Chapter 11 #2
Helena’s stomach tightened so quickly she felt vomit rise in her throat; the acidic taste made her frown just as much as Lord Ingram’s vile words.
She tiptoed to the door and looked in. Her nausea grew worse as she saw Lord Ingram with her mother near her bed.
Lord Ingram had her backed up against the foot of the bed, and her mother’s one hand was clenched around the lapels of her own silk robe while the other was trying to push Lord Ingram’s hand off the knot she had tied in the robe’s belt.
“Our arrangement is ending the moment my daughter marries Mr. Winterbourne,” Mary-Anne whispered, her tone growing more panicked as she kept pushing his hands away. “I do not want to do this anymore!”
“You and your daughter are both mine until the wedding contract is signed,” Lord Ingram retorted, catching Mary-Anne’s wrist. “Even then, what makes you think our arrangement will ever be over? You have been my whore for years now. All it takes is one word to the right gossipmonger, and your reputation will be forever ruined. Just because someone else can pay your bills now does not mean your debt to me ceases to exist.”
Helena watched for another horrified moment as Lord Ingram captured both her mother’s wrists in one hand and once more reached for her knotted robe with the other.
“Please do not do this,” Mary-Anne sobbed, shaking her head.
Lord Ingram shook his own head as he tsked his tongue and pulled Mary-Anne’s robe belt free of its knot.
“You always say you do not like it at first, but you always come around toward the end,” he replied.
“Stop this at once!” Helena demanded, shoving the door open.
Mary-Anne looked up through her tears, startled for a second, then her face crumpled as she began to sob.
Lord Ingram sneered as he pushed away Mary-Anne’s wrists and her waist, sending her into a sitting position on the bed, which made her gasp.
“I will be paid what I am owed, little girl. There is nothing you can say or do to stop that.” Lord Ingram’s tone was a vile mixture of arousal and rage as he stalked toward Helena.
Helena scrambled back, but he quickly took a step forward, reaching out and gripping her upper arms.
“The question is… Is your mother going to pay her debt? Or are you?” Lord Ingram asked, pushing his face closer to Helena’s as his grip on her arms became painfully tight.
“Do not touch me,” Helena seethed, struggling against his grip.
“Who do you think has generously been paying your bills, stupid child?” Lord Ingram spat out. “Who has been making sure you have a roof over your head? Food on your table? Clothes on your back? Your mother knew the deal, and she agreed to it.”
Helena bared her teeth as a feral urge to fight and protect took over her.
“Well, if it were you, you certainly have not done enough,” she bit back. “We still struggled despite your ‘generosity’.”
Lord Ingram’s sneer deepened as his grip on her arms tightened. Helena wanted to yelp from the pain, but she pressed her lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Spoiled little temptress you turned out to be,” he gritted out. “You think because you are marrying someone with money now that your mother will be free to go? Oh no. I am still owed what you have already cost me, and I will take it by any means necessary.”
As he said so, he gave Helena a hard shake, forcing her head to snap back and hit the wall. Pain welled up at the back of Helena’s head as Mary-Anne screamed and scrambled toward them, but again, Helena pressed her lips together, refusing to let the man see her cry.
“You are a demon,” Helena seethed as she saw clearly the pure evil in Lord Ingram’s rage-filled eyes. “And you will reap what you sow.”
Lord Ingram’s eyes darkened at her threat, and she saw his other hand move back, as if to strike her.
She braced for the blow, sure that it would shake her to the core.
Then, with another scream, Mary-Anne lunged, grabbing Lord Ingram’s hand and tearing it away.
Helena hissed as his grip on her arm loosened, but she pushed past the pain and darted forward.
She was too late. Lord Ingram’s strike landed hard against her mother’s cheek, sending her sprawling onto the floor.
Helena tried to strike him, but Lord Ingram whirled with a quickness that startled Helena and caught her by the throat.
She coughed and choked as she dug her nails into his fist, digging deep scratches into his hand.
Lord Ingram let out a growl of rage and pushed her away, shaking out his wounded hand.
Helena stumbled back, catching herself just before she hit the wall.
“I have had enough of this foolishness!” he seethed.
Helena stood up straight, jutting her chin out, but a knock came at the door that had slammed closed.
“Miss? Ma’am? Are you well?” A footman’s voice called. “Are you in need of assistance?”
Lord Ingram sneered as he looked toward the door, then at the two women who had attacked him.
“You will not keep me from what I am owed,” he swore, his voice low and deadly. “Not even a locked door could keep me out.”
Ignoring the terror flooding her at Lord Ingram’s threatening words, Helena darted for the door and quickly opened it. Suddenly, Lord Ingram’s surly demeanor shifted into a look of pity as he held his hands behind his back and offered a polite smile.
“I do apologize, ladies. I sincerely thought this was my room,” he said politely.
The footman looked in, a sheepish look on his face as he surveyed the room.
“Lord Ingram has had too many cups this evening, I am afraid,” Helena announced with an air of authority. “I believe he requires assistance with his carriage.”
Lord Ingram’s eyes began to darken once more as his nostrils flared and his lips twitched toward a grimace—then he caught himself.
“Quite right,” he agreed, taking one last leering look at first Mary-Anne, then Helena, before he walked toward the servant. “Though I will not need a carriage. My estate is just a brisk walk through the woods.”
He stepped into the doorframe, but just as he looked as if he was about to leave, he turned. Not to look at Mary-Anne, but at Helena.
“You see, I am always very, very close, and very keen on opening doors that are meant to be locked,” he whispered wickedly.
“Go ahead and try to keep me out. It only makes it more amusing to me.” He pulled away, then winked, the little acknowledgment immediately renewing Helena’s urge to vomit, and then left without another word.
Helena followed quietly, sticking to the shadows as she did so, until Lord Ingram was led to the stairs. She watched from the balcony as the front door was opened for him, and only when it was firmly shut and locked did she run back to her mother’s room.
“Mama!” she whispered urgently as she found her crying on her bed.
Helena quickly joined her and pulled her mother’s head into her lap.
“He is gone,” Helena promised, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
In Helena’s lap, Mary-Anne shook her head as she continued to cry.
“You heard him,” she sobbed. “He will come back, and there is nothing I can do about it. I made a deal with a devil, and he is never going to be paid in full.”
“Then we will find a way to keep him far away from us,” Helena said quietly, smoothing her mother’s hair back from her face. “You do not have to carry this alone anymore, Mama. I am here now, and I will be married soon. Mr. Winterbourne’s brother is a duke. Things will change.”
It had taken an hour to calm her mother down.
Mary-Anne had first cried over what happened.
Then cried over accepting the deal with Lord Ingram in the first place.
Then she cried over her own weakness. She cried herself to sleep, pleading with Helena to forgive her with her last bit of strength before she lost consciousness.
Through it all, Helena kept her own thoughts and opinions to herself; instead, she chose to soothe her mother with reassuring words that everything would work out.
Even if she had no idea how. Lord Ingram seemed like a man who would never stop pursuing what he wanted, and for the first time since agreeing to marry Jeremy, Helena wondered whether he could protect her and her family from a man like that.
Unable to stay still, Helena quietly slipped out of her mother’s room. In the hallway, she paused, taking a long moment to listen for any footsteps that might belong to a sinister intruder.
There it was again. Slow, deliberate footsteps, coming from the west wing.
Who could that be?
She should go back inside. She should wake the footman, or scream, or do any of the sensible things a woman was meant to do when she heard a stranger in the dead of night.
Instead, she followed the sound.