expected her to agree? A ripple of power flowed through her. She liked surprising him. He scanned her face again, his eyes darkening, but not with anger. This time it was something else that gleamed in their depths.
Worthing moved towards them, one hand raised. “Now, hold on Fairfax. I must insist you think this through.”
Gareth slid off Helen and grabbed her arms, pulling her onto her feet. She barely heard the men arguing. All she was aware of was Gareth’s hands on her body as he lifted her up and into him, letting her lean against his arm, as though aware she needed help to stand. The muscles beneath his shirt were taut and large. Heat emanated against her palms when she rested them briefly against his chest as she finally pushed away to stand on her own. He kept hold of her wrists, though, despite the tentative tug she gave to be released.
“I’m not in the mood for a lecture, Worthing. You take care of that…fellow. I will bring Miss Banks to my house. After you’ve seen to him, you can come and rescue the woman if you feel you must.” There was a mixture of amusement and warning in Gareth’s tone that confused Helen. “Provided you can convince her to go.”
She tugged at her wrists, still trapped by his hands. Even though she’d agreed to accompany him, the fact that he still held her caused an unsettling heat to stir between her thighs. Helen clenched her legs together, desperate to stop the sensation. She tugged her hands again.
“Stop that,” he growled and started walking.
Helen obeyed instantly. He was too strong for her to resist, so she followed, struggling to keep pace with his long-legged strides. They crossed the field and moved in the direction of the road where Helen had been dropped off by the hired conveyance. Gareth’s coach stood waiting. The driver jumped down to lower the steps, and Gareth pulled her against him as he lifted her into the vehicle. Once they were settled inside, sharing the same seat, he shouted an order to the driver and the coach jerked forward. She rubbed her wrists, wondering if they’d bruise, and tried not to look at him. She failed.
He turned his head towards the window and away from her, his expression cool and unemotional. She couldn’t believe that he actually desired her. Not when he’d had his pick of women in Bath. Compared to those other ladies, Helen knew she didn’t measure up, so Gareth’s choice made little sense.
“Why did you want me to come with you?” Helen dared herself to ask when the silence had stretched too long between them.
He fixed his cold gaze on her once more. “Because your brother must learn that his actions have consequences. If I have you, it will cause trouble for him. He’ll have to find a way to marry you off after I’m done, not an easy task for a man with a ruined sister. It won’t amount to the money he won off me, but it will be some measure of revenge.”
Helen shut her eyes for a few minutes, jostled by the battering of the coach wheels on the rough road. Her stomach roiled with nausea. So he didn’t desire her. Using her was only about revenge. Disappointment weighed her shoulders down, pressing on her chest. She sucked in a much needed breath. It was a cruel sort of feeling to go from believing she was desired to learning her seduction and ruination were merely payback for her brother’s carelessness. In that moment, Helen felt very small and alone, uncared for, and unloved in the worst way. The most awful part was the way it seemed to take the wind from her sails. All of her high spirits, even the angry ones, were dashed upon the rocks. Would it be worth it—g
oing with him, exploring her own passions—even when he might not feel them in return? There seemed no ready answer.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her still. This time, his eyes were more curious than cold. He had a beautiful profile—strong and straight like the statue of Da Vinci’s David. How many hours at the balls and soirees had she spent studying each feature of him? Too many. As a wallflower, she’d had endless hours to memorize him, fantasize about him. What would she have said if only he’d asked her to dance once? A girlish dream, one that now lay dead in the field they’d just left. She would never be that woman, the one that handsome men would ask to dance or pay court to. She was just another woman who would go without love, and now, without marriage. Still, his face would haunt her forever. She could recall each line, each shape of his features…draw them perfectly from her dreams, if needed.
“What is your given name?” His question drew her from her thoughts.
“Helen,” she replied, her eyes drawn to the curve of his lips as he smiled.
“Like fair Helen of Troy…do you bring ruin to my kingdom?” he mused, more to himself than to her.
“I only wished to save my brother’s life. Had I died, he would be no worse off than before. But had our positions been reversed… I would have no one to protect me.”
“A tragedy to any woman,” Gareth agreed.
At least he understood. She had no money and no friends. Without her brother, she’d be lost to decent society. She might have to sell herself to survive. Helen’s lips quivered at that thought—to be so desperate for food that she would… A dark thought trespassed in her mind. Was agreeing to Gareth’s proposal any better? She shivered at where such ideas led.
“Calm yourself.” There was an underlying callousness to his words that rekindled her fire. “I’ll not hurt you. No woman has ever left my bed with any complaints.” His tone was layered with smug satisfaction. He leaned back in the coach seat, stretching out long, muscled legs, and crossing his boots at the ankles. She was reminded of a tomcat merely biding his time to make his move on the unsuspecting female cat he planned to mate with. She was the female cat in this scenario, and it did not make her feel safe at all. What little she’d heard of him from other ladies in society was that he wasn’t rumored to be a cruel man. That was her only solace—that he wouldn’t truly harm her.