Chapter 11

The night of the engagement party drew close so quickly, but this time, Helen was more than confident and ready to handle whatever came her way, especially in the beautiful dress she was now in.

Alexander had also given her a sapphire necklace that was sure to turn heads, and his head had indeed turned when she approached him where he stood outside, waiting.

"You, my wife, are a sight for sore eyes." He smiled, kissing her cheek. "Are you ready?"

"I am," she affirmed. "Let's go meet your family."

They stepped into the carriage and rode in conversation, discussing everything and nothing in equal measures. She mentioned a novel she had read that he apparently enjoyed too.

He gave her a brief overview of his life and how he had come to be the man he was now, but before he could warn her sufficiently about his family, they arrived.

He helped her down from the carriage, and she took in the small house with its well-kept lawn and gardens.

There were already a number of guests around, and it would be a crush, judging by the number of carriages he saw.

"We'll be fine," she told him.

He nodded, and they stepped through the double doors of the house.

* * *

"The Duke and Duchess of Blackwell!" the master of ceremonies announced as the doors were opened to admit them.

Whispers arose around the room as all eyes turned to watch them step into the ballroom. Alexander's body immediately tensed up as he prepared to swim in the shark-infested waters he knew English ballrooms to be.

Helen squeezed his arm, and he appreciated her attempt to comfort him. He had given only sparse details of his strained relationship with his family, nothing much different from what Society knew, so he knew she had been mildly prepared to deal with them if there was any need to.

He secretly hoped their attempts to trap him in scandal would end with his marriage, but knowing his half-brother's determination to get more money out of him and his stepmother's zeal in protecting her children's interests, he could not afford to let down his guard.

He surveyed the party guests with a look of disinterest, hiding his surprise at the crowd his family had managed to pull, but he guessed Society was all too curious to visit the manor of the family he had apparently, oh so wickedly, cast out of his estate.

"How," Helen started, clinging to his arm as they strolled further into the room, "bright."

He wanted to laugh. He knew he had been unfair, but her observation was correct, as the ballroom was glaringly bright with so many candles lit that he feared the slightest accident would set the place on fire.

As if the candles weren't enough, they had opted for gold decorations, which further reflected the light and were near blinding.

"That's rather impolite, wife," he chided, smiling down at her. "What would my dear family say if they overheard us?"

"Will you tell them?"

"No." He smiled brightly.

She gave a full-toothed smile that made him stop. She was so beautiful, she outshone even the jewels adorning her neck.

"What is it?" she asked, growing uncomfortable with his stare.

"You're so beautiful, it astounds me," he observed.

She stared in surprise, placing a hand on her chest, then smiled softly at him. "Thank you," she said with a nod of her head.

"There's no need for thanks between us," he told her. "It is my pleasure to?—"

"Your Grace," a masculine voice interrupted, coming up to them.

Alexander looked down to see an unfamiliar man in an absurd costume of colors, albeit well-tailored.

The man took Helen's hand in his, placing a kiss on it that lasted longer than necessary. "When I learned of your marriage to the Duke and your presence at tonight's party, I just had to come. Marriage becomes you."

Oh…

The strange man had been greeting Helen, who beamed positively at him. And he still had her hand in his.

"Lord Everard," she greeted. "It's a delight as always. How are you?"

Alexander felt anger rise inside him as he watched the man visibly caress his wife's hand, despite him being there, but when Helen shot him a questioning look, he shook his head. As if he would ever admit that something was actually wrong.

"I am quite well, Your Grace," Lord Everard answered, grinning back. "And, Your Grace, you must be excited. Two weddings in the span of less than a year. Yours and your sister's, but it is a shame we couldn't attend yours."

Alexander nodded, barely sparing him a look. He could feel Helen's hot glare on the side of his face but didn't glance at her either.

"I have yet to see the?—"

"If you will excuse us."

That was all the warning Alexander gave the man, before pulling Helen along with him.

He felt her stop in her tracks, but she didn't pull her hand out of his. He met her hot glare with raised eyebrows.

"What is it?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't do that again," she hissed, looking around in case any eyes were on them.

"Do what?"

She attempted to loosen his hold on her, but he wasn't letting her go. He gripped her gloved hand and fixed the weight higher up his bicep, holding it in place, his eyes meeting hers with a dare. She didn't want to back down, but he was much stronger than her.

"What you just did to my good friend, Lord Everard," she scolded. "That was rude."

"I assumed he was done speaking. His rhetoric was dragging on, and as a duke, a show of hubris is expected of me. It has been bred in me since I was fourteen. You would do well to learn this requisite, now that I have made you a duchess."

Helen shrank back in shock and hurt at the insult. A sharp stab of pain shot through him as he noticed her look. He sighed, shaking his head. He was taking out his uneasiness on her, when she did not deserve his ire.

"I am sorry," he apologized. "I am taking out my uneasiness on you, and it's not fair. Forgive my foolish words."

She sighed, squeezing his arms, and he knew he had been forgiven. They realized they had stopped in the middle of the room and continued walking.

"I can feel how tense you are." She smiled up at him. "Your eyes keep darting about, searching for danger."

Which he knew was imminent, considering his stepfamily hadn't even been at the door to welcome him, as was customary.

"They could not possibly be that bad now, could they?" she asked.

Alexander laughed darkly, a small laugh that he hoped conveyed the severity of the situation. He didn't fault her hope in the decency of humans. After all, she had grown up in a loving household with a caring father, a reliable sister, conversations that weren't laced with poison, and meetings that weren't all about money.

Alexander had grown up barely knowing his family, and once he was old enough to have full control of the estate and the finances of his estate, he had seen just who they were.

He remembered the first letter from his stepmother, which had been an attempt to restore contact with him. It had been a toneless and blatant command that he set them up with a monthly allowance, as she had run through what his father had left to her. He hadn't even had the heart to be disappointed, as he had been kept aware of their dealings by his man of affairs.

His family was the exact opposite of Helen's—formal, cold and disorganized. The Dowager Duchess and his half-siblings only saw him for what he could offer: a key to a life of affluence.

"I would like to apologize again."

"Whatever for?" Helen asked with a smile.

"I fear I may have grossly underprepared you to deal with?—"

"Brother dearest!" a feminine voice cried from behind him.

His sister, Sophia Osborne, the soon-to-be Countess of Wolverton and the reason for the ball, had finally found them.

"Oh, I could tell it was you from that aristocratic stance." She smiled widely, gliding over to them in a golden evening dress that shimmered in the candlelight and brought out the tone of her skin.

Alexander had to admit, she looked beautiful. At nineteen, even with her rather unattractive family, she had turned down many suitors before finally choosing to court the Earl of Wolverton.

"You're looking rather… well fed, Brother." She wrinkled her nose. "You should be more physically active. Perhaps go fencing sometime."

"How insightful of you to offer such wonderful advice, Sister," he said calmly, even though he wanted to bare his teeth. "You are looking fashionably… prickly."

Helen stiffened by his side, and he instantly regretted his comment. When Sophia's gaze, however, fixed on his bride, his resolve hardened as his body prepared for a fight.

His stepmother and brother hadn't appeared yet, so he wasn't all too bothered. Sophia was relatively placid, as far as his family was concerned. She would bare her claws, but when she met resistance, they were easily retracted.

"You must be Helen," she said, her eyes running distastefully over his wife.

Alexander frowned at the obvious disrespect and impropriety of Sophia's manner. She had not been introduced to Helen and hadn't addressed her with her appropriate title.

He usually overlooked it when Sophia refused to address him by his title and even when she was blatantly disrespectful to him, despite him having full control of her life.

He had justified her actions even. After all, she had been raised by the bitter Dowager Duchess and had a reprobate brother, Nathaniel. It was almost entirely unavoidable for an impressionable girl to adopt terrible manners, but she had taken to them beyond the point of correction. He could only pity her husband-to-be.

"It's lovely to meet you." Helen smiled almost hesitantly.

Alexander gave her hand a squeeze, but her tension hadn't abated. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't given her such a terrible rundown on his family. Then, perhaps she would be more comfortable.

"Don't be so frigid with me. I am your sister, after all," Sophia said, rolling her eyes. "Save the politeness for your farm hands."

"I apologize, Sophia," Helen replied, looking every bit remorseful. "Perhaps we'll find the time to get used to each other after the wedding."

Alexander's eyebrows rose, marking his surprise, but he immediately schooled his features.

"I guess so," Sophia answered, losing her voice.

He felt the fear he had had for Helen leave him at the easy defeat of his sister, and even though she was a more placid member of his family, he was impressed. Helen had not quivered.

They settled into an uneasy silence which was broken when Sophia's fiancé, the Earl of Wolverton, cleared his throat.

"Oh, dearest!" Sophie intertwined their hands, pulling him to their side. "This is my fiancé, Timothy, the Earl of Wolverton."

"Your Grace." He bowed.

He looked well enough with dark brown hair and plain brown eyes in a small face. He was dressed in garish evening wear, with an evening coat of gold that matched his wife-to-be's gown.

Lord Wolverton was rumored to be a simple-minded fool, and Alexander had wondered if the sentiment was true, considering he had agreed to marry his sister, but looking at the man's outfit, he realized the accuracy of the description.

"Don't be so formal, darling," Sophia scolded. "He is to be your brother, after all. You can call him Alexander."

Alexander raised an eyebrow, daring him to try. The man looked away.

He might be a fool, but he was not so foolish as to make such a mistake. Sophia gritted her teeth and stormed off, her fiancé hurrying after her.

"If it isn't the Duke of Blackhill," Nathaniel, his half-brother, said, walking over to them.

The stench of alcohol was heavy on his breath, and one look at his skewed cravat and jacket told the truth of that assessment.

"Nathaniel," Alexander answered icily.

His brother shared the Blackhill genes, with his dark hair and dark green eyes, but rather than a broad build, he had his mother's slender frame. He was handsome, that Alexander could admit, but his reprobate ways made him look haggard.

He had taken to gambling even as a student at Oxford and had been expelled midway because of the same habit. The only thing he seemed to be skilled at was losing money and planning to entrap Alexander in scandals several of which he had nearly fallen into.

The last attempt that had set Alexander on his toes was when Nathaniel had convinced Lady Statham's daughter that he was in love with her and invited her to his chambers, pointing her to Alexander's instead, at the last event they'd been at together. It was sheer luck Alexander wasn't in his chamber when the girl's mother barged in to find her daughter naked and wrapped in his bed sheets, waiting for him.

Since then, he had specifically avoided events that would have them all together.

"That's no way to greet your brother now, is it, Your Grace?" Nathaniel sneered. When he caught sight of Helen, his smile turned lopsided, and he gave a mock bow. "I must say, Brother, you've always had a good eye for women. She's, by far, your prettiest paramour yet."

Helen gasped and took a step back.

"Helen is my wife and by all rights, the Duchess of Blackhill, and you will show her the respect she's due." Alexander glared, somehow restraining himself from punching the smug smile off his brother's face. "Apologize."

He was well aware there were a number of eyes on them, and he didn't want to bring any more scandal to their family name, even though it was all too tempting to do so.

"I apologize, Your Grace," Nathaniel said with a mock bow. "I did not mean to mistake you for a paramour, but knowing my brother's reputation with women, I thought you were one of them."

"How—"

"It is all right, Alex." Helen smiled up at her husband, squeezing his arm. "I thank you for considering me beautiful, Lord Nathaniel. It shows you, too, have excellent taste in women, but it is apparent that is where it ends."

Alexander felt supremely satisfied to see his brother shrink back in shock. He had hoped Helen would be able to hold her own, but he didn't think she would be able to hold her own so well.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I am just stating the obvious from the little I have seen of you." She wrinkled her nose. "You do not seem to have a good taste in alcohol, since you so obviously love to imbibe. Neither do you seem to know the difference between a paramour or a noblewoman. It's honestly something pitiable."

Nathaniel spluttered like a fish and then glared hotly at her. "If you would excuse me."

His last look was pointed at Helen.

The Duke didn't hesitate to step in front of his wife until his brother had gone further away.

"What just happened, Alexander? I wasn't prepared for that." Helen backed away from him, staring frantically at her hands as if trying a grasp her sensibilities.

She was obviously scared, even though she had looked so confident.

After dealing with his siblings, Alexander needed to avoid the Dowager Duchess at all costs. It seemed that she too wanted to avoid him, since she was yet to make her presence known to him.

"Allow me to apologize again." Alexander would have embraced Helen if not for the flitting eyes around.

"Did you grow up in such surroundings?" Her voice turned from distraught to concerned.

He hated the feeling. She was caring for him and shouldering the weight of his trauma. He was failing her.

"No. Once my father died, I was all alone."

He tried to assuage her concern, but his words only seemed to heighten it. When she looked at him, she was almost teary-eyed.

"But you were just fourteen!"

He explained further how growing up alone, he had been forced to mature early and started excelling at his studies and duties.

Everyone admired him and secretly pitied him because he was all alone, and they sometimes meant well but failed to hide their emotions around him.

Soon the pity that had once made him sad made him angry, and so, to show them how well he truly was, he started dabbling into investments and business ventures. Everyone started recognizing him as a cut-throat businessman, and everyone wanted advice from him.

All was well until his stepmother approached him for money to repay one of his brother's gambling debts. Not feeling like he owed them anything, he said no. So, his brother started planning schemes, trying to trap him in scandals, so he could blackmail him.

"I am so sorry. Do you wish to leave?"

"Do you wish to? I will survive. As a duke, I?—"

"But as Alexander Osborne, what do you want?" Her emphasis made it seem as though he was subdued by the proprieties of his title. He was.

She saw him and what duty did to him. The title changed him, created a two-faceted man. But he has become so accustomed to being the Ruthless Duke that he had forgotten there was a man underneath. Behind the title, there was a fourteen-year-old boy who wanted a normal childhood. But then, he had never had a childhood, not since the day he was born to the father that he had.

He had only learned to stop wishing the day he accepted the duchy.

He almost let his vulnerability show.

"Alexander Osborne is a duke and has been all his life." Her concern was unwavering.

"I am fine, Helen," he assured her. "As long as you stand by my side."

He surprised himself by admitting that fact. He had been given to panicking when being around his family, as the trauma of being abandoned in childhood resurfaced, but having her holding onto him and squeezing his arm for comfort had eased his discomfort.

"I will be by your side then," she assured, "as long as you need me to."

Then she did something utterly uncharacteristic of a duchess but peculiar to Helen Osborne—she stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Come now, husband." She pulled him softly. "All this talking has set me in the mood for punch."

Alexander let her lead him to the refreshments table but soon came to realize that he and his wife were nothing alike.

For one, Helen was bold, unlike he had been, in handling his family. She kissed him when he could not even manage to give her a hug.

Another difference, she was dancing.

Admirers had neared them at the refreshments table and asked her for a dance and had nearly filled her card, but he snagged it and filled two slots for himself.

She had been dancing the whole evening, spinning around the dance floor in a hue of blue and silver. If not for the shimmering diamonds around her neck, he would have lost her in the crush.

Alexander stood by idly, like an abandoned man, as man after man came to claim his wife for one dance after the other. It's not an idyllic sight, watching his lover grin up at another man as he held onto her waist and twirled her around. Alexander rushed to her side to claim her for their second dance that evening at the inception of the polka.

"I find it disconcerting…"

"What?"

She was beaming, as opposed to how she had been during their encounter with his siblings. The encounter had obviously been forgotten.

"My wife is quite popular, and I don't know how to feel about it. You seem to know everyone by name, and they seem to know you as well. The most annoying thing is, it's mostly the men. Mostly the attractive men."

Alexander looked away as Helen's eyebrows rose with a playful smile. He hadn't intended for the latter to come out, but now that it was out, he felt foolish.

But what was the response of his beautiful goddess of a wife? She giggled. Helen Osborne, Duchess of Blackwell, giggled, and the sound was a melody to Alexander's ears.

"My, my, darling husband," she teased. "You seem to notice an awful lot."

His ears reddened at her teasing voice. Helen hadn't been this comfortable with banter between them before now, and he hadn't realized he could relish someone finding him amusing.

"You can't rule a duchy without being observant," he said obstinately.

"But we're not speaking of a duchy here."

He spun her around, and the conversation paused. Then, she rammed into him, pressing her full weight against him.

"We're speaking of your wife."

"Which is precisely why I should be more observant."

"Many men could care less about their wives'… proclivities." She slurred the latter, or so he assumed as he spun her again.

This damned dance. He needed her body pressed unmovingly to his. Or maybe a slight movement…

"You should know that I am not like most men," he growled in her ear before she spun again. "I have to spin you one more time." His tone was low but laden with dark promise.

She laughed.

"And I really do hope you were joking about having proclivities."

She gave a lopsided smile that sent a heady spark of lust through him as he remembered the last time he'd seen the look on her.

"I guess you'll know soon." She winked.

He growled and pulled her closer to him. "I'll punish you for your teasing later," he growled in her ear.

"I look forward to it, Your Grace." She kissed his cheek. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the powder room."

He nodded. "Should I come with you?" he asked, spotting his siblings whispering between themselves with dark smiles.

Helen smiled, thinking he was flirting, but his serious look wiped the smile off her face.

"I'll be fine," she told him, patting his cheek. "They won't try anything with so many people around."

He nodded and watched her walk away. He was immediately pulled into a conversation by some lords who'd caught wind of how he'd secured the deal with Cecil.

"Where is your lovely wife?" one of them asked.

His body tensed up as he realized he hadn't seen her in a while, and as he looked around, he couldn't spot his siblings either.

Fearing for her, he excused himself and went towards the powder room, his heart pounding in his chest.

Oh God, let her be safe,he prayed for the first time in a while.

He saw Helen walking around, looking confused, and a bright smile lit up her face when she saw him. A man dressed in dark simple clothes some distance behind her paused and turned to hurry away. Alexander wanted to go after the man, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I got lost." She laughed. "Were you worried?"

Anger filled him as the strange emotion that had been pushing him to go look for her abated. He never should have brought her here. He'd made a big mistake exposing her to his family, and it was time he fixed that mistake.

"Why didn't you ask anyone to guide you back?" he asked coldly.

She stared back at him in surprise. "I didn't see any…"

"Let's get back to the party," he said coldly, turning away so he would not see her sad expression.

He'd taken a few steps when he realized he didn't hear her follow him. He turned back to see her standing with her fists squeezed tightly at her sides.

"Helen, what?—"

"Don't," she spat. "Don't ever speak to me like that again. I won't have it."

He glared at her. "I am not in the mood for your theatrics," he scolded. "Let's go."

"You go on ahead," she snapped. "I will find my way back."

"Because that worked out well the first time."

"You're the most annoying man I have ever met."

"You would do well to remember that," he shot back, already tired of the argument and wondering why she couldn't understand his anger.

She'd been walking carelessly in the lion's den and could have been hurt if he didn't get to her in time.

"Why are you being like this?" she cried. "We were having a good night."

"Even good things must come to an end."

She nodded, as though she understood. "Indeed."

"Get your coat," he ordered. "We're leaving now."

"Yes, Your Grace." She curtsied, before walking past him in a cloud of lavender and rose.

Shite.

He hurried after her because he… he feared she would get hurt.

He paused in his tracks as it finally came clear to him why he had behaved the way he had. He had been worried about her, and it scared him how much he had worried.

Shite.