Chapter 19

Late November 1819

London

Helen stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing-room, studying her reflection. But all she saw was a stranger in a blood-red gown made from the most expensive satin. The scandalously low neckline framed the ostentatious ruby and diamond necklace that Lavorel had bought her in Paris. The satin clung to her body accentuating every curve, leaving very little of what lay underneath to the imagination.

After she had left Belmont Hall, in the middle of the night with Haverstock and Deveraux, she had been taken to a large country house in Kent. Haverstock had immediately begun to school her in all the information she needed to take up her new identity as the dashing widow, Helena, Countess de Aquileia. He had employed an Italian tutor, who was an expert in the region of Italy where she would have come from, to teach her everything she needed to know. She had to remember places, names and even learn the complex dialect that was unique to the region. It had all been relatively easy for her. Helen had an excellent memory that was second to none. And in less than a month, Haverstock was convinced that she was ready to go to Paris to play her part.

At the end of September, just four weeks after leaving Belmont Hall, she had travelled to Paris with Deveraux. He was going to be her footman and accompany her whenever he could. Helen had voiced her concerns to Haverstock about Deveraux. In her opinion, he looked far too young and inexperienced to be of any use, but Haverstock had insisted that he was there to protect her.

Within a week of arriving in Paris, she had found Lavorel, and it had not taken her long to renew their former intimacies. He had always had a reputation of being an experienced and accomplished lover, and over the years that had not changed. However, their sexual encounters had ultimately left her feeling empty. They lacked the closeness, the joining of two souls, that she had felt with Ralph.

There was something else that was beginning to nag at her conscience. Since leaving Belmont Hall, she had missed three of her monthly courses. Initially, she had thought that it was due to the stress caused by the prospect of working for Haverstock again. She had skipped them before during stressful times in her life. However, when she missed her second one, and she noticed that her breasts were starting to enlarge and become more sensitive to the touch, she began to suspect that she was with child; Ralph's child.

When she had lain with him, she had thought that begetting a child was impossible. She had been told by the Portuguese midwife after her complicated birth with Georgie, that it was unlikely that she would be able to have children anymore. However, the unthinkable had happened. She put her hands on her abdomen, where her precious baby was growing. She could already feel the gentle swell of her stomach, and she knew that it would not be long before Lavorel would notice.

Tonight, they were going to the theatre. Lavorel liked to be the centre of attention. He had hired a box in the most prominent part of the theatre just right of the stage, where everyone would be able to see them. He had asked her to wear the red satin dress and the ruby necklace, especially for tonight's performance. By the end of the evening, everyone in the theatre would be talking about Lavorel and his scandalous mistress the mysterious Countessa de Aquileia.

Later that evening, as they entered the box, every eye in the theatre fell upon them. Helen knew how to play her part. Tonight, she was the beautiful Helena, Countess de Aquileia, the outrageously scandalous mistress of the handsome French diplomat, Monsieur Lavorel.

She sat close to him and laughed at his observations. He was a clever man, and she usually found his chatter amusing, but tonight, in this public setting, she felt a little distracted. They were not alone in the box. A few of Lavorel's associates had joined them for the evening, and they were sitting slightly behind them joining in on the conversation. Even though there were others present, it did not stop Lavorel from touching her. It was the part of being Lavorel's mistress she disliked the most. It made her feel cheap and tawdry, but she could not complain. If she let him know she did not like it, he would only ask another woman to join him, and she was far from fulfilling her mission and reclaiming her son.

She immersed herself in the role and pushed her conscience to once side. When this was all over, she would, at last, be reunited with her son. She leant against Lavorel and encouraged him to continue, as she buried the revulsion she felt deep inside.

They were now the focus of everyone in the theatre. She knew that her wanton behaviour was the main topic of conversation. Her morals, and hers alone, would be dissected and discussed by everyone. Despite everyone thinking that she was a Countessa, she would be labelled a courtesan, a woman with little or no morals. Lavorel, on the other hand, would suffer no loss to his reputation. Why was it always the woman that was judged harshly? Why not the man?

As Helen looked out at the sea of people, she saw a familiar face staring at her with a hard, cold look in his eyes: It was Ralph.

He was sitting in a box, on the left side of the stage. At the front of the box, three women were seated in a row; Lady Huntingdon, Lady Hepworth and Miss Hepworth. Lady Huntingdon and Lady Hepworth were looking at her with disapproval. She wondered if they recognised her from the house-party. It was unlikely, she looked like a completely different woman from the dowdy lady's companion she had once been. Only Ralph, who was standing behind the ladies and next to Lord Hepworth, had recognised her.

The feeling of shame that she had just successfully buried began to rise to the surface.

'Is everything well, ma cherie?' Lavorel said smoothly. He had obviously sensed her sudden change of demeanour.

'Yes, Lavorel,' she had said, smiling at him and trying to hide her fluttering nerves. 'Please excuse me,' she said, as she kissed him lightly on the lips. 'I must retire for a moment.'

'I will escort you,' he said gallantly.

'Lavorel, dearest,' she purred, leaning into him. 'That will not be necessary. I will only be gone a few minutes.' She kissed him again on the lips and heard the gentlemen behind give a few ribald remarks that she ignored.

'Do not be long, ma cherie,' he had said, as she left the box.

Helen was glad to be out of the box and by herself. Lavorel had a tendency to be possessive which meant that she found it difficult to be alone when she was out with him. She took a few deep breaths as she leant against the door. Once she had steadied herself, so she could stand without support, she began to walk down the corridor. There were still plenty of people milling about and talking, waiting to take their seats for the performance. She just wanted to be by herself so that she could school her emotions once more.

Helen had known that she might see him in London. The autumn parliamentary session was underway, and he had no doubt come to take his seat in the House of Lords. However, she was unprepared for the vast number of emotions that flooded through her when she had seen him again, looking at her with cold hauteur.

She found an alcove that afforded her a little privacy where she could be alone and went inside. She suddenly became aware that she was carrying Ralph's child. He deserved to know. A child needed a father, and surely Ralph had a right to know that he would have a child of his own, even if he chose not to acknowledge it.

On that fateful late-August evening, when she had agreed to work for Haverstock once more, it had only been her life she was risking. Now, the stakes had been raised. It was not just her life on the line, it was the life of her unborn child. She thought of Georgie and the reason why she had accepted Haverstock. It had seemed so simple back then; her life in return for her son's.

Helen had always prided herself on being able to restrain her wayward feelings. However, since she had fallen in love with Ralph, she was finding them more challenging to control. She could not panic. If the Countessa de Aquileia's mask slipped, she would not be just putting herself in danger, she would also be risking the life of her unborn child. She took a few more deep breaths and focused on the job she had to do.

Ralph had been in a bad mood all day. In fact, he had been out of sorts since the ball at Belmont Hall nearly three months ago. He had returned to Fallbrook House, his Mayfair residence, just after the guests had left the house-party. It had been the beginning of September and Ralph had been grateful that there had been very few members of the ton in residence. To take his mind off the pain he felt at Helen's rejection, he distracted himself with the various entertainments that can be found in London all year round.

He soon discovered the seedy and degenerate places that he had not visited since his youth. He gambled and caroused nearly every night and reacquainted himself with the debauched vices he had shunned years ago. He had to purge his memory of Helen and erase her entirely from his thoughts. However, in the morning, when he had woken up, his head muzzy from the excesses of the previous night, he only felt a deep loathing for himself.

He had thought that the beginning of the Parliamentary session would help him forget. But at night, when he was alone, she still invaded his thoughts. Even though he was busy during the day, Ralph continued to drink heavily and frequent some of the more depraved places he had recently found at night. He was a mess, both emotionally and physically.

Then unexpectedly last week, and to his own consternation, his mother had arrived at Fallbrook House. She was even more determined than ever for him to marry Miss Hepworth. The mini-season that accompanied the Parliamentary session was in full swing, and she had persuaded him to accompany her to ton events. However, his mother's assertive behaviour to reform him had only pushed him further into his dissolute life.

Tonight, he had found himself accompanying his mother and the Hepworth's to the theatre. She had asked him the previous evening when he had been drunk. If she had asked him when he was sober, he would have been able to resist. However, it was too late now. He had been drinking at his club all day, preparing himself for the intolerable evening ahead. He was surrounded by the Hepworth's and his mother. If he was not careful, he would be betrothed to the young lady before the end of the week. The thing that depressed Ralph about the whole situation was that he was starting not to care.

As he was listening to a monologue being delivered by Lord Hepworth, he heard his mother tutting in disgust.

'She has a nerve coming here tonight,' he heard his mother say loudly to Lady Hepworth.

'Who?' Lady Hepworth had replied.

'Her,' Lady Huntingdon had said, pointing in the direction of the box opposite them. 'The so-called Countess de Aquileia. It is well-known that the trollop has no morals,' she said with disgust, 'look at the dress she is wearing! No decent woman would be seen in it.'

Lord Hepworth had suddenly stopped his monologue and was staring with admiration at the woman through a pair of opera glasses. 'Wouldn't mind sharing a box with her,' he had said with a lear in his voice to Huntingdon.

Ralph looked in the direction they were all looking and immediately saw the woman they were all talking about. She was sitting very close to a handsome older man. She was looking up at the man's face and laughing at something he had said. She wore a shocking but stunning low cut deep-red dress. The vibrant red colour accentuated the ivory skin of her ample décolletage and dark mahogany of her expertly styled hair. Around her neck, she wore a necklace that contained the largest most exquisite rubies and diamonds Ralph had ever seen. She looked breathtaking.

Then she turned and looked directly at him, and her smile quickly vanished. It was Helen. What was she doing here?

He saw her talk briefly to the man and leave the box. Ralph was furiously jealous. He had to go and find her and ask her what on earth she thought she was doing.

'Ralph,' she whispered, 'you should not have come here.'

Then she realised her objection had come too late. She was locked in his arms, looking into his stormy grey eyes. She was momentarily transported back to the moment she had seen him on the cliff, and she felt the same longing to be with him. As his lips possessively covered hers, and all logical thought scattered, she felt the familiar ardent desire for him course through her. The alcove was small, and there was barely room for both of them to stand. Her body was pressed up against his, sending a frisson of warm pleasurable excitement through her. As she kissed him, she could smell his familiar musky cologne, so different from Lavorel's and her senses were once more reeling out of control.

As the kiss continued to deepen, she felt him press her against the wall behind her. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and running her fingers through his silky hair and matching his passion with her own. His lips moved across her jawline and found the sensitive skin below her ear. Her breathing became more irregular as his hands moved possessively across the swell of her sensitive breasts and down onto her thighs.

Even though her body had responded to him, there was something very different about his touch. It was not the tender touch of a lover that she had experienced with him before, there was a rough possessiveness with every caress that was not familiar to her. Then she realised it was not love that was driving him; it was lust.

She began to marshal her erratic thoughts. If Lavorel or his friends, caught her in this uncompromising position, they would both be in grave danger. She had to break free from his grasp, but she could not move, he had her pinned against the wall. It would be so easy to give in to the lure of his touch that was sending her senses reeling, but she had to resist. After all, the man who was ravishing her body was not the same man she remembered falling in love with at Belmont Hall.

He began to kiss her mouth again, and she could taste brandy on his tongue, and she knew; he was drunk.

'Ralph,' she said her breath ragged, 'we should not be doing this. If Lavorel saw us, he'd kill you.'

'Let him try,' Ralph said boldly,' as his lips moved back to her neck, 'I'll kill him first.'

'Ralph, you have to go,' she said, as she managed to put her hands on his chest and tried to push him back.

'You're enjoying this,' he said roughly, as he pressed her harder against the wall. 'Anyway, I'm not frightened of that popinjay you are with.'

'You should be,' Helen retorted, trying to push him away again. 'Go,' she ordered, 'go before we are caught.'

'No,' he said defiantly, 'I have come to claim what is rightfully mine.'

The situation was getting more dangerous and out of control. If she did not return to the box soon, Lavorel would send one of his associates to find her. If they found her like this, they would kill both of them.

'You're drunk,' she said in disgust.

'No doubt I am,' he replied, still holding her possessively. 'You're mine, Helen,' he said fiercely, 'all mine.'

Helen managed to free one of her hands that had been trapped by his chest, pressing against hers. She then slapped Ralph across the cheek. The slap had the desired effect, and she felt him stand back and let her go.

'How dare you,' she managed to spit out, 'I am not yours. And I never have been. Now go!'

She saw him close his eyes and take a deep breath. 'I'm sorry, Helen,' he said with regret, 'I am so sorry.'

As he looked at her again, she saw the deep regret in his eyes. He deserved so much better than anything she could give him. She needed to tell him about the baby. Give him a little hope for the future. 'Ralph,' she replied, as she tried to get her breath back, 'there is something I need...'

All of a sudden, she felt Ralph being pulled away from her. For one terrible moment, she had thought that it had been one of Lavorel's cronies.

'Deveraux,' she had said with relief, 'thank goodness it's you. I thought for a moment that you were Lavorel.'

Deveraux had hauled Ralph out of the alcove, pinned him up against the wall and then had punched him in the stomach. Helen suspected that if Ralph had not been so drunk, he would not have collapsed into a heap onto the floor. It broke her heart to see him like this. She wanted to push Deveraux out of the way and comfort the man she still loved. She had been on the brink of telling him about their child. Perhaps it was better that he did not know. It would only have destroyed Ralph to know that she was carrying his child, but was the mistress of another man.

'You better get back to Lavorel, he's just about to send out a search party for you,' Deveraux said, as he looked up and down the empty corridor. 'The curtain has just gone up on stage, and the first act is about to begin.

'Yes,' Helen said breathlessly, trying to compose herself, 'what about Lord Huntingdon.'

'Don't worry about him,' Deveraux said grimly, 'I'll escort him back to his box.'

Helen watched sadly as Deveraux helped Ralph down the corridor. What had she done to him? When she had gone with Haverstock on that fateful day three months ago, she had thought she would only hurt herself. She had thought that Ralph would soon forget about her and move onto someone else. How foolishly wrong she had been.

Her hand drifted down her abdomen, as she felt the swell of her stomach where their baby was growing. How was she going to tell him now about the child she was carrying?