Her Husband's Harlot (30 page)

"You
were about to ask me about my past, and, no, I will not tell you about it."
At her stymied frown, Nicholas' mouth took a faint curve. "Husbands are
not as dull-witted as you may think. You, my lady, get an adorable little
wrinkle between your brows before
you
bring up a difficult topic."

His
confession that he wanted her and his affectionate banter made her heart thrum
with hope. There had to be a way around this. "Whatever it is, I don't
care," she said eagerly. "I would willingly take any risk to be with
you. Besides, life is full of potential dangers, is it not? Why," she
continued as inspiration struck, "just a few days ago I was being followed
by a pair of criminals—"

"You
were
what
?" Nicholas' face drained of color.

"Oh,
do not concern yourself, my lord," she said quickly. "Nothing
happened. It was just that I noticed two men in dark coats following me when I
was shopping on Bond Street. I visited Lady Draven, and she, er, helped me to
switch carriages and thus elude the pair."

"What
did they look like, these two men?"

Helena
wrinkled her nose. "I didn't get a very close look at them. When I tried
to, they turned away, or disappeared into the crowd. But I did catch glimpses
of their reflections whilst I was pretending to peruse the shop windows."

Rather
clever of her, she thought.

"And?"
Nicholas demanded.

"Hmm.
They looked rather well-kept for criminals, actually. Clean-shaven, proper
hats. Their coats were not by any means stylish, but not shabby either."
Helena frowned, puzzling upon the point. "Come to think of it, their appearance
reminds me a little of someone I can't quite pinpoint ..."

"Mr.
Kent, perhaps?"

She
looked at her husband in surprise. "Why, yes! How did you know?"

"Because,
my dear intrepid wife, I hired those bloody Runners myself."

"To
follow me?" she said, aghast.

"To
keep you safe," he corrected.

Her
hands fluttered to her chest. "What kind of danger am I in, exactly? What
on earth is going on? Does this have to do with you being shot?"

"I
don't know any of that for certain, Helena. All I know is that there is a
villain out there, who wishes me and those nearest to me harm. Listen," he
said firmly before she could interrupt. "When it comes to your safety, I
will not take any chances. You are too important to me. I want you out of London,
the sooner the better."

Delight
and fear mingled at his words. "And you are important to me. Who is
watching over
you
, Nicholas, keeping you safe?"

He
continued as if she had not spoken. "If your parents won't have you, I'll
find someplace else to send you—"

Her
heart pounded in denial. Not now. Not when they were finally beginning to make
progress. "I don't want to leave you. I won't. Not unless you tell me why."

"God's
blood, woman, haven't you been listening? Your life may be in peril, and that
is all you need to know!"

"Nothing's
happened, has it?" Helena was rather proud of how reasonable she sounded. "I
mean, as it turns out, the men I thought were villains were actually
investigators hired to protect me. So, in truth, not only was I
not
in danger—I
was safer than I realized."

Nicholas
opened his mouth. Closed it. Raking a hand through his hair, he scowled at her.
"Where the hell did you learn to argue like that?"

"The
debates at the literary salon," she said. "At any rate, I want to
propose a solution to our dilemma. A compromise of sorts."

"Compromise?"
He snorted. "What makes you think I'm not going to throw you in the next
carriage bound for destination unknown?"

"What
makes you think I will not find my way back?" At his thunderous expression,
she tried a placating smile. "Would I really be safer alone and in some
strange place?" He frowned, and knowing she had scored a hit, she pressed
her advantage further. "Wouldn't it be better for me to remain in London, under
the protection of the detectives and yourself? If it is my well-being you are
concerned about, I will vouch to take the greatest care. I will limit my
activities and not go anywhere unaccompanied."

He crossed
his arms, his eyes narrowing. "And in return?"

"First,
if you have not done so already, you will ask Mr. Kent to safeguard your
well-being. If I am to have protection, then so must you."

He
grunted in what passed for agreement.

"And
secondly, you let me stay here ... and agree to drop this ridiculous annulment
scheme." Closing the gap between them, Helena placed her glove against his
taut jaw. "You agree to give our marriage another chance, Nicholas, the
way Jeremiah gave you."

He quivered
beneath her touch, a wild stallion ready to bolt at any minute. She feared she
had pressed too hard. Her trepidation intensified when he captured her hand and
returned it to her side.

"You
will provide a schedule of your daily activities for my approval. If you must
leave the house, it will be under protection. In a nutshell, you will stay out
of trouble or, so help me God, you'll find yourself under lock and key. In the
Outer Hebrides," he said evenly.

Relief
made her smile tremulous. "Of course. You have my word, my lord."

"As
for our marriage, I will think about what to do next. You will allow me to do
so, madam, without interference."

"But—"

"That
is the bargain. Take it or leave it," he said.

She
bit back a retort. A wise woman knew when to retreat. "Yes, alright."
Unable to help herself, she muttered, "You drive a hard bargain, my lord."

"In
this one instance, it pays to be a merchant," he replied sardonically.

"
Blackmailed?
Why in blazes did you not tell me this sooner?"

From
across the stacks of ledgers and documents, Nicholas looked the incensed
investigator straight in the eye. "Because I was not certain I could trust
you, Kent. I'm still not. But I've decided to take the risk because I must see
this thing ended."

Ambrose
Kent rose from his chair and began to pace furious steps before the desk. "This
changes
everything
, my lord. We will have to come up with a new list of
suspects. Who are your enemies? What information do they hold against you?"

"I
need to ask you something first." Nicholas kept his voice calm. Beneath
the desk, his fingernails bit into his palms. "Say a man has had ...
troubles in the past. Skeletons that he wished to remain in the proverbial
closet. Would you respect that wish in your investigation?"

Thin
brows arched over amber eyes. "Hypothetically speaking?"

"Of
course."

"I
can't guarantee anything. In order to find the truth, I must look under every
rock." Kent shrugged. "Sometimes I unearth evidence that my client
would rather remain buried."

"And
what would you do, if facts were to emerge that might potentially harm your
client's reputation ... or worse?"

Kent
looked at him steadily. "What sort of trouble are we talking about here,
my lord?"

Proceed
carefully. Give him only enough to assist his inquiries. You must do this, for
Helena's sake ... and the sake of your marriage.

Hope
sparked within him, dimming some of his shadows. Since the talk with Helena two
days ago, he'd ached with a ravenous hunger—she'd said she
loved
him.
She wanted him as a husband. She'd fight for him. How could he resist her; how
could he not give the same in return, when he loved her with all his benighted
soul?

His fight
would begin here and now.

Feeling
like he was stepping off a cliff, Nicholas exhaled and answered the police man.
"For several years, I worked as a climbing boy for a man named Ben Grimes.
He called himself a sweep, but he was a thief mostly. He ran a flash house. It
burned down one night, taking him in the flames." As Nicholas glossed over
the details—of murder, of the even more heinous act he had committed that
night—panic burned in his lungs. But he managed to continue in composed tones, "Whoever
is behind the blackmail notes has linked me to Grimes. He is threatening to
make public this aspect of my past."

Kent had
stopped pacing. His expression did not reveal much—a useful talent for an
investigator and especially laudable given that the Marquess of Harteford had admitted
he'd once been nothing more than a chumney working for a member of the criminal
underclass.

"What
does he want in exchange for silence?" Kent's voice was surprisingly mild.

"He
didn't say. That night in St. Giles, when he shot me, he told me to await his
demands."

"Await
my bloody arse," Kent muttered. He started stalking again, his greatcoat
flapping around his long legs. "We have lost enough time as it is. I must
begin interviewing my contacts straightaway to see if anyone has heard of a
criminal with a connection to this Grimes."

Though
his heart skipped a beat, Nicholas jerked his chin in assent.

"In
the meantime, my lord, I urge you once again to take one of my men for protection.
There are too many coincidences—the warehouse ransacking, the shooting, and now
this." Within his narrow face, Kent's eyes blazed with the intensity of
night lamps. "My instinct tells me this is all connected. But how?"

Nicholas
had no answer. He only knew that until the truth was uncovered, he would
refrain from making any decisions about his marriage. He could not in all
conscience go to Helena until he was free of his demons. Though he would wait,
he at least had company now: hope. And that was a finer companion than he
deserved.

*****

Later
on that week, Helena entered Hatchard's Bookstore on Piccadilly. It was a visit
scheduled on the list she'd provided to Nicholas—or to his messenger, rather,
who came to the house daily to pick up the document. As she wandered through
the bookshelves, all too aware of the Runners who'd discreetly positioned
themselves (one at the entrance and one by the fireplace just up ahead), she simmered
with frustration.

Almost
a sennight had come and gone, and she hadn't seen so much as her husband's
shadow.

At
first, she'd contented herself with the fact that he'd let her stay in London.
Their exchange at the Fineses had seemed to signal a turning point in their
relationship. With each hour that passed alone in the townhouse, however, she
felt her optimism begin to fade. Restlessness plagued her, exacerbated by the
omnipresence of the detectives and her own worries.

Why
was Nicholas continuing to keep a distance between them? Had nothing, in
reality, changed? Sweet heavens, what of the mysterious dangers that threatened
him? Could something have befallen him?

But,
no, each morning, he sent a polite note along with his envoy. A few lines inquiring
about her health and activities, followed by a single sentence referencing how
busy he was at work. That was all.

The
impulsive part of her wanted to seek him out; the wiser part forestalled such
an action. She had promised to let him come to a decision about their marriage in
his own time, so she must not go barging in on him like some termagant after a
mere week. Sighing, she turned into one of the stacks. Best she make use of
this visit to Hatchard's rather than spinning her wheels. She inhaled the smells
of parchment and dried ink, which soothed her ruffled senses. Winding her way
through the well-ordered store, she browsed for a volume recommended by the
Havershams.

She was
skimming through a book when she heard her name called.

"Lady
Harteford, fancy seeing you here!"

She
turned and smiled in surprised recognition. "Miss Fines, what a pleasure to
see you again."

Percy
grinned, her curls sunny beneath a sky blue bonnet. "And I you. Do you
frequent Hatchard's often, my lady?"

"Hatchard's
is one of my favorite spots in all of London," Helena replied.

"Mine
as well," Percy said approvingly. She angled her head to get a better view
of the volume in Helena's hands. "
Hypatia of Alexandria
. Never
heard of it. It is a good read?"

"I
have only glanced at a few pages," Helena said. "I chose it on recommendation
by some friends of mine who are exceptionally informed in the realm of
Philosophy. May I ask what brings you here, Miss Fines?"

"This,"
Percy said, waving a small, black-bound book. "The latest from Regina
Maria Roche. You have read her, Lady Harteford?" When Helena shook her
head, Percy looked quite aghast. "You have not read
Clermont
? Or
The
Children of the Abbey
?"

"My
mother was most particular about my reading materials," Helena explained. "Horrid
novels were not amongst the permitted selection."

"I
am sure my own mother wishes she had been stricter." Percy's blue eyes
held an incorrigible sparkle. "Alas, it is much too late for that. I have
already been ruined by the excess of sentimentality. I daresay I have read
every publication put forth by the Minerva Press."