A Notorious Love (2 page)

For Sall wore no clothes at all.

Helena found it incomprehensible that a woman could prance about in broad daylight entirely unclothed. She’d never,
ever
done so herself, and certainly she’d never been in the presence of another woman doing it—not even her sisters. Though she’d sometimes secretly wished to paint the naked human form, she’d never pursued it, knowing that flagrant displays of the nude body were outrageous and shameful.

Apparently no one had informed Sall of that fact, for
she strode boldly up to them. “H’lo.” Planting her hands on her lush hips, the woman scrutinized Helena from the top of her modest bonnet to the end of the cane she could never hide. “Didn’t know Danny called for more company. Haven’t seen
you
around, luv. You one of those demi-reps what’s kept by the gents? Here I been thinkin’ Danny Boy’s a gin man, when all along he’s hankerin’ for champagne. What a lark.”

“Sall—” Daniel began in a warning tone as Helena gaped speechlessly.

“It’s all right, Danny. I already know you like more than one tart sometimes, so just let the girl in. And if it’s that leg of hers making you balk, you can be sure it won’t make a bit of difference once we’re all rollin’ about—”

“Sall!” Mr. Brennan mercifully interrupted. “Before you go putting the lass in my bed, you should know that this is Griff’s sister-in-law, Lady Helena. And I doubt she’s here for entertainment.”

A little gasp escaped Sall as she slid behind him and punched him in the back. “Then why did you let me rattle on like that to a proper la—” She suddenly burst into laughter. “Wait a minute—you’re shammin’ me, ain’t you? A lady comin’ to Buckeridge Street alone—you must think me a complete chucklehead!”

“I’m afraid, Miss…er…Sall,” Helena sputtered, “that Mr. Brennan is not ‘shamming’ you. I am indeed Mr. Knighton’s sister-in-law.”

As an awkward silence descended, she kept her eyes focused on a chair across the room, utterly incapable of meeting Mr. Brennan’s gaze. No doubt he found this situation amusing.

Meanwhile, Sall’s words rang in her ears:
And if it’s that leg of hers making you balk…
As if there would be any question of it. She’d learned the hard way that her
bad leg always made men balk. Mr. Brennan wouldn’t be any different.

“Sall, m’dear,” he told the woman gently, “why don’t you wait for me in the bedchamber? You’re making m’lady a mite nervous.”

“All right, but don’t be long, luv,” Sall responded without rancor, giving Helena a once-over that left her feeling utterly inadequate as a woman.

As Sall flounced back toward his bedchamber, hips wiggling, Helena felt a stab of envy. What would it be like to be the shameless woman waiting for Mr. Brennan in his bed, the one providing his “entertainment”?

Then she groaned. Whatever had given her such an indecent idea! She’d never in a million years wish to behave so scandalously. No, indeed. Never. Even if a man
would
want her in that way.

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

He was watching her with concern. “Please forgive Sall’s…er…brazenness. I’m afraid she isn’t used to seeing your sort around here.”

Which sort is that?
she wanted to ask.
The well-bred sort? Or the sort whose lameness renders her unable to jiggle her derriere in that provocative manner?

She swallowed down her dreadful envy of the woman and muttered, “No, I don’t imagine she is.”

“P’raps it’d be best if I called on your ladyship at a more acceptable location later. If you’d just leave your direction with my landlady—”

“No, please, I assure you that this matter cannot wait.” It galled her to have to beg him for help, but she had no choice. “I do not mean to intrude upon your—” Entertainment? Orgy? “I do not intend to keep you long, but if you’ll give me a few minutes, I’d appreciate it beyond words.”

She held her breath. He might be a libertine and God knew what else, but with Griff and Rosalind on the Continent, he was her best hope right now. Her only hope.

His gaze met hers, wary but clearly curious. He paused a moment longer, a moment that seemed like an eternity.

Then he released a sigh. “All right. Go downstairs and wait for me in the parlor. I’ll be there soon as I dress.”

Relief swamped her. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Brennan. I truly—”

“Go, before I change my mind,” he said gruffly. When she turned away, he added, “And tell my landlady I said to put the tea on. Looks like we’ll both be needing it.”

Tea? She nearly laughed aloud. After he heard her request, he’d want something a good deal stronger than tea, and she would not blame him. Indeed, if it would ensure his cooperation, she’d give him anything he wanted.

Chapter 2

Sweet Una was the tightest,

Genteelest of the village dames;

Her eyes they were the brightest

That e’er set youthful heart in flames.

“Una’s Lock,”
anonymous eighteenth-century Scottish ballad

H
alf an hour later, Daniel paused outside the lodging house parlor. From where he stood, an ancient mirror murkily reflected Lady Helena’s image, though she wouldn’t see him unless she looked up.

Hard to believe she was
here,
as out of place in the onion-scented lodging house as a swan in a swamp. She sat at his landlady’s prized oak writing table, bent over a small sketch pad and laying pencil to paper with ener
getic slashes of her hand. He’d forgotten about her hobby, her sketching and the miniatures she liked to paint. What could she be sketching now with such enthusiasm?

Him, no doubt—setting a pair of horns on his head, a forked tail on his arse, and a pair of hooves on his legs. He could well guess what she thought of him after spying him in his drawers and naught else, with his pego half-stiff with morning.

He stifled a chuckle. Lady High-and-Mighty, flustered at seeing him in his drawers—that had been priceless. And the way she’d tried to act as if she hadn’t looked. She hadn’t gulled him. She might be a lady of quality, but she was still a virgin and they all had a bit of curiosity. He’d seen her sneaking a peek at his groin.

Making his damned pego go from half-stiff to full arousal—for her ladyship, of all people. It wasn’t Sall, prancing naked about the room, who’d made him as randy as a stallion brought out to cover a mare. No, only Lady Helena had done that.

Not that he didn’t have a sound reason for his lust. He slid into the doorway to get a better look at her.

Yes, she was miles above his station. Despite what Griff had uncovered about her da’s title, the world still thought her an earl’s daughter, and she had the breeding to match. And yes, she was lame.

But any man with an ounce of sense would desire her. Especially a man with a profound appreciation for all varieties of fine women.

He drank in every inch of her, glad to have the chance before she noticed him. What a perfect picture of a female. Aristocratic features and skin as smooth and creamy as new ivory. A slender figure swathed in white muslin with her swan’s neck prettily yoked in a blue wisp of a scarf. Not to mention the feathery curls peeking out
from under one of those annoying bonnets that hid all her hair.

He’d sure like a look at it. There must be oceans of silky mahogany wrapped up tight under there, just waiting for a man to unwind it so it could flow free over her naked body, so he could stroke it and bury his face in all that soft, woman-scented—

His pego roused in his trousers again, making him groan. Fool thing, to be angling after the likes of Lady Helena. What was he thinking? If any man came within ten feet of that fair swan, especially the bastard son of Wild Danny Brennan, she’d be squawking loud enough to wake the dead. That was the trouble with swans—they were pretty from a distance, but close up they were foul-tempered as the very devil.

Which made it all the more intriguing that she’d come to
him
for help. Nearly begged him for it, too. He was sure she’d always thought him coarse, and she probably thought him unscrupulous. So what could she possibly want with him now?

He shoved away from the doorframe. He’d made her wait long enough—might as well find out what daft notion had brought her to St. Giles.

“I see the tea is here,” he said as he entered and noticed the tea tray sitting a few inches from her ladyship’s sketch pad.

She started and closed her pad. “Yes. Do you want some?”

“All right. I’m parched this morning.” Some wickedness made him add, “That’s what happens when a man’s spent half the night entertaining.”

As he’d expected, she colored right up. Ah, he was a scoundrel to tease her so, but how could he resist making her blush so prettily?

Ducking her head, she daintily poured him a cup of tea. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Both, if you please.”

The tiny smile on her lips as she added milk to his tea struck him as curious. Until she gave it to him and he drank some. “This tea’s cold,” he grumbled.

“What do you expect? Your landlady brought it in over twenty minutes ago.”

The hint of reproof in her voice was unmistakable. Impudent wench.

“Didn’t I rush down here fast enough to suit your ladyship?” He set his cup down on the table. “P’raps I shouldn’t have bothered to dress. P’raps you would’ve preferred to have this conversation with me in my drawers.”

To his satisfaction, her blush deepened to scarlet, and she drew the edges of her pelisse closer together. “Just because you enjoy cavorting naked in front of women doesn’t mean the women take pleasure in it.”

He rested his hand on the table and bent closer, feeling full of mischief. “Never had any complaints before.”

“Given your choice of companion, that doesn’t surprise me.”

He laughed, which only seemed to annoy her further. The lass was still peeved over Sall and her boldness? And after he’d sent the shameless tart home without even a kiss, too. “I take it you disapprove of my ‘choice of companion.’”

“I don’t care in the least whom you consort with,” she declared with an elegant little sniff.

“But I’ll wager you have your own ideas about who it should be.” Bent on devilment, he added, “P’raps a woman like your ladyship?”

“Certainly not!” Then, as if realizing too late the insult
behind her words, she stammered, “I-I mean…that is…”

“It’s all right,” he put in, annoyed by her answer, though he supposed he deserved it for teasing her. He straightened from the table. “You needn’t worry I’ll make improper advances to you, m’lady. I prefer the sort of woman who enjoys seeing a man in his drawers.”

Just that quick, her embarrassment turned to frosty hauteur. She glanced away. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing you live where such women abound.”

He had the odd feeling that he’d insulted her, though he couldn’t imagine how, and to his surprise, her distant air irritated him. “Ah, and where do
you
think I should live? Hidden away in the country like your ladyship? Where you can avoid the world and its troubles?” He dropped his voice to a thrum. “Where big nasty men like myself don’t bother pretty women?”

She continued to stare woodenly beyond him at the cracked mantel. “I assure you, Mr. Brennan, we have our share of nasty men in Stratford-upon-Avon. And they have no compunction about making our lives a misery. Indeed, that’s why I’m here.”

That brought him up short. “What do you mean? Has somebody been causing you trouble?” Though it wouldn’t surprise him. When she was vexed, the woman had a tongue that would strip bark from a tree and draw any man’s ire.

“No, not me, not exactly.” Focusing her gaze on her fingers, she toyed with her sketch pad. “I mean Juliet.”

“Juliet?” Why, the little innocent was scarce out of the schoolroom. Would some wretch dare to hurt her?

Apparently Lady Helena mistook the reason for his
surprise. “You remember her, don’t you?” Her gaze glittered bright with self-righteousness. “My youngest sister? The one you pretended to court while your employer seduced Rosalind?”

So she still hadn’t forgiven him for that. “My
former
employer,” he reminded her. “And yes, I remember your sister very well. She was the one who didn’t hold my mistake against me. Come to think of it, you’re the only one in your family who does.”

“Because I’m the only one in my family not foolish enough to be taken in by every smooth-tongued rascal who lands on our doorstep.”

That tore it. Leaning forward, he planted his hand on the table scarce inches from hers. “For a smooth-tongued rascal, I’ve been mighty accommodating of you this morning. And so far you haven’t given me a single reason for being so.”

She swallowed convulsively, then averted her gaze. “I’m sorry—you’re right. You
have
been very obliging. I don’t mean to be so ungrateful, but I’m worried sick.”

“About
what,
damn it? What has happened to your sister?”

“Juliet’s been kidnapped.”

The second Helena spoke the words, she regretted them. They were a trifle misleading, and judging from Mr. Brennan’s shock and fury, they were liable to send him off in the wrong direction.

“What?” he roared, straightening to his full height. “By who? What villains would dare? Have they sent a demand for ransom yet? Surely your father went to the authorities in Warwickshire—”

“No, no, I didn’t mean to imply it was done against her will.” She paused. “That is…well…”

His gaze narrowed ominously on her. “What the bloody hell
did
you mean?”

Her fingers curled into a knot. “Juliet has run off—has eloped—with a man.”

He looked more astonished than alarmed. “Hold up now—are we speaking of the same lass? Your shy little sister, the one who jumped like a scared rabbit whenever I spoke to her this summer?”

“Yes.” Her tone hardened. “But believe me, she didn’t jump when that…that villain who carried her off spoke to her.”

His expression altered, sharpening his features to flint. “Ah, I see. Lady Juliet has run off with an unsuitable sort, one beneath the touch of your family.” His sarcasm made it only too clear that he thought any of them lucky to find husbands at all.