Not that she had described what had occurred to her brother in vivid detail. No, indeed. She had ventured just enough for there to be no doubt. Just enough that she had hoped he would go to their father. Instead, he had flown into a rage and come here, barging into Huntingdon’s study and thrashing him.
Had Huntingdon offered up a defense? Likely, he had not. He would never raise a fist in such a conflict. That much, she knew.
“My lady,” he bit out when she failed to answer him, taking her elbow in a punishing grip. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
“Unhand her,” demanded Shelbourne. “You have no right to touch my sister. Not after what you have done, how deeply you have betrayed not only me but your own sense of honor. God rot you.”
Huntingdon winced and released Helena at once.
But Helena was not moving from his side. Guilt and the undeniable magnetism she had always felt for the earl kept her from leaving. Still, she knew she needed to explain. Not that she could with her brother hovering over them like an irate gaoler.
“I am sorry, Huntingdon,” she said softly. “I never intended for him to attack you. Seeing you hurt is the last thing I would ever wish.”
“Then it would seem you made an err in judgment, my lady,” he said cuttingly.
She deserved his scorn in part, she knew. For she had understood what going to her brother would mean, although she had not fully comprehended what it would entail. She had known Shelbourne’s friendship with Huntingdon would be tested. But she was not alone in the kisses and embraces they had shared. He was every bit as complicit in what had occurred between them as she had been.
Rather, it was the betrayal of trust—far more than the actions—which set them apart. Trust was important for Huntingdon, and in going to her brother, she had proven to Huntingdon that he could not trust her.
“The err in judgment was yours.” Shelbourne’s angry accusation split the silence. “What were you thinking, compromising an innocent lady? Your friend’s sister?Mysister, damn you. You are all but wedded to another, and her betrothal is imminent.”
Helena huffed out a sigh, turning her attention to her brother once more. He hovered over herself and Huntingdon like a grim, forbidding angel. “He knew I did not want to marry Lord Hamish, and he was trying to aid me.”
“Aid you,” her brother repeated, incredulous. “By ruining you himself?”
“Enough!” Huntingdon rose to his towering height once more. “Cease your arguments, if you please. My head is aching. What has happened is not in dispute. I have compromised Lady Helena. However, no one need know what has transpired beyond the three of us. Shelbourne, you now know that Lady Helena is on a mission to ruin herself, however she must. She does not want to marry Lord Hamish. My actions are inexcusable, but they hardly necessitate any more rash a response than those which have already been undertaken.”
Helena rose to her feet belatedly, shaking out her skirts, as a chill swept over her. He was acknowledging his own wrongdoing but suggesting they keep it a secret—the three of them. And what a tidy secret it would be. His indiscretions with Helena would be forgotten. She would still be forced to marry the odious Lord Hamish.
Her heart thudded.
Huntingdon had left her with no choice.
She had not been certain she could dare, that she would willingly lie to her own brother. That she would cast Huntingdon’s reputation and his honor to the ether. But his words had filled her with a desperation she could not shake. As before, during the tea she had taken with Lady Sinclair and Lady Jo, she knew she had to do what was best.
Follow her heart.
Save herself.
There was only one way. A hate, awful way. Her sole chance…
“I am with child,” she blurted.
And then she instantly prayed the Lord would forgive her for issuing such a monstrous lie. And praying that Huntingdon could too, in time.
Huntingdon’s stare swung to hers, accusing, irate. Glacial. “What the devil?” he asked.
“What the bloody hell?” Shelbourne demanded in unison.
Oh dear.
What the devil and what the bloody hell, indeed? In for a penny, in for a pound, however. If Huntingdon intended to carry on as if nothing had occurred between them beyond that which would could be expiated by fisticuffs to defend her honor, she would have to change courses.
“I need to marry,” she fibbed, avoiding her brother and Huntingdon’s probing gazes. “Lord Huntingdon is the father, so it is only right that it should be him.”
She heard Huntingdon’s swift inhalation. Felt her brother’s wrath as if it were another creature loose in the chamber, prepared to attack. But she was desperate, and she was staying the course.
She was desperate.
