Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

The Next Day

“ I f I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, brother. I did not intend to be out there longer than a moment!” Helena said again, her eyes wide with exasperation.

He should let it go. Ambrose knew that he should. Helena was right. She did not intentionally put herself in danger. It was he who had protected her so viciously from men like Dennings to the point that he did not let her know they even existed. He would be correcting his course of education immediately now, not wanting her to be caught in such a dangerous predicament again.

“All it takes is a moment, Helena,” Ambrose countered. “That is precisely what I am trying to tell you. Men like him, they wait for their moment to pounce, and then they use their power and reputation to twist the narrative into whatever they want. You do not go anywhere alone. You take Barbara or Lydia, or you come get me,” he instructed.

Helena’s face darkened as she put her hands on her hips. “Stop talking to me as if I am a toddler! I needed air, Ambrose! I was close to the door then, but if I had gone back into the crowd to get one of you, I would not have been able to breathe! Going to the alcove was an error on my part, I admit, but please, forgive me and move on!”

Ambrose took a step toward her, raising an apologetic hand to place it on her shoulder, but she backed away from him just as Barbara had the night before—the movement jarred him.

“Don’t you understand what I am saying, Ambrose?” she asked, her eyes wide as her hand went to her throat. “I need air. ”

“You are saying I suffocate you?” Ambrose asked, hurt slicing through him.

Everything he had ever done was to keep her happy, healthy, and protected. She had clung to him all of her life, even before their father had passed. Now she could not breathe around him?

“I am saying, brother,” Helena sighed, her reddened face cooling down to its usual lovely porcelain shade, “that you hold me too tight. I know what you are going to do now, and I am begging you not to. The mistake I made last night was not and will not be of my usual character. You know this about me!”

Ambrose sighed, knowing he was, once again, about to become the villain in his little sister’s story. With no mother and no father to say the dreaded word, the responsibility was left to him.

“No.”

Helena’s pleading gaze turned into one of cold, hard stone, reminding him so much of the fated Medusa.

“I am sorry, sister, but if last night has proven anything, it is that the world is not safe enough to go out without my escort.”

The topic of discussion was Helena’s ability to attend parties without his watchful eye. Barbara, Lydia, and—when she returned—Alice, would act as dutiful custodians to his sister’s honor, Helena had said when she first tried to convince him. She had argued that with his overbearing presence, she was losing her chances at finding a husband in her first Season out.

“Do you not want the responsibility of me finally gone?” she had asked him when she had first brought it up a week or so ago. “Imagine the freedom! You could finally marry, boss someone else around.”

Ambrose had chuckled, but the truth was, his responsibility to her would never be gone, nor would he wish it to. He had not been thrilled when she had come out at the beginning of the Season, and had been less so when suitors had started asking her left and right for dances. If they had been good men, Ambrose would not need to interfere, but, in his business—both legal and not—he knew the secrets of almost every man in the ton. Very few of their characters were as clean as their reputations alluded to. Ambrose knew that, but Helena did not. Which had admittedly made letting her court difficult.

“The thing is, Helena, the answer is no,” he replied, knowing she was trying to talk him into circles. “I will gladly step aside at the parties, stay a room’s length away if that is what you wish, but I am not letting you out of my sight when we are out in Society. Do you understand?”

“ Do you understand? ” Helena mocked in an extremely childish tone.

His eyebrow rose as he gritted his teeth, his blue eyes throwing her a warning look.

Helena rolled her eyes and bounced on her feet, sighing. “What do you think?” she asked in her normal voice. “It is not like you give me any choice.”

Ambrose grappled with his temper as they glared daggers at one another. He could get men twice his size to cower before him with just a glare, but his little wisp of a sister? A woman so slight she could pass as a mythical fae? He never intimidated her.

“Good heavens, what has this big oaf said now,” Barbara said, her tone holding its usual amount of loathing for him as she and Lydia entered the library.

They both looked at him judgmentally, and he rolled his eyes, both he and Helena relaxing their stance as her two friends joined them.

“None of your business,” he retorted, waving a hand at the three of them as Barbara and Lydia came to either of Helena’s sides. The three of them then crossed their arms, creating a chain, and he forced himself not to roll his eyes again.

“What are you three birds going to chirp about today?” he asked, turning away from them.

He walked to the tea table, smirking as he heard Barbara’s irritated groan behind him.

“You, actually,” Barbara retorted stiffly. “And how insufferable you are.”

He could practically feel her glare burning a hole into his back as he poured himself a cup of tea and took his time stirring in honey.

“A fascinating topic,” he replied drolly, then took a small sip. “But perhaps your conversation is better focused on other subjects.”

He turned then, slowly, and his gaze slid to Barbara. Alarm shot through him as his body reacted to the sight of her dress. It was black, harshly black, like one worn for a funeral. But the cut was bolder than any of her other dresses and showed off more of her feminine frame. And, with her hair swept up the way it was, the bust did wonders showing off her slender neck. It was still not quite right, but it was another step in the right direction.

She has beauty, he admitted to himself, his thoughts centering on her.

“Ambrose,” Helena snapped, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He turned to Helena too quickly, causing a pain to shoot up his neck. Annoyance speared through him as he snarled, and he reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. From the corner of his eye, he saw Barbara scoff.

“Getting old, are you?” she asked, her tone sugary sweet.

“Losing a day, are you?” he murmured back, only loud enough for her to hear.

“What was that?” Lydia asked as Barbara scowled at him.

“Pay him no mind, ladies.” Helena sighed, turning up her nose at Ambrose before facing away from him. “Since he will not leave us, we shall simply leave him. Come, let us go to my quarters. The scenery is prettier there anyway.”

“It certainly is,” Barbara agreed, giving Ambrose a vicious grin as he looked toward her again.

He only replied with his own feral grin and a hand gesture as the three of them walked away from him, their noses all high in the air and their arms linked once more. He watched them flounce away like the haughtiness of queens and decided that he would get back at Barbara for her arrogance by giving her the first lesson. Today.

“It is hopeless,” Barbara sighed, slumping down into the armchair with yet another failure on her back.

In an effort to save money on new gowns, she decided to ask Helena if she could borrow one or two for the next two parties. Helena had excitedly agreed, and even Barbara had looked forward to it. Now, though, after trying on dress after misfit dress, she felt defeated. Helena was too short and too slim to have any dresses to fit Barbara properly, and all of the pink did nothing to help Barbara’s complexion.

“It is not hopeless, we merely have not found the right one yet,” Helena countered, her tone forced yet optimistic. “And if we do not find one in my collection, we can go through Lydia’s wardrobe.”

“You are more than welcome to,” Lydia quickly agreed, nodding. “But I must warn you, my gowns are not the ‘man-catching’ kind you need.”

Barbara smiled at both of them appreciatively, grateful they were willing to go to such great measures to help her. But, sadly, their help was indeed limited, and she had just run out of it.

“You are both so wonderful,” she told them, idly running a hand through her now-unpinned hair. “But we have met our impasse. I am afraid I shall have to buy a new dress.”

The air became uncomfortably quiet as Lydia and Helena’s eyes flicked to the floor. All of them knew that Barbara had no money for a new dress, and with no accounts of their own, they could not buy one for her. She cleared her throat, a little ashamed at bringing down the mood of the room, and forced a smile.

“Let us move on to another activity, yes?” she asked. “Something to lift our spirits, perhaps?”

Helena and Lydia both beamed back at her as if relieved that she did not just want to go home.

“Let us have some tea and cakes by the fountain in the garden,” Helena suggested. “We can take off our stockings and shoes and sit on the ledge while we cool our feet.”

“An excellent idea,” Barbara agreed quickly, getting up from the armchair. “You two go on, I am just going to change and put my hair up again.”

Normally, her friends would protest against leaving her, but she was relieved and thankful when both agreed and left the room without another word. Alone, she stepped to the mirror and took in her reflection a final time.

The dress was several different hues of bright pink that all bled into one another. Ruffles shot out from each sleeve and again at her wrists and neck. Around the hem of the skirt, which nearly came up to her calves, there were three more pink ruffles, all of which with silk roses sewn into them.

“Ridiculous,” Barbara muttered to the mirror, then flopped into the chair before it.

But it wasn’t ridiculous. She had seen Helena wear the dress before, and she did the garment wonders. It just looked ridiculous when it was on her.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Barbara sighed as a knock suddenly sounded at the door.

“Not yet,” Ambrose’s voice said behind her, startling her.

She spun her head around, finding a sparkle in his eyes as he smirked at her.

“But if we find you a husband soon, I am sure he will change that.”

“Get out,” she said through gritted teeth, rising out of the chair.

Ambrose stepped further into the room, ignoring her.

“You are not going to try to catch a husband in that dress, are you?” he asked, rubbing his lower lip as he looked her up and down. “I am afraid you’ll fail immediately should you choose this particular one.”

Barbara hated that she agreed with him, but she could not let him know that.

“What do you know of women’s fashion?” she asked with a huff, turning back to the mirror.

With a flick of her hair, she faced her reflection to put her hair up and paid him no more mind.

“I know what sort of women’s fashion makes a man’s heart hammer and his entire body tighten,” he replied in a sensual voice, stepping up behind her.

Heat prickled at the back of Barbara’s neck as she felt his closeness. He had not touched her—yet—but it was as if her entire body was on high alert. Still, she refused to let him see her react. Turning up her nose, she focused on her reflection and not the one right behind her, as she began to put her hair up again.

“I suppose you would,” she replied in a carefree manner, arranging the pins carefully. “Seeing as you are like every other man in the ton —a rake.”

Ambrose tsked a second before Barbara heard a snipping sound against the fabric. She froze, her eyes going wide as she looked down at her reflection, and gasped when she saw him holding a strip of pink fabric.

Helena’s dress! He had just shorn off a piece of Helena’s dress!

“What are you doing?” she shrieked, whirling to face him.

Ambrose caught her arm with one hand and whirled her back around before she could even move her feet.

“Do not turn abruptly when someone is holding scissors near your side!” he chastised, shaking his head at her in the mirror in a most patronizing manner. “Now, stay put like a good girl.”

Rage reverberated through Barbara as she locked eyes with him in the mirror. “You are a cad,” she hissed, looking back at him with pure defiance.

“Rake. Cad. Both are close, but neither is accurate,” Ambrose replied in a sing-song manner as he turned his eyes to her dress and worked his scissors once more.

This time, Barbara stayed still. She knew he would never cut her on purpose, but if she moved unexpectedly again, it could happen by accident.

“Tell me what is accurate then,” she demanded, watching more pieces of Helena’s dress fall to the floor.

She was sure the back was completely gone now, and she was thankful she had her chemise on underneath. Otherwise…

“Why waste my breath when your mind is already set?” he replied with a shrug, moving to her right sleeve. “I am not here to speak of myself anyway. I am here for your first lesson.”

His lessons. Yes, she had agreed to them, hadn’t she?

“What is my first lesson?” she asked, torn between taking him seriously and spewing ungodly sarcasm upon him.

A snip at the fabric at the top of her shoulder had Ambrose setting the scissors down, and then his hands were on the small cut in the fabric. Barbara’s breath hitched as his fingertips grazed the bare skin just beneath. The sheer fabric tore with ease with a simple flick of his wrist, and he pulled the shorn sleeve down her arm and away.

“The way you dress.”

“You said it was fine.”

“I did not. I said it was improved,” he corrected. “But not enough. You will need to do better.”

He moved to her left side, repeating the process as he spoke.

“I am not saying to dress like a harlot. You do not need to do that to gain attention. But the newer styles highlight certain features better than the old ones. You have a perfect figure, Barbara. You should highlight it.”

A compliment. He had given her a compliment? It was still as insulting as it could possibly be, noting how a woman’s only attribute is her body, but…

“And how should I go about highlighting my body?” she asked with a sneer.

Done with both sleeves and having moved on to the front of her dress, Ambrose set his scissors down once more after making two long cuts in the front, forming a V at her bosom. As he did before, he gripped the fabric with two hands and ripped it until it created his desired effect.

Her cheeks grew red as his eyes roamed down her bare cleavage. She could have sworn she saw a look of approval—maybe even desire—before he frowned. A contemplative hmmm left his lips as he circled her again, his eyes roaming up and down the gown.

“Well, wearing this dress certainly is not a path I would take,” he remarked, finishing his inspection.

He gave her a wolfish smile that made her stomach flutter.

“Obviously not,” she retorted icily, “seeing as you just ruined it.”

Ambrose let out a laugh, his golden eyebrow arching, and his perfect smile caused another annoying stir in her body.

“Trust me I improved it,” he replied in a light tone, slipping his hands in his pockets as he looked her up and down. “But it still will not do,” he continued, his amusement dropping as a business-like look took over his face and he shook his head. “Indeed, it will not. Never mind, I shall have one made for you.”

Barbara started as he made the offer so casually.

“You will do no such thing,” she stated pointedly.

But Ambrose already had his back to her, his steps carrying him toward the door.

“There is a garden party at Lord and Lady Greyloves in four days,” he said, ignoring her. “Your dress will be delivered to you by then.”

“And if I refuse to wear it or not go?” she asked defiantly.

Ambrose paused as his hand landed on the doorknob, and he turned back to her with a smirk that infuriated her instantly.

“Then it looks like you will be living under my thumb, after all,” he replied.