Chapter 23

The difference between right and wrong cannot be argued. The division is clear. The time to act, now.

—FromLady's Suffrage Society Times

Helena took great pleasure in the expression of shock upon the ordinarily placid countenance of her nemesis. It was apparent that Lady Beatrice Knightbridge had not been anticipating her call.

Excellent.

"My lady," said Lady Beatrice in a stilted tone, recovering sufficiently from her surprise to dip into an elegant curtsy.

"Lady Beatrice," she returned, grateful when her voice did not even betray a hint of a tremor. She refused to allow the other woman to see how shaken the incident with Lord Algernon had left her.

Or to give any indication of the fury burning within her soul.

The woman before her had conspired to hurt her, mayhap even to destroy her marriage. Fortunately for Helena, she had friends she could trust, friends who had helped her to unravel Lady Beatrice's sick plan. Friends who had also enabled her to dismantle it.

There only remained the pièce de résistance.

"Do you care to sit, my lady?" Lady Beatrice queried, her complexion quite pale, her bright-blue eyes wide and laden with worry.

"Thank you." Helena seated herself on a chintz settee.

The other woman sat on a chair opposite her, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect of a tête-à-tête. Silence reigned, with Helena's reluctant hostess making no indication she was about to attempt idle conversation or a lessening of the tension.

Helena decided to take charge. "You may be wondering why I am calling upon you, Lady Beatrice."

Lady Beatrice's lips tightened. "I will admit to some curiosity on my behalf, Lady Huntingdon."

She did not miss the bitterness in the other woman's voice when she referred to Helena by her title. "Let us be candid then, shall we? I find no need to prolong this visit."

"Please do proceed," Lady Beatrice urged coolly.

"Of course." Helena paused, trying her best to calm the raging emotions churning through her. "Mayhap we should begin with a common acquaintance of ours, though I truly wish my path had never crossed with his."

Lady Beatrice's nostrils flared. "You would dare to disparage Lord Huntingdon, your husband, to me, his betrothed? And so soon after you have wed. Have you no shame?"

Helena would have smiled at her hostess' supposition were she not so thoroughly outraged. "I would never dare to disparage his lordship to anyone, least of all his former betrothed. You are mistaken, Lady Beatrice. The mutual acquaintance I refer to is, regrettably, Lord Algernon Forsyte."

Lady Beatrice's sharp intake of breath gave away her guilt even as she attempted to lie. "Lord Algernon Forsyte is most certainly not one of my acquaintances. The man is a scoundrel and a rogue with a reputation that precedes him. I would never lower myself to consort with a man of his ilk."

"How odd, then, that Lord Algernon was only too quick to share a tale concerning your collusion with him in an attempt to make it look as if I were betraying Lord Huntingdon," she countered.

Her hostess stiffened. "I will not subject myself to your vicious lies, Lady Huntingdon. If this is all you have come here for, I am afraid it is truly best for you to go."

"It is not all I have come here for," Helena said, smiling as the momentum of their visit changed in favor of her. "I have also come here to let you know that any future attempts at interference in my marriage by you—or anyone acting at your behest—will be dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. I am showing you mercy on this occasion, Lady Beatrice. But do not fool yourself into believing I will not strike back if you ever dare to do something like this again."

"You are a lunatic, madam," Lady Beatrice charged, her voice shrill. "I would never lower myself to intervene in your marriage. You are beneath me. You are not worthy of Huntingdon. He could have had me at his side, and instead he had to settle for a woman who threw herself into the arms of every man in London, no better than a lightskirt."

Helena flinched at the vitriol in the other woman's tone, but still, she refused to be defeated. "Better me than a woman who would bribe a man to rape someone she perceived as an opponent."

"I never bribed that disgusting scoundrel to rape you! I paid him to make it look as if you were lovers."

Lady Beatrice's denial was so loud, it echoed in the silence of the salon. She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if belatedly realizing the confession she had made with her denial.

The vindication sweeping over Helena was bittersweet. "Just as I thought. You admit to offering Lord Algernon money in exchange for his blackmailing of me. What was the plan, Lady Beatrice? I was to give him the thousand pounds and in exchange, he would pin me to the floor and force his attentions upon me until my husband arrived?"

The notion of Lady Beatrice's scheming made Helena's blood boil. After Jo had returned to her with her necklace and the tale Decker's men had wrung from Lord Algernon, Helena had been struck numb. The terrible thought of another man forcing himself upon her, coupled with Gabe bearing witness, had been too much to bear. After his heartrending revelation about what had happened to his sister, the news had sent Helena running to the water closet to cast up her accounts.

Lady Beatrice was staring at her with a stricken expression, saying nothing in her own defense. Mayhap because her behavior had been indefensible. Helena could only hope the other woman knew it.

"Have you nothing to say, Lady Beatrice?" she prodded, her tone biting. "No more false denials?"

"Lord Algernon came to me with the idea," Lady Beatrice gritted. "The fault for what happened is yours, and yours alone. If you had not been conducting yourself in such despicable, amoral fashion, none of this would have happened. But instead, you were flitting about London, lifting your skirts for anyone in trousers. Huntingdon was attempting to save your reputation because he is a gentleman, and in the end, you caught him in your web like any spider. I never stood a chance against someone like you."

Helena rose to her full, commanding height. "You are correct in that assessment, Lady Beatrice. You never did stand a chance against me, and if you ever again attempt to interfere in my marriage, you will discover all the reasons why."

Lady Beatrice rose, but she was far more petite, reaching no higher than Helena's shoulder. "Are you threatening me?"

Helena stepped nearer, her gaze trained upon the other woman, never so much as blinking. "I am not threatening you, my dear. I am promising you. Keep your distance from myself and Lord Huntingdon from this moment forward. You can desire to hurt me all you like, but I will not allow you to hurt him. If I ever hear even the tiniest speck of a rumor that you are attempting to hurt us again, I will come for you. And I will not be nearly as understanding as I was on this occasion. Consider this your first and only chance, my lady. There shall not be another."

"How dare you presume to speak to me thus? Who do you think you are?" Lady Beatrice demanded.

Helena smiled. "I am the Countess of Huntingdon. Never forget it."

On that note, she turned and began taking her leave before recalling she had failed to play her final trump card. She waited until she had nearly reached the door to the salon before spinning about and facing Lady Beatrice for what she could only hope proved the last time.

"Oh, and my lady? One more thing before I take my leave. Lord Algernon may be a disreputable scoundrel and an abysmal gambler, but he is also quite sly. You left him with a parting gift when you last met, and I have in my possession a handkerchief embroidered with your initials, complete with a delicate little rose in the corner. Roses are your favorite flower, are they not? If you ever dare to try anything like this again, I will not hesitate to return the mouchoir to Lord Algernon so that he may use it as evidence to anyone and everyone in London that Lady Beatrice Knightbridge shared a bed with him."

"You would not do something so despicable!" Lady Beatrice gasped.

Helena laughed. "When it comes to protecting the man I love and my marriage, I would do anything. Do not test me, my lady, or you shall be sorely disappointed. I bid you good day."

The last person Gabe expected to cross paths with on the pavements outside Lady Beatrice's father's townhome was his wife. But there was no denying it—just as he was striding up the cement, she was sailing down it. They met halfway.

Her vibrant eyes went wide, her hand flying to the base of her throat, until she realized it was he before her on the path. "Gabe!"

"Helena." He bowed formally, his guts still churning with the horrible revelations Elijah Decker had made, his knuckles throbbing with the aftereffects of his call upon Lord Algernon. The pain had been worth every bit of the satisfaction of watching his fist connect with that bastard's jaw, however. "I did not expect to find you here."

"Nor I you." Her hand lowered, revealing the creamy elegance of her throat. "What are you doing here?"

Was any woman's neck as delectable as hers? Gabe could not summon an image of one to his mind. The day was gloomy, the skies gray with the ominous portent of rain, and yet she shone like a beacon.

He recalled her query and swallowed, trying to gain control over his tumultuous thoughts. "I met with Lady Jo's husband, Mr. Decker. He had a great deal to say, all of which was disturbingly enlightening. The only course of action seemed to be to confront Lady Beatrice and let her father know the deviousness and treachery his daughter has been about."

That was putting it mildly.

But Gabe could not face the full implications of Lady Beatrice's plans for Helena. Not if he wished to continue functioning. Not if he wanted to confront his former betrothed and make her pay for what she had been plotting to do to Helena.

"I just met with Lady Beatrice myself," Helena said softly. "I do not think an interview with her on your part is necessary, though if you deem it such, I shan't offer any opposition."

Her graciousness in this, as in every matter of their marriage thus far, could not be denied. He had been searching for the perfect countess, the wife who would never betray or disappoint or hurt him. The wife who would be loyal and true. And all along, he had been looking for her in the wrong place. He had seen her in the wrong woman.

Because as he gazed upon Helena, Countess of Huntingdon, this magnificent lady he had married, he knew with sudden, undeniable clarity, that the woman who was the perfect wife for him in every way was the one he had wed.

Grandfather had been wrong, and breaking his vow to wed Lady Beatrice had been the best decision Gabe had ever made. A sudden rush of peace traveled over him, profound and sweeping.

He had to swallow against a knot of emotion rising in his throat. "I am sorry, Helena. So damned sorry."

For more than he could say.

"I am not nearly as concerned for myself as I am for you and what it would have meant for you had their plotting come to fruition." Helena's gaze upon him was unbearably tender. "And I am sorry for ever aligning myself with such a hopeless blackguard. If I had not arranged for that assignation, I never would have lost my necklace."

He reached out, grazing his fingers over that stubborn chin of hers. "But then, you would have never wed me, and I, for one, am heartily glad you did."

Her lips parted. "You are?"

He could kick himself anew for being a cad. "I am."

There was no mistaking the sadness in her eyes. "But I am nothing like the woman you would have married before I came along and ruined your plans."

"Thank God for that," he said with great feeling. "What did you say to Lady Beatrice? I want to be certain she will never cause further problems for you. I had intended to see her father, to inform him of everything his daughter has been about."

Helena smiled. "I told her about a handkerchief now in my possession, one embroidered with her initials and with her favorite flower, which her co-conspirator managed to filch from her. I warned her that if she ever attempts to interfere in our marriage or cause trouble for us, I will use the handkerchief against her in the same manner she would have used my necklace against me."

He ought to have known she could handle herself. She was the smartest, bravest woman he knew.

"When Decker's ruffians met with Lord Algernon, they managed to get him to surrender the necklace and the handkerchief?" he asked, impressed, though he knew he ought not to be surprised.

Mr. Elijah Decker was a man of cunning and grit, and he had built his empire upon both. Gabe was once more grateful Helena possessed such good friends. But here was a reminder of the fact that she had not come to him, her husband. Instead, she had sought the aid of others.

"They did," Helena confirmed, grinning. "Lady Beatrice was not impressed with the notion of her actions spreading all over London. I do believe her days of meddling and consorting with Lord Algernon are decidedly over."

"They had better be, or she will answer to me," he growled, a protective surge for his beautiful wife hitting him.

Helena clasped his hand, holding it to her cheek. "Thank you for wanting to defend me."

"You need not thank me for that, Helena." He frowned at her. "I also paid a call upon Lord Algernon, and I can assure you he will never trouble you again without fear of further retribution. I am your husband, and shielding you from all harm is my duty."

The moment the word left his lips, he regretted it, but it was too late.

Helena released his hand and took a step away from him. "Of course. Shall we travel home separately, my lord? I left in such a hurry that I neglected to ask that my carriage be brought round."

He hated the distance she had put between them. Hated too the conflicting emotions inside himself. But there was one thing he knew for certain—he was not about to send his wife home in a separate carriage.

"We shall go together in the brougham." He offered her his arm. "I will see that the other carriage is notified."

Helena placed her hand on his elbow, and they made their way to the waiting conveyance.