“You certainly could have fooled me,” he sneered as he looked down at her purchases.
Helena saw red. Before she had time to consider the repercussions, she snatched up a box and hurled it at Stephen. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. The lid flew off and scarves flew out, covering the earl in swatches of teal and yellow and green. If she weren’t absolutely furious, she would have no doubt found the sight of Stephen cloaked in pretty silk scarves hilarious. But she was too angry to smile, let alone laugh. Thus she stood there, stone-faced with her hands on her hips, as he removed a scarf from his shoulder and pulled another off his head. Balling them all together, he held out his hand.
“I believe these belong to you,” he said icily.
She lifted her chin. “You keep them. It was your money that purchased them, after all. I’m simply the leech that spent your coin.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Perhaps my choice of words was–”
“Rude?” she suggested. “Horrid? Detestable?”
“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “It was all of those things. I apologize, Helena.”
She blinked at him. “You – you do?”
Kneeling, Stephen picked up the box she’d thrown and placed the scarves neatly inside. He straightened, then looked over her shoulder. “We should continue this conversation elsewhere.”
Following the direction of his stare, Helena felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach when she saw that her little fit of temper had attracted quite the audience. It was, of course, precisely what she hadn’t wanted to do. But then, when had anything ever gone according to plan?
“Why do we have to continue our conversation at all?” she muttered, nudging a stone with the toe of her shoe.
“Because there are things we need to discuss. Preferably without an arsenal of boxes at your disposal,” he said wryly.
Helena peered up to see a relaxed, unguarded grin play across his lips. It was there and gone again in the span of a heartbeat, but the warmth it invoked inside of her took much longer to dissipate. Because it wasn’t just a smile. It was a reminder of the man she’d fallen in love with in the moonlight. The charming, handsome rogue that had dazzled her so completely she would have promised him the stars if he’d asked for them. Instead the only thing he’d wanted was for her to wait, and she’d broken that promise as completely as he’d broken her heart.
“There is a small coffee and tea shop around the corner,” she said stiffly. “We can go there.”
He held out his arm. “Lead the way, lamb.”
As Stephen followed Helena into a small, cozy tea parlor that smelled of coffee beans and cinnamon, he steeled himself against the urge to sweep his fingers through her hair. He could have touched her if she were his. Could have trailed his hand down the nape of her neck and pressed his thumb against the tiny little bone at the top of her spine. Could have discreetly cupped her bottom as he pulled out her chair, then pressed his lips to her cheek before she sat down.
He could have done all those things if she were his. But as they took their seats on either side of a table in the back of the room, like two soldiers squaring off on opposite ends of the battlefield, Stephen was reminded of a single cold, hard fact.
Helena wasn’t his. She’d never been his. And she never would be his.
No matter how much he still secretly desired her.
Gritting his teeth, Stephen picked up the menu and glared at the handwritten list of baked goods. He was here to square a debt. Nothing more, nothing less. And once he walked out of this little shop with its large windows overlooking the street and eclectic mixture of paintings on the walls, he wouldn’t ever have to think of Helena ever again.
He wouldn’t have to look at her.
Wouldn’t have to inhale her scent.
Wouldn’t have to – what was the perfume she was wearing? It was different from what she’d had on yesterday. Not heavier, precisely. Just more…wild, he decided as his nostrils flared. Like a rose blooming in the middle of a meadow, instead of a carefully tended garden.
“Do you know what you’d like?” Helena asked.
Yes, Stephen said silently as his gaze met hers over the edge of the menu.
She’d always had the most extraordinary eyes. Pure green, without any brown or hazel. Except when she was annoyed, as she was now, and in the sunlight shining in through the windowpane her irises glittered with a hint of gold.
He’d never met another woman with eyes like Helena’s.
Most likely because he’d never met another woman like Helena.
In all his travels, in all the countries he’d visited and the grand manors he’d stayed in and the ballrooms he’d danced through, he had never come close to experiencing the same pull of temptation he felt whenever he was in Helena’s presence. She was a rare and true beauty. The kind that brought men to their knees and invoked wars that lasted lifetimes.
If only her beauty were more than surface deep.
Behind those exotic jade eyes was a woman who had sold her soul to the devil. But even knowing that, even having experienced the pain of her betrayal like a knife through the heart, there was a part of him – more than a part, really – that still found her stunning.
He had thought it would be different when he saw her again. He’d thought three and a half years of torment would have been enough to harden him against her captivating allure. But like a sailor to a siren, he found himself climbing across jagged rocks to get to her…heedless of the blood he spilled along the way.
Because there was no reason for him to be here. Not really. He could have had his solicitor draw up the papers, or he could have simply stopped sending the monthly payments he’d allocated in her name. But he’d wanted to see her face when she learned he was the one who had given her everything...and he was the one who could take it all away with a snap of his fingers. He’d wanted her misery. He’d wanted her tears. And yes, he would have liked to see her beg. It was small of him, he knew. But he wanted her to hurt as he’d been hurt. He wanted her to suffer as he’d suffered.
But instead of misery, she’d told him to bugger off.
Instead of tears, she’d swung a bloody fireplace poker at him.
Instead of dropping to her knees, she’d faced him with open defiance.
Was it any wonder he had never stopped loving her?
“What would you recommend?” he asked, sliding the menu across the table. There was no reason, he supposed, not to be civil. Maybe if he treated her just like any other lady in his acquaintance – with cool, polite detachment – she would become just like any other lady in his acquaintance.
One could only hope.
“Something with lots of sugar to improve your bitter disposition.” She pressed a finger to the corner of her mouth while he resisted the urge to growl. “Maybe a slice of lemon cheesecake, or a butter bun?”
“I’ll have a coffee,” he said when a young woman came to collect their order. “Black.”
“Just like his heart,” Helena chirped.
Unamused, he glowered at her.
Unfazed, she smirked at him.
When his coffee arrived, Stephen deliberately took a slow sip. He needed the time to calm and collect his thoughts, for he didn’t want to speak out of anger. A difficult task when Helena seemed to enjoy provoking him at every turn.
“Is this amusing to you?” he said at last, setting his coffee down.
“I suppose that depends.”
“On what?”
“On how much longer you intend to drag this farce out.” She leaned back in her chair and fluttered her hand in the air. “I’ve better things to do with my time than waste precious minutes of it in the company of a man who clearly despises the very air I breathe. I’ve had the night to think about it, and I’ve decided I don’t want any sort of settlement from you. Nothing. So, take your money and toddle along, because if you are expecting me to thank you for your sponsorship, I would not suggest holding your breath.”
“It isn’t that simple,” Stephen gritted.
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
He held her gaze in a long stare. She really did have the most magnificent eyes he’d ever seen. Even when they were filled with loathing.
“Where will you stay?” he said quietly. “How will you eat?”
“Does it really matter?” she countered.
“No.” He picked up his coffee, then set it down with a loud slap of ceramic on wood. “Dammit it, yes, yes it does.” And he was tired of pretending it didn’t. Tired of pretending he was only here to collect a debt. Tired of pretending the fire that had once burned between them had been extinguished, because it hadn’t.
The flames were still there. He’d felt the heat of them yesterday, and he felt them now. Fury and passion roared within him; a fever he couldn’t purge. A fever he didn’t know if he wanted to purge. He had come here to demand the truth, but maybe it was time to account for a truth of his own.
He still wanted Helena.
Even after everything she’d done, he still wanted her. He would always want her. And he hated himself for it. He despised himself for it. But there was nothing he could do to change it. He’d already tried.
For three-and-a-half years, he’d tried. Time and time again. But all the women he’d attempted to distract himself with had paled in comparison to the red-haired hellion his mind refused to forget. So, he had tracked her down to end things between them once and for all. To severe the last tie that bound them. Only to discover cutting her out of his life would be the same thing as tearing his own heart out of his chest. He could remove her if he really wanted to.
But he’d kill himself in the process.
“Will you marry again?” he asked.
“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.” Helena cupped her chin in the palm of her hand in an effort to appear bored, but the tension in the slender line of her neck revealed she wasn’t nearly as apathetic as she’d like him to believe.
“Curiosity, lamb.” With a sharp smile hovering along the edges of his mouth, he leaned towards her. “And I’d like to warn whatever poor bloke you intend to sink your claws into next.”
She looked at him with all the disgust one would convey for a piece of horse dung on the bottom of their shoe. “Does it take effort to be so repulsive, or does it just come naturally to you?”
“You didn’t find me repulsive by the fountain,” he reminded her.
“I was a silly girl,” she said dismissively.
“No.” He reached across the table and managed to catch her wrist before she could guess his intention and yank her arm away. Sliding his thumb beneath the laced edge of her glove, he felt the rapid flutter of her pulse. “You weren’t.”
“What – what are you doing?” she gasped when he lifted her hand to his mouth and trapped the tip of one finger between his lips. “We’re in public.”
They could have been in the middle of a bloody ballroom, and he wouldn’t have cared. Not that anyone was paying attention to them tucked away in the back of the crowded shop. Partially concealed by a wooden partition of crates topped with potted plants, they were all but invisible.
“Would you care to go somewhere private?” he said huskily.
“That’s not what I – Stephen.” She tried to pull back when he began to slowly remove her glove…with his teeth. “You’re being ridiculous.”
It didn’t feel ridiculous. It felt…right. To be this close to her again. To touch her again. To taste her again.
Rising halfway out of his chair, he traced his tongue along a thin blue vein on the inside of her wrist and then kissed the heel of her palm. Helena’s skin was impossibly soft and smooth. Like rose petals spread across a bed of silk. Their eyes met over the sloped curve of her hand, and lust hit him like a punch to the gut when he saw her pupils darken with desire.
“This is a mistake,” she warned him.
“I know.”
“It’s not going to change anything.”
“I know.”
“I still immensely dislike you.”
“I know.” He nipped her knuckle, and she scowled at him.
Then she stood up.
“Excellent. Since that has been established, there is an inn right around the corner. From my understanding, one can rent a room by the hour. If you go around the back, I shall meet you at the front.”
Stephen stared at her as something unpleasant churned in his gut. He wanted Helena, true. God only knew how much he wanted her. But not like this. Not in a way that felt dirty and cheap.
“I’m sure we can find someplace more accommodating than an inn,” he said tightly.
“My carriage?” she suggested.
He let go of her hand. “Helena–”
“Or there’s the hayloft above the livery yard. I’ve heard the maids whispering about it, and–”
“Helena.”
Her brows drew together. “What?”
“I am not going to make” – he lowered his voice – “love to you in a damned hayloft! This isn’t going to be some hidden, tawdry affair.”
“Then what is it going to be?” she asked, visibly confused.
It was a good question.
“I don’t know.” Raking an agitated hand through his hair, he shoved his chair back and repeated, “I don’t know.”
“Then perhaps you should return when you’ve decided,” she said in a voice that was noticeably cooler than it had been a second ago. “Or better yet, don’t return at all.”
“That’s not what I want,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, darling.” Her expression vaguely pitying, she trailed a fingertip down his cheek. “Haven’t you learned yet that no one ever gets what they want?”
Brushing past him, she sauntered out of the coffee shop without looking back.
Chapter Nine
“What’s wrong?” Percy asked as soon as Helena walked into the solarium. Bright and sunny, it served as the perfect studio for the duchess to work on her art.
“Nothing.” Discarding her bonnet and gloves, Helena sat on the velvet armrest of a chaise longue and then slowly slid into it. Turning her head towards Percy, she mustered a long, rather dramatic sigh. “Everything.”
“Tell me.” Setting aside her paintbrush, Percy pushed her stool out from behind her beloved wooden easel and frowned sympathetically at her friend. “I hope you do not mind me saying this, but you look terrible.”
“I feel terrible. This is why I never allow myself to cry.” She pressed the back of her hands to her red, blotchy eyes. To her utter humiliation, she’d sobbed all the way back from the village while Ives had looked helplessly on. Her tears could have filled buckets. Oceans, really. And she blamed every single one of them on him.
Stephen Darby, Earl of Cambridge.
Or, as she preferred to think of him, the devil incarnate.
This was why she avoided men and anything even remotely resembling a romantic relationship. Because it always ended in tears. Her tears. And the reward was never worth the pain.
“Lord Cambridge followed me into town.” Lowering her arms, she stared numbly at the ceiling. “He wanted to have a conversation.”
“And that…was a bad thing? Yes, that was a bad thing,” Percy said hastily when Helena merely pursed her lips. “What…what did he want?”
“To sleep with me.”
“To – to sleep with you?” Percy squeaked. “As in…erm…”
“Shag, tup, take a flyer, blow the grounsils.”
“I’m sorry.” The duchess blinked. “Blow the what?”
“The grounsils.” Helena waved her hand vaguely. “Ives said it once, and I have always wanted to use it in a sentence.”
“Ah.”
“Not that it matters, because I never want to see Stephen again.”
“Hmmm.”
“He’s just so contradictory.” She sat up on her elbows. “He came here to end the benefactorship because he can
no longer stand to be bound to me. Whatever that is supposed to mean. And then he wants to make love to me?” On an indignant huff, she flopped back onto the cushions. “I just wish he’d choose one or the other. You can’t hate someone and still desire them.” She slanted Percy a troubled glance out of the corner of her eye. “Can you?”
“I suppose that depends. Do you still have feelings for Lord Cambridge?”
“No. Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know! We only knew each other for one night before I promised to wait forever.” She shook her head. “Who makes such a vow?”
“Someone in love?” Percy said tentatively.
“Furthermore, how can he hold me to my promise when he doesn’t even know the real reason why I broke it? If he would have let me explain…but I suppose he was too angry. I can’t blame him for that, really. If I went away and returned to discover he was marrying my mother…” Her brow furrowed. “Still, you’d think the truth would have revealed itself by now. It’s as if we’re stuck in one of those horrifically dramatic Gothic romances that Dahlia loves to read. Minus a vengeful spirit, I suppose.”
Percy brightened. “Do you know if she has The Ghost Duke Takes a Bride? I’ve been trying to find a copy for ages, but the bookstores are all sold out.”
“I’ll ask her.” Helena’s gaze returned to the ceiling. There was a long crack in the plaster. It had splintered into two, with both lines veering away from each another until, for no reason that she could see, they both suddenly changed directions and intersected right in front of the chandelier. “I don’t know what to do, Percy. And I always know what to do.”
“You are the one Calliope and I go to for advice,” Percy agreed. “But - in this case - do you think you might be…well…overthinking things a bit?”
Helena frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“What did you feel when you saw Lord Cambridge yesterday?”
“Shock, first and foremost. Then anger, of course, when I learned he was my benefactor.”
“And then?” Percy prompted.
“And then…and then I wondered what might have happened if things had turned out differently, and we were together.” Hating the tinge of wistfulness in her voice, she forced herself to sit up and scrubbed her hands down her face.
Courting the Countess of Cambridge (Secret Wallflower Society Book 2) Page 7