The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(67)

Helena cast an almost desperate glance over her shoulder, and he winked.

Mayhap, the lady would think twice with dissembling. His lips twitched.

Just then, Beatrice said something commanding the other woman’s notice, leaving Robert alone . . . to consider, just what business Miss Helena Banbury, daughter of a duke, former worker at the Hell and Sin Club, had in this end of London.

As his sister’s laugh rumbled from somewhere within the shop, he folded his arms.

Helena had her secrets, that much was clear.

And Robert was determined to figure out just what those secrets were . . . whether the lady wished to share them, or not.



Of all the rules ingrained into her, she’d been schooled on evading notice from the moment Ryker had rescued her. Not only had she been discovered today, Robert also knew she was lying.

And Helena only knew because she’d spent so much of her life with liars and thieves, and suspicious stares, that she’d recognized her paltry attempt at prevarication, and the glint of suspicion in Robert’s usually warm gaze.

If she were wise, she’d be focusing on the fact that he’d caught her red-handed. So why could she not rid her mind of his efforts on behalf of a common street thief? Warmth spilled into her heart and she closed her eyes. A boy whose name he’d taken time to learn, and whom he’d given a choice to, in a world where those of her station had few.

“Have you been here before, Miss Banbury?”

Heart hammering, Helena’s eyes flew open. Robert’s sister stared patiently at her. Her mind raced as she tried to drag forth the young woman’s question. “Please, call me Helena,” she insisted. “And no, I’ve not.” As soon as the truth slid out, she silently cursed and stole a glance over her shoulder for Robert. He remained at the front of the shop, arms folded, staring boldly.

“Come along.” Beatrice guided her farther down the aisle until Robert was no longer in sight. “He is a wonderful brother,” she said as she skimmed the dusty titles on the floor-length shelf. “But he is ever so protective. Even now he should be at his meeting, but he remains here.” She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “Though I suspect your unexpected appearance has just as much to do with his decision to stay.”

Cheeks heating, Helena managed a smile, and opted to speak to the lady’s former remark. “I well know about overprotective brothers.” Men who’d trust her with the finances of their successful gaming establishment but also believed her undeserving of any real control in her future.

“Do you?” Beatrice looked up from her perusal. There was curiosity in her gaze.

Unnerved by the ease with which this woman spoke, Helena glanced down at the tips of her slippers. The only ladies she’d ever had any dealings with had been in the streets, and those women had yanked their fine cloaks and gowns away as Helena had woven herself between them. “I do,” she said at last.

“Are you close with them?” The young lady’s gentle probing brought a lump of emotion to Helena’s throat.

Since Ryker had sent her away, she’d spent so much time angry and bitterly aggrieved over his interference in her life. She’d embraced the betrayal from each of them, because it was far easier to fuel her anger and resentment than to think about how desperately she missed them. “I am,” she said softly.

“Do you see them often?”

At the relentless questioning, Helena hugged her arms to her stomach, and glanced wildly about. Peers didn’t probe. They saw on the surface, and never bothered to learn anything more about a person, and yet Robert, and now his sister, did in ways that exposed Helena, and brought down years’ worth of walls she’d built up. “I did.” Before they sent me away. “We are.” Were. “As I said, close.” She drew in a shuddery breath. “Very close.” Though could they ever be again, when she returned in three months’ time?

Which only raised the reminder that her time would soon end here; and there would be no more Diana or Beatrice, and more . . . there would be no more Robert. Agony pulled at her heart. Oh, God, how to account for this vicious blade twisting in her chest? “They are protective,” she supplied, feeling the other woman’s stare on her.

“Aren’t all elder brothers?” Wry amusement underscored that handful of words.

They shared a look, as a kindred connection was born.

“It doesn’t matter that you are three and twenty.” Or in Helena’s case, four and twenty. “Or that you know your mind.” The lady gave her head a rueful shake. “Nothing matters beyond a lady’s marriage, does it?” That soft, faintly spoken question barely reached Helena’s ears. “Gentlemen wouldn’t expect a lady to be anything but a lady.”

She’d spent her life believing herself so very different than all these flawless ladies, only to find amidst a dusty row of books that they were more alike than she could have ever believed. “Not to Society,” Helena said quietly. When the woman lifted a confused gaze, she clarified. “To Society, they expect you . . . women, to wed, to be a husband’s property, even as you do not want to cede every part of yourself over to a man.”

Beatrice’s eyes lit and she nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.” That single word emerged as a kind of prayer.

“It is why it is important to hold on to you.” For Helena, the sense of control she’d found in a world so wholly lacking in it for women had been numbers.