Simply Shameless (10 page)

"You didn't have to lie to us," Christian muttered, his hands deep in his pockets, his mouth turned down at the corners as he kicked at the tiled grate.

"I did, Christian. You were only children. I intended to explain everything to you when I visited this Christmas, just like I did with Marguerite."

"Marguerite knows what you really are?" He frowned. "That's probably why she ran away. And I don't believe you meant to tell us anything; you're just saying that to make us feel guilty for coming here."

Helene held his gaze. "I told Marguerite the truth when she was eighteen. I doubt she waited three years to decide to run away because of what I said."

"Why didn't she tell us, then?"

"Because I asked her not to. Some things are better heard from their source, don't you think? Otherwise they might be misunderstood. The writer of that letter obviously wished to cause trouble between us. And it seems he has succeeded."

Even Christian had the grace to look away from her. She was glad he retained that much of a conscience. Eighteen-year-old men were not renowned for accepting they might have acted too hastily. Even while she smiled calmly at the twins, Helene's mind worked furiously. Who could possibly have sent them such a letter? Hardly anyone knew of the twins' existence, let alone where they went to school.

Satisfied that she had at least made the twins think about their actions, Helene nodded and opened the door.

"I will send a maid to help you settle in and show you back to the main kitchen if you wish to eat there. Tomorrow you will move to a hotel." She fixed both of the twins with her hardest stare. "If I find out that you have entered the pleasure house or participated in any way in my business before I return, I will instruct my butler to put you on the next boat back to France. No exceptions, no excuses. Are we clear on that?"

Lisette looked affronted. "Why on earth would we want to see the workings of a brothel?"

"Exactly, my dear. Why would you? When I return from France, I promise I will sit down and discuss all these issues with you."

Neither of the twins looked convinced, so Helene curtsied and shut the door behind her.

Her footsteps slowed as she reached the landing. Who exactly had betrayed her to the twins? Were they lying? Had Marguerite given them the information before she eloped?

It might explain the coincidence of their arrival with

Marguerite's departure. Helene stared blankly at the portrait of a young slain cavalier on the facing wall.

It was true that she'd told the twins she was the housekeeper of an important politician and could not keep them with her. She'd never expected to be forced to defend herself about her deception. She'd assumed she'd tell the twins when they were ready to hear her out, as Marguerite had. But they were not as compliant as her eldest daughter.

She'd never quite understood why, despite her best efforts, the twins seemed to dislike her so much. Perhaps she'd tried too hard to make up to Marguerite for the horrific circumstances of her birth and neglected to show her love to the twins. She'd assumed they'd know how loved they were, but obviously that was not the case. And as twins, their closeness had seemed to exclude her from the start.

She almost turned back to demand more answers, but her need to get to Marguerite was stronger. The twins' appearance and all the questions surrounding it would have to wait until she returned.

Chapter Eight

"W hat do you mean, you couldn't find her?" "Christian ..."

Helene sighed as she untangled the salt-stained ribbons of her bonnet and placed it on the hall table. Judd helped her off with her cloak, pelisse, and gloves, bowed respectfully, and retreated to the basement. She turned toward the back of the i, house and made her way to her office, Christian at her heels. There was no sign of Lisette, a small mercy for which Helene i was profoundly grateful.

Just as she sat down, Judd reappeared with a cup of hot chocolate, which he placed at her elbow. She smiled up at him. "Thank you, Judd."

"You are welcome, madame. Cook says to tell you to come and visit her in the kitchen as soon as you have finished your ! work. She is worried that you haven't been eating properly."

Christian muttered something under his breath as Judd , winked at Helene and patted her hand. Helene took a sip of the hot drink and almost moaned at the deliciously sweet flavor. "Are you going to tell me what happened or not?"

Helene eyed her son, who paced the rug in front of her desk, hands clasped behind his back.

"Marguerite and her new husband are apparently traveling through Europe."

"Where exactly?"

"I have no idea. They didn't leave a detailed itinerary with the hotel staff."

Christian sat down with a thump. "Perhaps I should go after them myself."

"You are welcome to try. Did you ever meet Lord Justin Lockwood?"

He frowned. "I think I saw them together walking in the grounds of the nunnery one day, but when I asked Marguerite who the man was, she denied having been there."

Helene cradled the hot chocolate cup in her hands, enjoying the warmth seeping into her cold skin.

"It is unlike Marguerite to be secretive."

Christian snorted. "How would you know? You know as much about her as you do about me and Lisette."

Helene put down her cup. "Christian, I am tired. I have been traveling for over a week.

The last thing I need is to be attacked the moment I walk through the door."

"What are we going to do now?"

Helene struggled to ignore both his rudeness and his refusal to acknowledge how hard she had tried to find Marguerite. She got wearily to her feet, pressing her fingertips to the desk to counteract the swaying motion of a phantom ship, and moved toward the door.

"I have ... friends who, given time, will be able to locate Marguerite if she is indeed in Europe."

"Friends." Christian's expression was skeptical. "I cannot believe the sort of acquaintances you have,
Maman,
would be able to help us at all."

She stopped beside him. "Just because you find it amusing to undermine and belittle me, Christian, do not assume that Others do as well. I know more heads of state and leaders of government than you have hairs on your head."

He raised his eyebrows. "I never realized whoring could be such an exalted profession.

Are you the king's mistress?"

"I am nobody's mistress but my own." With the greatest of difficulty, she forced her hands to unclench. "Good afternoon. Perhaps I will see you at dinner tonight." He stared at her, a perplexed look in his eyes that didn't reassure her. It was as if he wanted her to fight with him, to show him that she didn't care for him at all. From her sparse knowledge of him, it seemed Christian was as tenacious as she was about pursuing his aims. She doubted he would be prepared to leave her house until he'd heard better tidings of his half sister.

Despair shook through her as she took the back stairs down to her apartment. She'd told Christian the truth. Marguerite had left Paris and was heading toward Italy with her new husband. No amount of gold or threats had made the information any better or any clearer. Marguerite had gone, and there was nothing Helene could do but call in a few favors from some of her more influential clients, then sit and wait.

In the privacy of her apartment, Helene sank down on a soft chair beside the fire and covered her face with her hands. At least Marguerite wasn't alone. From all accounts, the young couple had paid their bills and departed in style. Marguerite wouldn't have to face the extremes Helene had. Perhaps she would even be happy despite the secretive beginnings of her marriage.

Helene stared into the flames as she pictured her eldest daughter's dark hair, delicate features, and pale olive skin. Marguerite meant so much to her, a beautiful healthy child saved from the horrors of the Bastille. A thing of hope that had helped Helene survive.

It had been hard to leave Marguerite in the care of others.

Helene had justified her decision by telling herself Marguerite would be safer in France than with her. The turmoil of the years since her children's births had made removing them from the nunnery almost impossible. She'd regretted the necessity of that choice every day since, and now she felt even more of a fool. Was there anywhere in the world that was safe anymore? Helene closed her eyes and allowed herself to weep.

Four hours later, she studied her reflection in the long mirror in the first public salon.

She'd chosen to wear blue silk, one of her favorite colors, in the hope that it might detract from the lines of tiredness stretching her skin and the shadows under her eyes. Diamonds glittered in her ears, around her neck, and on the heels of her shoes. Tonight she needed to look every inch the proprietress of an exclusive club rather than the distraught mother of a runaway bride.

"Helene, you are back." She turned to find George bowing in front of her. His inspection of her was thorough and ended at her face. "You look tired."

She sighed. "I've just spent an hour trying to create the illusion that I am twenty-five again, and you ruin it in one sentence." She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the buffet table. "I've been busy."

"Judd said you had to go to France."

"Judd told you that?"

"Why? Was it meant to be a secret?" George paused as he handed her a glass of white wine. "We are still friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are." She glanced up at him. "Did he also tell you about my guests?"

"No. That he kept to himself. You have guests?"

"The twins arrived, demanding I find their sister."

"Ah, so that is why you went to France. To find Marguerite and to take the twins back to school." He squeezed her fingers.

"No wonder you are tired. That must have been quite an ordeal."

"Worse than you think. The twins are still here, and Marguerite has eloped."

"Good God," George said. "Do you know who she married?"

"Some English peer, apparently."

"Oh well, then I suppose you'll let her have her way. No point in interfering if the girl has gone and gotten herself a title."

Helene took a step back so that she could look into George's face. His expression was calm, and he wasn't smiling.

"I'm not happy about it, George. In fact, I wanted to ask for your help."

He inclined his head, his eyes instantly full of concern. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

"You have contacts in all the embassies in Europe. I'd be grateful if you could find out exactly where Marguerite and her husband, a Lord Justin Lockwood, finally settle down."

"You think they might stay abroad?"

"Wouldn't you?"

His smile was relaxed. "Absolutely. In fact, I'd probably not return until I had my son and heir in my arms to soften the hearts of my parents."

Helene shuddered. "I have no desire to be a grandmother quite yet. I'd just like to know she is safe and well."

"You've decided not to chase after her, then?"

Helene shrugged and set her wineglass back on the buffet table. "If I can find out exactly where she plans to reside, I'll go to her then."

"A wise decision. If she feels you are intent on discovering her, she might keep moving.

I'll certainly make some discreet inquiries for you at the various embassies."

"Thank you, George." She squeezed his arm. "You are one of the very few people who even know I have children. I appreciate your help."

He kissed her fingers and then her palm. "It's hard to believe you are old enough to have a daughter at all, let alone two."

"Unfortunately, I find it all too believable at the moment. I will see you later, George. I must go and mingle."

She disengaged her hand and strolled toward the main red and gold decorated salon, where a stream of people had begun to pour through the double doorway. As she walked, she nodded at those who greeted her and kissed her fingers to some of the younger men.

It seemed that in her absence, everything had gone well. Her staff was well trained, and Judd oversaw everything perfectly.

"Madame Helene."

A familiar voice and an even more familiar smile made her pause. A man emerged from the press of people and bowed. His golden hair glinted in the candlelight; his black coat and white linen were impeccably cut.

Helene extended her hand. "Gideon, how are you?"

"I'm very well and so is Antonia." He looked around the rapidly filling room. "She's here somewhere. I'll tell her to come and make her bow to you later." He beckoned to a tall gentleman standing just inside the door. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. My father asked me to sign him in as my guest."

Helene's gracious smile froze on her lips as the man walked toward her. The noise and chatter disappeared, leaving her in a frightening empty void of pure emotion. When their eyes met, she wasn't sure if she was offended or relieved by the total lack of recognition in his gaze.

"This is Mr. Philip Ross." Gideon smiled. "He's recently inherited some fancy new title, but to my shame, I can't remember exactly what it is."

Helene moistened her lips with her tongue. "Mr. Ross, you are most welcome."

"Madame."

He took her cold hand, enfolded it within his, and brushed his lips over her skin with stiff, unenthusiastic propriety.

"Are you staying in London for long, sir?"

"It depends. I have some business to attend to. I'm not sure how long it will take."

Hopefully not very long,
Helene prayed. The Fates were definitely conspiring against her.

Thank God the twins weren't around. She frantically checked the crowd. It would be just like them to sneak into the packed salon without her realizing it.

"Madame?"

She forced her attention back to Philip Ross, noticed for the first time that he wore the dark somber colors of mourning and that his face was dour and unsmiling. In contrast to the flowing locks of his youth, his hair was now cut brutally short, accentuating the hard angles of his cheekbones. Would she have recognized him if Gideon hadn't introduced him by name? He bore little to no resemblance to the laughing elegant man she remembered from eighteen years before.