Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

E ngaged. It had finally come to pass. Ambrose had made his choice and now Helena was engaged. Though he knew it was coming, the news had hit him harder than he had anticipated. Anger and jealousy had whirled up in him so intensely that it had stolen his breath and he had stormed out of the house for some air.

Not yours. Not yours, no longer your concern.

It was true. Helena was not his, but why did he feel like part of him was being ripped away? He forced his mind to turn from the thought, and focused his attention on Helena’s husband-to-be. Luke Ayles, the freshly minted viscount. Ambrose did not know him from Adam but he knew he despised the man.

His memory traveled back to the night he and Duncan had met Luke and recalled the strange reaction he had experienced in the man’s presence. His air of nobility and his kind nature had almost appeared genuine, but something had felt off. Like a mask that did not quite fit, Morgan felt as if Luke was not exactly as he seemed.

“Let it go,” he murmured to himself, cracking his gloved knuckles.

He needed to get into the ring and fight away his feelings.

“Morgan!” Ambrose called suddenly, shocking him out of his reverie.

Morgan looked up, immediately hoping to see Helena. As his eyes landed on her he felt a deep sense of peace. She looked cold, but the redness on her nose and cheeks made her appear innocent and adorable. And there, attached to her arm, was Luke.

A black rage eclipsed his usual sarcastic spirit. Morgan forewent his usual traits and stormed with purpose towards Helena.

Helena jolted out of the familiar numbness she felt around her fiancé as she heard her brother call out Morgan’s name.

“Did something pinch you?” Luke asked worriedly, pressing a concerned hand into her bright pink fur muff. His hand felt warm, but her body recoiled from his touch.

“It is the wind,” Helena forced herself to say as her eyes landed on Morgan, who was striding purposefully towards them.

Her heart hammered as she saw the grimness on his usually smiling and handsome face. There was a dark energy radiating from him as his eyes stayed trained on her.

Like a hunter stalks a fox.

“Ambrose,” Morgan greeted, cutting a glance and rueful smile toward her brother.

“Morgan, how goes your day?” Ambrose replied jovially, clearly not noticing his friend’s low countenance.

Helena felt a rush of emotion as Morgan turned his green eyes to her and stared openly into her soul. His gloved hand then twitched at his side, as if he were about to reach out to her, but then he drew it into a fist and rubbed his other hand over it.

“It has been…most intriguing,” he answered finally.

He bowed before her, and Helena pulled her cold hand from her muff to slip it into his black-gloved one. The soft raw kid leather of the glove warmly enveloped her hand, and her entire body flooded with light as his lips blew a hot breath over her knuckles before brushing a kiss across them.

“It is far too cold for a lady to be out today,” Morgan stated, his tone condescending.

He tucked Helena’s hand back into her muff in a small act of protection and turned an annoyed look towards Luke, who was still fastened to her arm.

“I wonder what fool thought it was appropriate to make the poor lady suffer?”

Shock ebbed through Helena as she turned a studious gaze to Luke’s expression. In the background, she could faintly hear Ambrose’s angry voice, but she could not make out the words as she focused on Luke’s nearly vicious smile; so different from the soft, charming one he always gave her.

“That would be me, her new fiancé,” Luke answered boldly, then held out his hand to Morgan.

“Good to see you again, Grandhill.”

Helena watched as Morgan’s body tensed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse Luke’s social nicety — then her breath came out in a rush as Morgan stiffly reached out and accepted Luke’s handshake.

“Lord Ashfield, only my friends may address me as such,” Morgan answered, his tone flat as his eyes sparkled with challenge. “I prefer ‘Your Grace’ from those I do not know.”

At her side Luke let out a huff of a condescending laugh, and nodded his head.

“Very well, Your Grace,” Luke conceded, “but if you had accepted my earlier offer you would know me well enough by now.”

“What offer?” Ambrose asked. “Have you met? When?”

Morgan cut Ambrose a look but it was Luke that answered. “Oh, just an offer I extended a couple of weeks ago. At a boxing match across town. I cannot remember who won that match, though. Do you?”

Helena’s discomfort rose as Morgan and Luke locked into one another’s stares. She was not sure what was going on, but she was certain that the entire story was not being told.

“Why do we not—” Ambrose began to say, but Morgan cut him off.

“Well, if you are going to be Helena’s new fiancé, Ashfield, then I suggest you start taking better care of her. It is far too chilling today for such a long stroll.”

“Morgan,” Ambrose growled out.

“I’m alright,” Helena faintly whispered. But when Morgan turned his eyes toward her again, she shivered at the cold numbness that had settled over her.

“Her fingers are frozen and she does not need to suffer simply because you want her seen on your arm,” Morgan said cuttingly.

“You would know all about making young ladies suffer, would you not, Lord Grandhill?” Luke asked calmly, his blonde brow cocking slightly.

“What was that, boy?” Morgan snarled, taking a step toward Luke.

“Morgan, what has gotten into you?” Ambrose’s words finally registered as he pulled Helena away from the two men and stepped between them.

“Him, Ambrose? You chose him?” Morgan asked, his voice raw and deep as he turned an accusing eye towards his friend.

“His title is not even his own! It is inherited! He has done nothing to prove himself worthy of her.”

“I beg to differ, Your Grace,” Luke replied smoothly, completely unbothered by Morgan’s aggression. “I have overcome a vast amount of challenges in my climb to nobility. Lady Helena and I share an understanding of these challenges and will prove to be very compatible with one another.”

“You could never…” Morgan began to snarl, but before she could think, Helena was beside him, laying a staying hand on a forearm that had been veiled by his coat.

“Lord Ashfield, this is one of my brother’s dearest friends,” she interjected calmly. “You see, my brother and his three friends are extremely close. They are like siblings, and have all become rather…protective of me. Do excuse him, please.”

Hurt pierced her heart when Morgan turned his seething glare upon her as if she had somehow betrayed him and pulled his arm out of her grasp.

“Indeed,” he grunted, folding his hands behind his back as he took another step away. “ Brothers .”

He then turned towards Ambrose, the grim line of his mouth once again firmly in place, and he shook his head in angry disappointment.

“She deserves better. You are a fool for this. A fool.”

Ambrose stepped back, speechless. Helena’s heart hurt for him as she saw the pain etch her brother’s face. Never had Morgan spoken so harshly to him. The need to do something to fix the situation overcame her, but as Morgan turned and walked away from them, she could do nothing but remain frozen in place, as shocked into silence as her brother.

“Lord Ashfield, I apologize,” Ambrose stated after finally finding his voice. “That is… that was, a most unusual interaction with him. He is normally the jester of our group. However, Helena is correct and that was an oversight of mine. My friends are a rather protective bunch, and I should have warned you.”

“No apology needed, Your Grace, and please call me Luke. We are to be brothers-in-law, after all,” Luke replied calmly, touching the lip of his top hat towards Ambrose. “However, if I may say so, perhaps the Duke of Grandhill is the one that Lady Helena should be protected from . His reputation is…nefarious, and it is clear he is becoming… unwell from such practices.”

Anger surged through Helena so suddenly and intensely that her face turned crimson.

“That is a slanderous rumor, Lord Ashfield, and I will not tolerate such wicked gossip in my presence. Now, to Lord Grandhill’s credit, he was correct about the weather, and since we have paused our walk the chill has become unbearable. I should like to return home, please.”

“Agreed,” Ambrose said readily, taking a step in Luke’s direction. “We do not tolerate rumors. Morgan is my good friend and this behavior is most unlike him. I must go and speak to him and unearth the reason why he is so unlike himself today.”

“Go,” Luke urged quickly. “I shall see Helena and her handmaid home.”

“Our footmen shall see us home,” Helena replied quickly as Ambrose left. She turned to Luke with an icy stare. To her surprise, a look of guilt crept across Luke’s face and he bowed her head to her.

“Of course, my dear,” Luke replied immediately. “And please, do accept my apologies for my words. You were right when you said they should never have been uttered before a lady.”

He then bowed before her again and took her arm in a far too familiar way.

“I should still see you home,” he insisted. “Your brother would not approve of me breaking my word simply because of your hurt feelings. It is what is best, Helena.”

Helena bit her tongue to keep the vicious words in her mind from spilling out, knowing it would do her no good. This was why Ambrose had chosen Luke for her, after all, because he would do “what was best” for her. Even if it left her enraged.

Upon her return home, she bid him a curt goodbye and denied his request to come in for tea and a visit.

“I have the most dreadful headache, my lord,” she insisted. “I am afraid I must retire to my bed for the evening.”

“You did not invite him in?” Barbara asked as Helena urged the butler to close the door.

“I am weary from our walk,” Helena replied, her tone matching her words.

Barbara gave her a brief look of disappointment before she took another quick look around the foyer and asked, “where is Ambrose?”

Helena felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “We happened upon Morgan when we were in the park,” Helena explained as calmly as possible, ignoring the feelings it brought forth in her. “He was not himself and Ambrose went after him.”

“Morgan,” Ambrose called, his voice erupting loudly and firmly behind Morgan’s back.

Morgan looked over his shoulder after turning onto a less busy street, and pretended not to hear him.

“Morgan, stop!” Ambrose commanded, catching up with him.

He felt Ambrose put his hand on his shoulder, and without thought, Morgan whirled on him with a threatening look. Ambrose did not startle this time, but only glared right back at him. For a moment they just stood there, eyes locked and muscles tensed.

Brother. This is your brother .

It took a moment for him to tamp down the volatile rage erupting within him, but when he did, he let out a long breath through his nostrils and dropped his glare.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly. Morgan grasped Ambrose’s hand and calmly removed it from his shoulder.

“I want to know what in hell has gotten into you,” Ambrose retorted. “You have been absent as of late. You have failed to show up for our usual gatherings and have not even come to box. I would wager you are not wearing gloves because you are warm, but because your knuckles are damaged from fighting, am I right?”

Morgan turned his gaze away from Ambrose’s questioning one, refusing to answer. Yes, he had been fighting, and God help him he was about to go and fight some more.

“What was that back there with Ayles?” Ambrose asked, his words coming out in white clouds against the bitter cold. “I have seen you speak savagely before, but you do it with humor and wit. That was just pure fury.”

“He is not good for her,” Morgan insisted sharply.

“Why?” Ambrose responded quickly. “You are my brother. Tell me why and I will take your words to heart.”

Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was not what he knew, he realized, but what he felt, and he could never tell Ambrose how he felt. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to regain his composure. He would indeed fight. But later, and not with Ambrose.

“I have not been myself as of late,” Morgan finally said curtly. At least that was the truth. I find myself… becoming withdrawn, and I cannot grasp why.”

“Then speak to me, brother,” Ambrose insisted, his brow deeply furrowed with concern. “It does not have to make sense at first, but we have always been better at working things out together than apart. All of us. Remember Duncan, and when he felt this way after marrying Alice?”

Morgan let out a dry laugh, recalling the way he, Ambrose and Ezra had traipsed into the wilderness of the countryside to look for Duncan, only to find him drunk and terrified of losing the woman he loved. Pain sliced through his chest as he now felt the familiarity of such a fear.

Do I…do I love Helena?

No. I cannot. I simply care for her wellbeing.

“I will be well, brother,” Morgan insisted, some of his rage retreating into its dark corner. “I am just out of sorts.”

Ambrose stepped up to him again, and this time as he laid his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, he did not brush it off.

“Out of sorts or not, you are still family and we care about you. Please, do not pull yourself away.”

Morgan nodded as he felt the brotherly love from Ambrose flow into him. Only this time, as it tried to make its way into his heart, it was met with a barrier, as though his heart had become fully occupied by someone else.

“Come to dinner next week,” Ambrose urged. “Any night, there is no need for an invitation. Just… come over and be present with us, Morgan.”

Us. As in not just Ambrose, but Helena as well. And how many more moments would he get to dine with her so casually?

“Very well,” Morgan agreed, forcing a smile upon his face. “Apologies for my outburst, Ambrose.”

“Do not mention it,” Ambrose replied quickly. “Just let us be a family again.”

Helena’s thoughts and feelings churned relentlessly as the day drew on. Ambrose had returned an hour later, and though Helena had pressed her ear against the door of his study while he talked with Barbara, she could not make out what was said. By the time the clock struck nine she could no longer tolerate the worry. Donning her cloak, Helena snuck from her home and went to Morgan’s, this time without an invitation.