Baldwin stared at Helena, and she could see he was surprised that she hadn’t launched herself into his arms and declared him her hero. Perhaps part of her wanted to do that. There was a moment when her bully of an uncle had actually looked afraid, and there was no denying that she had enjoyed that far more than she should have.
But it didn’t change the facts of the situation she found herself in. And that moment of pleasure, just like all the moments of pleasure she’d stolen lately, would have dire consequences in the end.
Baldwin’s jaw set as he marched across the room and gently shut the door, giving them privacy that they ought not have. And yet she had no energy left to argue that fact.
“He attacked you, Helena. You could not truly expect me to stand by and allow it.”
She threw up her hands. “Why not? As he said, it was a family quarrel.”
His hands moved to his hips and the same stern and angry expression he’d had earlier returned to his handsome face. “Well, then I shall respond to you the same way I did to him. He was berating you in my home, under my roof. I would intervene for any guest who was treated in such a manner.”
He edged closer, and suddenly she was very aware of him. Very aware of the look in his eyes. The one that said he wanted to touch her.
“Baldwin,” she whispered.
He ignored the warning in her tone. “And the answer I did not give to him but will to you is that I certainly would not stand by while you were berated. You, Helena, a woman I know intimately. A woman I care for. A woman who is worth ten Peter Shephards.”
She shook her head. “If I were worth ten Peter Shephards, we would be having a different conversation,” she whispered. “But I’m not. And while I appreciate your motives, you must see that confronting him could very well make it worse for me. I know it will. And he might even hurt you. He all but outwardly threatened you.”
He shook his head, and then he reached out and caught her arms, drawing her forward, until she was pressed against him, staring up at him. His body heat wrapped around her, his muscles supported her, and he became the only thing that mattered in this room. In this world.
“Has no one ever stood up for you?” he asked, his voice cracking.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked in vain to try to clear them. She had no idea what to say to him. How to make him understand. How to make him see that what he was doing was fruitless.
Finally she choked out, “I’m not yours.”
His expression darkened, filled with a pain she didn’t want to analyze. She thought he might pull away, but instead he bent his head and suddenly his lips were on hers.
She had no ability to resist when he touched her. Reason departed, prudence did not exist. All that mattered was how sweetly he kissed her—and then not as sweetly, and then not sweetly at all. Passion rose between them and she lost herself in it, letting it wash away everything else she had felt in the past hour.
He tugged her closer, backing her against the nearest wall, dragging his mouth away from hers, to her neck as he pushed against her with animal drive and undeniable desire. She wanted him so much, consequences be damned. Her body screamed at her to open to him, to surrender to him. To give and give and give until he overwhelmed her with pleasure that made the future seem bright.
Perhaps she would have at that. Perhaps he would have lost himself and she would have given him the path to find her. But before things could go that far the door beside them opened, and before they could part from the compromised position they were in, the Duke of Tyndale strode in.
“Baldwin, Charlotte told me that—”
Helena shoved at Baldwin’s chest with all her might and staggered away from him, but she felt Tyndale’s gaze on her and her cheeks flamed with humiliated fire as she did everything she could not to look at him.
“I’m so sorry,” Tyndale said, having the decency, at least, to glance away. “I did not realize you were here, Miss Monroe.”
She shook her head and moved around Baldwin toward the door. “I must go. I must go anyway.”
She tripped on the edge of the carpet in her haste, and Matthew caught her elbow and gently steadied her. “Miss Monroe—”
“Helena—” Baldwin said at the same time.
She waved her hand. “Please don’t. Please don’t!”
Then she ran from the room, her body shaking and her eyes filling with tears as the ramifications of everything that had happened in that room filled her with heartbreak and fear.
“Well timed,” Baldwin snapped at Matthew as he watched Helena flee the room like the hounds of hell itself were on her heels. The expression on her face was burned into his mind: a combination of humiliation and heartbreak, desire and regret. He had caused her all this pain and he hated himself for it.
Matthew stared at him wordlessly and then shut the door. He leaned back against it, arms folded, and said, “This is enough. Tell me what the hell is going on, Baldwin. You and Helena are obviously…involved.”
“Obviously,” Baldwin snorted as he strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a tall glass of scotch. Matthew waved off when he offered him the same. “I’d be stupid to deny it when you walked in on us in such an entanglement.”
There was a sudden flash of hope on Matthew’s face as he pushed off the door and took a step toward Baldwin. “Does this mean you’ve chosen your bride?”
Baldwin took a long swig of the liquor and shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
Tyndale’s expression grew hard and dark. “I would expect this kind of behavior out of…Robert, perhaps. But you? She’s a lady, Baldwin! How dare you make sport of her virtue?”
Baldwin slammed the drink down. “First, don’t compare me to Roseford. You know how I feel about his whoring.”
“I do, you make it clear that you don’t approve of how he drowns himself in sex. But it sounds like you aren’t far behind.”
Baldwin shook his head. “I’m not making fucking sport of her, I assure you. If I had any other choice, I would—” He cut himself off because if he said it out loud, he’d buckle beneath it.
Tyndale stared at him. “You can’t marry her.”
Baldwin paced away. “No.”
“Why? And don’t fucking change the subject or lie to me. I’ve had enough of it.”
Baldwin pivoted. He and Matthew and Ewan had all been very close as boys. The cousins had accepted him like their long-lost brother, and he’d counted on them so many times during the years, outside of their relationship in their club.
And now he looked at Matthew and all he wanted to do was confess. The desire pulsed up inside of him, hard to ignore thanks to the raw emotion that snapped through him.
“Please,” Matthew said, softer and gentler. “Let me help you.”
Baldwin bent his head. There was no denying this anymore. He had to tell Matthew the truth. And so…he did.
The words poured from him, an explanation of bad debts and worse decisions, of his father’s failings and his own. Of the missing parts of his ledger, the debts that had been purchased behind his back and the fear that accompanied all those awful facts.
He talked for half an hour and Matthew said nothing. He just stared, wide-eyed, until Baldwin collapsed into the nearest chair, spent from confession and heavy with fear at what his friend’s reaction would be.