Chance the Winds of Fortune (31 page)

“No! Dante, no, 'tisn't!” she cried. And rushing forward, she tried to fling herself against his warm body, wanting the touch of his bare skin against hers. Dante held her off easily.

“You came to me and told me that you were carrying my child. You were desperate and you were frightened, but you needn't have been, for I would not have abandoned you, Helene. I offered you my name. A name that I have always been proud of, and one that I thought you would not be ashamed to bear.” Dante was speaking quietly now, but his words cut deep.

“I remember thinking at the time that you did not seem overjoyed at the prospect, but I allowed for the fact that you had naturally been suffering a great deal of uncertainty as to your future, and the future of the child you were carrying. But you accepted my offer, did you not, my dear? And so, with your future and your reputation secure, you returned to your uncle's home and began the heady preparations for our marriage. I even accompanied you, as a good fiancé should, to countless affairs held in our honor, and you must admit,” Dante said with a mocking look, “that I was most accommodating.”

“Dante, please, I—” Helene began, a worried look settling on her flawless features as she anticipated his next words.

“No,” Dante interrupted, “allow me to finish, for it promises to become most interesting and enlightening. Unbeknownst to you, your uncle had been planning—partly as a surprise for you—a trip to London. But now that you were marrying, you would not be able to accompany him as he'd originally intended. He was also going to tour Paris, a city you had longed to visit. My, my,” Dante said, his voice full of mock sympathy, “that must have stunned you, my dear.”

“Well, of course I was disappointed,” Helene agreed. “But more so for Uncle than myself, for he's always been like a father to me. After all, he and Tante Marguerite practically raised me. He was so looking forward to showing me London, and he does have quite a few connections over there. I'd only been once before, and that was with my husband, and he spent all of his time in warehouses and down on the docks, while I was cooped up in an inn for most of my visit. Besides, he didn't know anyone of importance,” Helene said petulantly, still smarting with the memory of that first visit to London.

“Precisely, for now you had the chance to return to London under very different circumstances. As a young, attractive widow with an important uncle, you would see a very different side of London than before. You must have had several sleepless nights full of indecision, for the lure of London must have been great. But you did have one, very big problem, didn't you? How could you possibly arrive in London to dazzle and beguile those lords when you were well-rounded with child? You would never ensnare a rich and titled husband while carrying another man's child. So you decided to take drastic measures, did you not, for you were determined to have that trip to London.”

“W-whatever do you mean, Dante?” Helene gasped, her heartbeat pounding deafeningly in her ears.

“Was it some caustic herb that you dissolved in a cup of tea? Was it bitter to the taste? You must indeed have been desperate to take so strong a drug, knowing that it would cause you to miscarry, and perhaps do irreparable damage to your own health,” Dante said curiously.

“No! Dante, no! Why, where on earth did you get such an idea?” Helene demanded with a fine show of scorn. “How could you think such a thing of me? I couldn't do something like that to you after you had offered me your name. After I recovered from my initial surprise, I wanted your child, Dante. More than anything else in this world I desired it. Oh, how can you be so cruel? After all,
I
am the one who suffered the loss.”

“You did not wish for
my
child to grow within you, no more than you ever wished for my name. At least”—Dante paused, twisting his lips grimly—“you desired no flowering seed from our coupling until you discovered you would have been the Marchioness of Jacqobi if you had taken my name. But, at that time, I was merely a smuggler and an adventurer in your eyes. And you, my dear, had much higher aspirations, although while searching for that title, you were more than willing to make use of my services in bed. And when you thought all was lost, then and only then did you think my name good enough to take as your own. However, when you saw another way out, and one that might further your ambitions, you very conveniently forgot your sea captain lover and his child.”

“No, 'tisn't true, Dante!” Helene cried out beseechingly, hot tears of frustration coursing down her face. “You have it all confused. Oh, love, you wrong me, truly you do. I lost our child naturally. I swear that I did. You may ask my doctor if it is not the truth. I-I was dreadfully ill. Why, I nearly died. Oh, Dante, I was so happy when I discovered I was going to have your child. 'Tis what I have truly wanted for so long, but in secret. I know that you always thought I was not interested in marrying you, but I only let you think that because I knew that you did not wish to take a wife. I tried not to let it matter to me because I wanted to be with you regardless of what it cost me personally. I disregarded my own feelings for so long, but when I discovered that I was carrying your child, well”—Helene paused in her confession, as if at a loss for words—“I could no longer accept the difficult situation I found myself in, and I had to come to you. And you, like the gentleman you are, offered me your name. I was so ecstatic, so full of love for you.”

Helene stared into the fire, as if lost in her thoughts. And troubled thoughts they were, for a slight frown creased her brow. “But then I lost the child, and I knew in my heart that I couldn't force you into marrying me. There was no longer any need for it, even though it was what I wished for more than anything else in this world,” she admitted, tears muffling her voice.

“There was no longer any need for your gallantry. I spared you, Dante,” she continued. “'Twas a great sacrifice for me to give you back your freedom. I only did it because I
did
love you so dearly. I was suffering so much that it seemed the perfect solution to accompany my uncle to London. I couldn't bear to be here with you any longer, knowing that I had lost you,” Helene whispered, glancing up from lowered eyes to assess Dante's expression.

Dante was smiling, unpleasantly so. “Quite a performance, my dear. You should really have stayed in Drury Lane and gone onto the stage, for I'm sure most people, could they have heard you just now, would have been brought to tears. There is, however, one small detail that you neglected to mention,” he informed her, his gray eyes paling into icy hardness.

“What do you mean?” Helene asked curiously, for he couldn't possibly know anything. Only one person besides herself knew the truth.

“People say that fortune smiles upon me, for I seem to have uncommonly good luck at times. And, in this instance, I am inclined to agree with them, for I had something happen to me by chance,” Dante told an oddly silent Helene. In her mind, his contemptuous expression was a premonition of something worse to come.

“'Twas on the Tuesday before you broke off our engagement. I happened to be coming back from the docks, when I spied your beautiful face in the window of a carriage rumbling into a part of town I was rather surprised to think you had business in. And so, being a concerned fiancé, I followed you,” Dante said quietly.

Helene could feel herself blanch. “You followed me? How very considerate of you. I'm sorry I didn't know.”

“Yes, I imagine you are,” Dante agreed. “However, I discovered that I had worried needlessly, for you are a very resourceful woman, Helene. In fact, I am constantly amazed at the knowledge young women of fashion possess, for who would have thought that a decently brought-up young lady like yourself could possibly know about Madame Lasomier? I suspect that her past would really be best left alone, for I've heard quite a few strange tales about Madame Lasomier and her activities in the islands. I must say, my dear, that you were either remarkably brave or in ignorance of her unsavory reputation, for you walked without hesitation into her shop,” Dante said, with a glance of mock admiration at the flushed Helene. “I was so concerned for your safety, as well as being a bit curious, that I followed you almost to the door.

“You would have found it quite amusing, for there I stood in the shadows of the courtyard, guarding you, or so I mistakenly thought, when to my disbelief I saw you drink down a potion that Madame Lasomier had brewed especially for you. I was about to rush in when you very calmly handed over a pouch of coins, saying quite distinctly, ‘This had better work, old woman, or I'll see that you're run out of the Carolinas, and the wilderness won't even be a safe place for you to hide from me.' But you needn't have worried, for she assured you, did she not, that it had worked on countless women before you. And, indeed, she was correct, was she not?” Dante demanded coldly. “Several days later, I received your curt little note informing me that there would now be no need for a marriage between us, and that you would be departing for London within the week. You also said that there would be no further need for communication between us. You got your money's worth, for there was no longer any troublesome pregnancy for you to have to worry about.”

“No! Dante, you are wrong! Yes, I did go to see Madame Lasomier, but not for the reasons you think I did. I went there because I had heard that Marie Lasomier could assure an easy birth and healthy baby. I wanted our child to be born strong. 'Tis the only reason I went there, Dante,” Helene tried to convince him. “Everything I have ever done has been for you.”

“I wonder how much you paid Madame Lasomier,” Dante said speculatively. “Whatever the amount was, I paid her substantially more, my dear. And she was only too willing to tell me the truth of your visit. What you must remember when dealing with people like Madame Lasomier,” Dante said in soft-spoken tones, “is that they have no loyalties, and information is sold to the highest bidder. And in this case, I was the highest bidder.”

“The old woman lied! She only told you what she thought you wanted to hear. She wanted your money, Dante. Oh, please,
mon cher
, all of this bitterness is quite unnecessary. You've misconstrued everything, although I must shoulder some of the blame for it, for I led you to believe that I did not wish to marry you when I lost the child. But now that I've explained the situation to you,” Helene said with a trembling smile intended to soften him, “and declared my love, I don't see why we are standing here arguing. 'Tis just your injured pride that is keeping us apart.”

Dante shook his head. “No, 'twas your greed.”

Helene seemed momentarily stricken by his words. “Dante, please, listen to me. When I was in London I missed you so much that I ached for you. I discovered that I couldn't go on being noble, and that I had to return to try and patch things up between us. I would have come sooner, but my uncle had business to conclude; otherwise, I would have returned on the first ship sailing to the colonies.”

“You returned, to put it quite bluntly, because as a mere colonial, you came off second best in London. You had gone there with very high expectations, but you were in for quite an unpleasant surprise. I imagine that there were not too many dukes and earls begging for your hand in marriage, no matter how refreshingly beautiful you might have seemed to their jaded tastes. And then, much to your horror, you discovered that you had let slip through your fingers the one titled gentleman who had offered you marriage. That must have cut you to the quick, my dear. I honestly can feel some pity for you. 'Twas a grave miscalculation on your part,” Dante told her, his pity now humiliatingly evident.

This was almost too much for her to bear. Already, much to her ever-growing humiliation, Helene had found herself the object of carelessly smothered titters from townspeople for having spurned the attentions of Dante Leighton, a man whom everyone had assumed was merely a smuggler of contraband. Who would ever had thought that he was actually a marquis? When she thought of what she had learned in London about him, she wanted to scream with rage at having been such a fool. She could have had everything. If she had married Dante, then today she would be the Marchioness of Jacqobi. She could have escaped this colonial backwater and gone to live in unsurpassed elegance and splendor in the heart of civilization. As a titled lady, nothing would have been denied her, Helene thought. Damn! What a fool she'd been. For not only was Dante Leighton rich and titled, but he was also one of the most handsome men she'd ever met. She had to get him back again, she just had to!

She had to admit that it was partly her own vanity and lack of discretion that had caused this predicament. Never had she imagined that she could not win Dante back. She had been stunned by his cold reception upon her return, even though she had been prepared for a slight coolness. She knew she had left him alone to face all of the curious stares and snickering remarks. But she'd had her explanations so carefully planned, almost believing the lies herself, that she'd never anticipated failure.

Of course, who would have thought that Dante would follow her to that horrible old woman's shop? But it was still her word against that ancient crone's, and, as Dante had said, Madame Lasomier had a bad reputation. Eventually, under the proper circumstances, she would have Dante begging her to marry him, Helene thought, her seeming self-confidence born from a desperation that she refused to recognize.

“I do not understand why you persist in being so difficult, Dante, for nothing has changed between us. Why can't we just forget about these little unpleasantries?”

Dante eyed Helene in disbelief, amazed that she could be so thick-skinned. As he stood silently contemplating his former mistress, he felt a slight draft, and glancing toward the door, could have sworn he saw it pulled quietly shut.