‘I told you I collect secrets. Information is far more lucrative than sterling in certain circumstances.’
Cynthia tried to puzzle out what secrets she knew that could possibly equate to the debt her husband owed. ‘I don’t think any information I have would be of use to you.’ It probably wasn’t the best strategy to tell him she had nothing of worth to barter, but he would find out sooner or later.
Sinclair’s slow smile was chilling. ‘You’ve no idea what you ’ave, Lady Burrows. But I don’t want information from you.’
‘You just said information is more valuable than sterling.’ She had endured about enough from this man. What would he do if she spun on her heel and simply walked away? Probably have his burly butler chase after her. Then Helena would blast the man with her witchy magic, and all manner of hell would break loose. She couldn’t risk exposing Helena’s gifts to Sinclair. He wouldn’t waste a moment in exploiting her vulnerability and destroying them both.
‘I want pictures. Of you. And ’er.’ He flicked his gaze to Helena.
Cynthia blinked. What value would portraits have to a man like Sinclair?
Photographs were all the rage in London, with studios cropping up on every corner. It was a crackerjack pastime for the beau monde, but equally popular with working-class men and women who could now pay forcarte de visiteportraits to be taken of them and displayed proudly in their homes. But what the devil would Sinclair do with portraits of Cynthia and Helena? Unless he planned for them to be scandalous.
Oh my.
No wonder Helena was horrified.
12
Nausea rolled in Cynthia’s belly, followed quickly by indignant rage. ‘I will not take nude photographs for you, nor will I allow my friend to debase herself for your perverse pleasure.’ She grabbed Helena’s hand, deciding to test her theory. Maybe they could run fast enough to escape Sinclair’s men. If not, she would go to a debtor’s prison before she allowed herself or Helena to be used in such a deplorable manner.
Sinclair was swift and silent on his feet. One minute, he was leaning on his desk; the next, he was blocking her path to the door. ‘Calm yourself, Lady Burrows. My suggestions is ’ardly as depraved as all that. I wouldn’t require you to be in any state of undress. You may stay exactly as you are… with a few minor changes.’
Cynthia stepped back, inadvertently bumping into Helena, who gripped Cynthia’s hip to steady her. She could feel the cool pressure of Helena’s fingers against her corseted waist, both comforting and disconcerting.
‘I don’t understand. Why would you want to photograph us fully clothed? You can’t use such images for blackmail. How does that benefit you?’
‘He can use them as blackmail.’ Helena’s voice quavered, though Cynthia couldn’t be certain if it was fear or rage. She guessed the latter.
‘How?’
‘Because he wants images of us together.’ Helena’s fingers tightened around Cynthia’s waist before she dropped her hand. ‘Intimate photos. Isn’t that right, Sinclair?’
Cynthia’s face heated as Helena’s gaze turned icy enough to freeze most men’s bollocks.
Damien Sinclair merely nodded. ‘Kills two birds with one stone, dunnit? I ’ave bargaining power over both of you.’
A completely inappropriate thrill coursed through Cynthia at the very thought of taking intimate pictures with Helena. But the pulse of excitement immediately died when she realised who would be standing behind the camera. He truly was the Devil.
‘You want to ruin both of us?’
He shrugged, his impeccably tailored suit barely wrinkling. ‘That’s up to you. I can ensure these pictures never see the light of day. As long as you grant me a few favours from time to time. Like putting a leash on that dog you call an uncle, Miss Blair. I grow weary of ’im sniffing around my territory.’ Damien Sinclair was a devious, dangerous bastard. He could blackmail them forever. And Cynthia had played right into his hands. In the process, she’d delivered Helena up like some sugary treat.
She cursed herself for being three times a fool. No matter what the alternative, she couldn’t possibly agree to his deal. She might be willing to risk her own reputation to clear her debts with Sinclair, but she would never put Helena in such an unconscionable position.
If their photos were made public, it would destroy more than just Helena’s reputation. It would decimate her family and her livelihood. The apothecary shop was patronised by the beau monde’s most elite ladies. Women who would cut off any business with Helena and her family if evidence of sexual depravity were discovered. But neither would Helena allow herself to be at Sinclair’s mercy. While Cynthia had been controlled by others her whole life, Helena was a wild creature who would wither under such constraints. Cynthia would face any manner of hell to avoid such a fate for Helena.
‘You wretched, horrible bastard,’ she hissed. She couldn’t kill Hubert, as he was already dead, but she could certainly murder Sinclair.
‘Such coarse language from a refined lady. I’m shocked.’
Cynthia lurched forward and would have slapped him had Helena not grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
‘We’ll do it.’
She must have imagined Helena’s cool voice speaking such impossible words. It was the only explanation that made sense. But Damien Sinclair’s smug smile wasn’t her imagination. Turning to stare at Helena, she opened her mouth to protest. Helena squeezed her arm gently.
‘We’ll do it,’ she repeated, her grey gaze burning into Cynthia. There was a glint of silver in her eyes and an unspoken promise. Cynthia didn’t need magic to hear Helena’s message.
