Lady Disguised (Tenacious Trents Novella) (Tenacous Trents) (7 page)

Why had she jerked back as if
he’d scalded her? The brush of her fingers warmed his in a way he hadn’t
expected. Had she experienced the same and it surprised her? Stanwick wanted to
grasp her hand in his to see if the warmth would spread. His eyes focused on
hers. They were a lovely shade of blue. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about
her eyes, or the charming pink flush of her skin, or the lovely rosebud mouth.

Stanwick leaned closer. The door
was open and he didn’t wish for the servants to overhear their conversation.
Likely they knew what she had been about the other evening, but he didn’t want
to add to the gossip. “Why did you come to my club dressed as a man to gamble?”

She shifted towards him. Those
full lips were close enough that all he had to do was lean further and he could
kiss them. Why did he even want to do such a thing? He was still a bit angry
and had already deduced she was mad.

“I told you,” Hélène whispered.
“I needed the funds.”

“I am sure your brothers will see
to your welfare.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed
her eyes. “I don’t wish for the Trents or anyone else to
see to my welfare
.
I wish to make my own way, as I did while Mother was still alive.”

No woman made her own way unless
she was of the lowest class. “Where would you care to go if you made your own
way?”

She straightened and smiled.
“Milan.”

Stanwick rubbed his chin and
studied her. “I don’t understand. Isn’t all of your family here?”

“My brothers will not let me do
as I wish.” She crossed her arms across her breasts. “In Milan I can continue
as an actress and be a part of the theatre without anyone saying that it’s not
proper.”

“You wish to return to Milan,
live alone, and perform on the stage?” This was a
lady
, a Trent. Trents
were respectable. Actresses, for the most part, were not.

She hitched an eyebrow but didn’t
answer. Of course, she had just told him that was what she intended to do, but
he couldn’t grasp the fact she wanted to be on her own. It simply wasn’t done.
Especially when one was part of a family Society held in high regard. 

“Who would protect you?”

Hélène blew out a breath.
“Because I am a woman, you think I need someone to protect me?” She stood, balancing
her weight with both hands on the head of the cane. “I can assure you that I am
perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Women are supposed to be taken
care of,” Stanwick said as he came to his feet. “They are delicate and more
vulnerable than a man.”

“By whose standards?” Hélène
demanded. “I will grant you, I am not as strong as you, but my mind is sharp.”
She took a step away from him and her jaw tightened as pain sliced through her
eyes. “And I recall doing very well fencing against you.”

He gestured to the cane. “Not all
that well.”

Hélène straightened her spine.
“It was simply because you have a longer reach.” She leaned toward him. “Admit
it, my skill was not lacking.”

Stanwick shrugged. He wasn’t
about to admit he had been impressed. Such an action would only encourage her
to put herself in further danger. Besides, her lips were inches from his. All
he needed to do was bend slightly forward and they would be touching.

They drew him, like an addict to
opium. Though he knew this was a mistake he would likely regret, Stanwick could
not pull back.

Hélène’s knees nearly gave way
when his lips touched hers. Firm, but gentle, coaxing, and delicious. Thank
goodness she was leaning on her cane or she would be in a heap on the floor. 

His hand came around to the back
of her head, and he tilted just slightly before tracing the seam of her lips.
She parted hers, not sure what to do, allowing her instincts to take control.
He delved, and she was lost in a sea of sensations. Her hands lost the grip of
the cane. It clattered against the table, upsetting a teacup, but she didn’t
care. Bracing all her weight on her good leg, she clutched at his shoulders,
dearly wishing the corner of the table did not separate them

Stanwick’s hand snaked around her
waist, lifting her from the ground as he moved closer.  His kiss deepened
further, and all Hélène could do was hold on and be swept away.

This was nothing like the stage
kisses she had encountered in the past. Those had been closed mouth and quick.
Even the ones that were supposed to have been passionate never were. She had
never been heated to the core as she was now. All Hélène wanted to do was draw
Stanwick as close to her person as physically possible.

“When Jordan told me what
happened, he also assured me that you were not familiar with my sister,
Stanwick.”

Stanwick yanked his lips from
hers and straightened. Thank goodness he kept a hand anchored about her waist,
because Hélène was fairly certain her legs could not hold her at this moment.

She glanced past Stanwick to find
Bentley, Elizabeth and Jordan standing just inside the room. How long had they
been there?

Stanwick slowly let go of Hélène.
She balanced herself on her uninjured leg, grasped the arm of the settee, and
lowered herself to a seated position. “Would you care for tea?”

“That would be lovely.” Elizabeth
smiled brightly and gave a quick pull of the bell before she settled down
beside Hélène. 

The cup Hélène had been drinking
from was on the floor, the contents soaked up by the lovely cream and rose
woven carpet. The stain might never come out. Every time she saw it, Hélène
knew she would remember the moment she was thoroughly kissed for the very first
time.

Why had Bentley, Jordan, and
Elizabeth decided to visit
now
? Couldn’t they have waited an hour, or
even a day? How much longer would Stanwick have kissed her? Now that they were
here, she would never know.

She glanced at the men. Bentley
was glowering at Stanwick while Jordan studied Stanwick with interest. Perhaps
Stanwick shouldn’t have kissed her, but it wasn’t as though her brothers had a
say in these matters. 

Stanwick looked grim. Maybe he
hadn’t enjoyed the kissing as much as she? He had instigated it and could have
stopped anytime he wished. So why did he look far from pleased at the moment?

Bentley jerked his head towards
the hall. 

Stanwick turned briefly towards
the ladies. “If you will excuse me.” He executed a slight bow and followed
Bentley and Jordan out of the room. 

What was that all about?

Damn and blast. He lost his head
for a moment and would now be shackled for life. Stanwick followed the Trent
brothers out of the library and into a sitting room further down the hall.

He was going to marry a madwoman,
and there was nothing he could do about it.

After they entered the salon,
Bentley closed the door behind him. Jordan sauntered over to a sideboard where
there was a selection of decanters. He pulled the stopper out of one containing
a dark liquid and sniffed. He pulled back quickly as though whatever sat inside
had gone to ruin. He chose a second decanter and sniffed the contents. This
time he smiled. He set the decanter aside and gathered three glasses before
pouring one for each of them. 

“I’ve looked past the fact that
Hélène came to Dagger’s dressed as a man,” Bentley said as he took a step
forward.

“That was of her own choosing, as
I didn’t know she was a lady until hours later.” Stanwick held his ground even
though Bentley was advancing on him. Even if Bentley took a swing, Stanwick
would not fight back or cower. He had quite thoroughly kissed the earl’s
sister. Even if he knew it would likely earn him a blackened eye in the end,
Stanwick suspected he would have still kissed Hélène. 

He hated to admit it to himself,
but the moment her lips touched his, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
That had never happened to him before. Several times he had enjoyed a lady’s
company, even intimacy, but was aware of who else could be in the house or who
might call or enter a chamber. He was always very careful never to allow himself
to be caught in this situation.

He hadn’t even bothered to shut
the bloody door when the desire to kiss Hélène struck.  When had he become so
careless? Was it the woman who made him careless? She certainly didn’t bow to
convention.

Jordan Trent pressed a glass into
Bentley’s hand, stopping the earl’s advancement. Jordan then handed one to
Stanwick. While the two brothers sampled the liquid, Stanwick simply held his
and waited. He would drink when this was done and not before. He needed to keep
his head about him at the moment.

“I overlooked the fact that you
stayed the night in this house after she was injured.”

“As you should,” Stanwick agreed.
“I was only here because I was concerned with her health.”

“You still remained in a house,
unchaperoned, with an innocent young lady,” Bentley ground out.

“You think me so low as to seduce
a lady who had just received seven stitches because of my rapier?” Stanwick
demanded.

Bentley fisted his free hand and
took a step forward.

Jordan placed a hand in the center
of Bentley’s chest and looked at Stanwick.  “Perhaps you should refrain from
using words such as
seduce
where one of our sisters is concerned.”

Jordan took another sip of the
brandy and studied Stanwick over the edge of his glass. “You also exposed her leg
without thought.”

She was bleeding and had fainted.
Was he supposed to just let her lie there and wait for a doctor to arrive?
“Would you prefer I risked her death because of propriety?”

The brothers shared a look that
Stanwick could not read. 

“I barely noticed her leg. All I
was fixated on was the gash and the blood.” He glanced away. It was a sight he
would never forget and doubted he would ever forgive himself for.

“I know. I was there,” Jordan
reminded him.

“Then why mention it now?”
Stanwick demanded. 

“I would have dismissed the
incident on account of your concern at the moment—” Jordan tilted his head and
looked Stanwick in the eye “—if we hadn’t found you just now, not only kissing
Hélène, but holding her rather close.”

Stanwick thrust his fingers
through his hair. There was no argument he could make to get out of this
situation. If he had a younger sister and had come across her and a gentleman
in the same situation, he would be demanding the fellow marry her. “Very well.”
He was soon to be a married man, something he had never wanted, and his wife
may very well be mad.

Hélène kept glancing to the
entry, waiting for the gentlemen to return. Why had they gone from the room? 

Elizabeth watched her, saying
nothing as she sipped from her tea and sampled the cakes. 

“What are they doing?” Hélène
finally asked.

“I assume Jordan is keeping
Bentley from bludgeoning Stanwick,” Elizabeth answered. “And Bentley is
encouraging Stanwick to do the right thing.”

“Do the right thing?” She glanced
at Elizabeth in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“A gentleman does not kiss a lady
as Stanwick kissed you without compromising her.”

Hélène’s mouth popped open. She
began to shake her head in denial. They were not going to force a marriage on
her. It was bad enough her brothers wished to rule her life, but this was
beyond anything she would allow.

The gentlemen were talking as
they came down the hall, though Hélène couldn’t make out what they were saying.
She anxiously watched the door, waiting for them to enter. Surely Elizabeth was
wrong. 

Jordan and Bentley appeared much
happier than when they left, whereas Stanwick looked more serious and perhaps
angry, if the tightness of his jaw was any indication. Perhaps her brothers had
simply warned him away.

“Congratulations,” Bentley began.

“No,” Hélène said before he could
say anything further.

“They are correct,” Stanwick
said, his tone all that was proper and respectful, unlike when he sat with her
before they arrived. “I am honored to be betrothed.”

He certainly didn’t look as
though he was pleased. “Whom shall you be marrying? It surely isn’t me.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise.
Did he think she would swoon and thank him for the sacrifice? Did nobody in
this room know her?

“But I compromised you,” Stanwick
insisted.

“By kissing me?” She practically
laughed. This was ridiculous.

“He saw your bared leg as well,”
Jordan informed her. “When you fainted, he carried you to your room and saw
what damage had been done to your injury.”

Heat infused her face. She hadn’t
known that bit, which was slightly mortifying. Still, it didn’t signify. “He is
also not the first man who has seen me near a state of undress.”

They all stared at her as if
dumbfounded. Various stages of shock were registered on their faces. 

“Hélène?” Bentley found his voice
first “How could this be?” he asked slowly, his cheeks turning red. 

It took a moment before it dawned
on her that he might think she had taken lovers. Clearly, none of those in the
room had experience being back stage during a production. She laughed again,
which further confused them. Of course, if she claimed to have had lovers,
perhaps they wouldn’t make Stanwick marry her or force a Season on her. But
Hélène wouldn’t lie to them, nor did she wish to sully her reputation.

“Costume changes,” she finally
said. “Sometimes a scene changes too quickly for an actor or actress to get
back to their dressing room, and they change clothing in the wings.”

Bentley’s shoulders relaxed, and
Jordan blew out a breath. They really had thought she had taken lovers. How
nice to know how highly her brothers regarded her.

“I can assure you that many men
have seen me in my shift, corset, and pantaloons.” She leaned forward and
whispered. “And even more have seen my stockinged calves.”

Bentley straightened and frowned
at her. “That does not dismiss or excuse what we walked in on this afternoon.”

They were all taking the kiss—a
most enjoyable kiss—far too seriously. She wasn’t about to let the delicious
incident change the course of her life. “You’re forcing Stanwick to marry me
because of a simple kiss? I can assure you that I have been kissed by dozens of
men.” Perhaps the number was a little high, but she had been kissed by twelve
different men prior to this afternoon. Stanwick made thirteen and by far the best.

“Pardon?” Bentley choked out.

“You heard me.”

Stanwick thrust his fingers
through his hair. “How many of these kisses occurred on stage, and how many did
not?”

Why did it matter, she wanted to
ask, but she knew the answer and the very reason she didn’t wish to tell them.

“How many?” Stanwick asked again.

“All of them.”

“Stage kisses?” Stanwick
clarified. “You certainly can’t compare the two.”

Heat infused her cheeks. There
certainly was a difference, but Hélène suspected that to admit such a thing would
only convince Bentley they must marry. “It hardly signifies if there is a
difference because I refuse to marry you.”

Stanwick thought her rejection
would bring relief. If the woman refused, there was little he could do, and he
was free to continue on as he had. Yet disappointment shot through him. He
didn’t want to be married, yet he didn’t like it one bit that she refused to
marry him. He was wealthy and had been told he was handsome. One day he would
be an earl and she could be his countess. What was so bloody wrong with
marrying him?

“Hélène, I don’t think you
understand,” Jordan began.

She stood and wheeled on him,
pain sliced through her features. Perhaps he should insist Hélène sit before
she injured herself further. Stanwick was beginning to realize that nobody made
Hélène do anything, and if they tried, she would do the exact opposite.

“No, you don’t understand,” she
bit out. “Ever since you discovered my sisters and me, you have done everything
in your power to control our lives.” She turned toward Bentley. “I survived
twenty-two years without brothers or a man telling me what I could and could
not do. I am not about to allow it now.”

The vehemence of her tone and the
anger in her stance took Stanwick aback. He admired Hélène more in that moment than
any since first meeting her. This was a woman of strength and beauty. She knew
what she wanted and he suspected that she could very well take care of
herself.  She wouldn’t withdraw into nothingness if life became too difficult
as his mother had. Nor did he suspect she would harm her husband if he took a
lover. Hélène would more than likely ban him from the house, and most certainly
from her bed, and carry on as she wished.

Maybe she wasn’t mad, as he once
assumed. 

He studied her from her mahogany
hair to the lavender slippers on her dainty feet and envied the actors in Milan
who’d gotten to see her in a shift and pantaloons. If he were married to
Hélène, he would have the right to see everything that was hidden by the
fashionable morning gown.

“I don’t need to be protected,
and I certainly don’t need a man to take care of me,” Hélène informed them.

She was passionate as well. Would
that passion carry into the bedchamber? As much as Stanwick had not wanted to
marry an hour ago, he very much wanted to know what life with Hélène as his
wife would be like.

He turned to Bentley. “Might I
have a word alone with Hélène?”

Bentley studied him and then blew
out a breath. “Very well.”

Elizabeth rose and was escorted
from the room by Bentley and Trent. Stanwick waited until he could hear them no
more before approaching Hélène. “I will not force you to marry me if that is
not your wish.”

She looked up at him, her blue
eyes studying him. Those blasted eyes. He could look into them for hours, and
they only made him want to kiss her again.

“I don’t wish to be married,” she
said simply. At least it wasn’t him she objected to, but marriage as a whole.
In that they were alike, or…had been until he decided that he just might want
her as a wife.

“You still desire to return to
Milan?”

She nodded. “It is the only place
I can live as I choose.”

He understood her passion. She
was an actress first, a lady second. He owned a gaming hell first, being the
heir was second and of less importance. 

Yet, he couldn’t let her simply
walk out of his life. Not when he was uncertain that he now wanted her for his
own. No lady had ever made him question his decision to remain a bachelor. Yet
Hélène, card sharper, actress and fencer, was making him question what he
really wanted.

Perhaps her answer was no because
she hadn’t been asked. She had been told. He needed to do this right. “Hélène,
would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She bit her bottom lip and placed
a hand against his cheek. “I thank you for the offer, and appreciate being asked
instead of told, but my answer is no.”

“Why?”

“I cannot give up the theatre,
and no husband would allow his wife to be an actress.” She sighed and turned
from him before settling onto the settee. “I am at the theatre until late in
the evening. As a result, I sleep late. A wife must be available to her husband
and take care of a home. I cannot do that.”

He nodded. Was this why so many
actresses did not marry but took lovers instead?  If an actress did marry,
wasn’t it usually to someone else connected to the theatre who kept the same
odd hours as she? 

“Very well,” he nodded, still
wondering why he wasn’t relieved by her rejection. “I shall take my leave and
wish you well.”

She smiled up at him though there
was sadness in her eyes. Why sad when she was getting what she wanted?

Stanwick simply nodded, walked
from the room, and descended the stairs slowly. Why wasn’t he happier? Why did
his heart feel as if someone had just sliced it in two? He should be
celebrating, but all he desired to do was return to his club and drown in a
bottle of whiskey.