with them, rather than trading me to the guards to be used as they wished."
The viscount made a stifled sound, shot to his feet, and started to pace the room. Helene tensed as he swung around to face her, his piercing silver eyes fixed on her face. "I apologize, ma -petite. The thought of you enduring such an existence and yet risking so much for complete strangers makes me want to find the Bastille guards and choke them with my bare hands." "But I wanted to die, monseigneur. It seemed a perfect way to accomplish my goal." "Yet you survived and here you are." "Yes, here I am."
He nodded slowly. There was a tap on the door, and a foot-man entered bearing a large silver tray. A maid followed with another tray filled with afternoon delicacies. Helene's stomach grumbled, and she felt herself blushing.
"I hope you are hungry, my dear. My cook will be very disappointed if you don't at least sample her cakes and pastries."
He poured her some tea and handed her a plate filled with food. Helene regarded the spread dubiously. Since Philip's abrupt departure, she'd experienced great difficulty keeping food down at all. With a murmur of thanks, she rested the plate on her lap and sipped at her tea, allowing the warmth of the brew to settle in her stomach.
The viscount sat down and helped himself to a selection of pastries before turning his attention back to Helene. "Will you tell me how you escaped the Bastille?" The directness of his manner reminded Helene of Philip. Were all English aristocrats so used to being obeyed that they assumed all their questions should be promptly and honestly answered?
"As I said, sir, I'm not proud of what I did, but at the time, I could see no other course of action open to me."
His smile was full of stark memories. "Do you think I will condemn you? I experienced the horrors of your existence for only a few days. In your place, I believe I would've done anything to escape."
Helene was emboldened by the unexpected flow of sympathy. "Shortly after you left, I realized I was pregnant, and I was, quite frankly, terrified."
"Hardly surprising when you are fifteen and alone, my dear." He paused to pour himself more tea. "Did you have any idea who the child's father was?"
She bit down on her lip. "I had no idea. I. . . had no choice as to who bedded me, or how many ..." Her hand shook so badly that tea spilled over the side of her cup, scalding her fingers. The viscount leaned across, took the cup away from her, and set it on the side table.
"I'm sorry to bring back such unpleasant memories for you. If this is too difficult, we can leave it in the past."
"No, sir." She raised her gaze to meet his. "I would like to share my story with someone who might understand, someone who will not judge me."
He handed her his handkerchief and sat back. "Then please continue."
"I also realized if the guards found out I was pregnant, my child was unlikely to survive."
Helene took a deep breath. "So I decided to find a man who could get me out of the prison for good."
"A wise decision. I only wish I'd been there to help you."
"Thank you, sir, but / am glad you had escaped."
His slight smile made her feel a little better.
"One of the new regime's elderly lawyers was quite taken with me, so I flirted with him and persuaded him to buy me from the guards."
"And you were successful."
"I was. I also convinced him to bed me, and I pretended the child was his."
The viscount's smile held no hint of condemnation, only wry approval. "I can only applaud your ingenuity. He would not marry you, though?"
"Unfortunately, he had a wife, but he was rich enough to set me up in my own apartment and to arrange care for me throughout my pregnancy."
"A good choice, then."
"Yes, apart from the fact that he wouldn't let me keep the baby."
The viscount stilled. "What became of the child?"
"My daughter was sent to a local nunnery that cared for orphaned and abandoned children. My lover agreed to pay for the child's upkeep until