Lord Trent: Love's Price Part 45

"You're paying what you owe, Charles, so you'll get no sympathy from me."

"You're a pest and a parasite; you have a heart of stone. Where did you come by such charitable inclinations?"

"I'm told I take after my mother."

"Yes, you do, more's the pity." Charles picked up his belongings, ready to depart for home. It had been a long night, and he was eager to fall into bed. "Have you found the other three daughters from that year when the twins and f.a.n.n.y were born?"

"Not yet."

"So you won't be fleecing me out of more cash any time soon? Or should I begin gambling at a faster pace so I have a stash set away?"

"I'm still looking for all of them. You'll be the first to know the minute I succeed."

"You're too kind. And what about Jean Pierre, Westwood's half-brother? Any news?"

"The Crown has issued an arrest warrant. They want him hanged."

For all his faults, Charles was not a cruel person. He liked to complain to Phillip, liked to grumble and pretend that he was angry over Phillip's meddling, but in reality, he was content to a.s.sist Phillip. If he hadn't been, Phillip would have been ignored and disavowed.

Charles wasn't overly fond of his offspring-he didn't have the emotional character required to attach himself-but neither would he allow one of them to be harmed.

"I won't permit anyone to kill one of my children," he swore, "no matter what he's said to have done. I trust you to see that it doesn't happen."

"I'll try my best."

"I'd expect nothing less."

Father and natural-born son, an unlikely pair of conspirators, walked out of the club together and exited into the cold, autumn morning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

"What do you suppose he's like?"

"Who?"

"Lord Trent."

"We'll find out tomorrow."

Helen smiled at Harriet, trying to act nonchalant, but the prospect was as exciting as it was daunting.

How did one greet such a man?

Though they'd never met him, and Helen had only bad opinions, Phillip claimed Lord Trent wasn't an ogre, so she was reserving judgment. She would bide her time, would wait and see if Trent was worthy of any respect, but she was sure he wasn't.

What sort of cad made it a habit to seduce impressionable girls such as Helen's mother had been? What sort of cad fled immediately after and never returned?

Helen would be blunt and candid. She wanted to know about her mother, about Trent's relationship with her. Would he even remember Helen's mother? Or had she simply been one debutante in a long line of ruined maidens?

"It all seems like a dream, doesn't it?" Harriet said.

"It certainly does."

"I keep expecting to open my eyes and discover that I was sleeping and none of it is real."

They were in Phillip's home, in Harriet's bedchamber, sitting on her bed, and Helen reached over and pinched Harriet's arm.

"Ouch!" Harriet griped.

"Did you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Then you're not dreaming. Stop worrying."

"I can't help it. We've had so many awful things happen that I've quit counting on anything good occurring. It just leads to disappointment -and I've had plenty of that."

"I know, but I trust Phillip."

"And f.a.n.n.y and Michael, too."

"And Phillip's wife, Anne! They've been so kind."

"I feel guilty," Harriet admitted, "as if we don't deserve it."

"I feel exactly the same."

Helen thought of the lost opportunities, of the hardship and struggle, and all along, they'd had siblings who'd been trying to locate them. It didn't seem fair, as if the universe had been punishing them when she'd never been able to figure out their crime.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Harriet asked.

"Yes."

Harriet leaned closer and whispered, "I think Tristan is going to murder Bentley Struthers for his being so cruel to me."

"Harriet! That can't be right."

"Swear to G.o.d, Helen. He's very protective. If you could have seen him on that ship, fighting with those pirates! He was so...so... Oh, I can't describe what it was like."

"You love him, don't you?"

"How could I not?"

Helen patted Harriet's hand, concerned over how the next few days would go. Harriet had told her the entire story about Captain Harcourt, from beginning to pitiful end, and Helen wanted to be glad for Harriet, wanted to celebrate her approaching engagement, but Helen had had her own experience with a Harcourt male.

In order to wed Harriet, Tristan Harcourt had to cry off from his betrothal-a boorish gaffe never allowed a gentleman-and Helen was terrified that he never would. If he had lied to Harriet, then he was about to break her heart all over again, and Helen wouldn't let him harm Harriet more than he already had.

He'd promised to come back for her, and if he didn't, Helen now had a brother who would take action on Harriet's behalf, and Helen wouldn't be timid about demanding satisfaction.

Tristan Harcourt would marry her sister. Helen intended to see the union transpire-if it was the last thing she ever did.

"What about you, Helen?" Harriet inquired. "What about you and Lord Westwood?"

"There is no Westwood and me."

"I heard Tristan speaking with Phillip about you."

"Me? Why would he?"

"He said you were...involved with Westwood over the summer. Were you?"

Helen blushed ten shades of red. She hadn't mentioned Westwood to Harriet. Why should she? How could it matter? It was too humiliating to remember how he'd paid her for services rendered, then sent her away with his cold termination letter.

She still couldn't talk about it. The hurt ran too deep.

"You can tell me," Harriet urged. "After my own behavior, I'm in no position to judge or condemn. And I can certainly understand how easy it is to fall for a Harcourt brother."

"There's nothing to tell."

Helen glanced away, anxious to hide her distress, and she was saved from further discussion by f.a.n.n.y's knock on the door. She peeked in.

"Helen, you have a caller."

"I have a caller?"

"Yes."

Helen frowned. She couldn't guess who it might be. There was no one in London who would visit her, no one who would notice or care that she'd taken refuge in Phillip's home.

"It isn't our cousin, Nigel, is it?" Harriet asked. "If so, I'll be happy to march down and punch him in the nose."

f.a.n.n.y entered the room and shut the door.

"It's James Harcourt."

Helen gasped with dismay as Harriet said, "James Harcourt-as in the Earl of Westwood?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll be." Harriet glared at Helen. "And you insisted there was no Westwood and you."

"I have no idea why he's here," Helen a.s.serted. "What does he want?"

"He's asked to see you," f.a.n.n.y revealed. "Alone."

"Yes!" Harriet cheered, and she jumped to her feet and pulled Helen to her feet, too. "Hurry downstairs, right now. Let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d propose, but make him work for it. Make him get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness before you accept."

"Trust me," Helen scoffed. "He's not about to propose. He thinks I stole some jewelry from his ward."

"What?" f.a.n.n.y and Harriet said at the same time.

"He's probably going to command that I give it back, then threaten me with prison when I claim I don't have it. I never had it. His ward is insane, but he believed every lie she ever told about me."

"Perhaps I should have Phillip deal with him," f.a.n.n.y stated. "Or my husband, Michael. Maybe the two of them could explain a few facts."

"With their fists!" Harriet fumed.

"Would you like to speak with him?" f.a.n.n.y queried. "You don't have to. I can give him a piece of my mind, then show him out."

Helen considered. Could she bear to meet with him?

Their last encounter, out on the lane at Brookhaven, had been brief and contentious. He'd raged at her over what he'd seemed to view as numerous betrayals when she couldn't imagine why she'd earned his enmity. She was the one who'd been tormented by Miss Wilson, then cast out on the street.

She supposed she should be afraid of him, but she wasn't. He could blather on about Miranda's jewelry until he was blue in the face, could posture and preen and prattle, but if he started in, Helen would simply advise him to confer with her rich, powerful brother.

"I'll speak to him," Helen decided.

"Are you positive?" Harriet inquired. "f.a.n.n.y and I would be delighted to tell him to sod off."

"You don't have to. I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own."

f.a.n.n.y escorted her downstairs, and Harriet tagged along, stopping outside the door to the front parlor.

"We'll wait for you in the library," f.a.n.n.y said.

"If he says one wrong word," Harriet added, "just call for me, and I'll come in and let him have it. I'll bet Tristan would be interested to hear how awful he's been to you."

"I'll be fine," Helen declared, though she was a bit nervous.

She didn't want to fight with Westwood, didn't want to quarrel and blame.

Tristan had promised that he was about to marry Harriet, and if he followed through, Helen and Westwood would be in-laws. What kind of life would they all have if Helen and James were enemies?

She'd been in love with him once. Surely some vestige of that strong emotion had to still remain. Surely she could find the fort.i.tude to forgive him and move on.

She nodded to her two sisters, relishing their moral support and aware that-despite what occurred with Westwood-f.a.n.n.y and Harriet would be there to console her after he left.

With that realization in mind, she felt calmer, more in control.

She turned the k.n.o.b and slipped into the room.

He was over by the fire, staring at the flames, and on observing him, she was stunned to experience a rush of affection. He'd once been her entire world, and apparently, not all of her fondness had faded away.