“You wouldn’t beat me a second time.” Aaron lowered his voice. “Am I to understand this is Lord Denton’s sister? I can see why she drives you to distraction. And it would explain how she knew where to find you.”
Nicholas stared at the woman who made his soul sing, all romantic notions dispelled by his rising panic. Indeed, he resisted shaking her shoulders and asking what the hell she was about. What possessed her to don gentlemen’s clothes and visit a dangerous part of London?
And at night, no less!
Helen stirred, a sweet sigh slipping from her lips.
Aaron’s soft chuckle didn’t wake her. “When faced with such an enticing creature, a man might lean towards selfish acts. Thank the saints it’s your dilemma, not mine.”
“She is not normally so daring,” he said, but then he recalled her plans to travel to Egypt and the scandalous way they had kissed in the garden last night. “I need to take her home before she comes to her senses and regrets ever knowing me.”
“Before you’re forced to marry her, you mean.”
Nicholas shrugged. “Before she realises she wants a dalliance, not something permanent.” Before it was too late to save them both.
Aaron tore his gaze away from the sleeping beauty. “When a woman risks her life and her reputation for a man, she seeks more than a frivolous affair.”
A brief silence ensued.
Why had she come?
What did she want from him?
They were questions he needed answering.
“You must decide what you want me to tell Denton if he arrives.” Aaron patted Nicholas on the back. “I shall leave you to consider your next plan of action and to wake the woman who will certainly inform your decision.” Then he left them alone in the room.
Nicholas drew a chair close to the bed, his heart melting as his gaze settled on Helen, looking so peaceful, so vulnerable in slumber.
“What shall I do with you?” he whispered, dropping into the seat and evaluating his options.
Of course, his mind conjured a sensual scene where he claimed Helen as his wife and lover, not necessarily in that order. Indeed, he had grown tired of fighting his feelings. Tired of denying himself.
He leant forward and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Helen? Wake up, love.” Smoothing his hand over her shoulder, he shook her gently. “Helen. Sigmund has brought you wine and a cold collation.”
She moaned and stretched like a lazy cat. It took her a few seconds to open her eyes and recall where she was, to recognise his face.
“Nicholas,” she said in the soft, breathy voice of someone still lost in a pleasant dream. She rolled onto her side. “Thank heavens. I prayed I would find you here.”
He touched her arm affectionately. “Take something to eat and drink and then tell me how you knew to come to Fortune’s Den. Does Sebastian know you’re here?”
It was a stupid question.
If so, he would have found Sebastian pacing the room, ranting and raving, ready to drag him over hot coals. Helen would be dressed modestly in a high-collared pelisse and pretty bonnet. Not tight breeches that made his mouth water. Not a fine lawn shirt and no corset.
“Tell me you wore a coat,” he snapped.
She sat up, her hair wild and bed-tussled, and pointed to the garments thrown over the chair. “Of course. Lady Brompton helped me dress. These were her husband’s clothes. They’re dreadfully outdated, but she refused to part with them. Thankfully, he was a man of small build and stature.”
“Lady Brompton?”
“She urged me to help prove your innocence.”
Nicholas frowned. Lady Brompton was good friends with Charles Holland’s aunt. Was this all part of the plan? Sacrifice Helen to find the fugitive? If so, the widow had underestimated him. He would fight to the death to protect the woman he loved.
“Doubtless, she’s the one who cut your hair.”
Helen shrugged. “It was too long to fit inside my hat.”