Any smile Hélène had earlier was gone, and her face softened with concern. He could not look at her because the sympathy in her eyes was too much. Sebastain shifted and stared into the flames, recalling those days at school as if they were yesterday. “After one too many fights, I began carrying a dagger in my boot. After I pulled it out once, the others backed away. We were never bothered again.” He turned to face her again. “I was given the nickname Dagger by a classmate, and it has stayed with me.”

  “Do you still carry it?” Her voice was quiet.

  “Yes. It is a part of me.”

  “Why a gaming hell? I would think you would want nothing to do with gambling.”

  He chuckled. “Like you, I became very good at counting cards and calculating the odds. I left Oxford before my education was complete and opened the hell. It was my intention to take wealth from the very men who had ruined my father.”

  “Did you?”

  “I’ve become rich off of those very men and my former classmates, but it wasn’t their fault my father was ruined.” Sebastain sighed. “My father did this to himself, and his family, and there is no one else to blame.”

  Hélène squeezed the hand he still held. At least she hadn’t pulled away when she learned of the ugliness in his family.

  “If I suspect a gentleman is on the brink of ruin, such as my father, he is not allowed to return to Dagger’s. I know other hells are not as concerned, but I refuse to put another family in the same position I found myself in.”

  “Tell me about the rest of your family.”

  “My father drank himself to death,” Sebastain offered without emotion, not adding that his father had died in his mistress’s bed. It took years before he didn’t feel angry at what his father had done. Now it was simply emptiness when he remembered that time. “My mother could not handle the embarrassment or creditors and died of heartbreak a few years later.”

  Sympathy clouded her eyes, but she said nothing. Instead, Hélène withdrew her hand and reached forward to refill her teacup. He wanted to grasp it back to him, hold on tight, and beg her not to leave.

  What had come over him? Of course, now that she knew his unimpressive history, she had all the more reason to reject him.

  She took a sip of the tea and turned toward him once again. In one hand she held the cup and in the other a saucer. There was no chance of taking her hand back.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you afford to attend Oxford?”

  Though this question would have never been asked in polite society, Hélène was different. He liked that about her. Of course, everyone in society already knew the answer. “My uncle, the Earl of Wallcut.”

  She straightened. Apparently, she didn’t realize his connections were almost as high as hers.

  “I am his heir. As he is five-and-sixty and my aunt is nine-and-fifty, and they were blessed with four daughters and no sons, in all likelihood I will inherit the title.”

  Her mouth popped open in surprise.

  “Of course, my aunt may pass away, and my uncle could marry some young lady to produce the required son, but it is unlikely to happen.”

  “So, you must marry,” she said sadly.

  Why did it bother her so when she had already rejected him.

  “Actually, I intended to never marry,” he informed her. “My uncle did nothing to help my mother after Father’s death. He could have made everything go away, but he refused, and for that reason I refuse to do as he wishes. Until I proposed to you, I had every intention of letting the title go hang. My younger brother may marry and produce an heir, but I was not going to do what was necessary to see that the title continue.”

  Hélène choked and smiled. “As we will not marry, you still have the opportunity.”

  Her rejection, though he shouldn’t be surprised, still stung.

  Sixteen

  Stanwick was destined to be an earl? Hélène had no idea, and it was all the more reason she was glad to have rejected his offer. Juliette was married to a viscount and must now be part of Society. Acker at least allowed Juliette to still dance and had given her a school. If Hélène believed Stanwick would be as generous with her, she might have reconsidered marriage. But she suspected he was more traditional in what he would want his wife to be, even if he had not planned on ever having one.

  “Before you reject me out of hand, at least hear me out,” Stanwick insisted.

  Did he want to marry her so badly? Why didn’t he simply accept her rejection and leave it be? Didn’t he realize that continuing to speak of it made her heart ache? To be married to Stanwick meant she would have someone to keep her warm, as his mere presence was doing now. She wouldn’t be alone, and they could kiss whenever she wished. And she would finally be able to experience what happened between men and women. There were so many reasons she wished to be with him. He may not love her, but he cared. Hélène feared the more she was in his presence, the more likely she was to fall in love.

  Who was she fooling? Part of her was in love with him already, and there was no logical reason for feeling this way. She longed to have him near whether they were kissing or simply sitting by a fire sipping tea.

  “You would not have a care in the world,” he began. “I would provide a fine home, with servants, and I have wealth enough that you could purchase whatever you wish. I would be gone at night and that is something I cannot change because of Dagger’s. But when I am home, my time would be spent seeing to you, keeping you happy, and taking care of all your needs.”

  Hélène placed her teacup and saucer on the table before turning to face him more fully.

  “I would never give you a reason to fall into melancholy or be angered. Your days could be spent visiting with your sisters, or the rest of your family, or doing as you wished.”

  Most women may dream of such a life, but not her.

  “I know many wives who have become frustrated and unhappy in marriage. I promise that will not happen to you.”

  Because he assumed any woman would be happy simply running a house and carrying for a husband and children, while for the most part, being treated as a child herself.

  “I would also be faithful. On that, you have my promise.”

  Hélène sighed. While it was nice to know she would never have to worry about him taking a mistress, it wasn’t enough to change her mind. “You spoke of wives being unhappy; do you know why they might be?”

  He frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing close over his eyes. “I assume it is because their husbands don’t care for them properly or show them enough attention.”

  Hélène nearly snorted. “Stanwick, did it ever occur to you that perhaps women become frustrated because they are forced in the roles society and men deem are only worthy for them?”

  He opened his mouth.

  Hélène suspected he was about to argue with her and she quickly spoke again. “Gentlemen define the roles women are to play, not the female.”

  She rose and stepped away from the settee to pace before the fire. She had to make him understand, and if he could not accept what she was saying then there was nothing else for them to discuss. “What harm is there in a lady being an actress or a ballerina, or anything she wishes? We have brains and can think. We have talents we wish to explore. Yet if you ask a gentleman, we are only capable of running a house, shopping, gossiping, and producing children. If I were forced to endure such a life, I might very well go mad.”

  She hastily turned away when tears sprang to her eyes. Hélène would not show weakness in front of Stanwick, or he would never accept that women did not need to be coddled. It was bad enough she had fainted in front of him. Why she was crying, she had no idea.

  “I wish to act. Until everyone can accept my desires, I have no reason to remain in London or marry.”

  “Very well,” he said after a long silence.

  Hélène didn’t turn but sensed when he stood. Her skin prickled as he drew near. It was much safer with him across the room.

  His hands slid about her waist and, with the slightest pressure, turned her to face him. Hélène looked up into his dark eyes, wishing she could understand the emotions reflected within. Before she could say anything, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with a tenderness that made her heart ache. His mouth was gone too soon, and she looked up at him again. Did she read sadness within the depths?

  “It was an honor to know you, Lady Hélène.” He stepped back and bowed. “I hope everything you wish for is yours.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and quit the room. Hélène sank down into a chair at the side of the fireplace and watched him walk out of her life, part of her heart going with him.

  Hélène put a fist against her mouth to keep from calling out after him, asking him to stay, but to do so would only encourage the impossible.

  Each time she rejected his offer and he left, she hurt more. Why?

  She glanced down at the table. A purse that hadn’t been there before sat in the middle. She lifted it and opened the clasp and pulled out the parchment.

  I wish you well in Milan. I believe I will miss you very much. It was signed by Stanwick. Hélène tipped the purse and dumped the notes out. He had returned her winnings.

  Why wasn’t she happy?

  This would be the last night Dagger’s would be open until after Twelfth Night. Only a few patrons sat at the many tables, and they were drinking, not gambling. After paying the employees, Sebastain wouldn’t make a profit tonight. He’d expected it to be this way. However, he hadn’t expected Acker and Bentley to be occupying one of the tables. They had wives and a large family. Their presence was rather suspicious.

  Sebastain remained across the room, sipping his brandy, determined not to walk over. It had been two days since he visited with Hélène, and he knew he would first inquire about her health before anything else. Sebastain didn’t want them thinking that he was smitten.

  It was difficult enough to no longer fool himself. He wasn’t going to make others aware that he had somehow developed deep feelings for a lady he barely knew. One does not fall in love in a week. It was impossible, yet his gut insisted he was wrong. Why else was it physically painful to think of her in Milan and never seeing her again? He had never ached for a woman, at least not in a way that wasn’t purely sexual. He did want her beneath him, but also beside him, living in his home, sharing his life.

  Damn and blast. He thrust his fingers through his hair, turned from the others, and had the barkeep refill his glass. It was best she was leaving. Once she was gone, he could continue with the life he already planned for himself. He’d made a pact not three weeks ago, and he wasn’t about to break it so soon. The others would never let him forget it.

  When he turned again, Acker and Bentley were studying him. Acker had a half-smile and looked a bit amused. Bentley held a more serious look in his eye, as if determining Sebastain’s worth. Had Hélène changed her mind about marrying him, or were they determined to force the issue regardless of the lady’s wishes?

  Sebastain sipped from his drink. He was not going to go over there.

  The two men shared a look and rose from their seats. Sebastain groaned into his glass when they walked towards him instead of the door, carrying their half-full glasses.

  “You gave Hélène her winnings?” Bentley demanded when he stopped before Sebastain.

  “They were hers.”

  “Do you know what she intends to do with the money?”

  Sebastain nodded. He wasn’t going to tell them if they didn’t already know.

  “You think it is proper for a young lady to return to another country and live alone?” Acker asked casually.

  “No, but it isn’t as if I have control over her. She can do as she pleases.”

  “Except here, apparently,” Acker added.

  That was her family’s fault, Sebastain thought. If Bentley would allow her to continue acting, no matter the potential scandal, Hélène wouldn’t need to return to Milan.

  She wouldn’t be leaving him.

  Acker tipped back his glass and drained the contents setting it down with a thud. “We will see you after Twelfth Night. Have a happy Christmas.”

  Bentley didn’t finish his drink but set the glass down on the counter.

  Sebastain nodded. How did they know he was closing? He hadn’t announced it yet. Usually, he put a sign on the door when the decision was made. His customers were used to seeing it this time of year.

  “We need to get an early start,” Bentley added.

  Sebastain jerked his head to look at him. Start for where?

  “The entire family is going to Yorkshire for Christmas,” Bentley explained.

  “Why Yorkshire?” Wasn’t Bentley’s estate in northeast Kent?

  “My sister-in-law’s grandfather lives in Yorkshire and demands the entire family home, which extends to her in-laws, apparently.”

  Sebastain had forgotten that the youngest had married a Whitton. “Happy Christmas to both of you, and safe travels.”

  The two studied him for a moment before they nodded and left Dagger’s. Sebastain suspected they wanted to say more to him but either changed their minds or assumed they could not change his. It wasn’t his mind that needed to be changed, but Hélène’s.

  As the door closed behind the two, the other customers began to leave as well. Within an hour, his business was empty except for the employees, and it wasn’t even midnight. Yes, it was time to close until next year.

  “Come back and clean up tomorrow,” He called to his employees. “I will pay you then.”

  They grinned and nodded. It was rare they were through with their duties so early, and he suspected many of them were looking forward to returning home to a wife, ladylove, or spending their time with friends at other establishments.

  He bolted the entrance once the last was gone and checked that the back door was also locked. Sebastain turned down lamps and blew out candles as he made his way towards his office still carrying his glass of brandy.

  It was strangely eerie. He settled back in his chair and sipped the warm, rich liquid. A small fire danced in the grate and would soon die out. A bit of light reflected off the fire iron. It no longer looked as fearsome as it had when he’d first returned from Arrington’s funeral. He couldn’t imagine Hélène being so distraught she would hit anyone with it.

  A smile pulled at his lips. No, she would challenge them with swords.

  The thought of Hélène combined with the brandy warmed him from within. She was remarkable.

  Sebastain couldn’t imagine her crumbling or hiding if things turned out badly. She would move forward and see her way through any situation. He admired that in her. Such a woman wouldn’t feel the need to bash her husband’s head with a fire iron. A woman like Hélène would simply walk away or make the man suffer in other ways, like denying the husband her bed.

  And though Sebastain had only kissed her, he very much wanted to share a bed with her. Once he got the chance, he would not be in any hurry to leave.

  He leaned back in his chair, tipping it so it rested on the back legs. What had she said? “What harm is there in a lady being an actress or a ballerina, or anything she wishes. We have brains and can think. We have talents we wish to explore. Yet if you ask a gentleman, we are only capable of running a house, shopping, gossiping, and producing children. If I were forced to endure such a life, I might very well go mad.”

  Is that why so many women were reduced to madness or melancholy? Were gentlemen truly the cause?

  He righted his chair, and the legs came down with a thud. His heart began to beat hard in his chest.

  Why had he been such a bloody fool?

  Seventeen

  Hélène waited for the others, dressed for travel and sipping a cup of warm chocolate. Servants were loading trunks, and it was barely light out. Bentley and Eleanor would arrive soon, and they would all pile into coaches and begin their journey to Yorkshire.

  A weight of loneliness settled around Hélène. She ached and wanted someone of her own. Her brothers and sisters were happy with their chosen spouses. Hélène envied the loving looks that passed between couples, eyes lit with love when a spouse walked in a room, discreet touches at the small of a back or arm, grasping of a hand, and sometimes an embrace.

  She hadn’t noticed so much before she had met Stanwick. Had he not kissed and held her, she might not notice now. Unfortunately, Hélène was all too aware that the small actions she witnessed evidenced a deeper intimacy. Not only what was strictly physical, but emotional as well.

  Would she find love?

  That wasn’t the correct question. Would she find love again? She was already half in love with Stanwick and knew any further time in his presence would only make her love him more. How could she feel so strongly about a man she had known so short a time? Yet it was certainly the case.

  There were enough plays that spoke of no rules governing the heart. She had thought the words were simply romantic fiction. She knew the truth now. Unless she gave up the theatre, she would never see him again.

  Hélène straightened. Could she do that for him? Was it worth the risk? Would she be miserable in the end, waiting for him to come home late at night, waiting for him to wake after sleeping half of the day? Would she be less lonely than she is now?

  Her heart pounded and pulse raced. Was it worth the risk?

  Sebastain bolted up in bed and glanced around. The sun was barely up. What if Hélène didn’t come back to London? What if she sailed to Milan from a port further north? She could sail from anywhere.

  He jumped out of bed, not bothering to ring for his valet, and set to dressing for the day. He had to see her before she left. Bentley said they were getting an early start. How early? What if they had gone already?

  He shoved his feet into his boots, pulled the jacket over this waistcoat and stopped before the mirror. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, but he didn’t have time to shave—not if he was to get to Hélène in time. Hastily he brushed through his hair and then rushed from his chamber, running down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He paused when he reached the street. The only people out this early were servants. He hurried back towards the mews to have his horse saddled.