She drew a shivering breath. And another. Mr Hammond was right. She had the way to help him: Lowry and the journal. She pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, pressing away the image of Carlston’s bleeding, battered face, forcing out the sensation of her knuckles slamming against his flesh and bone.
‘Stokes told me Pike has sent a dispatch to Lord Sidmouth for a warrant,’ she said, dropping her hands. She saw the significance register on Hammond’s face: the flash of fear. ‘We only have five days at the most — until Saturday — before the decision is made and the government messenger arrives. I am going to bond with Lowry and get the journal on Friday.’ She paused; please, God, let it be Friday. ‘But if something goes wrong, you need to be ready to get Carlston out of England. He will not go willingly; he has said as much. You will have to make him.’
Hammond nodded. ‘Pike won’t give you those pages for the Comte.’ It was more question than statement.
Helen knew he was right. She had tried to bargain for them. Plead for them. But Pike did not want Carlston cured.
‘I know. I am going to take them,’ she said.
‘You know what he will do to you. To us!’
‘I no longer care. Do you?’
He squared his shoulders. ‘No. Pike and his blackmail can go to the devil.’
‘I will leave with the Duke now. Do not speak about Lowry to anyone. This is the last chance, Hammond. Nothing can go wrong.’
‘I understand.’ He gripped her shoulder, the trust within his eyes almost breaking her barely held control. ‘Good luck.’
The interior of the Duke’s town carriage was upholstered in pale blue silk woven with the Selburn coat of arms across the backs of the two bench seats. Helen stared at the dark arc of her blood smeared over the lion passant.
‘I am so sorry, Your Grace, I have ruined your seat,’ she said, cradling her bleeding hand. Every time she stretched her fingers, the wounds split open again.
‘Do not concern yourself about the seat,’ Selburn said.
He rapped the silver cap of his cane against the blue silk wall behind him. The coach immediately lurched into motion.
Helen could not help but look back at the townhouse as they pulled away. A face appeared at the morning room window. Darby, her eyes swollen and red. Helen drew a ragged breath, the sob within it making the Duke reach across the footwell and take her hand in his own.
‘Does it pain you?’ he asked, inspecting the injury with a frown. ‘You should not have to bear this.’
‘It will heal in a day or so.’ At least her hand would, she thought. ‘Thank you, for …’ She gestured to the carriage with her other hand. ‘All this.’
‘I think you know that I would do a lot more for you.’
She withdrew her hand and smiled; somewhat watery and forced, but at least it showed him her gratitude.
The Duke stared out of the carriage window for a moment, his finger tapping the cane’s silver cap. Then he sat forward, his long face set into ardent lines.
‘You must forgive me for raising this subject now, my dear — I do not wish to seem inopportune — but I feel I must say that none of this has changed my feelings towards you. My proposal still stands. Even more so now that I know the truth. If we were to wed, Helen, I could be of great help to you. You would have the protection of my name and rank, and I could perhaps even take on this role of Terrene. It would make me so much easier if I could be sure that you were safe. Not only that, you would be reunited with your family. They would embrace our marriage —’
‘Your Grace, please stop.’ It was plain that he had only her interests at heart, but she could not listen to his avowal. Not now.
‘I understand, this is not the time. Forgive me. It is my concern for you speaking. When you are ready we can discuss it.’
Beyond the curtained window, dark clouds had bleached the blue sea into a dull grey. The bathing boxes were all back on the beach and lined up well beyond the tide line, ponies and attendants gone. A storm must be on the way, Helen thought.
‘You are well out of there,’ the Duke said, drawing her attention back to his sympathetic face. ‘You will see how easy it will be for you in my house. Everything will be as you wish it. You will be safe.’
Safe? Helen smiled again. He was so kind. And so very, very wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Six
TUESDAY, 21 JULY 1812
The Duke of Selburn’s butler entered the candle-lit dining room with the silent tread of the well-trained servant and waited stolidly for his master to finish speaking to his young guest.
‘That may be, but I do not see how he can expect you to take on so much in such a short time,’ the Duke said, answering Helen’s defence of Carlston’s training regime. He cracked open a walnut in his long hand and picked out the meat. ‘How long did it take him to learn these things himself? He would surely have studied fencing from childhood. As I did. He cannot expect you to master it in a month.’ He noticed his servant. ‘What is it, Fairwood?’
‘There is a woman to see Mr Amberley, Your Grace.’ The butler’s intonation indicated the dubiousness of the visitor.
Helen looked up sharply from peeling a peach. ‘Woman?’
The Duke glanced at the gold clock on the mantel. ‘It is past ten,’ he protested. ‘Has she given a name?’
‘No, Your Grace. She says she is known to Mr Amberley.’
Helen straightened in her chair. It must be Kate Holt, finally bringing word from her brother. But was it a yes or a no? On one hand, she desperately wanted Lowry to agree to the deal; on the other, the idea of bonding with him — in mind as well as power — brought a fear that had made her retch into the silver gilt washbasin the night before.
The idea of killing the man had, of course, occurred to her, the savage desire bringing its own wave of sickness. It was hard enough to live with what she had done to Carlston. To kill a man in cold blood was a step that could never be reconciled with her conscience. It would bring its own black mark upon her soul, born not from the Deceivers, but from the dark recesses of the human heart. Besides, Lowry still had Terrene strength and far more experience with violence than she did. If she attacked him, it was more than possible that she would end up at his mercy. A situation she most fervently wanted to avoid.
Nevertheless, she had dressed that morning with her glass knife down the side of one boot, and a small dagger down the side of the other, both scabbards well waxed. They were now part of her toilette.
‘Thank you, Fairwood,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘I shall come directly.’
‘Good Lord, you must not go to her,’ the Duke said. ‘She must come to you.’ He addressed his butler. ‘Mr Amberley will receive his visitor in the library.’