Simply Shameless (30 page)

"How dare you interfere?" She stormed around her desk to glare up at him.

"I did what I thought was right."

"Without consulting me first?"

"As you said, it's been hard for you to communicate with Christian. I merely tried to make things easier."

She shook her head, as if words were beyond her, and then poked him in the chest. "How would you feel if I approached your children and explained a few home truths to them?"

Resentment and awakening anger crowded through his sense of righteousness.

"You can't compare the two situations."

"I certainly can. They would both be examples of highhanded, unnecessary interference."

"Not quite. I'm Christian's father."

Her hands clenched into fists. "You've known that for less than a week, and you think that gives you the right to interfere?"

"Yes."

"You have to earn that right, Philip. You can't just march in and take over after being an absent parent for eighteen years." Her smile was bleak as she retreated behind her desk and sat down.

"Surely that's up to me? I do have some experience. I have two children from my marriage."

"Are you suggesting you would make a better parent than I do?"

He frowned. "I'm not suggesting that at all. I simply decided Christian needed to hear the truth for once, rather than being coddled and indulged by you, because you are too afraid to have an honest conversation with him."

"I am quite capable of having that conversation! I have already made my peace with Marguerite and have started the process with Lisette."

"But it's harder with Christian, isn't it? Is that because he is a man?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

Philip crossed the room to the door. He was far too angry to discuss the accounts with Helene now.

"Work it out for yourself. You've spent your whole life using your beauty to bedazzle the male sex, to stop them prying into your real life, to keep them from ever getting to know you. But you can't do that with Christian, can you? You can't seduce your own son."

Chapter Twenty-Three

In the dim dawn light, as she worked her way through the rooms of the pleasure house's top floor, Helene kicked out at a bloodied riding crop that lay in her path. She had no energy or patience to stop and pick it up. Her staff should be doing that. She glanced around the disordered rooms. Where was everybody?

A groan caught her attention, and she headed to the last of the salons. One of her most difficult and demanding clients, Lord Minshom, stood behind a naked man draped over one of the leather chairs, his hips pumping, one hand wrapped around the other man's cock. He frowned at her, and Helene sighed. No wonder no one was cleaning. Lord Minshom wasn't the sort of man who appreciated being interrupted.

In truth, after her last argument with Philip, she wasn't in a confrontational mood herself.

She retreated through the silent rooms back to the servant's staircase. How dare Philip insinuate that she couldn't handle her own son? And how dare he suggest she deliberately set out to seduce every man she met? She was quite out of charity with him and had spent the last two days avoiding him whenever possible. He still shared her bed, but when she pretended to sleep, he hadn't bothered her.

She bit her lip as she descended the stairs. That bothered her more than she could've imagined. She was used to him making love to her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close all night long. She'd never felt as safe as she did with Philip. True, they might argue, but she'd always believed that at heart they had begun to trust each other.

But since their disagreement over Christian, Philip had emotionally distanced himself from her. Despite her resolve not to beg his pardon, his withdrawal still hurt.

Judd appeared at the bottom of the stairs, his round face peering up into the gloom.

"Madame? A note just arrived for you. It says 'urgent.' "

Helene immediately thought of a thousand things that could be wrong and raced down the stairs to meet Judd. She plucked the note from his outstretched fingers and turned toward the light streaming in one of the big windows at the front of the house. She recognized Marguerite's distinct handwriting and ripped open the seal.

Maman, I need you. I'm at Grillons Hotel.

Helene reread the almost illegible scrawl several times to try and make better sense of it.

The paper fell through her suddenly nerveless fingers, and she whirled around to find Judd still watching her.

"I have to go out. Get me a hackney cab."

"Madame, are you all right? Shall I call Lord George or Mr. Philip?"

"No, please tell anyone who inquires that I'm out on business and I'll be back as soon as I can."

Helene ran toward her study to pick up her reticule and to retrieve the bonnet she'd left there the night before. She had no time to change out of the old gown she wore on her morning rounds or rearrange her hair. Marguerite needed her, and there was no time to waste.

The clerk at Grillons gave Helene another condescending look and sighed. "Ma'am, for the last time, I scarcely think anyone lodging in this fine establishment would be a 'friend or relative' of yours. Are you sure you have the correct address?"

Helene raised her chin and studied the young man until he started to blush.

"If you do not tell me which room my daughter, Lady Justin Lockwood, is occupying, I will make sure you are no longer employed here or in any of the finer hotels in London."

The young man rallied. "And how would a woman of your class accomplish that?"

Helene looked around the crowded lobby. There had to be a client of hers here somewhere. Ah, yes, the perfect man. Her gaze alighted on an elderly gentleman reading a newspaper. She walked over to the man and tapped on his shoulder.

"Good lord, Madame Delornay! What a pleasure."

Helene smiled and pointed at the hapless clerk. "Lord Crenshaw, would you be so kind as to tell this young person that I am a perfectly respectable woman?"

Lord Crenshaw stood up, his florid complexion darkening as he glared at the clerk. After a quick glance around the lobby, he came to join Helene at the desk.

"Is there a problem, Madame Delornay?"

Helene fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I'm not sure, Lord Crenshaw. The clerk seems to believe I'm at the wrong hotel."

"Why on earth would he think that?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps you could vouch for my character, my lord?"

Lord Crenshaw scowled at the clerk. "Of course I can. What a ridiculous notion. Madame Delornay is one of the finest and most upstanding women I have ever met!"

"I apologize, my lord. Madame, I'll find that room number for you immediately and someone to show you up."

Helene smiled sweetly. "There is no need. I'll find my own way." She dropped a curtsey to Lord Crenshaw. "Thank you, my lord."

He winked at her. "Delighted to help, my dear."

Helene listened to the number the clerk gave her and headed for the stairs. Philip's remarks about her using her beauty to get what she wanted from men resonated in her head, followed by a rush of anger. What else was she supposed to do when the odds were constantly stacked against her?

She knocked on Marguerite's door and waited, then knocked again harder before finally trying the knob. The door swung open, and Marguerite stood there. Her face was ashen, and her unbound hair fell in thick dark waves around her face. She stared at her mother and started to cry.

"Maman, I'm so glad you are here. Justin is dead."

Philip fixed Judd with an accusing stare.

"Where did Madame Helene say she was going?"

"She didn't, sir. She simply said she would be back as soon as she had completed her business."

Judd left and Philip slumped back into Helene's chair. He drummed his fingers on the blotter and stared at the empty desk. Had Helene broken the terms of their bargain by disappearing without him? Or was he the only one who had to remain at the pleasure house for the thirty days? He suspected that was the truth of it and that he couldn't even use that argument to start a fight with her when she got back. And by God, he was spoiling for a fight.

In some ways it would be a relief to break their bargain, to walk away from the increasingly tense situation and ignore the feelings she stirred in him. But there was the matter of the accounts and the mess about the twins to clear up before he left. He groaned. Now he was trying to fool himself. He had no intention of leaving at all.

"Ah, good morning. I expected Helene to be in here. I do beg your pardon."

Philip looked up to see George Grant hovering at the door. "Good morning, Grant. Judd informed me that Helene has disappeared on a mysterious errand."

"Really? I wonder what that can be?" George strolled into the room and took the seat opposite Philip. "Perhaps she has a new lover."

Philip faked a smile, refusing to give George the satisfaction of looking as annoyed as he felt. Helene belonged to him for the next few days. After that was another story.

"But then again, perhaps not. I've noticed, of late, that she seems to be curtailing her amorous activities." George nodded sagely. "Yes, mayhap she has realized she needs to focus her considerable skills on one man."

Philip didn't comment. If George was fishing for information about his relationship with Helene, he'd have to try a lot harder than that. George took out a cigarillo and offered one to Philip, who declined.

"Seeing as we are all alone, Mr. Ross, perhaps I might offer you some advice?"

"About what?"

"Dealing with Helene Delornay."

"I hardly think I need advice from you, sir."

George's smile deepened. "I've known her for eighteen years. I would like to believe I've picked up some pointers as to how she thinks."

Philip simply stared at him, his eyebrows raised until George sighed.

"Look, I'm trying to help you. I've seen many men make fools of themselves over Helene, and I can see why. She is beautiful, intelligent, and has the ability to draw men to her like bees to honey, but she can be cruel."

"I'm sure she can."

George looked relieved. "You have noticed that about her? Most men never see beyond her beauty to the steel beneath." He shuddered. "I've seen her discard men like used handkerchiefs and move onto the next without a thought for the consequences."

Philip sat back and crossed his legs at the ankles. "For a man who considers himself a loyal friend of Helene's, you do not paint a pretty picture."

George met his gaze. "I'm trying to be honest with you, Ross. She has confided in me about what she really intends to do concerning the shares you currently own."

"Has she really?"

"I think you should know that even if you stay for the allotted thirty days, the moment the agreement is at an end, she will use any weapons necessary to get those shares from you."

"What kind of weapons?"

George shrugged. "Blackmail, perhaps? That is her favorite."

"She will find very little to blackmail me about. I've led an exemplary life."

George hesitated. "I apologize for having to repeat this, but Helene told me she has sworn statements from the servants and one of her clients that you have performed unlawful sexual acts with another man on these premises."

Philip went still. "I beg your pardon?"

"Didn't you know that she documents everything? Why do you think this place is so successful? Helene knows more about the tons sexual depravities than anyone in England." He sighed. "I'm almost certain she's bolstering her income by running some minor extortion schemes on the side."

Philip slowly unclenched his hands. "And what does all this have to do with me? I still doubt she'll try blackmail."

George sat forward, his expression earnest. "If you sell your shares to me, you won't need to worry about that. I'll have a bigger say in the business, and I'll be able to stop Helene's more illegal activities and perhaps restrict her overall influence to the minimum."

"Even with my shares, you'll still own only thirty percent of the business."

"Not for long."

"I do not understand."

George grinned. "Don't spread this about, but Helene has agreed to marry me once my divorce comes through. I'll own all the shares then."

"My felicitations."

It took all Philip's best efforts to stay in his chair and not leap forward across the desk and strangle George Grant. Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, and this one bit deep.

He got to his feet and bowed. "Thank you for your honesty. It seems I should take advantage of Helene's absence and go and talk to my solicitor about those shares."

George also rose to his feet, his expression rueful and concerned. "I apologize if I have given you a bad taste for Helene's character. She is not to blame for her coldheartedness.

She has many reasons to treat men badly."

Philip merely nodded as George departed, whistling merrily. After a deep breath, Philip snatched up a pen and wrote two notes. One was to Helene, which he left on her desk.

The second he sealed and went in search of Judd.

"I have to go out for a short while, Judd. But I'll be back for dinner. Give madame my apologies." He held out the note. "And can you make sure this note is delivered to the man who goes by the name of Adam? I believe you'll find him through the room of desires."

Philip put on his hat and gloves and walked out of the door, determined to do what he should have done well before this damn-fool charade had even started.

"What do you mean, Justin is dead?"

Marguerite turned listlessly back into her room and sank into a chair by the meager fire.

"He was shot."

"By highwaymen or thieves?"

Helene perched on the arm of the chair and held her daughter's cold hands between her own. A convulsive shudder went through Marguerite.

"No, by his friend, Sir Harry."

"What on earth happened?"

Marguerite sighed and reached for her handkerchief. "I'm not quite sure. I heard Justin and Harry arguing one evening when we were still in Dover, and Harry stormed out."