The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(28)

Alas, battling the nightmares of her past as she still did, they erroneously questioned her rightfully suspicious spirit, in matters of business.

Ryker didn’t miss a beat in his relentless questioning. “How many cases do we require to sufficiently stock the club through the month?”

“Ten cases of brandy, seven cases of whiskey, and six of sherry,” she said unhesitantly. For as they’d long jested, Helena knew little about people, but she indisputably knew her figures.

“And what percentage increase has the club seen in membership since last month?” he shot back.

Helena clenched the arms of her chair, as guilt assailed her. She gathered up her ledgers, organizing them into a neat pile. “I have not finished the calculations.” Never in the course of her time as bookkeeper had she ever failed to complete an assigned job.

Her brother tightened his mouth, that faint hint of his displeasure more glaring than if he had verbally condemned her. She curled her toes into the soles of her serviceable boots. What would he say to the fact that she’d been otherwise occupied with one of his lofty patrons? “I will see to it by the end of the day,” she promised.

Ryker glanced past her, and she followed his stare to Calum who stood at her shoulder. “Place the order.”

The other man nodded.

Helena folded her hands together and rested them on her lap. “I would like to handle the negotiations.”

Two pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction.

Ryker reclined in his chair and steepled his fingers before him. “What?” That harsh, emotionless whisper would have terrified most.

She jutted her chin up a notch. She’d never been one of those women to favor fancy garments and baubles. She’d long appreciated the uselessness of those fripperies. Thin slips of soft satin did little to protect one from the harsh elements of a cold London winter. What she’d long found pleasure in were numbers and negotiations. “I want to speak to our liquor distributor.” She may as well have asked them to slay the monarch and name Helena queen for the peculiar looks she earned. She didn’t ask for much. Largely because she needn’t ask for much. Through her handling of the finances and the hard work of her brothers, the club ran like a well-oiled machine.

This request, however, was about more than a practical purchase . . . it was about stepping outside these walls and having a say in the blade she’d carry to protect herself.

Calum took a sip of his brandy and continued to study her with that indecipherable expression. He was the first to break the silence. “Niall handles those discussions,” he supplied for her brother.

Ignoring the other man’s logical determination, she looked to Ryker. “Yes, but he’s not been effective.”

Another look passed between them. Calum whistled between his teeth, and stepped back, motioning for Ryker. For the same way they’d not let her set foot outside, was the same way they’d not cede over this important responsibility. “I’m in need of a new weapon,” she continued. “And thought when I went to market I could also—”

“You already have a weapon,” Ryker interjected with a frown.

It came as no shock he’d be distracted by that particular piece, and not the request she’d put to him. “I’ve had the same one for nearly twenty years.” And in a matter of seconds a fancy lord nicked it. Self-disgust tasted bitter in her mouth.

He peered at her with that dark, unflinching stare and she resisted the urge to shift. No person should have the power to disarm a person with a single look. “Very well. Tell Adair.” Tell Adair. Because Ryker was entirely too busy to see to such mundane matters as “another” blade for Helena, and she was, by their thinking, unable to care for herself should the situation merit.

“As for the liquor distributor,” she began, neatly steering the discussion to the original point of request.

“No,” Ryker said in final tones.

“But . . .”

He fixed a glower on her that withered the protest on her lips. Shoving to her feet with stiff movements, Helena gathered her folios and, just like that, she was dismissed. Again. Odd that she, who was singlehandedly responsible for the finances of the club, should somehow still be treated like a small child who didn’t know her own head. It was a good deal better than the fate of most women. But she didn’t want “a good deal better.” She wanted her deserved control. Helena started for the door.

She frowned at having been so easily dismissed. That was Ryker. She didn’t doubt his love. She didn’t even doubt he’d lay down his life to save hers if the situation warranted. But neither would he ever be the affectionate, warm brother who’d comfort.

Perhaps life as a pickpocket, and then whatever other dark secrets he kept, had forever frozen his heart.

Helena marched over to the door.

“Oh, Helena?”

She paused, her fingers on the handle.

“Niall discovered a patron leaving the club earlier this morning.”

Bloody hell. Blasted Niall whose job it was to walk the gaming floors missed nothing. Just tell Ryker. If she mentioned the whole of the events and how she’d handled it, then the matter would be between them and they could hate her handling of it, but at least she’d own it and harbor no secrets. Except something stayed the words on her lips. Where did the urge to protect this stranger come from?