Lady Disguised (Tenacious Trents Novella) (Tenacous Trents) (9 page)

“Actually, I intended to never
marry,” he informed her. “My uncle did nothing to help my mother after Father’s
death. He could have made everything go away, but he refused, and for that
reason I refuse to do as he wishes. Until I proposed to you, I had every
intention of letting the title go hang. My younger brother may marry and
produce an heir, but I was not going to do what was necessary to see that the
title continue.” 

Hélène choked and smiled. “As we
will not marry, you still have the opportunity.”

Her rejection, though he
shouldn’t be surprised, still stung.

Stanwick was destined to be an
earl? Hélène had no idea, and it was all the more reason she was glad to have
rejected his offer. Juliette was married to a viscount and must now be part of
Society. Acker at least allowed Juliette to still dance and had given her a
school. If Hélène believed Stanwick would be as generous with her, she might
have reconsidered marriage. But she suspected he was more traditional in what
he would want his wife to be, even if he had not planned on ever having one.

“Before you reject me out of
hand, at least hear me out,” Stanwick insisted.

Did he want to marry her so
badly? Why didn’t he simply accept her rejection and leave it be? Didn’t he
realize that continuing to speak of it made her heart ache? To be married to
Stanwick meant she would have someone to keep her warm, as his mere presence
was doing now. She wouldn’t be alone, and they could kiss whenever she wished.
And she would finally be able to experience what happened between men and
women. There were so many reasons she wished to be with him. He may not love
her, but he cared. Hélène feared the more she was in his presence, the more
likely she was to fall in love.

Who was she fooling? Part of her
was in love with him already, and there was no logical reason for feeling this
way. She longed to have him near whether they were kissing or simply sitting by
a fire sipping tea. 

“You would not have a care in the
world,” he began. “I would provide a fine home, with servants, and I have
wealth enough that you could purchase whatever you wish. I would be gone at
night and that is something I cannot change because of Dagger’s. But when I am
home, my time would be spent seeing to you, keeping you happy, and taking care
of all your needs.”

Hélène placed her teacup and
saucer on the table before turning to face him more fully.

“I would never give you a reason
to fall into melancholy or be angered. Your days could be spent visiting with
your sisters, or the rest of your family, or doing as you wished.”

Most women may dream of such a
life, but not her. 

“I know many wives who have
become frustrated and unhappy in marriage. I promise that will not happen to
you.”

Because he assumed any woman
would be happy simply running a house and carrying for a husband and children,
while for the most part, being treated as a child herself. 

“I would also be faithful. On
that, you have my promise.”

Hélène sighed. While it was nice
to know she would never have to worry about him taking a mistress, it wasn’t
enough to change her mind. “You spoke of wives being unhappy; do you know why
they might be?”

He frowned, his dark eyebrows
drawing close over his eyes. “I assume it is because their husbands don’t care
for them properly or show them enough attention.”

Hélène nearly snorted. “Stanwick,
did it ever occur to you that perhaps women become frustrated because they are
forced in the roles society and men deem are only worthy for them?”

He opened his mouth.

Hélène suspected he was about to
argue with her and she quickly spoke again. “Gentlemen define the roles women
are to play, not the female.”

She rose and stepped away from
the settee to pace before the fire. She had to make him understand, and if he
could not accept what she was saying then there was nothing else for them to
discuss. “What harm is there in a lady being an actress or a ballerina, or
anything she wishes?  We have brains and can think. We have talents we wish to
explore. Yet if you ask a gentleman, we are only capable of running a house,
shopping, gossiping, and producing children. If I were forced to endure such a
life, I might very well go mad.”

She hastily turned away when
tears sprang to her eyes. Hélène would not show weakness in front of Stanwick,
or he would never accept that women did not need to be coddled. It was bad
enough she had fainted in front of him. Why she was crying, she had no idea.

“I wish to act. Until everyone
can accept my desires, I have no reason to remain in London or marry.”

“Very well,” he said after a long
silence.

Hélène didn’t turn but sensed
when he stood. Her skin prickled as he drew near. It was much safer with him
across the room.

His hands slid about her waist
and, with the slightest pressure, turned her to face him.  Hélène looked up
into his dark eyes, wishing she could understand the emotions reflected
within.  Before she could say anything, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing
her with a tenderness that made her heart ache. His mouth was gone too soon,
and she looked up at him again. Did she read sadness within the depths? 

“It was an honor to know you,
Lady Hélène.” He stepped back and bowed. “I hope everything you wish for is
yours.”

With that, he turned on his heel
and quit the room. Hélène sank down into a chair at the side of the fireplace
and watched him walk out of her life, part of her heart going with him.

Hélène put a fist against her
mouth to keep from calling out after him, asking him to stay, but to do so
would only encourage the impossible.

Each time she rejected his offer
and he left, she hurt more. Why?

She glanced down at the table. A
purse that hadn’t been there before sat in the middle. She lifted it and opened
the clasp and pulled out the parchment. 

I wish you well in Milan. I
believe I will miss you very much.
It was signed by Stanwick.  Hélène tipped the purse and dumped the notes out.
He had returned her winnings. 

Why wasn’t she happy?

This would be the last night
Dagger’s would be open until after Twelfth Night. Only a few patrons sat at the
many tables, and they were drinking, not gambling. After paying the employees,
Stanwick wouldn’t make a profit tonight. He’d expected it to be this way.
However, he hadn’t expected Acker and Bentley to be occupying one of the
tables. They had wives and a large family. Their presence was rather
suspicious. 

Stanwick remained across the
room, sipping his brandy, determined not to walk over. It had been two days
since he visited with Hélène, and he knew he would first inquire about her
health before anything else. Stanwick didn’t want them thinking he was smitten.

It was difficult enough to no
longer fool himself. He wasn’t going to make others aware that he had somehow
developed deep feelings for a lady he barely knew. One does not fall in love in
a week. It was impossible, yet his gut insisted he was wrong. Why else was it
physically painful to think of her in Milan and never seeing her again? He had
never ached for a woman, at least not in a way that wasn’t purely sexual. He
did want her beneath him, but also beside him, living in his home, sharing his
life.

Damn and blast. He thrust his
fingers through his hair, turned from the others, and had the barkeep refill
his glass. It was best she was leaving. Once she was gone, he could continue
with the life he already planned for himself. He’d made a pact not three weeks
ago, and he wasn’t about the break it so soon. The others would never let him
forget it.

When he turned again, Acker and
Bentley were studying him. Acker had a half smile and looked a bit amused.
Bentley held a more serious look in his eye, as if determining Stanwick’s
worth. Had Hélène changed her mind about marrying him, or were they determined
to force the issue regardless of the lady’s wishes? 

Stanwick sipped from his drink.
He was not going to go over there.

The two men shared a look and
rose from their seats. Stanwick groaned into his glass when they walked towards
him instead of the door, carrying their half-full glasses. 

“You gave Hélène her winnings?”
Bentley demanded when he stopped before Stanwick.

“They were hers.”

“Do you know what she intends to
do with the money?”

Stanwick nodded. He wasn’t going
to tell them if they didn’t already know.

“You think it is proper for a
young lady to return to another country and live alone?” Acker asked casually.

“No, but it isn’t as if I have
control over her. She can do as she pleases.”

“Except here, apparently,” Acker
added.

That was her family’s fault,
Stanwick thought. If Bentley would allow her to continue acting, no matter the
potential scandal, Hélène wouldn’t need to return to Milan.

She wouldn’t be leaving him.

Acker tipped back his glass and
drained the contents setting it down with a thud.  “We will see you after
Twelfth Night. Have a happy Christmas.”

Bentley didn’t finish his drink,
but set the glass down on the counter.

Stanwick nodded. How did they
know he was closing? He hadn’t announced it yet. Usually he put a sign on the
door when the decision was made. His customers were used to seeing it this time
of year.

“We need to get an early start,”
Bentley added.

Stanwick jerked his head to look
at him. Start for where?

“The entire family is going to
Yorkshire for Christmas,” Bentley explained.

 “Why Yorkshire?” Wasn’t
Bentley’s estate in northeast Kent?

“My sister-in-law’s grandfather
lives in Yorkshire and demands the entire family home, which extends to her
in-laws, apparently.”

Stanwick had forgotten that the
youngest had married a Whitton. “Happy Christmas to both of you, and safe
travels.”

The two studied him for a moment
before they nodded and left Dagger’s. Stanwick suspected they wanted to say
more to him but either changed their minds or assumed they could not change
his. It wasn’t his mind that needed to be changed, but Hélène’s.

As the door closed behind the
two, the other customers began to leave as well. Within an hour, his business
was empty except for the employees, and it wasn’t even midnight. Yes, it was
time to close down until next year.

“Come back and clean up
tomorrow,” He called to his employees. “I will pay you then.”

They grinned and nodded. It was
rare they were through with their duties so early, and he suspected many of
them were looking forward to returning home to a wife, ladylove, or spending
their time with friends at other establishments.

He bolted the entrance once the
last was gone and checked that the back door was also locked. Stanwick turned
down lamps and blew out candles as he made his way towards his office still
carrying his glass of brandy. 

It was strangely eerie. Stanwick
settled back in his chair and sipped the warm, rich liquid.  A small fire
danced in the grate and would soon die out. A bit of light reflected off the
fire iron. It no longer looked as fearsome as it had when he’d first returned
from Arrington’s funeral. He couldn’t imagine Hélène being so distraught she
would hit anyone with it. 

A smile pulled at his lips. No,
she would challenge them with swords.

The thought of Hélène combined
with the brandy warmed him from within. She was remarkable. Stanwick couldn’t
imagine her crumbling or hiding if things turned out badly. She would move
forward and see her way through any situation. He admired that in her. Such a
woman wouldn’t feel the need to bash her husband’s head with a fire iron. A
woman like Hélène would simply walk away or make the man suffer in other ways,
like denying the husband her bed. 

And though Stanwick had only
kissed her, he very much wanted to share a bed with her. Once he got the
chance, he would not be in any hurry to leave.

He leaned back in his chair,
tipping it so it rested on the back legs. What had she said? “
What harm is
there in a lady being an actress or a ballerina, or anything she wishes. We have
brains and can think. We have talents we wish to explore. Yet if you ask a
gentleman, we are only capable of running a house, shopping, gossiping, and
producing children. If I were forced to endure such a life I might very well go
mad.
”

Is that why so many women were
reduced to madness or melancholy? Were gentlemen truly the cause?

He righted his chair, and the
legs came down with a thud. His heart began to beat hard in his chest. 

Why had he been such a bloody
fool?