Loving Helen (19 page)

“You
must
,” Christopher said. “Quit thinking of yourself, and think about Grace as we left her yesterday — still so sad that she would not accompany us. Do you want her to be happy? Then you must go through with this. Lady Sutherland will be in attendance tonight, and her box is not far from Samuel’s. If she sees you together” — he looked from Helen to Samuel — “she will tell Nicholas. He will begin to question whether or not, and indeed to strongly suspect — if your acting is good enough tonight — that there is nothing between Samuel and Grace.”

Surprisingly, his speech had the desired effect. Helen straightened her back, removed her clenched hands from the seat, and took several deep breaths. “For Grace. Think only of Grace,” she muttered as the carriage rolled to a stop.

The door opened, and Christopher exited first. Samuel moved aside and held his hand out to Helen to help her down. She took it briefly, then descended the steps. He followed her into the brisk night air. The carriage had not been particularly warm, but the cold outside was still a shock, one he hoped might do her some good and restore a bit of color before they entered the building.

He offered his arm, which she took, smiling up at him as she did. He looked down at her as they passed beneath a streetlamp — and felt his breath catch for reasons entirely unrelated to the cold. Helen gazed back with a look of adoration and love such as he hadn’t seen or felt from a woman since Elizabeth. It startled him and set his heart to racing so that he was the one feeling off kilter as they passed through the doors.

Thinking of Grace had certainly motivated Helen to action. Samuel doubted he’d see a better performance on the stage tonight than the one she’d just given. He had best mind
his
reactions.
Remember, she is only pretending.
For a moment he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like if she were not.
If she truly did care for me …

Once inside the Adelphi Theatre, Helen’s attention wandered elsewhere. He noted the pressure on his arm increasing, but otherwise, she showed no signs of distress. Instead she appeared to be taking everything in, her gaze frequently lifting to the walls and their large paintings or the ornate woodwork and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He guessed she was both admiring the artwork and craftsmanship as well as using them to avert her attention from the throng of people milling about.

They climbed the stairs to his box, and Samuel felt a moment of satisfaction and pride as he ushered her inside. He’d waited patiently for this box to become available and had then paid dearly for the privilege of calling it his. Yet since Elizabeth’s death, he had been to the theatre only twice — both times alone — and he had oft considering letting his seats go. But just now, he felt immensely glad that he still had them and that Helen was here to enjoy the play with him.

He seated her first, then took the chair beside her. Christopher sat behind them, on the pretense of giving them privacy.

“Your grandfather’s box was over there,” Samuel said, pointing to the box at their left.

“You don’t suppose the new duke inherited Grandfather’s box as well and might be here tonight, do you?” she asked with worry in her voice.

“It’s possible,” Samuel answered honestly. “But you are with me. You needn’t worry about him.”

He could tell that not worrying was difficult for her, though the opulence of their surroundings appeared to be making the task easier. As patrons below took their seats, the hum of voices filled the theatre. The orchestra began warming up. The velvet curtains still covered the stage, waiting for the moment of reveal.

Helen turned to him, a smile in place. “You did not tell me that everything would be so
red
.”

He laughed. Of all the things he’d anticipated her enjoying tonight, the color of the seats and curtains had not occurred to him. “Ordered especially for you, milady.”

“It is grander than I had imagined.”

“Just wait until you experience the splendor of the play,” he said and again felt a thrill of excitement on her behalf. How enjoyable the evening promised to be. “Have you read many of Sir Walter Scott’s works?” Samuel asked, hoping to keep her mind occupied until the show began.

“I have not. What is this one about?”

“It is a romanticism of the Jacobite cause and rebellion — a theme common in so many of his novels.”

Helen frowned. “It is a play about
war
?”

“And love,” Samuel corrected. “
Waverly
was a most moving novel. I trust that the theatrical version will capture those moments adequately.”

“What is this gentleman saying to you?” Christopher asked, leaning forward between them. “If he becomes too friendly, Helen, jab him with your elbow. I’ll take note and push him forward over the edge. We’ll have him dispatched in no time.”

“That is quite the picture you paint,” Samuel said, with a wry grin. “Perhaps that was your plan — to remove me all along. Some thanks I get for sharing my box with the lot of you.”

“I mean only to appear as a proper chaperone,” Christopher said.

“You may rest assured that I will treat your sister with utmost respect,” Samuel assured him.

“Good.” Christopher leaned back in his chair. “Just don’t treat her
too
properly. You ought to at least hold her hand or something. And Helen, react appropriately when he does.”

Helen’s mouth opened in an appalled
O
a second before Samuel shot Christopher a look, letting him know he’d gone too far.

“We are managing our own courtship just fine, are we not?” Samuel asked her.

“Quite,” she said, turning from both of them and sitting straight-forward in her seat. “After all, we have already danced a waltz.”

Helen’s reactions to the acting and the music were everything Samuel had hoped for. He found himself watching her more than the stage, though both the acting and story were as moving as the novel. But tonight, Helen commanded his attention. He did not mind in the least.

When the curtain opened during the second act, the look of absolute rapture that appeared on her face made him quite certain that the cost of maintaining his box had been worth it. Her eyes were riveted on the stage, and he watched as she became caught up in the story, gasping at some moments, sighing with others. When it seemed that the hero would be victorious, Helen brought her clasped hands to her heart. Samuel watched her delicate features then crumple with despair when the hero instead was vanquished. And when the girl he loved rejected him, a tear slid down Helen’s face.

Instinct
urged Samuel to comfort her, so he reached for her hand, taking it securely into his own. Her mouth curved upward, and she looked over at him with such a loving expression that he again felt as if his breath had been stolen. He wished she would quit doing that. No doubt the display was convincing to any who saw it, but it almost convinced him, too. He didn’t want to entertain any feelings that, when this was all over — when Grace and Nicholas were reunited and all was well — would not be reciprocated. Grace had rejected him already. He had no need to feel the same sting from her sister as well.

He returned his attention to the play and tried to put Helen’s look of adoration from his mind. Unfortunately, her hand, still nestled in his, made that impossible. He’d expected for her to have pulled away by now. Instead, she appeared to be settled comfortably in her chair, enjoying the show as well as their closeness. Out of curiosity, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze during a particularly frightening scene —when it appeared the hero would be killed. Helen squeezed back, and Samuel felt her touch as if it had spread all the way up his arm.

Curious and more curious.
Absently, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, thinking how very long it had been since he’d sat this close to a woman and held her hand. It was decidedly pleasant, and he realized he would do well to take care with experiences like this. Helen was too young for him — too young, too good, too beautiful to be saddled with an untitled widower who had proposed marriage to her sister first. She deserved better than that.

Better than me.
And he intended to see to it that she realized as much. His duty, aside from helping Grace and Nicholas to reunite, was to coax Helen from her shyness, precisely by partaking in evenings like this. He had no doubt that after tonight, she would be able to overcome her fears and again attend the theatre. The thought pleased him, even more than holding her hand, so he focused on what else needed to be done to launch her properly into society, where she might someday make a suitable and happy match.

The play ended, and it was with some reluctance that Samuel released Helen’s hand so she could stand and clap enthusiastically.

“I take it you enjoyed the performance,” he said, rising to join her.

“Oh, yes.” She turned to him, eyes bright with excitement. “It was absolutely wonderful. How can I ever thank you, Samuel?”

“You already have,” he assured her.

Her excitement reminded him of Beth on Christmas morning when she’d first seen her dollhouse.
The dollhouse Helen did a great deal of work on.
Had he ever thanked her properly for that? He wasn’t certain, and the thought that he could have been so remiss bothered him.

It seemed there was a great deal concerning Helen that he had either neglected or ignored. But it was as if he hadn’t really seen her until these past few days
.
Because she had not wanted to be noticed?
He suddenly wondered if that was the truth or merely his own perception.

The curtain closed for the last time, and she took his arm almost before he’d offered it. They left the box, Christopher, on her other side, looking particularly cheerful.

“Splendid performance, was it not?” Helen asked him, no less enthusiastic.

“Brilliant,” Christopher said. “Best I’ve ever seen.”

“Now I shall have to read all of Sir Walter Scott’s novels. Do you have them?” she asked, looking up at Samuel.

He opened his mouth to answer at the same instant her expression changed from one of joyous enchantment to terror. Samuel followed her gaze and found a man openly staring at Helen in a most inappropriate manner.

“I know you,” the man said, pushing through the crowd. It was not a question but an assumption, one that somehow seemed to carry a threat.

“Get her out of here,” Christopher told Samuel, stepping in front of Helen and blocking her from the man’s view. He addressed the stranger. “We have met before. I was too young then to give you this.” Christopher’s fist shot forward, connecting squarely with the man’s jaw in a bone-crunching move that sent the man sprawling backward. Helen screamed, as did several other ladies. Samuel grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.

“Christopher, no!” She looked back over her shoulder. “Sir Crayton will kill him. He’s a pirate.”

“Your brother seems able to handle himself,” Samuel said, praying he was right. They ran down the stairs and hurried through the foyer and the crush of people and out to the cold street below. Helen hadn’t yet put on her wrap, but he took only a second to throw it across her shoulders before raising his hand and shouting for a cab.

He spied a hackney down the street and pulled her toward it.

“What of your carriage?” Helen asked.

“Christopher will get it.” Samuel shouted the address to the driver, then opened the door and practically shoved Helen inside. He hesitated on the step a moment, torn between returning to aid Christopher and escorting Helen home. Knowing he could not send her on alone, but feeling as if he was abandoning Christopher, he climbed into the carriage, shut the door, and pounded on the roof.

Helen sat huddled in the far corner, shivering from either cold or fear — or both. Samuel gathered her in his arms and held her close. “It’s all right. You are safe now.” He brushed her hair aside and felt her cheek, wet with tears.

What just happened?
He longed to ask but sensed that he shouldn’t — not now, at least, while the trauma was still so fresh. What had she said the man’s name was … Crayton? Samuel tried to recall where he’d heard the name before but could not
.
He is a pirate
. What connection might Helen have with that sort?

Her silent tears turned to sobs, and Samuel tightened his arm around her. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he vowed. He silently promised to discover the problem when Christopher returned.

Helen clung to him the entire way back to the townhouse, never once rejecting his nearness, and Samuel felt grateful that he was at least able to comfort her. Whatever had frightened her had been bad enough that being in
his
arms no longer proved quite so difficult. He had not missed her hesitation about dancing with him a few days past, nor the stiff way she held herself as far from him as possible. He would never have predicted that three days hence, the same woman would willingly allow him to have his arms around her and to hold her close.

He meant to protect her no matter the cost. Though not knowing from what or whom, that he was to protect her troubled him. Had Christopher put them all in danger? Could his actions lead to Beth being in danger?