The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(90)

The devil of her past cursed and waved his weapon about. “Wot are ye going to do, Helena? Kill me? Ye were never anything but a weak girl,” he taunted, taking a step forward.

“Do not listen to him,” Robert barked. “You were always stronger than him, Helena.” A tortured shout burst from him.

Her hand quavered and she flicked a panicky gaze to Robert. Diggory’s man dropped him to his knees with a swift punch to his kidneys.

“Stop,” she cried out, her arm quaking uncontrollably.

“Yer shaking now just as ye were when I set ye on fire,” Diggory taunted, as he took another step. “Ye cannot kill me.” Triumph blazed across his harsh, ugly features as he turned his gun on Robert.

“No.” The scream tore from her soul.

Three sharp reports, in staggering succession, rent the quiet.

Gunpowder clouded the air, and the derringer slipped from her fingers. Diggory’s mouth formed a small moue, and then he collapsed facedown on the muddied ground. Dead.

“Helena!”

The faint clatter of another pistol hitting the ground penetrated the thick haze over her senses, and Helena spun around. Ryker stood beside Diggory’s henchman, who now lay at his feet with a bullet in his head. Ignoring her brother, Helena raced down the alley. “Robert,” she panted, and flung herself into his arms.

Robert folded his arms almost reflexively around her, and she burrowed against the hard wall of his chest, taking his strength. “How d-did you know I was here?” she choked out. He staggered under the weight of her embrace, and she stumbled into him, bringing them to their knees.

Something hot and sticky soaked the fabric of her gown, and she froze. No.

“I am fine,” he said, his voice faint.

No. No. No. No. No.

Ignoring her brother who fell to a knee beside her, she worked her hand between them. “Robert,” she rasped, and a low-pained moan strangled her, as blood coated her fingers. “No. No. No. What did you do?” she cried out, glancing up at the taut lines at the corner of his mouth, the wan hue of his skin, and the vague look in his eyes. A sob escaped her as she pressed her hands to his side to slow the ebb. So much blood. So much of it. His life’s blood covered her palms, soaking her scarred fingers. Helena stared at those crimson stains as insanity licked at her senses, threatening to suck her away from right and reason. “Don’t you dare leave me, Robert Dennington,” she sobbed, tears streaking down her face, blurring her vision.

Wordlessly, Ryker guided Robert down on his back and shoved off the bloodstained black coat. He yanked off his own jacket and in one swift movement, shredded the fabric, and held it to that gaping wound.

Shouts and pounding footfalls sounded at the front of the alley, and her brothers burst forward, Robert’s eyes slid closed, and Helena’s world ceased to be.





Chapter 23


Rule 23


Run when you must.

The following morning, Helena’s maid hurried about her chambers, gathering garments from the armoire and neatly folding them and placing them inside the open trunks.

Standing at the edge of the window, Helena stared blankly out into the quiet cobbled streets. Rain pinged the crystal windowpane, marking a fitting trail of sadness along the glass.

In the streets of St Giles, the slightest hesitation could prove costly. Deadly. It was a lesson ingrained into her since she’d been a small girl.

Of course, Robert would not have known that very rule. But she had. And she’d failed him, anyway. It was just one of the many reasons she’d no right to him.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she drew in a slow, shuddery breath. Oh, the bloody irony of it all. She’d raged at being sent here, and now she’d rather lop off a limb than be sent away.

Only she wasn’t being sent away. She gripped the sides of her skirts. She was leaving.

She was leaving Robert.

A tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed the back of her hand over that useless remnant of her misery. She’d never been born for this world. Somewhere along the way she’d allowed herself to forget that she was the daughter of a whore, a child raised amidst such violence that it would forever be a stain upon her soul and her very life.

That was a darkness she’d not bring to Robert. Or Diana. Or Beatrice. Or her father.

None of them.

Yet, you already did . . .

No. She couldn’t remain here. With her hand in murdering the ever-powerful Diggory, she’d only strengthened the feud between their warring factions. There would never be peace, and the threat of further bloodshed remained—stronger now than it ever had been.

Only, in leaving, she’d not take with her all the damage done that day. The pain and guilt of that stabbed her with an ever-familiar guilt. Diana, innocent and good, had been ruined the moment she’d stumbled into the Hell and Sin, crying for help. She’d forfeited her future to save Helena’s life, and sacrificed herself in the process. Helena curled her arms close to her chest. Oh, the irony. To have judged these people wanting from the moment she’d arrived, only to learn how much better they were in their sacrifice and strength than Helena.

“Miss, your trunks are all packed,” her faithless maid murmured at her back.

“That will be all,” she said in curiously hollow tones. It was done.

From within the glass panel, she detected the quick nod, curtsy, and then the girl took her leave, closing the door quietly behind her.