The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(94)

Robert closed his eyes. Now how to convince the stubborn minx that she wanted to be at his side?





St Giles, England

One week later





Chapter 24


Rule 24


Never love.

All you need is love.

Thirty cases of brandy.

Twenty-one cases of sherry.

Twenty-two cases of whiskey.

Helena stared at the neat column of numbers.

Her calculations.

The very ones she’d insisted upon more than two months ago. Oh, of course those calculations had not taken into consideration the need to account for increased membership in that time, but still there was a remarkable significance in those numbers.

She touched her fingertips to the sloppy markings in Adair’s hand. Her spectacles slipped over the bridge of her nose, and she shoved them back into place. For Ryker’s frugality and his contradictions of increasing the liquor accounts, she’d fought his stubbornness, and, at last it would seem, in her absence, he’d adjusted the liquor accounts. A wistful smile pulled at her lips.

How very peculiar the turns life took. Had there not been a dwindling supply of spirits, would she have deliberately contradicted Ryker’s rules and stepped out on that floor? Helena trailed her index finger over the top of the page, her gut clenching.

Yet, she had stepped onto those once-forbidden floors, and her life was irrevocably changed.

Or it had been.

A spasm gripped her heart, and she drew in a shaky breath. Giving her head a shake, Helena dipped her pen in the inkwell, and proceeded to tabulate the monthly living expenditures for the private apartments.

For now, her life was remarkably . . . the same. Just as it had been for the past ten years. Day in and day out she rose, visited her cramped offices, and managed the books.

Her mind hurried through the tabulations, and she marked the right column. Though it wasn’t entirely the same—there was a single, and very important, difference. Upon her return, she’d been granted greater freedom to move about the club floors.

Mayhap in Ryker’s shock that she’d chosen to return to the Hell and Sin, she’d at last earned respect from a man who despised any and every aspect of the ton.

Mayhap, in her absence, they’d come to appreciate the role she’d played, and she’d been granted greater freedom to successfully carry out that role.

Or mayhap, it was simply that in her absence, and with her return, they’d acknowledged the truth—she was no longer the six-year-old girl who’d been in need of protecting but was now a woman, just five and twenty and fully grown, and in possession of her own mind.

Through all of it, her additional responsibilities at the club, her freedom within these walls and halls, and her brother’s admiration, she had everything she wanted.

So why was there this great, gaping hole of emptiness?

The pen in Helena’s fingers trembled, and ink splotched the page. Setting the pen down, she slid her eyes closed.

Her entire life, she’d believed if she left the Hell and Sin Club she would be incomplete, that she would be forsaking years’ worth of vows she’d taken, and all the self-control she so cherished.

I miss him. I miss his laughter and his smile. I miss speaking to him, and his touch and his teasing. She missed every part that made Robert Dennington, the Marquess of Westfield, who he was. He was a man who’d seen past her scars and not sneered at her love of mathematics.

And he’d nearly died because of her.

Helena opened her eyes and stared blankly down at the open ledger. In the end, by penning a note of lies and leaving, she’d set them both free.

Her throat worked, and though there would forever be this aching wound of loss, he was better for it. The damage Diggory had done was testament of that. She’d brought her world to Robert and his family, and that was a life she’d never have him be part of. It was a life she herself didn’t truly want. Drunken gentlemen, tossing away coin while people starved in the street. Men who’d drink themselves to death and wager away their family’s existence. That was the empire she’d lauded.

The door opened, and she quickly picked up her pen.

“I’m nearly finished,” she said, not taking her gaze from the page.

“I didn’t say anything,” Calum drawled, closing the door behind him.

“You didn’t need to,” she muttered, grateful for the distraction. For the emptiness inside, there was also a balm in being with the familiarity of the brothers who’d always been there.

Calum perched his hip on the edge of her desk.

Helena glanced out the corner of her eye, and then continued working. “Is there something Ryker wished to speak with me on? Have I been summoned?” She lifted her eyes to his. “Again?”

He had the good grace to flush. “He’ll never admit it but he did it to protect you. He knew Diggory couldn’t reach you in polite Society.”

Yes, because everyone had always done what was best for Helena Banbury, making decisions, setting rules. What she’d wanted or believed had never been considered—not truly. She’d been spoken at.

Only Robert had ever truly spoken to her.

“Nothing to say?” Calum’s gruffly spoken question rumbled in the quiet, punctuated by the click of her pen striking parchment.

Surely they didn’t expect that she could return the same woman who’d left? Particularly after having been forced out. “What is there to say?” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. But can you truly resent them that, when it brought you the most splendorous days you’ve known in the course of your five and twenty years? “Ryker knows all. He knew what was best. I’d broken the rules, and I’m no different than any other employee.” Disposable and replaceable.