In Bed with a Rogue (9 page)

Paying him seemed the wisest course, but it made her tremble with repressed rage. No doubt the baron expected her to play the frightened victim, and blast it all, she
was
afraid. Afraid of losing her standing in Society, of never being able to give her youngest sister the life she deserved.

But Helena would be damned if she admitted her fear to anyone.

Fergus entered the drawing room without knocking and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She didn’t want to hear his warnings against receiving the baron.

“What do you think?” she asked, feigning cheerfulness. “Should I set out the cordial?”

His shaggy brows dropped dangerously low over his forest-green eyes. “You shouldna be receiving him at all.”

“It is either now or later. I would prefer to hear his terms as soon as possible and send him on his way.”

Fergus yanked the dagger from the holster at his hip. “Highlanders do no’ extend hospitality to blackmailers. The vermin are greeted by the sharp bite of metal between their ribs.”

The last thing they needed was a dead lord on the Aubusson. “You will not raise a hand toward the baron unless you want both of us sent to the gallows. This is not Scotland. You cannot kill a lord willy-nilly.”

His frown deepened, but he replaced the dagger. “Aye. A wee bit of planning first is sensible, lass.”

She sent him a quelling glare. “
No
killing, Fergus. I mean it.”

Luna, who’d been curled into a ball on the tufted footstool, woke from her nap with a sweet mewl. She blinked her amber eyes twice, then stared at Helena as if to ask what all the fuss was about.

“It is nothing, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Go back to sleep.”

Fergus smirked, his surliness giving way to amusement for a moment. “You realize the fur ball canna understand you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Luna was having none of their nonsense. She jumped from her perch and pranced from the drawing room like the Queen herself.

A light knock sounded at the front door. Helena narrowed her eyes at Fergus. “Not even one hair on his head is to be harmed. Do you understand?”

He sniffed in response and stalked from the room to answer the door. She quickly chose a chair facing the drawing room door, arranged her skirts, and prepared to meet the enemy.

The front door creaked when Fergus tugged it open.

“Lord Thorne to see Lady—”

“I know why you’re here,” Fergus snarled.

She winced. Her loyal Scot was itching for a fight, but she couldn’t allow him to do anything foolish.

“This way, Lord Thorne,” she called.

The rich carpet in the entry muffled the baron’s footsteps, and he was in the threshold before she had properly prepared herself. Her breath caught at the sight of him, his dark eyes gleaming and a hint of whiskers creating a shadow on his defined jaw. He was much too handsome for a blackmailer.

A humorless laugh slipped from her.
Who
ever
said
scoundrels
had
to
be
ugly?

He leaned against the doorjamb, unperturbed by Fergus lurking behind him. “Do I amuse you, Lady Prestwick?”

“Not particularly, my lord. Thank you, Fergus. You may go.”

The Scot gritted his teeth and looked for one moment as if he might pounce on Lord Thorne.

“
Please
. I will call out if I need you.”

Fergus withdrew, but not before locking a death stare on the baron.

Lord Thorne lifted an eyebrow in her direction once they were alone. “You will call out? I believe my honor has just been besmirched.”

“Is it a first, my lord?” She smiled sweetly.

He chuckled and pushed away from the doorjamb. Her insult had shot wildly over his head.

“There aren’t many firsts left for me, Lady Prestwick. May I have a seat?”

She held up a hand to stop him. “This will not take long. How much do you want?”

His step faltered and his brow wrinkled. It was almost worth enduring the interview to see him flustered. “I beg your pardon? How much of
what
do I want?”

“Must you pretend ignorance, sir? You are here to demand money, so speak your price. I would like to resolve this matter at once.”

One side of his mouth twitched. “It’s not your money I want.”

What was he saying? Her heart bounced off her breastbone, drumming furiously and making her light-headed. There had been more rumors whispered about Lord Thorne tonight, ones that made her shiver with shameful excitement. Whispers of his conquests, mostly widows. Very happily conquered widows.

She fidgeted with the locket around her neck, her body consumed with prickly heat. “I was prepared to pay with money. N-not…” She concentrated on breathing, which had become a monumental task.

“I see.” A wicked grin slowly slid across his face. “Then you should be relieved to learn I have no need to resort to blackmail to find a bed partner.”

Her face burned hotter as if she’d been doused in oil and set afire. She grabbed the ivory fan resting on a side table and snapped it open.

Not asking for permission this time, he claimed the armchair across from her. “I am not here to threaten you, Lady Prestwick. Believe me when I say I’ve no love for the gossips and would rather cut off my left arm than toss them a juicy bone to gnaw.”

He lounged casually on the chair, his elbow propped on the padded armrest, eyeing her. Odd that she should trust him on this much at least. His name had been dragged through the muck often enough these past weeks to convince her that he wouldn’t conspire with gossipmongers.

“You came here for some reason,” she said, “and I’m sure you want something.” Even if it wasn’t her money or her body. And why didn’t he want her body? Not that she was offering it.

“It’s true I am here for a reason.” He nodded. “But it is nothing to warrant animosity. I would like to extend my gratitude for coming to my aid. Had you ignored my calls for help, I might have had my throat slit for my efforts. So, thank you.”

She simply gawked, shocked that he knew it was she who had helped him in the street.

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his expression animated. “I cannot fathom what you were doing in Whitechapel, but I’ve asked myself many times if maybe you are actually an angel come to earth.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I thought the same the first time I heard talk of the Whitechapel Angel, and then when we collided outside the church, I knew you were real enough. And yet, you were there when I needed help. A
lady
in the rookery. What are the odds?”

Helena recovered from her surprise and narrowed her eyes at him. What game was he playing? She didn’t believe for one moment he had come to thank her.

“I don’t concern myself with odds, my lord. I’m not a gambler.” And she never would be. Having watched her father lose everything, she couldn’t even bring herself to play a game of whist with no stakes attached.

“You’ve been gambling your reputation—your very life—by entering the rookery. What are you about, Lady Prestwick?”

She pushed from her seat and stood behind it, creating a barrier between them. She rested her hands on the cresting rail. Her fingers betrayed her frazzled nerves by repeatedly skimming the ornamental details carved into the wood. “I will ask you once more what it is you want from me. An honest answer, or I will have Fergus toss you from the premises.”

***

Sebastian frowned. Was there no one to believe in his honor? What sort of gentleman would he be if he demanded payment for his silence? “You seem set on being blackmailed. Why don’t you tell me what it is I should demand?”

Her mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. When she issued a resigned sigh, he eased back against his seat.

“Very well,” she said tersely. “If I have misjudged you, I beg your forgiveness.”

“
If?
”

She ignored his protest and barreled on. “But a gentleman doesn’t waylay a lady at a ball, insinuating he knows something untoward about her, then arrive at her home in the middle of the night for no reason.”

He wanted to argue that she had invited him, but she had a good argument. The rub of it was he didn’t know why he had come. She had been plaguing his thoughts morning to night ever since their first encounter. For some unexplainable reason, he couldn’t walk away without knowing what she was doing in Whitechapel.

“Tell me what you were doing, and I will go. There will be no need to summon your ill-tempered servant.”

She clamped her lips together, and he thought for one moment he was no match for her stubbornness. “I am searching for someone. My—my servant’s sister.” She waved her hand as if shooing a fly. “Not Fergus’s sister. Another servant. One who isn’t here, so do not ask to speak with him—
her
.”

She had told the truth when she said she wasn’t a gambler. She was the worst liar he had ever met, but at least she was talking.

“Fergus and I tracked her to Whitechapel, to a brothel.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Couldn’t he have searched alone? Perhaps during the day?”

She shook her head and crossed her arms. “He has never seen her. What if he brought back some woman pretending to be Lavinia? She could have come to search for valuables at the town house and report her findings to her associates. I’ll not place the servants’ lives in danger.”

“Only your own. Not to mention your footman’s.”

“Fergus can take care of himself.” She hugged her arms around her waist as if trying to hold herself together. “Really, Lord Thorne. This conversation is pointless. I won’t be returning to Whitechapel, so you may set your worries aside. If indeed you are worried.”

He blinked in surprise as the realization hit him that he
had
been concerned for her. She was a woman alone in the world, and breakable despite her iron will. Her skin was pale and smooth like porcelain, the bones in her face delicate. And she was small. Not a robust woman accustomed to fighting back. Only she had, hadn’t she? Someone had taught her to defend herself, but her luck wouldn’t hold forever.

“So you have found this Lavinia,” he said. “Your goal is accomplished.”

“Not exactly, but since all paths lead to…” She frowned. “Well, I don’t know
where
the fashionable brothels are. I am certain, however, they are not in Whitechapel, so I assure you I am perfectly safe. Although I may never gain access to her now.”

“Ah.” Sebastian nodded in understanding. If the girl had truly been sold to a high-end brothel, she would be working in the West End. Perhaps in St. James or Covent Garden.

“Even if I did know the location, it would be pointless to go there. As you can see”—Lady Prestwick gestured toward her lithe curves—“I am not a gentleman.”

Far from it, he would say, but considering she thought he had come to take advantage of her, he refrained from commenting on her very feminine and inviting figure. “Your man, Fergus, cannot help either.” Without a title or lands, he would never gain access to the madams’ girls.

“No, he can’t.” She lowered her gaze, her expression so downtrodden, Sebastian nearly left his chair to wrap his arms around her for comfort. Instead, he gripped the padded arms and forced himself to stay seated. This girl was important to her, and for some inexplicable reason, she suddenly became important to him too. But if the girl was simply a servant’s sibling, why did she care enough to risk her life?

Lady Prestwick fidgeted with the locket around her neck, refusing to look at him. She had an emotional attachment to this girl. Perhaps they had been raised together. It wasn’t unheard of for children to form friendships before an adult informed them they were not equals.

The idea boosted his opinion of Lady Prestwick. She was no mindless rule follower, and yet she effortlessly navigated the
ton
, charming the matrons of Society. The same gossipmongers who’d turned their backs on Eve, believing she’d been sullied and fearing their own reputations would suffer from associating with her. The women were nothing more than sheep trotting wherever they were led, and Lady Prestwick had their ears.

A rush of exhilaration coursed through his body. What if the solution to Eve’s problem was standing before him? He hadn’t hoped for a second chance to do right by his sister, but what if Lady Prestwick had appeared from the mist not to save his life but to give Eve’s back to her?

Her blue-green gaze flicked up and discovered him staring. Pink rushed into her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. He gave her a tentative smile.

Slowly he rose from his chair and mimicked her earlier motion, sweeping his hands down his body with flourish then holding his arms out to his sides. “Hopefully this doesn’t come as a shock, but
I
ama gentleman.”

Her blush deepened to a dark red.

So she
had
noticed. He bit back a pleased grin. They were on more familiar ground now.

“I believe we can help one another, Lady Prestwick. What say you? Shall we form a partnership? You sponsor my younger sister Eve, and I will search the brothels on your behalf.”

Her eyes flared wide briefly, then narrowed to suspicious slits. “Why would you do that for me?”

Good
Lord
. Maybe he should demand money so as not to disappoint her. She gave a new definition to mistrustful. “I’m not offering for you, Lady Prestwick. I’m not even doing it for me. My sister needs help and she is the most deserving person I know. So can we reach an agreement or not?”

The hard lines of her face softened, and her extraordinary eyes glimmered in the candlelight. “Miss Thorne seems like a nice young woman. I have no reason to deny her my assistance.”

“Splendid!” Sebastian came forward and extended his hand. “Should we shake on our agreement like gentlemen, or would you prefer to seal it with a kiss?”

Her frown returned, and she hesitantly grasped his hand. “This does not mean I trust you, Lord Thorne.”

“How could I ever think otherwise, Lady Prestwick?”

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