The Stepsister's Triumph by Darcie Wilde Read Free Book Online

expectations of the most unruly sorts of behavior. He had no business sending her a painting of any kind, let alone one that could be considered of questionable decency.
    But she didn’t call for Rose to come take the thing away. She stared at it, drinking in the colors, the delicate brushwork, and most of all, that sliver of light that shone through the open door.
    You are not alone. The door is open.
    A firm step sounded in the hallway outside. Madelene jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to cover the shocked cry. A knock sounded, and her heart beat out of control.
What do I do? Where can I hide it?
    But then came Helene’s voice. “Madelene? It’s me. May I come in?”
    Madelene rushed to unlock the door. Helene marched in, her eyes sweeping the room. When she spotted the painting, she closed and locked the door before Madelene could even reach for the key.
    â€œOh, Helene,” murmured Madelene. “You startled me. I was afraid. I...” But Helene wasn’t listening. She crossed the room and, without waiting for permission picked up the painting. Her brows lowered, which in Helene was an indication of surprise and strong consternation. Madelene felt her cheeks heating up, because she knew Helene did not miss the similarity between herself and the girl in the picture.
    â€œWhere did this come from?” Helene asked as she carefully placed the painting in Madelene’s dressing room and shut that door.
    â€œLord Benedict sent it.” Madelene passed Helene the note. Helene read it and frowned.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Madelene folded the note back up and tucked it into her sleeve. “I can’t keep it.”
    â€œNot here,” agreed Helene thoughtfully. “I’m sure Miss Sewell would keep it for you if you wanted.”
    â€œI don’t know what I want.” Madelene smoothed her hair back from her forehead. She’d been through too many wild swings of emotion; from the desperate hope when she sat among her friends, to the anger and exhaustion and the endless wearing worry that swamped her when she came home, to this . . . this grand, beautiful gesture from a man she barely knew, a dangerous man with dark eyes whose lightest touch set her mind wandering down the most wicked paths.
    â€œI expect you do know,” Helene said. “And better than you’re ready to admit.”
    Madelene didn’t answer that. “Sit down, Helene. Tell me why you’ve come.”
    Helene took one of the round-backed chairs by Madelene’s small hearth. “I came to make sure you were all right after all that talk at Miss Sewell’s.”
    â€œOh yes, I’m fine . . .”
    â€œMadelene,” Helene cut her off firmly. “You know you don’t have to be polite at me.”
    â€œPolite at me,” Madelene repeated. “You’re the only person I know who talks like that.”
    â€œOnce we’re successes I shall set a new fashion in language. Please, Madelene,” Helene added softly. “I’m sorry if we upset you. You don’t have to write your cousin or do anything about Lord Benedict. Send back the painting, and the note if that’s what you want. I’ll help you.”
    â€œThen what do I do to help your plans, Helene?” She spread her hands. “Keep being the moneybags?”
    â€œThat is a vulgar expression.”
    â€œPerhaps I’ll set a fashion in language, too. Wouldn’t that surprise everybody?” Madelene tried to smile, but it faded quickly. “I want to do something. Really do something. It’s what we’ve talked about, isn’t it? If I don’t try new things, I’ll just keep being afraid.”
    â€œBut if it’s too soon . . .”
    â€œIt’s not too soon,” Madelene said. “But I’m afraid it might be too late.”
    â€œNever.” Helene