What did Captain Starling want from her, that he would go to such lengths to ensure she was left better off in the wake of the shocking rumours about her?
She was not quite sure, but perhaps he suffered from the same malady that had plagued her since the departure from Lady Caroline’s estate.
Helen craved him, yearned for his touch, hungered for the look in his eyes as he gazed upon her.
It was madness, surely. It could be nothing else.
Finally, the door opened, and the man himself stood before her.
Those startling blue eyes blazed with heat the moment he saw her standing before him.
“Mrs Montrose,” he said softly, ushering her in and scanning the street quickly before closing the door behind her.
Taking him in properly, Helen noticed the strain etched on the grooves beside his mouth, his shirt uncharacteristically rumpled, open at the throat, with no gaudy waistcoat in sight. He was draped in a somewhat threadbare deep blue silk banyan, hair mussed and dishevelled.
Had she ever seen him look so discomposed?
“You came,” he said simply, his hand reaching out as if to cup her cheek, but pulling back at the last minute.
Helen simply nodded, mute all of a sudden as she stared up at him.What had she intended to say again?
“Come,” he said, helping her to remove her cloak and taking her hand to lead her into a small, dimly lit parlour. A bright fire burning high in the grate with a set of comfortable chairs arranged before it.
Feeling like she was losing control of the situation, Helen tugged her hand from his, lifting her chin and settling herself primly on the edge of one of the chairs, tucking her skirts carefully around her legs.
Starling watched her steadily, slowly lowering himself into the chair opposite her.
They observed each other stiffly for a moment, then Starling cocked his head. “You are not wearing red tonight,” he said, with a small smile.
Helen glanced briefly down at her plain lavender dress, smoothing the skirt over her knees.
“I did not come here tonight as the scandalous widow. There is much more to me than her, you know,” she replied archly.
“Of course I know,” frowned Starling, raking his fingers through his hair. “Is that what you think of me? That I am so shallow as to not see the glorious woman hiding beneath the artificae of that facade?
Helen bounced to her feet, clasping her fingers together in agitation. “I don’t know what to think of you, who you really are. Why am I here?” she demanded, stepping closer.
“I wanted to see you,” said Starling softly, rising to stand before her. “I needed to see you. After-”
“Yes,” interrupted Helen, warming to her topic. “After.”
“After you seduced me as part of a job you were paid to do, to discredit me,” she added in a rush.
Starling sucked in a deep breath, holding up his hands. “I was never paid to seduce you, Helen. I need you to believe me. The attraction between us was was completely unexpected.”
“But you did intend to discredit me?” Helen whispered, biting her lip against the tremble that threatened.
“Oh God, what a mess,” growled Starling, glaring up at the ceiling briefly. He looked back at her, his expression distraught. “I was paid to investigate you, yes. But there was nothing to find, of course. You are just an exceptionally talented card player. That was the beginning and end of my report, and Lord Holsen, devil take him, did not accept my findings.”
“Was anything between us real, at any point?” asked Helen, sucking in a breath at the pain that the question wrought.
He stepped closer, making her senses spin at the scent of him, the warmth of him mere inches away from her. “Everything, every single moment between us was real, Helen. I swear it.”
Helen searched his gaze, looking for the smallest hint of insincerity, as he stood tall and proud under her inspection.
There was that arrogance she had glimpsed before, the self-assurance of a man who knew his mind and cared not a whit what anyone else thought.
Something inside her buckled with relief at the knowledge.
