Simply Shameless (6 page)

"Thank you."

Helene gathered her courage and followed the butler down another long shadowed corridor to an imposing set of double doors. A footman opened the doors to reveal a man sitting at an opulent desk, quill pen raised in his hand as if he was just about to write something. His hair was almost gray, his face aristocratic, and his gaze held a hint of wariness.

"Madame Delornay?" The viscount got to his feet and bowed, his silver-gray eyes fixed on her face. "I apologize if I can.'t quite place your name. Perhaps you can remind me of where we became acquainted."

Helene dropped him a deep, respectful curtsey. "My lord, you might remember me better as Helene."

He dropped his quill pen, and two patches of color stained his cheeks. He picked up the small piece of parchment from his desk and reread it.

"Good God, Helene from the Bastille? Have you carried this with you for all these years?"

To her surprise, he came around the desk, took her hand, and brought it to his lips.

"The woman who saved my life. How could I ever forget you?"

She attempted a shrug. "Hardly that, my lord. I merely helped you escape from your cell." He chuckled. "And if you hadn't done that, I wouldn't have gotten very far, would I?"

She met his gaze and smiled into his eyes. "I am simply glad you survived, sir."

His expression softened. "I'm more surprised that you did, my dear. Your appalling existence in the prison was not conducive to survival."

She felt her cheeks heat as she remembered being fondled by one of the prison guards while they chained the viscount to the wall and beat him.

"I managed to find a way out. I'm not proud of how I did it, but in truth, I had no choice."

He used his fingers to raise her chin and look into her eyes. "You are alive,
ma petite.

You should never regret that."

He placed her hand on his arm and led her over to the fire, where two large wing chairs faced a comforting blaze. He helped her into a seat and went back to the door to speak to the footman stationed just outside.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Helene. You seem fatigued. I've ordered some tea for us while I hear the rest of your story."

Helene gripped her hands together in her lap to stop them from shaking. The viscount seemed to be an honorable man. But how much of her story would she need to reveal to gain his support? In the heat of his escape, he'd promised her anything her heart could desire. She fought a bitter smile. But so had Philip, and that had scarcely ended well.

The viscount returned and settled himself in the chair opposite her. His gaze swept over her dark gown and the black silk ribbons of her bonnet.

"It is only three years since I last saw you. Have you married, then, my dear, or God forbid, are you widowed?"

"Neither, sir. I decided it would be safer to travel to England dressed in mourning garb than as a single woman."

Not that her disguise had done her much good. It certainly hadn't deterred Philip Ross or saved her heart from being broken.

She took a deep steadying breath. "I was hoping you might help me start afresh here in England. I have no desire to continue the life I've been forced to live."

The viscount reached across and patted her knee. "I can assure you that will not happen.

Over the past few years, I have met several gentlemen who benefited from your help in the Bastille. I am sure they will be as interested to hear that you have survived as I am."

Helene managed a smile. "As I said, sir, I was only a small part of the undertaking. Your thanks really belong to the others who risked their lives to get you to the coast."

The viscount leaned forward, his expression gentle. "They were adults who knew the risk of their involvement. You were only a child."

"Not really, sir. I stopped being a child when I was separated from my family."

"Excuse me for asking this, but are they all now deceased?" Helene swallowed hard.

"Yes. I watched them being taken away one by one to their deaths." She shrugged. "My father thought to save me from such a fate. Sometimes I wished he'd allowed me to die with them, rather than trading me to the guards to be used as they wished."

The viscount made a stifled sound, shot to his feet, and started to pace the room. Helene tensed as he swung around to face her, his piercing silver eyes fixed on her face. "I apologize,
ma -petite.
The thought of you enduring such
an
existence and yet risking so much for complete strangers makes me want to find the Bastille guards and choke them with my bare hands." "But I wanted to die, monseigneur. It seemed a perfect way to accomplish my goal." "Yet you survived and here you are." "Yes, here I am."

He nodded slowly. There was a tap on the door, and a foot-man entered bearing a large silver tray. A maid followed with another tray filled with afternoon delicacies. Helene's stomach grumbled, and she felt herself blushing.

"I hope you are hungry, my dear. My cook will be very disappointed if you don't at least sample her cakes and pastries."

He poured her some tea and handed her a plate filled with food. Helene regarded the spread dubiously. Since Philip's abrupt departure, she'd experienced great difficulty keeping food down at all. With a murmur of thanks, she rested the plate on her lap and sipped at her tea, allowing the warmth of the brew to settle in her stomach.

The viscount sat down and helped himself to a selection of pastries before turning his attention back to Helene. "Will you tell me how you escaped the Bastille?" The directness of his manner reminded Helene of Philip. Were all English aristocrats so used to being obeyed that they assumed all their questions should be promptly and honestly answered?

"As I said, sir, I'm not proud of what I did, but at the time, I could see no other course of action open to me."

His smile was full of stark memories. "Do you think I will condemn you? I experienced the horrors of your existence for only a few days. In your place, I believe I would've done anything to escape."

Helene was emboldened by the unexpected flow of sympathy. "Shortly after you left, I realized I was pregnant, and I was, quite frankly, terrified."

"Hardly surprising when you are fifteen and alone, my dear." He paused to pour himself more tea. "Did you have any idea who the child's father was?"

She bit down on her lip. "I had no idea. I. . . had no choice as to who bedded me, or how many ..." Her hand shook so badly that tea spilled over the side of her cup, scalding her fingers. The viscount leaned across, took the cup away from her, and set it on the side table.

"I'm sorry to bring back such unpleasant memories for you. If this is too difficult, we can leave it in the past."

"No, sir." She raised her gaze to meet his. "I would like to share my story with someone who might understand, someone who will not judge me."

He handed her his handkerchief and sat back. "Then please continue."

"I also realized if the guards found out I was pregnant, my child was unlikely to survive."

Helene took a deep breath. "So I decided to find a man who could get me out of the prison for good."

"A wise decision. I only wish I'd been there to help you."

"Thank you, sir, but / am glad you had escaped."

His slight smile made her feel a little better.

"One of the new regime's elderly lawyers was quite taken with me, so I flirted with him and persuaded him to buy me from the guards."

"And you were successful."

"I was. I also convinced him to bed me, and I pretended the child was his."

The viscount's smile held no hint of condemnation, only wry approval. "I can only applaud your ingenuity. He would not marry you, though?"

"Unfortunately, he had a wife, but he was rich enough to set me up in my own apartment and to arrange care for me throughout my pregnancy."

"A good choice, then."

"Yes, apart from the fact that he wouldn't let me keep the baby."

The viscount stilled. "What became of the child?"

"My daughter was sent to a local nunnery that cared for orphaned and abandoned children. My lover agreed to pay for the child's upkeep until she reached a marriageable or employable age."

The viscount sighed. "I suppose, in the circumstances, that was the best you could hope for."

Helene tried to smile. "Even though I do not know who her father was, Marguerite is still my child. I was not allowed to see her after she was taken from me. I write to the nunnery once a month to inquire as to her health, and they are kind enough to write back with the barest of information. As far as I know, she is thriving."

She risked a direct glance at the viscount. "I had hoped to have her with me in England, but now I am not so sure."

He frowned and put his cup and empty plate back on the tray. "Why ever not? I'm sure we can arrange something." He gestured at her untouched plate. "Now, please eat. You are far too pale."

Helene looked down at the delicacies heaped on her plate and tried to swallow.

"My apologies, monsieur, but I feel a little nauseated." She clamped a hand over her mouth as her vision dimmed and a roaring sound thundered through her head. The last thing she remembered was the viscount's concerned face as she slid bonelessly to the floor.

Helene came to in a pretty feminine parlor decorated in soft yellows and greens. Over her head, a woman gave orders to an indistinct number of people who seemed to mill around the room. She thought she heard the viscount's deep voice and strained to see his face. A soft hand on her brow stopped her from moving too far. Her feet were raised on a cushion at the other end of the cozy chaise lounge, and a lavender-scented shawl was tucked around her.

"Are you feeling better now, madame?"

Helene opened her eyes fully and gazed into the face of an exceptionally beautiful woman she assumed must be the viscount's wife. She struggled to sit up.

"I feel much better now. I apologize for behaving so inappropriately."

The viscountess smiled. "I hardly think you passed out deliberately, madame. I'm only glad my husband had the presence of mind to bring you to me."

Helene glanced around and saw the viscount in the doorway. He bowed and ventured closer.

"I apologize for not realizing how exhausted you were. Forcing you to retell such a harrowing story so soon after your arrival was not well done of me."

"I am absolutely fine, sir, and perhaps I should be leaving before I cause you any further embarrassment." She couldn't believe the viscount had taken her to his wife. She was hardly the sort of company a noble lady of the
ton
would expect to entertain in her private parlor.

The viscountess frowned and stood up, smoothing the creases from her silk dress. "Surely Madame Delornay is staying with us, my dear? It's the least we can do for her, seeing as how she saved your life."

"Of course she is. I could not permit anything else." He bowed again to Helene. "Please, madame, be our honored guest, at least for the night. I intend to gather a few of your friends here tomorrow to discuss your plans for the future."

Helene was too tired to argue. In her haste to get to the viscount, she had made no arrangements to stay in London and carried all her possessions in her large carpetbag.

Uncertainly, she turned back to the viscountess and found her smiling and nodding.

"I would be delighted if you would stay. My sons are away at school at the moment, so I would appreciate some company."

Helene found herself smiling weakly in return.

"Thank you. That would be wonderful."

Chapter Five

When Helene awoke the next morning, it was with a sense of unreality. She slipped out of the massive bed and went to the window to peer through the curtains. The bright and sunny bedroom she'd been placed in was on the same floor as the viscountess's suite and faced the private garden and the mews at the back of the house.

The tranquility of the setting reminded her of the house where she had grown up in the countryside near Versailles. She'd almost forgotten how it felt to live in luxury, to wake without fear, with the sense that nothing could go wrong in her world as long as her parents loved her.

A knock on the door had her scrambling back under the covers. The door opened to admit a maid dressed in a blue and white checked uniform, a tray balanced in her hands.

"Good morning, madame. I'm Betty."

"Good morning." Cautiously, Helene returned the maid's cheerful smile.

"I've brought you some hot chocolate and warm water to wash in." She placed the tray on a table by the side of the enormous bed and whipped off the cover. "His lordship asks if you could meet him after breakfast in his study but that you should take your time."

Helene gazed at the maid as she whisked about the room, opening the curtains and pouring water into a porcelain bowl decorated with roses to match the water jug. The girl's expression was so open and cheerful that she made Helene feel old, and yet they were probably a similar age.

"Would you like a bath, madame?"

"That would be nice."

Helene watched curiously as she opened another door and disappeared inside. After a short while, the scent of roses and a few wisps of steam filtered through to the bedroom.

Betty popped her head around the door. "Won't be long, madame. I'd already arranged for the water to be heated."

"Thank you," Helene called as she reached for her hot chocolate and carefully took a sip.

Her stomach did a slow revolution, and she hastily set the mug down again.

"Her ladyship thought you might like to borrow some of her clothes, seeing as your luggage has been delayed. I'll set them out on the bed while you bathe, madame."

What luggage?
Helene appreciated the viscountess's inventiveness and got out of bed.

She clutched on to the pink silk bed hangings as a wave of nausea rolled over her.

"Are you all right, madame?"

Helene opened her eyes to see the maid staring anxiously at her. For a second, she struggled to remember the words she needed in English.