by Jackie Ivie
“Madame, it’s beautiful,” Helene said, “but I won’t wear it.”
“But why? I spent all day stitching, and your husband assured me....”
Helene never had a woman cry at her words before. It was just as unamusing as having a man unconscious at her feet.
“It’s not the stitching, Madame, It’s...the material. I can’t be seen in such. I’ll catch cold.”
The woman stopped crying and suddenly giggled. Helene’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh, darling. Didn’t I tell you? There’s an inner sheath,” Gil remarked, innocently.
“Madame Tremayne.”
The way the shop woman said it made it sound like an aberration.
“I wouldn’t let even the most expensive courtesan wear such! As your husband just said. This comes with an inner dress, like a liner. The cloth is one of a kind. I swear it’s like liquid gold. It costs nearly as much. I’ll just be a moment as I fetch it for you.”
“Yes, please do.” Helene answered in flawless French, using her most patrician voice.
“You’ll look lovely, darling.”
“Shut up, Gillian! I’m tired of your games, but you insist on playing them. Can’t you find another target?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”
“Do you wish me to warm your bed tonight?”
He frowned. “You’d deny me what is rightfully mine?”
She nodded. Instead of feeling flushed with victory, she felt as if she swallowed ashes.
“What if I simply decided to take it?” He toyed with a spool of lace.
“An unwilling female? I didn’t think you were that sort.”
“Unwilling?” He snorted and considered her, his look sending shivers down both arms.
“Ah…you’re on your honeymoon, and so in love. I can always tell, you know. It’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist.” The seamstress broke the spell, as she returned.
In love? Oh no. Was she that obvious?
The woman held out her arm, and, indeed, it looked like someone had poured liquid gold on her. Helene gasped as she accepted the sheath. It weighed little and shimmered with every movement.
“What...is this?” she asked.
“Eastern origin, My Lady. Your husband had to go and spot it, too! I swear I’ll have to pay the devil, himself, to get more.”
“Oh, Gillian....” She turned to thank him, but he studied the street outside.
“Do you wish to try it on,Madame? Come. I’ll help.”
Gillian had deserted her when she had the dresses on, but she didn’t need his approval. The mirror told her what she needed to know. The seamstress insisted on taking in a stitch here and a gather there until Helene stopped her.
The sheath fit like a second skin and was quite immodest. The gold mesh overlay altered that as it hinted at the shape beneath. Helene had never felt more beautiful.
“Your husband has superb taste, Madame. It was his idea to put this net with the dress. I was thinking a frill or two would suffice. He has quite the eye, but perhaps I can make a suggestion?”
Helene couldn’t meet the woman’s eyes in the mirror without some of the emotions within her showing. There were too many. They were all new. And intense. She knew why. She was in love, and with that came jealousy. Worry. Fretting. Gillian was an expert on women’s clothing and he had excellent taste. She knew why. He’d learned it from experience. By dressing his current favorite.
And just now…that was her.
“Please do,” she whispered.
“Perhaps you’ve noticed the new hairstyle, Madame?”
Uncertain brown eyes regarded her loose bun. There’d been no time for her hair with the schedule Gillian decided she must adhere to.
“The hair is cut short around the face, then curled. You’d look ever so pretty, Madame. I rather fancy myself a hair stylist. If you like, I’d be thrilled to cut it for you.”
“What about Gil...my husband? Surely he’ll be right back.”
“Oh, we have time, Madame. He’d gone to the jewelers down the way. You’ve a very generous husband.”
Helene nodded. He was generous, and his taste was impeccable. Her eyes narrowed. Then again…he found his wife an excellent jailer, too.
***
She’d been wrong. Gillian was too generous.
Helene knew it the moment she opened the box and raised stunned eyes to Gil’s. He found her a collar of rubies so large even the fat dowagers at Almack’s couldn’t have done it justice.
“Gillian, I can’t possibly wear this.” She snapped the lid shut and handed it back.
“Why not? I bought it just for you.”
“Because it’ll require more strength than I possess to stand upright in it. I’ll fall forward.”
“Do turn around, love. Let’s try it on and see, shall we? Such a fuss, when all I want to do is show the world my deep and abiding affection.”
“You aren’t trying to buy your way into my bed, are you?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. His laughter didn’t help.
“As if I need to. Oh, Helene. That’s almost a challenge. And I’m almost of a mind to accept it. If we had time.”
She supposed he had every reason for such self-confidence, and the necklace felt as if it would choke her, but she wouldn’t say another word. Not one.
“Perhaps you could puff out your chest or something, darling? You look quite lost in your new finery.”
She studied herself in the mirror and decided she looked ridiculous in the necklace. It didn’t make sense. She thought the gold dress magical, and now she looked like a pampered pooch!
“Now don’t lose it, love.”
“Lose it? I’m in more danger of a kidnapping. Oh, Gillian. I thought you had taste.”
“I do, darling, but sometimes it’s a bit difficult to spot. Your wrap?”
Oh, yes, she thought, let’s not forget to wrap her in expensive fur, too.
She didn’t know what he was up to, but she felt like a Christmas present and if she wasn’t so exhausted, she’d do something more about it than argue. Then again, that could be his plan.
The Countess of Tilbury lived openly with a gentleman most mothers would warn their daughters to stay away from. Helene clung to Gil’s arm during the introductions.
Prince Serge Lubetski from Rumania looked her up and down like that Sir Runyon fellow had that first night, and the small man’s eyes lingered on her necklace most of all. The countess held to the prince’s arm, but she had nothing to fear from Helene. The white-haired woman was welcome to him.
“Gillian, Darling! I’m so glad you came. Of course, this is your darling wife, Helen. You know her, don’t you, Darling? Sir Bingham’s daughter, and looking so like him it’s impossible not to see the resemblance.”
“Helene,” Gil corrected, and Helene wanted to box his ear.
The woman was as false as they came, and it would’ve been a pleasure to fool her, but no, Gillian had to spoil it. Of course, the willowy woman was probably an old flame of his, and he’d feel protective of her, anyway. She wondered why that thought hurt so much. If they had been lovers, it was past. The countess had eyes only for her prince.
“Helene? But of course! You remember, Serge? We met Helen Bingham and her new husband, Chaffin, in Monte Carlo, didn’t we? Charming couple they are, but so secretive.”
The prince said something in Rumanian, making the countess look distraught.
“Oh, dear. I’d forgotten. Such a scene it was, too, with the earl challenging that man.”
“What man?” Gil’s arm tightened under Helene’s fingers, but his voice was still nonchalant and uninterested.
“Why, the one who shot Chaffin, of course. He was a rough-looking, man. Large. Not at all what you’d expect Helen Bingham to flirt with, let alone...well, you know. I forget his name…”
The prince whispered in her ear again.
“Oh yes. Gaston. That was it! Gaston.”
&
nbsp; Oh, God! Helene shoved a fist into her mouth to stop her cry. But something leaked out. This was insane. Somewhere it made sense why Helen took her brute from the sanatorium on her honeymoon to Monte Carlo, and then used him to eliminate her new husband. But it was beyond Helene’s comprehension at the moment. Everything went gray as if fog rose about her. And it was filled with dancing black dots.
“You know the man?”
The countess’ eyes seemed strangely kind as she asked it.
“Gillian?”
The floor was rising, but he caught her, lifted her, and then swung them into the midst of waltzing couples, so effectively that the countess and her prince were the only ones who noticed.
“Helene! Love! Don’t leave me now! I need you, darling. Sweeting. Helene…”
He kept whispering, holding her as he moved to the music. She knew he was unusually gifted, musically. He was proving it. Couples swirled past them, but Gillian moved more slowly, swaying to the tune, as he kept whispering a litany of words to her. The dots disappeared. The fog dissipated. The room brightened. Her breath returned. She didn’t question why. She loved him. She was in his arms. And Gaston was never coming near her again.
But it couldn’t continue. She blinked and everything came into focus. That was almost worse. She caught more than once glance toward her feet. And more than one raised set of eyebrows.
“You should put me down now.”
He chuckled. “You’re always asking for the most uncommon things. That’s why I adore you, I suppose.”
“Gillian, I’m serious.” She pulled away from his neck.
He sighed in answer and took some spinning rotations that made her dizzy. Helene gasped and closed her eyes and didn’t open them until he stopped. They were outside. On a secluded balcony. It overlooked the countess’s garden where little lanterns had been placed, making it look like fireflies flickered among the shrubbery. Gil didn’t put her down right away. He walked to the stone balustrade and sat her atop it, still holding her. In his arms. Protected. She couldn’t think of one reason to move. It was too comforting to lean against him, and simply exist, lulling her senses with each prolonged moment of silence.
And then he changed it.
“You’ve met this Gaston, haven’t you?”
She pulled back and looked up to him and caught her lip.
“It’s part of the puzzle, Helene. If you can speak of it, I’ll listen. But it can wait.”
“He was with Helen. When they came for me.”
“At the sanatorium?”
“He...helped her dress! Change, I mean. He...he watched, as Helen....” Her voice fell off.
“He changed you into Helen’s wedding gown? I’m grateful Chaffin didn’t kill him and left him for me!”
“No! No…he didn’t do that. He...” Her voice dropped as she touched the slight puckering beneath her left eye.
Everything on Gillian went angered and tense, while his breath blasted across her nose.
“He hit you?”
“One of many, I assure you.” She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky-sounding and false.
“But why take her hired brute with her on a honeymoon?”
“Perhaps...he was more than that.”
“You’ve a one-track mind, darling.” He smiled, but she didn’t return it.
“You didn’t see her with him! She...gave him the harlot look, and—oh, why bother? You won’t believe me, anyway!”
Damn everything. She couldn’t stop tears from coloring her voice.
“Try me.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.
She sucked the tears back, shuddering with the effort.
“You don’t have to do that anymore, love,” he whispered.
“Do what?” she asked innocently.
“Trust me, Helene.”
He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up until she had no choice but to look him squarely in the eyes.
“Tell me what happened, and trust that I’ll believe you.”
Helene’s eyes skittered away. She couldn’t possibly tell him anything if he insisted on using that tone! She’d be in tears, and, as exhausted as she felt, there wouldn’t be any stopping them.
“She had a maid with her, too. Madelaine. That’s who changed us. Helen postured and preened for Gaston to watch. I was never so thankful in my life, Gillian! He…actually had designs on me. I couldn’t have fought him — you know that. I was only capable of frightening the daylights out of proper English gentlemen, not Helen’s hireling.” Her voice was bitter, and she wasn’t even trying to project that.
“No, darling. You were the bravest thing I ever saw.”
“Me?”
Her eyes jerked back to him. She searched his face. He wasn’t teasing. Her eyes filled with tears as she realized he meant it.
“Are you going to cry?”
He moved a hand from her and started looking through his pockets. And then he handed her his handkerchief. And damn everything. It smelled like him, too!
“No!” she wailed, holding the cloth to her face as tears slid down her cheeks.
“Thank God for small mercies, then. I imagine the countess and her guests would think I tortured you out here.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She giggled through her tears.
“Excellent choice. I like that word better than the disgust one. Now, when you’re finished not crying, are you willing to go back inside? Try the buffet? No? More dancing, then? I believe there are other guests we’re supposed to meet. That might prove entertaining.”
“I’m tired, Gillian.”
“Complaints, too? Really, Madame, you severely try a man’s self-worth. And after all my trouble to make your stay in Paris exciting — as short as it will be.”
“What does that mean?”
“Only that this Corsican upstart violated his treaty with England, and war has been declared, or restarted, or whatever the proper term is. And that sort of thing is bound to put a crimp into our plans.”
It was a good thing he was still holding her, because the balcony was two stories off the ground, after all.
CHAPTER SIX
“What...what did you just say?”
Surprise stopped everything. Even tears. And he just stood there smiling, as if awaiting her reaction.
“Did you just say…war? War? Damn it, Gillian! How can you say something like that and act like it’s nothing but trite nonsense? I don’t understand you at all! Where would you have heard something of such import, anyway? I’ve been with you every moment, and there hasn’t been one word of war! You’ve had us gallivanting about Paris as if...as if we’re really on a honeymoon instead of being in mortal danger! Don’t you realize what that’s like? Oh my God! To be ignorant must be bliss!”
He pulled her off the balcony after she finished, set her on her feet, stepped back, folded his arms, and even tipped his head slightly to one side. Helene shut her mouth and regarded him, although she couldn’t stop her breathing from being harsh and quick. If he was playing some new game, any reaction would just play into his hands. But, it had to be a game. He didn’t realize how serious his implications were.
“Let’s see.”
He unfolded his arms, and lifted his hands and started ticking off points on his fingers. If she’d ever wanted to kick him, it was then.
“Let me see…yes. I have it. I’ll start with the war. Yes. Britain declared war. I say it as matter-of-factly as I can due to a potential reaction, and you call it trite nonsense. I’d have rooms to let in my head if I even allowed you to think you understand me. And I know because I heard it from Colonel Fontenelle this morning.”
“But—”
“Darling, please. I’m attempting to answer your questions as you posed them, and you’ll make me lose my place. Where was I? Oh, yes, Colonel Fontenelle. Actually, it was one of his guards I heard it from, but that’s the same thing. Further, and I do beg your pardon, but I most certainly was not with you when you toured the Rue de Concor
de. Let’s also add the time you spent at Madame Josephine’s little interview, which, by the way, made me frantic with worry the whole time. And for what? You saw the woman bathe! And you never once pondered why she’d ask to see you and then changed her mind?”
“She dismissed me as soon as she found out I had a cousin of the same name.”
“Truly? There’s another piece of this puzzle. They seem a trifle obsessed with Helen, don’t they? But....” He lifted his hand to stop any remark. “I haven’t finished my explanation, love. And I’m going to lose my place at the rate you’re tossing loose ends into the mix.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Do you want to argue the point or hear me out? No answer? Very well, I’ll continue. We spent all day looking like innocent lovers on their honeymoon, gallivanting about Paris like we’re unaware of our fate, because that’s the best way to make good our escape. I have no direct knowledge of war, because my esteemed mother kept me in leading reins and didn’t allow me to participate the last time. And I most certainly am not the one in ignorance, am I? Well? Have I left anything out?”
She opened her mouth and shut it. He’s impossible.
“I believe I’ve found a way to stump you, Helene.”
“I’m not stumped.”
“Are too.”
“I am not, and you’re a boor.”
“Perhaps.”
He paused to consider that, and then he winked. Winked!
“But, look. I do appear to have stopped those distressful tears, that were accompanying that odd emotion you were just suffering from, that wasn’t crying.”
“I amend my opinion, My Lord. Not only are you a boor, you’re an uncommonly lousy liar. If there really was a condition of war, you’d find more to do than argue points of distinction with me. I’m not a simpleton, you know.”
“Not a simpleton by a long shot. I haven’t made the mistake of underestimating you in a long time, Helene, despite my unfortunate error earlier at the Rue de Concorde. But I have to tell you. I’m deadly serious at the moment. Britain is hanging onto some land we were supposed to give up under the Treaty of Amiens. Then again, Napoleon hasn’t stopped his empire building, and long story short – someone got fed up. I don’t mean to bore you, but I don’t spend all my time pondering how to keep ahead of you. I was warned something like this might happen, and, within, what? Three weeks? We’re in a state of war. And look about. The entire world acts as if it were nothing.”