Lady Reckless (Notorious Ladies of London Book 3) Read online

  Shelbourne growled. “How could you have done this, damn you?”

  He could deny he was the father of Helena’s supposed child. But what good would the disavowal do him? It was plain from the virulence of his friend’s reaction that Shelbourne would never believe him.

  “There is no explanation,” he said grimly, unable to keep the irony from his voice.

  He cast a look in Helena’s direction. Her lovely face was stricken, the full lower lip he had so enjoyed kissing caught between her teeth. She looked as if she were torn.

  Guilty. That was how she looked.

  “Shelbourne, let me speak with Huntingdon for a moment,” she said then, shocking him with her bold request.

  “Absolutely not,” Shelbourne rejected flatly. “You cannot believe I would allow you to remain in this vile seducer’s company alone for another second.”

  She wanted to speak with him, did she? Gabe was tempted. He had quite a bit he wanted to say to the manipulative baggage. When he could swallow down his anger, that was.

  Helena refused to meet his gaze. Her chin lifted in that defiant gesture he had come to know so well as she faced her brother. “Please, Shelbourne. A few minutes, no longer.”

  Shelbourne shook his head. “No.”

  But Helena persisted, wedging herself between Gabe and her brother once more. The sweet scent of her invaded his senses. His head felt as if it were suddenly too light for his body. His jaw ached. Thoughts remained slow. He must not, above all else, allow her to affect him as she had done in the past.

  He had to keep his sangfroid firmly in place. Even if part of him wanted to throttle her and the other part wanted to kiss her.

  “I need to speak with his lordship,” Helena said softly, allowing a hint of tears to enter her voice.

  If Huntingdon had been inclined, he would have offered her applause. She had the flair of a lifelong actress. He ground his jaw to keep from making a tart response and then winced as it made his headache more pronounced.

  “I am hardly in a state to ravish her,” he offered wryly.

  Shelbourne snarled in the fashion of a rabid animal, which was apparently the sole response he was interested in giving.

  “Shelbourne,” Helena pressed, sniffling for good measure, Huntingdon supposed.

  “Five minutes to plan your impending nuptials,” Shelbourne relented bitterly. “And only because I hate it when you weep. I will be in the hall, counting the seconds. If you touch her, Huntingdon, I will thrash you to within a breath of your life.”

  He inclined his head in deference to his friend’s threat. The moment Shelbourne had left the chamber, Helena whirled to face him. Her expression was still a study in misery.

  “Explain yourself, madam,” he demanded.

  “Please do not be angry with me,” she said, reaching for him.

  He shrugged away from her touch—touching her was what had gotten him into this infernal mess in the first place. “Anger does not begin to describe what I feel at the moment, my lady.”

  “I had no choice. My father was preparing to announce my betrothal to Lord Hamish, and thus far, I have only had an opportunity to ruin myself with one man,” she countered, dashing a tear from her cheek.

  “Cease your theatrics,” he ordered coldly. “Your brother is out of earshot and they are no longer necessary to facilitate his pity.”

  “Please, Huntingdon,” she begged, those big, verdant orbs filling with unshed tears, as if on cue. “I did not know what else to do.”

  A growl emerged from him. “I can damn well assure you that telling your brother you carry my bastard was not the proper solution. Tell me, are you carrying a child? Because if you are, we both know it is not mine.”

  She blinked, wringing her hands in her distress.

  More of an act?

  He could not be sure.

  Hell, he could not be sure of anything any longer. Except for that he never should have kissed her. Never should have followed her. Never should have given in to his lust. Never should have slid his hand beneath her skirts, found the slit in her drawers…

  Damn her to perdition. She was like an infection in his blood.

  “I am not with child,” she admitted, sotto voce. “If you wish, I will admit the truth to Shelbourne. I feel dreadful for the way he attacked you.”

  Her claim of compassion did nothing to quell the fires of his ire. “I deserved the trouncing he gave me for touching you and kissing you. I will own my sins. But even if you did tell him the truth now, he would not believe you. No, indeed. The seed of our collective doom has been sown.”

  “I never intended—”

  “You have what you wanted,” he interrupted, driven by the need to lash out at her. “And now we must both pay the price.”

  The door to the study opened before either of them could speak. Shelbourne returned. “When will you be speaking to my father, Huntingdon?”

  “With as much haste as possible,” he decided.

  But first, he needed to see Lady Beatrice and pray she would understand.

  Chapter Nine

  It is just and reasonable for women to enjoy the same rights as men.

  —From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times

  “I wish to God Lady Northampton had conceived a son instead of a disappointing, scandalous, amoral daughter. I have never been more ashamed of you than I am in this moment, facing you, knowing you have squandered all the careful plans I made to ensure your future contentedness.”

  Helena flinched at her father’s rancor-laden pronouncement, issued with such vehemence that spittle flew from his mouth along with its utterance. She had long been aware she was a disappointment to her father. As a female, her worth to him had only been in the marriage he could arrange for her. A marriage with a man of his choosing. A man in his image. She would not have been content. She would have been wretched.

  Ruining herself meant that she was no longer of any worth to him at all.

  She had told herself she must prepare for his outrage, for his disgust. But his words still found their way into the small corner of her heart where hope he would change dwelled.

  “I am sorry for my actions, my lord,” she said solemnly.

  Her apology was partially sincere and partially not. Her conscience still pricked her, hours later, over what she had done. Not because she regretted her father’s reaction or the wrath she had incurred. But rather, because of what she had done to Huntingdon. He was a man who prized his reputation, and she had just dashed it to bits in the name of her own preservation.

  What she had done was selfish and wrong.

  “I do not believe you are sorry at all, you conniving jade!” her father shouted. “You have been cunning and wild. I ought to have taken harsher measures with you, as I wanted. But Lady Northampton advised against it, as did Shelbourne. Look at where all our good intentions have landed us. Smack in the midst of ruin!”

  Where she had landed herself was where she wanted to be.

  But she bowed her head and feigned humility and contrition just the same. “I hope that in time you might forgive me.”

  “You are deuced fortunate the man with whom you have sinned is the Earl of Huntingdon. Lord Hamish would not have you as his wife now, nor would I pass on soiled goods to him. If Huntingdon had not agreed to marry you in haste, you would not be beneath this roof, my lady.” Father slammed his fist on his desk to punctuate his rage.

  This time, she did not jump, for she was expecting it and more. She was almost inured to anger now. She had been facing hours of it. Huntingdon’s words came back to haunt her then.

  You have what you wanted. And now we must both pay the price.

  His icy fury filled her with trepidation. She was in love with a man and she was marrying him. But none of it was happening in the way it ought to have done. And she had stolen from him his right to wed a bride of his choosing. She had escaped one miserable situation for another. At least she would not have to suffer Lord Hamish’s supercilious s
oliloquies and ridiculously frustrating misconceptions of women at large.

  Her victory seemed rather hollow from where she stood.

  Escaping her marriage with him had been vindication. The aftereffects of her decisions, however, were decidedly not.

  “Have you nothing to say for yourself, Lady Helena?” Father demanded, his voice hoarse from all his exclamatory outrage. “I had never thought you slow-witted, but now I cannot help but to wonder. Lord Hamish would have made you an excellent husband. You could not have done better. Instead, you have squandered your chances for an earl who hails from one of the most sordid, disreputable families in the kingdom. If not for the former Lord Huntingdon, this one would not even be worth a farthing.”

  Yes, she did have rather a lot to say for herself.

  Suddenly, Helena found she could no longer hold her tongue. Mayhap it was the final verbal jabs he had offered. Perhaps it was the manner in which he had attacked Huntingdon himself.

  Her chin went up. “I do have something to say, Father. Lord Hamish is a pompous, small-minded prig. The only reason you wanted me to marry him was to further your own political alliances. I begged you to keep from offering me to him as if I were a sacrificial lamb, and you refused to see reason. Therefore, I had no choice but to take matters and my own destiny into my hands.”

  “And naturally, Huntingdon, a man of tainted stock, would accept what you offered,” her father sneered. “I cannot say I am surprised at his actions. His father was a rakehell and his mother bedded half of London.”

  “Huntingdon is a man of honor,” she felt the need to defend him, for he was. He had kissed her on two separate occasions. And his hand had slipped beneath her skirts in the lady’s withdrawing room. But his inner torment over his actions had proven he was not a conscienceless rogue.

  “You are fortunate I have accepted his offer for your hand instead of sending you off,” her father said then. “But fair warning, my lady. This marriage must happen with as much expeditiousness as possible. Else I will be forced to reconsider my leniency.”

  She took her father’s warning to heart.

  It meant she would have to wed Huntingdon with as much haste as she could manage. Supposing he was still willing to make her his wife after everything she had done, that was.

  Huntingdon faced Lady Beatrice with the bitter weight of shame lodged in his gut. She had just inquired, in concerned tones, about the nature of the bruising on his face. And he had blurted the truth. The full, sordid truth. Or at least most of it.

  His hopes for the same serene understanding she had exhibited when she had informed him she would support his taking of a mistress had fled. In its place was a stark, abject pain that ate away at his soul.

  “You cannot marry me,” she repeated.

  How he loathed his lack of control. He had given in to his lust for Helena, and she had repaid him by betraying him and forcing him into an untenable farce of a marriage. Grandfather had wanted him to marry Lady Beatrice. Indeed, one of his final actions on his deathbed had been to secure Gabe’s promise that he would take her as his countess.

  And Gabe had agreed.

  Now, he was being forced to break that promise. To take on a marriage that teetered on the brink of the same ruin his parents’ union had faced.

  “I cannot marry you,” he agreed, choosing his words with painstaking care.

  As they had on his previous visit, they were taking a turn about the gardens as her mother watched from the windows. For the last time. No such lenience would be allotted them from this moment forward. Indeed, he half-expected Lady Harthwaite to storm from the salon where she hovered, having seen the distress on her daughter’s countenance.

  A light mist began to fall, fitting for the moment.

  For the task.

  Lady Beatrice shook her head slowly. “I do not understand what has changed. I have already reassured you that I am more than willing to accommodate you, my lord, however I must. If I somehow failed to soothe your worries, I must apologize. How can I prove my devotion to you? You need only say the words, and it shall be done.”

  She was the most agreeable future wife in London. If he were honest, her willingness to send him off to a mistress and support his unfaithfulness in their union nettled. But that did nothing to ameliorate the sting of what he was about to do.

  “I cannot marry you,” he explained slowly, “because I must marry another. I have acted selfishly and disreputably, and I have…compromised a lady.”

  Oh, how he hated revealing the last—his utter moral failing. Though he had not done what Helena had suggested to her brother, he had done enough. He had trespassed. He had all but made love to her on the floor of the lady’s withdrawing room. She may have been wrong to suggest he had taken her maidenhead and gotten her with child in the process, but he was little better, in the end, than she.

  He had sacrificed his honor and his duty for the sake of his prick.

  Just as his father had done before him. He could only hope the results would not prove as disastrous. He was prepared to do whatever he must to avoid such a ruinous end. He would have to control himself in Helena’s presence, that much was undeniable.

  Lady Beatrice’s shock was evident on her lovely face. “This lady you have compromised. Is she the same one you spoke of before?”

  He thought of Helena and her taunting scent and her divine mouth and her curves. Guilty heat flared over his cheekbones. “Yes.”

  Lady Beatrice’s nostrils flared, absorbing the blow. “I foolishly supposed you were concerned about a mistress. It is common, and I expected no less. Who is she?”

  For some reason, his first instinct was to protect Helena. To keep her identity a secret. But it occurred to him in short order that when he took her as his wife, the truth would be apparent.

  “Lady Helena Davenport,” he revealed.

  Lady Beatrice’s lips tightened, her shoulders squaring. “Ah. I suppose I ought not to be surprised.”

  Her reaction startled him. He had done his utmost to keep his desire for Helena at bay. Had he not?

  “It was a mistake,” he said. “And one I shall forever regret. But the damage has been done, I am afraid. I will be marrying her as quickly as possible.”

  Part of him balked at his explanation, at calling Helena a mistake. A regret. She had done him a great deal of damage with her reckless deceits. However, he could not, in truth, say he regretted kissing her. Touching her. Holding her. He merely regretted what had come after. Her betrayal. This godforsaken audience with Lady Beatrice. Going against his deathbed promise to Grandfather. The prospect of a marriage that would fare no better than his parents’ ill-fated match.

  “It is imperative that you marry her?” Lady Beatrice asked, with a note of hope. “I do not mind weathering scandal. As your countess, I will do everything in my power to stop tongues from wagging.”

  He could not reveal the sordid truth to her. So instead, he nodded. “It is imperative, I am afraid.”

  “But I thought she was all but betrothed to Lord Hamish White,” she argued, her tone taking on an unnatural, shrill quality.

  “She was,” he agreed, his discomfort reaching new heights.

  What was the accepted convention for speaking about one’s future betrothed with one’s recently jilted betrothed? He was sure there was none. This was no ordinary circumstance in which he found himself unceremoniously mired.

  “She has broken her betrothal for you, then, just as she always wished,” Lady Beatrice said bitterly. “I was warned. I saw for myself the way she looked at you, but I had believed you too honorable for her wiles.”

  The vitriol in her voice startled him, but he told himself it was to be expected. Even in a paragon such as Lady Beatrice. He could not deny that Helena possessed plenty of allure. However, Lady Beatrice’s words gave him pause. He had never supposed Helena returned his attraction until he had kissed her. Had it been obvious then? Had he fallen into her trap?

  Surely not. How could
she have known Lord Algernon Forsyte would have been bragging about his impending conquest? Unless she was guilty of more damning manipulation and deceit than she had already proven.

  He shook himself from the thoughts, from the suspicions. “I can assure you that what happened between Lady Helena and myself was not planned. Neither of us intended to do you harm. Indeed, hurting you is the last thing I would wish, my lady.”

  “And yet, you have,” she pointed out. “You are standing before me, telling me you cannot marry me although you have already promised yourself to me. That you have compromised Lady Helena in such extreme you have no other option save marrying her. What am I to feel, my lord? I was settled upon you as my future husband, and you have reassured me of your own sentiments throughout the mourning period for your grandfather. I have been waiting for you.”

  She was right in her words, in her anger, in her outrage. All of it.

  There was only one thing he could say, and it was not a defense, but the words and the regrets were all he possessed to give her. “I am so sorry, Lady Beatrice. I will not beg your forgiveness, for I am unworthy of it. My actions are unpardonable.”

  “Yes,” she said coldly. “They are. If you will excuse me, my lord? I find myself unable to bear another moment of this conversation. Naturally, you will make the necessary explanations to my father and mother?”

  “Of course.” He bowed to her, hating the pain etched on her face.

  She turned in a flounce of skirts and fled from the garden, hastening down the path they had so recently trod together.

  Chapter Ten

  Why is it that a woman must pay taxes and yet she is denied the right to vote for members of Parliament? How odd that, after years of fighting for equal representation, we remain at an impasse. One must wonder at the reason why.

  —From Lady’s Suffrage Society Times

  Helena would have supposed that, following her fall from grace, her father would have watched over her with the keen precision of a general going to battle, ready to rout the enemy. However, she continued to enjoy the ordinary freedom of movement which had been hers prior to the announcement of her revelation. Perhaps it was because Father believed the worst of her and was persuaded she could not further compromise herself. Perhaps it was because he no longer cared for her reputation now that she would no longer be the sacrificial offering to Lord Hamish.