A Regency Christmas Pact Collection (19 page)

She bristled that he thought acting was so simple but pushed the emotion away.  “I continued to train with him.  I found it was something I enjoyed, and he was not averse to teaching women.”

Domesticity had been Stanwick’s first thought when he stepped into the library and saw Hélène settled before the fire.  She wore a simple, grey day dress. Her hair was pulled behind her head and knotted at the back of her neck, though it was a bit mussed, and several curls had sprung free of the confines, yet she was more beautiful than before.  Her creamy skin had a healthy glow, and he was no longer concerned that she would suffer any further consequences from the slash in her thigh.  A red, gold, and blue shawl was pulled about her shoulders, and those blue eyes sparkled.  It could be because of so many candles and the firelight. 

Could this room be any warmer?  He glanced around. There was more greenery, ribbons, and candles in this room than probably in most houses in London. Why had she decorated so early and so elaborately?  Hélène hadn’t struck him as someone who would go to such excess.  How well did he really know her? Perhaps Christmas was more special to her than anyone else.

The heat of the room and desire for Hélène that shot through him when he saw her had convinced Stanwick to forego brandy this evening. He needed nothing else heating his veins.  It was all he could do not to pull her in his arms instantly and pick up where they had left off when they had been interrupted by her family.  Thankfully, he could control himself well enough to stay away from her, though the chair on the other side of the table might have been a safer choice.

She lifted the teacup to those luscious lips, and Stanwick realized he would like to come home to a scene similar to this every night with Hélène waiting for him by the fire, reading and sewing.  It was not to be, and he knew he didn’t have the words to change her mind.

“Then you have not reconsidered remaining in London.”

Hélène frowned. She placed her teacup back in the saucer and set them on the table.  “I would consider it if I were able to continue acting and live out from under my brother’s control.”

“You could still marry me,” he blurted out.

She started and drew back.  “You don’t wish to marry me,” she reminded him.

“I’ve given it much thought and I believe I do.” He leaned forward and grasped her hand. 

Hélène studied him, those blue eyes darkening. What was she thinking?

“Dagger’s Haven?” she questioned. “How did you come by that name?”

Her question totally startled him. He just proposed marriage and she asked about the name of his club?  Yet if she was to consider being his wife, she needed to know his past and what the future probably held.

“My father gambled,” he answered bluntly.  “When he lost everything we owned and creditors began knocking on the door, he turned to drink.” Perhaps he should have poured himself a glass of brandy after all.  “My brother and I were away at school at the time, and the students who came from more affluent families made life difficult for us.”

Any smile Hélène had earlier was gone, and her face softened with concern. He could not look at her because the sympathy in her eyes was too much.  Stanwick shifted and stared into the flames, recalling those days at school as if they were yesterday.  “After one too many fights, I began carrying a dagger in my boot.  After I pulled it out once, the others backed away.  We were never bothered again.” He turned to face her again. “I was given the nickname Dagger by a classmate, and it has stayed with me.”

“Do you still carry it?” Her voice was quiet.

“Yes. It is a part of me.”

“Why a gaming hell? I would think you would want nothing to do with gambling.”

He chuckled. “Like you, I became very good at counting cards and calculating the odds.  I left Oxford before my education was complete and opened the hell. It was my intention to take wealth from the very men who had ruined my father.”

“Did you?”

“I’ve become rich off of those very men and my former classmates, but it wasn’t their fault my father was ruined.” Stanwick sighed. “My father did this to himself, and his family, and there is no one else to blame.”

Hélène squeezed the hand he still held. At least she hadn’t pulled away when she learned of the ugliness in his family.

“If I suspect a gentleman is on the brink of ruin, such as my father, he is not allowed to return to Dagger’s.  I know other hells are not as concerned, but I refuse to put another family in the same position if found myself in.”

“Tell me about the rest of your family.”

“My father drank himself to death,” Stanwick offered without emotion, not adding that his father had died in his mistress’s bed.  It took years before he didn’t feel angry at what his father had done. Now it was simply emptiness when he remembered that time. “My mother could not handle the embarrassment or creditors, and died of heartbreak a few years later.”

Sympathy clouded her eyes, but she said nothing. Instead, Hélène withdrew her hand and reached forward to refill her teacup.  He wanted to grasp it back to him, hold on tight, and beg her not to leave.

What had come over him?  Of course, now that she knew his unimpressive history, she had all the more reason to reject him.

She took a sip of the tea and turned toward him once again.  In one hand she held the cup and in the other a saucer. There was no chance of taking her hand back. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you afford to attend Oxford?”

Though this question would have never been asked in polite society, Hélène was different. He liked that about her. Of course, everyone in society already knew the answer. “My uncle, the Earl of Wallcut.”

She straightened. Apparently, she didn’t realize his connections were almost as high as hers.

“I am his heir.  As he is five-and-sixty and my aunt is nine-and-fifty, and they were blessed with four daughters and no sons, in all likelihood I will inherit the title.”

Her mouth popped open in surprise. 

“Of course, my aunt may pass away and my uncle could marry some young lady to produce the required son, but it is unlikely to happen.”

“So, you must marry,” she said sadly.

Why did it bother her so when she had already rejected him.

“Actually, I intended to never marry,” he informed her. “My uncle did nothing to help my mother after Father’s death. He could have made everything go away, but he refused, and for that reason I refuse to do as he wishes.  Until I proposed to you, I had every intention of letting the title go hang. My younger brother may marry and produce an heir, but I was not going to do what was necessary to see that the title continue.” 

Hélène choked and smiled.  “As we will not marry, you still have the opportunity.”

Her rejection, though he shouldn’t be surprised, still stung.

Stanwick was destined to be an earl?  Hélène had no idea, and it was all the more reason she was glad to have rejected his offer. Juliette was married to a viscount and must now be part of Society. Acker at least allowed Juliette to still dance and had given her a school.  If Hélène believed Stanwick would be as generous with her, she might have reconsidered marriage. But she suspected he was more traditional in what he would want his wife to be, even if he had not planned on ever having one.

“Before you reject me out of hand, at least hear me out,” Stanwick insisted.

Did he want to marry her so badly? Why didn’t he simply accept her rejection and leave it be? Didn’t he realize that continuing to speak of it made her heart ache?  To be married to Stanwick meant she would have someone to keep her warm, as his mere presence was doing now.  She wouldn’t be alone, and they could kiss whenever she wished. And she would finally be able to experience what happened between men and women.  There were so many reasons she wished to be with him. He may not love her, but he cared. Hélène feared the more she was in his presence, the more likely she was to fall in love.

Who was she fooling? Part of her was in love with him already, and there was no logical reason for feeling this way. She longed to have him near whether they were kissing or simply sitting by a fire sipping tea. 

“You would not have a care in the world,” he began. “I would provide a fine home, with servants, and I have wealth enough that you could purchase whatever you wish.  I would be gone at night and that is something I cannot change because of Dagger’s. But when I am home, my time would be spent seeing to you, keeping you happy, and taking care of all your needs.”

Hélène placed her teacup and saucer on the table before turning to face him more fully.

“I would never give you a reason to fall into melancholy or be angered.  Your days could be spent visiting with your sisters, or the rest of your family, or doing as you wished.”

Most women may dream of such a life, but not her. 

“I know many wives who have become frustrated and unhappy in marriage. I promise that will not happen to you.”

Because he assumed any woman would be happy simply running a house and carrying for a husband and children, while for the most part, being treated as a child herself. 

“I would also be faithful. On that, you have my promise.”

Hélène sighed. While it was nice to know she would never have to worry about him taking a mistress, it wasn’t enough to change her mind. “You spoke of wives being unhappy; do you know why they might be?”

He frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing close over his eyes.  “I assume it is because their husbands don’t care for them properly or show them enough attention.”

Hélène nearly snorted. “Stanwick, did it ever occur to you that perhaps women become frustrated because they are forced in the roles society and men deem are only worthy for them?”

He opened his mouth.

Hélène suspected he was about to argue with her and she quickly spoke again. “Gentlemen define the roles women are to play, not the female.”

She rose and stepped away from the settee to pace before the fire. She had to make him understand, and if he could not accept what she was saying then there was nothing else for them to discuss.  “What harm is there in a lady being an actress or a ballerina, or anything she wishes?  We have brains and can think. We have talents we wish to explore. Yet if you ask a gentleman, we are only capable of running a house, shopping, gossiping, and producing children.  If I were forced to endure such a life, I might very well go mad.”

She hastily turned away when tears sprang to her eyes.  Hélène would not show weakness in front of Stanwick, or he would never accept that women did not need to be coddled.  It was bad enough she had fainted in front of him. Why she was crying, she had no idea.

“I wish to act. Until everyone can accept my desires, I have no reason to remain in London or marry.”

“Very well,” he said after a long silence.

Hélène didn’t turn but sensed when he stood.  Her skin prickled as he drew near.  It was much safer with him across the room.

His hands slid about her waist and, with the slightest pressure, turned her to face him.  Hélène looked up into his dark eyes, wishing she could understand the emotions reflected within.  Before she could say anything, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with a tenderness that made her heart ache.  His mouth was gone too soon, and she looked up at him again. Did she read sadness within the depths? 

“It was an honor to know you, Lady Hélène.”  He stepped back and bowed.  “I hope everything you wish for is yours.”