Bella smiled fondly at the mention of her beloved husband, and Helen knew a brief spear of envy at the sight. “Not to worry, dearest. You should hear the aspersions my mother casts upon Americans. They’d curl your hair.”
The dowager Lady Thornton was well known for being a dragon and a curmudgeon both. Helen winced at the comparison. She hoped she wasn’t yet so old and on the shelf or so ornery as Bella’s formidable mother. “I didn’t mean to suggest that all Americans are horrid, merely that the particular one I encountered was.”
Bella raised an inky brow. “What in heaven’s name happened? Shall I send Jesse round to give him a sound trouncing?”
Helen nearly spat the sip of tea she’d just taken all over her skirts. She swallowed hastily. “As satisfying as the prospect of that awful man being trounced is, I’m afraid fisticuffs is not the answer. Apparently, Mr. Bothwell sold the London Beacon and as the new owner informed me, my services are no longer needed. I’ll be searching for a new home for my articles.”
“Oh Helen.” Her friend’s pretty face was a portrait of compassion. “I know how much your reform work with the House of Rest means to you. Perhaps Jesse can help you to find another outlet for your articles. He counts a great deal of businessmen as friends and associates.”
Jesse Whitney didn’t merely dabble in trade; he owned quite a bit of real estate and businesses, both in New York City and London. Bella was unabashedly supportive of her husband’s endeavors, despite what some old-fashioned members of their set thought.
“That would be very kind of him.” Helping her fellow women in need had become one of Helen’s greatest pleasures in life. She had long ago decided that she was not the sort of woman who was made for courting and marrying and producing the necessary heirs. One awful experience had shown her the path her life should take, and she had not looked back since.
“I take it that your upset has to do with more than merely losing a home for your articles, however?” Bella was perceptive. Too perceptive.
Helen wasn’t certain she wanted to discuss the rest of what had occurred. She was still quite shaken by it. By him. But her friend’s searching gaze was upon her, and her cheeks grew hot, giving her away. “The new owner of the Beacon was horribly rude, Bella. He was dismissive and arrogant, and when I would not do his bidding, he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me to the door.”
Bella’s eyes went wide. “He dared to throw you over his shoulder?”
“Yes.” Over his broad, strong shoulder. And he had smelled wonderful. And his bottom had not been an unwelcome sight as she was carted away, nor had his hands been entirely unwanted upon her. Oh dear. Helen fanned herself, her discomfit even worse than ever. “Is it not exceedingly warm in here?”
This time, both of Bella’s brows shot upward. “I don’t find it to be.” A smile worked at the corners of her mouth. “Helen dearest, I wouldn’t want to distress you by suggesting this, but perhaps—”
Helen feigned a large and unladylike sneeze to put a stop to Bella’s dangerous words. Under no circumstances did she wish for her unfortunate and perplexing reaction to him to be examined. Besides, she certainly couldn’t be attracted to a man who had shoved her onto the street and locked her out of the establishment as though she were a pickpocket come to thief his watch. She’d heard the latch slide home. No indeed, she had far too much sense for that. She wasn’t a young girl who fawned over a fine-looking face or who was easily wooed by charming smiles and fast hands. Once, she had been. Never again.
“Oh dear, please do excuse me.” Helen held a handkerchief to her nose, not feeling a jot of guilt for her subterfuge. She had been blessed with three sisters, after all, and she knew how to avoid an uncomfortable conversation when she wished.
Bella’s expression said she was more than aware of Helen’s ruse, but her manners kept her from pursuing the matter. “Bless you, my dear. I had word from Jesse this morning that we’re to have a guest for dinner this evening. Another American, I’m afraid, but hopefully one that is more to your liking.”
“Oh?” Helen was grateful indeed for the change of subject. If only her mind would depart from the topic as easily as her friend had. She could still see him glowering down at her.
Are you dimwitted, madam?
Such impudence. He had actually uttered those words to her. She should have walloped him with her reticule right then, in fact. But she had been too stunned by his masculine beauty. There was something indefinably magnetic about him, something that had called to her on a deep, primitive level that she dared not trust. She sipped her tea, hoping for distraction.
“Yes.” Bella drew Helen’s attention back to her. “Mr. Levi Storm is to be joining us. He should make for interesting company. Jesse says he is quite the talk of the town back in New York City. He’s built up an impressive empire of businesses. Jesse has invested in one of his companies here in town. He’s aiming to beat Edison at electrifying all of London. We’re to have our entire house wired for electric lights. It’s all quite exciting.”
Electricity.
An American businessmen who was bringing electricity to London would be joining them for dinner. Helen allowed that news to settle into her mind as dread sank through her. It couldn’t be. Could it?
“What is it, Helen? You look as if someone has cast up their accounts on your favorite dress.”
Helen managed a tremulous smile. “Not as bad as all that, I hope. It’s merely that I fear that your dinner guest and the boor from the London Beacon are one and the same.”
Bella’s expression clouded. “If that is the case, dinner tonight will be an interesting affair indeed.”
“Indeed,” she echoed weakly. Perhaps, she thought, she could cry off with the megrims. Anything would be better than seeing him again. I’ll take you back into my office right now and show you. What would he have showed her? Good heavens, it was wicked for her to wonder.
More wicked still that part of her wanted to see him again more than anything.
Perhaps if she saw him once more, gave him the dressing down he deserved, she could forget all about him and his startling blue eyes and rakish good looks. Yes, that was what she needed. All she needed to do was make it through dinner, give him the earful she should have given him earlier, and forget all about him.
Hang it all, his vexing mystery woman was Jesse’s guest.
What were the odds? Levi gambled, but only in business, so he was at a loss for calculating what he would have otherwise deemed the improbable chance that he would so quickly and easily find her again. Improbable no more, for there she sat across the table from him, her beauty unparalleled by Jesse’s wife, exceptionally lovely in her own right though she was.
Her golden hair had been swept into woven coils with a waterfall of curls down the back. Diamonds twinkled from her throat. She wore a deep purple gown that set off her pale features and ample décolletage to advantage and highlighted her small waist. Damn it if she wasn’t the most striking woman he’d ever seen.
At the moment, she appeared to be endeavoring to keep her gaze trained on their host and hostess, but her eyes had met his once and the effect had been startling, sending a physical jolt through him not unlike electricity.
No woman had ever affected him thus, and her effect upon him was quickly landing him in an even blacker humor than he’d already suffered after his day of burning offices and smoking dynamos. She was a noblewoman, which simultaneously relieved and disappointed him, for it meant that she was not the sort of woman with which one dallied, and he was a man who ought not to be thinking of dallying in the first place.
He was already engaged, after all, and he had carefully decided upon the match to further his business ventures and connections both. Constance VanHorn came from the most prominent and wealthy family in New York City. Her father owned half the city and beyond that, half the railroads in the entire country. Elias VanHorn had invested heavily in North Atlantic Electric. When he’d proposed the match between Levi an
d his eldest daughter, Levi had seen it for the rare opportunity it was and had agreed. He was willing to sacrifice his freedom for the greater good of his business, and VanHorn was willing to overlook Levi’s dubious past to see his wayward daughter settled.
Levi had only met his bride-to-be on two occasions and that had suited him fine. He wasn’t a man given to illusions of love, and he made no mistake that Miss VanHorn harbored any tender feelings toward him. Indeed, he scarcely recalled the stilted conversation they had exchanged and possessed only a vague impression of her appearance, which had been pleasant enough but rather unremarkable.
She was certainly not tall, blonde, and blindingly beautiful. He had never thrown her over his shoulder or yearned to carry her into the nearest empty chamber and kiss her delectable mouth. She had never irritated him or interrupted his day or spoken a tart word in his presence. She was a paragon, as uninspiring as an aspic, nicely formed but somehow unappealing just the same.
Miss VanHorn would complement his empire, enhance his holdings, and forge business relationships of the sort money couldn’t buy. She was everything he had required in a wife, hailing from an old-money, blue-blood, New York City family he’d once looked upon with awe. He, Levi Storm, sometime orphan boy and ne’er do well, was marrying the daughter of the wealthiest man in America. It should have made him feel something more than ambivalence and a vague sense of disquiet. It should have pleased him and been enough to make him impervious to the charms of a maddening blonde with a penchant for penning drivel for a penniless London rag.
Somehow, it did not.
“I understand that you and Lady Helen are already acquainted, Mr. Storm,” interjected Jesse’s wife into Levi’s thoughts, and unless he was mistaken, there was a sly undertone to her words. Her expression was bland and innocent enough, but he was not so easily fooled.
He cast a glance toward Lady Helen. Her name suited her, he thought, like Helen of Troy, an incomparable beauty. It was regal and lush, the same as she was. She looked at him at last, challenging him with her stare. He accepted her dare. “Lady Helen was kind enough to grace my offices with her presence this morning,” he said, careful to keep his tone mild.
Lady Helen pursed her lips as though she’d taken a bite of something tart. “Indeed, but I’m afraid Mr. Storm was not altogether pleased by my unexpected arrival.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her. He wanted her, he realized then. He wanted her, and he could not have her. Or could he? The devil in him said maybe he could, that nothing in life was truly out of reach as long as one wasn’t concerned with such things as honor and duty. “You have my sincere apologies if I caused you offense in any way, my lady.”
“Your apologies are a bit tardy, sir.” She was determined to rake him over the coals before the company, as politely as her manners would permit.
He had been rude to her, and he knew it as well as she. But niceties had never been his strong suit, and she had been equally tempting and irritating. He smiled. “Nevertheless, I am sorry for my cavalier treatment of you.”
“Tossing a lady over one’s shoulder is cavalier treatment?” She eyed him archly. “I confess, I hadn’t realized your American customs were so decidedly different from ours.”
If she was trying to embarrass him, she was failing miserably. He’d toss the bothersome woman over his shoulder again in an instant if necessary and relish every minute of it. His grin deepened. “Don’t paint us all with the same jaded brush, my lady. Jesse here is as fine a gentleman as you’ll ever find.”
He and Jesse had been friends for some time. They both had earned their places in New York City real estate with nothing short of mettle and a fair dash of good fortune. They had kept in close contact over the years, and it had been Jesse who had prompted him to expand his business holdings to England, a land hungry for technology and change. The gateway to all of Europe.
His friend eyed him somewhat bemusedly. Damn it, Jesse ought to know he wasn’t a dandy by now. He never had been and he never would be. He had fought his way up in life from lowly street urchin to respected businessman, but there were some roles he could simply never accept.
“Over your shoulder, Levi?” Jesse asked pointedly.
The woman was well-versed in the art of aggravation. Levi’s foul humor returned. “I merely feared that Lady Helen would do herself injury,” he improvised nicely. “My electricians were in the midst of a delicate operation. As it happened, she was removed from danger just in time.”
“Danger?” Lady Bella echoed, her expression concerned. “Blessed angels’ sakes, Helen, you made no mention of danger.”
“Indeed.” He met Lady Helen’s narrowed glare across the table with a look of pure innocence. “There was a fire. The contents of my office were destroyed.”
“Oh dear.” Lady Bella pressed a hand to her heart, looking dismayed. “I hope your electric lights are safe, Mr. Storm.”
“Perfectly,” he answered easily. “Electricity is merely a feral beast that need be tamed, but I know of no better men to tame it than my own.” He said the last with true confidence, for he was not lacking in conviction when it came to North Atlantic Electric and its men. Not for a moment. Electricity was the way of the future, whether the world was ready for it or no.
“Still,” pressed Lady Bella, “fire is quite dangerous, Mr. Storm. Even you must admit that.”
“It can be,” he allowed, “but I think you’ll find that, as with many things in life, the risk of electricity is infinitely smaller than the reward it brings.” His gaze traveled to Lady Helen once more before he could think better of it.
The tension between them was nearly palpable. He yearned to have her alone, beyond the watching eyes of Jesse and his wife. To take her in his arms once more, but this time to do what he had so badly wanted to do that morning. Kiss her. Taste her. Strip her silk from her luscious curves and then sink his aching cock deep inside her.
Ah, he had gone far too long without a woman in his bed, and it was beginning to show.
“What are the rewards, Mr. Storm?” Lady Helen asked, even her voice a velvet seduction to his senses.
The look he cast her way was laden with meaning. “The rewards are many, my lady. Electricity is clean. It does not stink or smoke like gaslight. It’s far brighter and more efficient. It is not what you are accustomed to, but once you have it, you’ll never want to go back to the way you once lived.”
He wasn’t merely speaking of electricity and they both knew it. Very likely, Jesse and his wife knew it as well. He veered into dangerous territory. He was set to wed Miss VanHorn in a few months’ time, and he had no business panting after a lady. Even if that lady was gorgeous and tempting and vexing and seated before him, nearly close enough to touch. But he wasn’t sure if he cared at the moment. Hounds of hell. It wasn’t like him to be so distracted by a woman.
Lady Helen gave him a small, nearly indiscernible smile. He longed to know what she was thinking, what mysteries hid behind her poised beauty. “I suppose we shall have to take you at your word, Mr. Storm.”
“My word is my bond,” he said without hesitation. It was the promise that had delivered him through endless business dealings. He had built his reputation upon it, along with the fact that he wasn’t afraid to be ruthless when he needed to be.
“Is that why you bought the London Beacon?” she asked shrewdly.
She was a worthy opponent, this one. But he had never been fearful of an intelligent woman; rather, he preferred them to their insipid counterparts. “I purchased the Beacon for many reasons,” he hedged with care.
“You didn’t buy it so that you could propagate your own interests?” Lady Helen’s gaze was direct and unflinching. “It seems to me that when a man seeking to sell electricity to all the world buys a journal and turns out the paper’s staff on their ears, he has only one thing in mind.”
“And it seems to me that the Beacon and the way I choose to run it are not your concern, my dear lady.” His tone was de
liberately cool, all the better to discourage the current vein of conversation. She was right, damn her, but that didn’t mean he would acknowledge it. He didn’t like the swiftness with which she had seen through him, judged him, and he wasn’t accustomed to anyone challenging him so directly. Not any longer, now that he was one of the wealthiest men in New York City.
“I’m sure neither are my concern, given that you’ve summarily dismissed me from my post.” Her tone spoke of her pique.
He had not read any of the Beacon before purchasing it, had merely known that its flame was about to sputter out into darkness. Like the proverbial berry ripe for the plucking, it had been a promising lure. He’d required a press and its influence. One had been for sale, and for a very cheap price. He wondered now what she could have written that it meant such a great deal to her.
“Perhaps it’s time that we took our leave of the gentlemen, Lady Helen,” Jesse’s wife suggested then, apparently seeking to avoid any further discord. He supposed it was the hostess’s duty, quite customary and proper, but that didn’t mean he appreciated the withdrawing.
Levi didn’t miss the telling glance Jesse sent his wife’s direction either. Their ease with each other and their quiet though obvious love was not lost on him. For the first time in as long as he could recall, he knew a prick of envy for the relationship between husband and wife.
He tamped the unwanted feeling firmly down.
He and Jesse stood in deference to the departure of the fairer sex from the dining room. To hell with society and its never-ending book of rules. He had just begun to enjoy himself. But as much as he didn’t want to leave Lady Helen’s presence, he also didn’t wish to match wits with her in front of an audience. He wanted her alone, which he knew was an idea about as good as Pickett’s Charge at the battle of Gettysburg. Which was to say not a good idea at all. Many a man never returned from that field.
Sweet Scandal Page 3