The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(89)

Sending a silent prayer skywards to God, who did not exist, for the girl’s escape, Helena pushed herself to a stand, and bolted.

Diggory easily overtook her. He wrapped his punishing hand about her forearm, and she bit her cheek to keep from crying out at the agony of his hold. She’d sooner die than cower before him again. “Black stole ye from me. Oi wasn’t done with ye.” He stuck his nose close to hers and she recoiled under the onion-and-garlic scent that slapped her face. “Oi promised the duchess to off ye when oi was through with ye. Oi never expected ye’d be the brilliant bookkeeper ye are or else I would have fought to keep ye.”

Oh, God. He did know. Ryker’s speculations had proven correct about just what Diggory had gleaned over the years. It had been Helena, however, who’d been lulled into a false sense of security. Then something he said registered . . .

The duchess? Helena’s riotous mind spun under this demon’s reappearance and the jumbled words he tossed at her. As he dragged her down the street, she glanced desperately about for anyone. Alas, this was not the respectable end of Mayfair, populated by fancy lords and ladies. These were the seedy streets of ill repute, where you took care to avoid the plight of others.

Jerking and pulling at her arm, Helena dug her heels in. She was no longer the frail girl of five.

“Enough of that, bitch,” he hissed, wrenching her arm behind her with such force tears sprung to her eyes.

Fury raged through her, and she glared at him. She tossed her head back to let loose a scream when he jammed something hard and cold against her back. At the bite of metal penetrating the fabric of her coat, Helena froze.

“Oi’ll end that bitch’s life, too, if ye keep at it.” A chill wracked her frame. Why had she agreed to bring Diana here? Because you’d been gone from this so long, you’d been lulled into a dangerous sense of safety—a safety that didn’t exist. She wanted to toss her head back and howl with frustration. This is why Ryker had kept her shut away, because he’d correctly seen her weaknesses and known the eventual fate for those who proved incautious. “That’s better,” Diggory spat. “Now move.” He jerked her forward, and she stumbled. “Oi can’t do this ’ere.”

Dread iced her veins. As a child, forced to thieve for him, she’d served a purpose. No longer. He is going to kill me. Fighting through the panic, she searched for the effortless words Robert had always proven so capable of, and found strength in the lessons he’d unwittingly shared. “Wait,” she said coaxingly. “Surely you see I’m of far more value to you alive. The Duke of Wilkinson . . . my father will pay . . .”

He guffawed. “Do ye think a bluidy duke will give a rat’s arse if oi gut ye in the street?”

A month ago she would have agreed. A month ago she’d believed she knew how the world was, and found the entire ton wanting. “My brother, Ryker Black, will pay you, as well.”

He snorted. “Only after ’e gutted me fer this.”

Relentless in her efforts, she angled her head back and gave him a meaningful look. “You forget . . .” She let the word linger between them.

His nostrils flared. “Wot did oi forget?”

“I can help you with the books at your club.” She’d sooner sit down to dinner with the Devil. Nonetheless, the promise danced around the stale air. She could all but see the greedy wheels of his mind turning.

Then Diggory jammed the pistol deeper into the skin, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She’d not let him see another damned tear or hint of weakness. This man had already stolen so much.

She pressed her eyes closed, drawing forth Robert’s visage, and struggled to breathe. This is how she would die. Here in the street like the guttersnipe she’d been. How bloody close she’d been to having everything she’d never known she wanted. She balled her hands as an unholy rage took root and spiraled like a slow-moving conflagration. Stop, Helena. Think. By God, she’d not die like a cowering child. Not at this man’s hands. Helena panted. “P-Please,” she rasped, as he pulled her farther into an alley. The moment he stopped at the end of the narrow passage, she’d be dead. With energy singing in her veins, Helena whimpered. “I-I can’t breathe.” Then she went limp.

Diggory’s grip on her slackened, and he cursed.

Helena jammed her elbow hard into his stomach in three quick blows, and the air left him on a soft whoosh. The blood pounding in her ears, she shoved her heel against his kneecap, and he lost his hold on her. With his shout echoing after her footsteps, Helena fished inside her pocket and as she sprinted away from Diggory, her fingers brushed the reassuring cool steel.

She skidded to a stop.

A humming buzzed in her ears as she stared unblinkingly at the unlikely pairing at the end of the alley.

Surely this was another nightmare not borne of flame, but borne of the love she carried in her heart for him. “Robert,” she whispered. One of Diggory’s thugs stood with a knife at Robert’s throat. Her stomach heaved. What is he doing here?

Robert worked a powerful stare quickly over her person. “Surely you didn’t think I could ever leave you to go off alone?” he asked gruffly, following her unspoken thoughts. How harmonious they’d always been.

She wanted to toss her head back and rail at the fates, for in his eyes was love and an acceptance of his inevitable fate. No. This was not his world. He’d not die this way, in an alley like street trash, like Diggory and his gang. Gun in hand, she spun and pointed it at Diggory. “Stop,” she called out, halting his stride. How was her voice so even? “Have him lower his weapon,” she demanded, leveling her gun, while keeping Robert in her side vision. “Do it,” she cried, when Diggory and his man exchanged a look.