Her Husband's Harlot (38 page)

"Did
I? Or did send him and the other boys to a worse end?" Nicholas' grip on
her arms bordered on painful as he looked upon her with a ravaged expression. "Later
I learned that the flash house went down in flames that night. I do not know
what caused the fire, and, at first, I was relieved, for it was named the cause
of Grimes' death. His remains were found in the wreckage, you see. Then I heard
that several children had perished in the inferno as well and"—his voice
cracked—"I have always wondered ... if that boy ... if I had only. . ."

Helena
could think of no appropriate response. So instead she circled her arms around
her husband's waist and held him as tightly as she could. She felt shudders
travel through his large frame as he held onto her like a drowning man to a
piece of driftwood. She could feel his hot, unsteady breathing above her ear.

"For
years, I heard the boy's voice in my dreams. And I could feel the breath of the
magistrate down my neck, smell the foul stench of the waiting prison hulks. In
my bones, I always knew justice would find me sooner or later."

She
tipped her head back to look at him. "Any magistrate would see you had
just cause," she said firmly. "That you acted in defense of your
well-being. Grimes was the criminal, not you!"

"I
killed a man, Helena. Indirectly, I may have caused the death of an innocent
child." He shook his head in bleak resignation. "I am a murderer, and
nothing can change that."

"The
offenses Grimes committed were far greater than yours. In the end, justice was
served. Please tell me you see that." The expression on his face shredded
her heart. For so many years, he had hoarded his pain, let it fester inside
him. She did not need to ask why. The guilt, the self-loathing—he was still paying
penance for what he had done. "You have suffered enough. All you have done
is survive, and you must forgive yourself so you can go on. So
we
can
have a life together."

Nicholas
let go of her and stepped back. Beneath his swarthy skin, he was pale, his gaze
haunted. "You cannot mean that. After all I have said—Helena, you must see
I am not deserving of you."

"I
see that you are more of a man than I ever knew," she said fiercely. "One
I am proud to call husband."

And
still it seemed he could not allow himself to believe her. Raking his hands
through his hair, he went to the fire and began to pace before it. "There
is more, you know. Before I met Jeremiah, I spent a year running with one of
the dock gangs. I was a thief, a ruffian, a good-for-naught—"

"Who
turned his life around," she finished. "Who, despite the greatest odds,
made something of himself."

Nicholas
stopped. Turned to look at her again. "Odd," he said hoarsely, "those
were almost his exact words. My sire's, I mean."

"You
met your father? I thought you learned of your inheritance after his passing."

"You
are correct. My father's solicitor approached me, a month after his death. When
he realized he was dying, my father had had a Runner track my whereabouts. His
second marriage had produced no offspring, you see. Apparently, he found my
progress in life to his satisfaction—in his will, he named me the legal heir to
his land and entitlements. There was a copy of a marriage certificate to
confirm my legitimate status. He left me a note—two lines actually.
Against
odds, you have surprised me and made something of yourself. I trust you will attend
to your duty with similar diligence.
"

So
that was where Nicholas had inherited his penchant for laconic missives. Really,
could his sire not have summoned a single iota of fatherly affection? "It
must have been a shock finding out the truth about your birth," she said
gently.

"Aye,
to put it mildly. At first, I wanted nothing to do with my father. Not his
estate, not his bloody title—I would have had it all buried to rot with the
rest of him."

"What
changed your mind in the end?"

"Jeremiah."
Nicholas' jaw tautened. "He, too, was dying. He told me I was a fool for
throwing away my birthright, for refusing a gift that he himself could only
dream of. You see, rich as he was, Jeremiah could never escape his origins. He
made his fortune as a merchant, so the doors of Society would forever be closed
to his wife and his children. Do you know what his fondest dream was?"

Helena
shook her head.

"To
have Percy presented at court. So trivial a matter, is it not? Yet so utterly
impossible, this crossing of two worlds." The bleakness in his eyes caused
her throat to constrict. "Tonight's fiasco was just another reminder of
the irreconcilable disparities between us. You, my love, are everything good
and pure and innocent. Whereas I ..." His shoulders moved, a movement as
heavy as if he carried the world there. "I am what life has made me."

She went
over to him, made him face her. "What has happened to you is not who you
are.
You,
" she said, placing a hand over his furiously thudding
heart, "are the finest man I have ever known. The only man I could ever
love."

"How
could you mean that?" Nicholas released a serrated breath. "After all
that I have done—"

"You
were a blameless child, for God's sake!" Helena cried.

"I
could have left sooner. I could have found someplace else to go, rather than
endure Grimes' brand of hell."

"Where
would you have gone? Back to the workhouse, or perhaps one of the rookeries
which swallow up young children and spit out hardened criminals?"
Desperately, Helena gripped his arm and waited for him to look at her.

 "What
do you know of rookeries?" Nicholas finally asked.

"The
Misses Berry invite political conversation at their parties. I know children
die every day, of disease and starvation. And I know many more live on, in
filthy conditions and unspeakable terror." The rawness of her husband's
gaze drew tears down her cheeks. "Oh Nicholas, do not blame yourself for
the wrongs that were inflicted upon you!"

"Don't
cry," he whispered. "I'm not worth it."

"I'll
cry if I want to," Helena said fiercely. "And you would be worth
every tear. Haven't you been listening?
I love you
."

Nicholas
closed his eyes. "How could you?"

The
words hung in the air which suddenly felt as thick as the fog over the Thames. For
the first time, however, she could see clearly through the miasma that
separated them. His shame and self-doubt swirled in the ghostly, brutal images
from his past. A far cry from her own sheltered upbringing, for certain. And
yet ... were he and she all that different? For did she not also harbor shame
and self-doubt and secrets that she feared to reveal?

Trust
in a marriage had to be earned, by husband ... and by wife.

"Wait
here one moment," she said. "I'll be back."

The
trip took her less than five minutes, yet when she returned to the study and
her husband, she realized she had been taking this journey all her life.
Nicholas was sitting in one of the wingchairs, his head held in his hands. At
her approach, he got to his feet. His gaze honed in on the reticule in her
hands.

"What
is this about, Helena?"

She
wet her dry lips. "I ... I have a secret of my own to confess, Nicholas.
Something rather shocking."

Nicholas'
smile was sad. "Compared to my sins, what unworthy thing could you have
possibly done?"

It
was his certainty, his absolute faith that she existed in a moral realm above
him that pushed her over the edge.

She held
up the reticule. Embroidered with orange blossoms and clusters of seed pearls,
the bulging satin bag looked innocuous enough. Which only lent credence to the
adage that one should not judge a book by its cover. Nor a wife by her demure
disposition. She hesitated under Nicholas' intent regard. Her hands trembled on
the strings.

"What
is it then?" Nicholas asked, his brows drawing together.

"I
have acted in ... an unworthy manner, as you call it. Indeed, it was a most
wanton action which I committed. And, unlike you, my behavior was not performed
under duress. I," Helena paused to fortify herself with a deep breath, "
chose
to act in this fashion."

  "Wanton
manner? What is it that you have done?" Amused wariness crept into
Nicholas' tone. "Did you filch a slice of Chef's cake before supper,
Helena? Take a morning ride with your bonnet askew?"

Every
fiber of her being pulsed with dread and anticipation. "No, my lord,"
she managed to say calmly. "I went to a bawdy house and enticed a stranger
to bed me."

It
took a moment for Nicholas to react.

"You
did
what
?"

Relieved
to see the spark of life returning to his eyes yet wise enough to fear the
rapidly rising flames, Helena loosened the strings and tipped open her
reticule. Curls of brassy red spilled out. At the sight of them, Nicholas
froze.

"
Oui,
monsieur
." The breathy quality of the accent emerged naturally, given
the way her throat constricted with love and fear. "It was me those two
nights at the Nunnery."

"You
were ... at the Nunnery?" If circumstances had not been so dire, Helena might have laughed at the comical look of incomprehension on her husband's face. He
looked like someone who had bitten into an apple and discovered it to be a lemon.
She could see him struggling to assimilate her revelation with his own vision
of her—it was a long fall, she supposed, off so high a pedestal.

"Yes,
I was there." Helena bit her lip when he said nothing. "At the
masquerade. And a fortnight ago."

"It
was you. Both times. You were the nymph." Nicholas looked dazed. "But
I ... you ...
we ...
"

"I
know. I was a harlot." Truly, it felt relieving to confess herself, to no
longer hide her nature. Still, Helena squeezed her eyes shut to confess the
last, most secret part of her deception. "And, my lord, I found the
experience quite exhilarating. In truth, I can profess no regret for my
behavior."

Silence
followed her words. Unable to bear the tension, Helena peeked through one eye.
Nicholas was staring at her as if he had never seen her before.

"Well,
say something," she begged, desperation scaling her tone. "Lecture me
or berate me or ..." she swallowed, fearing the worst, "tell me how
disappointed you are in me for failing to be the virtuous wife you wanted."

"You
pretended to be a nymph." Perhaps Nicholas thought that repetition might
allow him to absorb this fact. "A
French
nymph. And you seduced me."

To
her mind, the seduction had been rather mutual, but she thought it prudent to
allow his assertion to pass. She nodded.

Her
husband continued to look as if he had been struck by a bolt from above.

"Forgive
my slow wittedness," he said at last, "but I still fail to comprehend
what you were doing at a brothel in the first place."

"The
first time I went to find you." Suddenly embarrassed for chasing after him
like a jealous fishwife, Helena looked down at her reticule. The red wig did
not look so alluring and seductive now. In the light of the lamp, the wiry
curls appeared tawdry and false. "By happenstance, I saw you possessed a
ticket to the Nunnery masquerade, and it was not difficult to surmise your
purpose in attending. If you recall, you were avoiding me at the time, so I did
not have the opportunity to discuss with you my feelings on the matter."

"So
you followed me there." Nicholas fixed her with an astounded look. "To
discuss your
feelings
?"

"That
was my initial plan, yes. But things got rather ... out of hand," Helena mumbled. A wild blush stained her cheeks. "I did not plan that part, my lord.
It just sort of happened."

Nicholas
quirked a brow. "Did it,
mademoiselle
?"

"Oh.
The accent," Helena said in a small voice. "Truly, 'twas not a
planned deception, my lord. It was more of ... an extemporaneous measure."

"But
why the ruse?"

"I
was afraid," Helena admitted. "My behavior being so wanton, I feared
you would react with disgust to discover that I was not the wife you believed
me to be. You see, I know how much you value my virtue and strength of moral
character."

"And
the second time? Why did you invite me back?" he asked evenly.

She
bit her lip. No one had ever said honesty was easy. "I was ... angry and
hurt by your rejection. I thought to teach you a lesson, to seduce you in the
doxy's disguise then reveal myself as the wife you had professed not to want."

"Then
why did you not follow through with your plan and divulge your identity that
night? It was because of my ... behavior, wasn't it? Bloody hell, I must have
shocked you out of your wits." Ruddy color spread over his cheekbones, and
his eyes slid from hers to focus on the ground. "Helena, the things I did
... said ... had I known it was you, I would never have—"

"Oh
no, it wasn't that," she assured him, her face aflame. "I, um, liked
that part very much. It was that you shared some of your past with me, and I
realized that what I wanted was not revenge. What I truly desired was honesty
and trust between us—and I couldn't bring myself to reveal my deception. But at
that moment, I vowed to myself that I would never lie to you again. That I would
try to win your affection through honest means."