Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EVELINE/HELENA

"A re you intoxicated?" The Duke of Lennox stormed over to the other sleigh, his boots punishing the snow beneath his feet.

The Duke of Mansfield, wearing a scowl similar to that of the Duke of Lennox, snarled, "We haven't had a drop."

"Yet the two of you are the only ones to witness this phenomenon twice." The Duke of Lennox slammed his fist on the edge of the sled. "Explain that."

"Mr. Northcutt," the Duke of Warwick said, his voice tight, "was present this time."

"Where is Mr. Northcutt now?" The Duke of Lennox glanced at Helena, a deep line carving itself into his forehead.

The Duke of Mansfield flashed a dark grin. "He and Mrs. Grove are taking a temporary respite at Roxburghe's home."

"And," the Duke of Warwick said, climbing back into the sleigh and resuming his seat, "Mansfield swore that I could inform Roxburghe thus."

Grimacing, the Duke of Lennox shook his head. "I won't steal your amusement."

"Lennox." Placing a hand on the Duke of Lennox's chest, the Duke of Mansfield stopped him from crossing the street and leaned close. "From a distance, it appeared you might be losing our wager. Are you?"

Helena's breath caught, and she strained her ears, waiting for the Duke of Lennox's answer.

"If I were, Roxburghe would ensure an announcement appeared in the morning's newspaper." The Duke of Lennox dropped his gaze, glowering at the hand splayed across his chest. "Presently, I'm not certain I trust your eyes."

His gaze flicked to the Duke of Warwick. "Either of them."

The Duke of Warwick rose to his feet, banging his cane against the side of the sleigh. "I know what I saw."

"And what did you see?" the Duke of Lennox asked, his face less than an inch from the Duke of Warwick's.

"A man, the same as before, with dark hair and a thin face." The Duke of Warwick lifted his chin. "He came straight toward us."

"Did he see you?"

The Duke of Warwick exchanged a glance with the Duke of Mansfield. "Not at first…"

"Mr. Northcutt," the Duke of Mansfield said, taking over when a coughing fit stole the Duke of Warwick's voice, "discovered us transporting Warwick's trunk through the foyer and offered to assist. When he relieved Warwick of his side of the trunk, we heard the parlor door creak open."

After retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket, the Duke of Warwick wiped the cloth across his mouth and then drew in a shaky breath.

"We turned," he said, his weak voice barely reaching Helena, "and the three of us watched a man exit the parlor. He lifted his head, caught us staring, and floated toward us."

"What did you do?" the Duke of Lennox asked, sagging against the sled.

"We dropped the trunk and ran." The Duke of Warwick frowned as though he thought their response should be obvious.

The Duke of Lennox's head swiveled between the two men. "How did Mrs. Grove escape?"

"She wasn't present." The Duke of Mansfield walked to the runners and stepped onto them. "Mr. Northcutt agreed to intercept her at the market and bring her to Roxburghe's lodgings."

"Of which," the Duke of Warwick said, a faint smile tugging his lips, "we'll inform Roxburghe the moment we find him."

Chuckling, the Duke of Lennox pointed toward a small hill in the distance. "He's racing Beaufort…"

As he spoke, a cloud of snow exploded at the base of the hill, followed by an ear-splitting screech.

"Go!" The Duke of Lennox turned and raced back to Helena, his face gray.

"What is wrong?" she asked, grabbing onto the sides of the sleigh as the horse surged forward, encouraged by Duke of the Lennox's whip.

"Did you witness the burst of snow?" the Duke of Lennox asked, indicating a faint cloud of white hovering in front of them.

"Yes, but I'm not certain what caused it." She peeked over her shoulder at him.

"I am." His gaze dropped to her. "One of the sleighs overturned."

"Oh!" Helena's hands flew to her mouth. "Do you think someone may be injured?"

He didn't reply. Lifting his eyes to the rear of the Duke of Mansfield's sled, the Duke of Lennox swung the whip again. His horse sped up, closing the distance.

"I'm not racing," the Duke of Mansfield yelled as their horse pulled even with his runners.

"I am!" The Duke of Warwick twisted around and jerked the whip free of its holder.

A struggle for the lash ensued between the two men, causing their sled to lose speed and fall behind Helena and the Duke of Lennox.

"They may hit something." Helena peered around the Duke of Lennox, praying she wouldn't witness an accident.

The Duke of Mansfield expelled a curse word, jerked the whip out of the Duke of Warwick's reach, and swung the thick leather on the back of his horse.

"They won't catch us," the Duke of Lennox said, his eyes on the path before them. "Only Warwick is better at racing than I, and his injury prevents him from driving a sled."

"How frustrating it must be," Helena said, turning in her seat and facing forward, "to have great talent but a physical limitation that prevents that ability from flourishing."

"A temporary limitation," the Duke of Lennox bit off, "that would heal if he'd stop dismissing the nurses trying to heal him."

They rounded the bend and encountered the Duke of Roxburghe and Miss Webb standing in the snow, their shoulders dug into the side of an overturned sleigh, attempting to rock the vehicle over.

"Where's Beaufort?" Stopping their sled, the Duke of Lennox stepped from the runners.

"Underneath," the Duke of Roxburghe grunted.

"With my sister," Miss Webb added, a hysterical sob escaping from her throat.

Helena scrambled from the sleigh, and she and the Duke of Lennox claimed an empty spot on the side of the toppled sled, adding their strength to the herculean task of freeing the people trapped beneath.

"How did this happen?" she asked, repositioning her shoes, which slipped on the slick ice.

A muffled response crawled from the one-inch space between the sleigh and the ground. "I took the curve too quickly."

"Mansfield!" Relief ebbed into the Duke of Roxburghe's voice when the horse trotted around the bend. "I'm not even going to ask why the two of you decided to join us this afternoon."

"You should," the Duke of Lennox murmured, glancing at Helena.

Delight sparkled in his eyes, warming them to the color of melted chocolate. She couldn't help returning his grin.

With the added strength of the Duke of Mansfield, the five of them flipped the sleigh over—the deafening crash echoing across the frozen lake—and revealed the Duke of Beaufort's back. Beneath his rounded body, Miss Fernsby-Webb's disheveled head peered out from beneath his great coat.

"Winifred!" Miss Webb flung herself at her sister, knocking her and the Duke of Beaufort backward and coating all of them in snowy powder.

"Are you injured?" The Duke of Lennox extended his arm to the Duke of Beaufort and hauled him to his feet.

"Solely my pride." He grinned, brushed the ice from his coat, and shifted his gaze to the Duke of Warwick. "Am I staring at an apparition?"

"Not unless you return to Lennox's home." The Duke of Warwick stood and bowed to the Duke of Roxburghe. "Which is the reason Lennox's servants have relocated to your lodgings."

The Duke of Roxburghe's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to need further explanation."

"Mansfield coerced me into retrieving my trunk this afternoon. However, while we were carrying it through the foyer, Mr. Philbert's ghost exited the parlor and noticed us. When he approached, the three of us?—"

"Three?" the Duke of Roxburghe interrupted, helping Miss Webb and Miss Fernsby-Webb from the snow.

"Mr. Northcutt witnessed the event as well," the Duke of Warwick said, sinking back onto his seat. "We recommended that he and Mrs. Grove return with us to your house."

The Duke of Roxburghe glowered at the Duke of Lennox. "There is a limit to my generosity."

"Until your wedding," the Duke of Lennox replied with a smirk, "you have no need of privacy."

"Lennox is hosting a party this evening," the Duke of Roxburghe announced abruptly, taking Miss Webb's hand and bringing it to his lips. "Would you send invitations?"

"This evening? To whom?" Miss Webb asked at the same time the Duke of Lennox voiced his protest.

"To anyone," the Duke of Roxburghe replied, ignoring the Duke of Lennox, "willing to assist with an exorcism at Lennox's house."

"No." The Duke of Lennox crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll not have my life turned into a spectacle for your amusement."

"And I'll not share my wedding night with an audience." Glowering, the Duke of Roxburghe folded his arms as well.

"Did you intend to expel Mansfield and Beaufort prior to that happy occasion?" The Duke of Lennox arched his eyebrows.

"A week before the ceremony."

"And where should Mansfield and Beaufort find lodging after you cruelly displace them?"

A dark smile crossed the Duke of Roxburghe's face. "With you. Thus, the need for an exorcism."

"Replace Mr. Philbert with Mansfield and Beaufort…" The Duke of Lennox stroked his chin. "I'm not certain which is worse. Miss Rowe, what do you think?"

Helena started, her head whipping back and forth between both dukes. "Pardon?"

"Should I utilize Mr. Philbert's ghost to prevent Mansfield and Beaufort from draining the last of my patience?"

Everyone turned, their eyes burrowing into her.

She chewed her lip, unsure how to respond without offending any of the men. "Will either choice affect the Duke of Warwick? His accommodation wasn't mentioned in your question."

"I don't find him taxing," the Duke of Lennox replied, winking at her.

Helena giggled, pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling the sound, and glanced at Miss Webb, who stood, eyes wide, her arm around her sister, as though she were trying desperately to communicate something.

"I believe," Helena said, after a long minute, "that you shouldn't allow Mr. Philbert's ghost to drive you from your home."

"And my intrusive friends?"

"Should return the favor of hospitality that both of you,"—she flicked her gaze to the Duke of Roxburghe—"have afforded them."

The Duke of Beaufort collected his horse's reins, patting the horse on its muzzle. "The distance to Mansfield's home is over an hour by coach, and mine isn't closer. However, I agree with your proposal. Therefore, in one month, I'll host a week-long engagement celebration for Grisham and Roxburghe."

He strode around the horse, wrapped the reins around the metal post, and leaned down, brushing the snow from the seat. Then he helped Miss Fernsby-Webb back into the sleigh and covered her with a blanket.

"Miss Rowe," the Duke of Beaufort said as he stepped onto the runners, reins in hand, "since this was your suggestion, I expect your attendance during the full week."

Snapping the whip, the Duke of Beaufort encouraged his horse into a rapid trot. He laughed, waving as the sled picked up speed.

"I'll race you to Lennox's house!" he yelled as they vanished into an explosion of flying snow.

"Hell!" The Duke of Roxburghe, Miss Webb in tow, raced to his sleigh.

A moment later, they flew past Helena and the remaining dukes, the Duke of Roxburghe's mouth set into a determined scowl.

Shaking his head, the Duke of Lennox held out his arm. "May I return you to your home?"

"Am I not invited to the exorcism?" Helena asked, wincing when she picked up a note of despondency in her question.

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Would you like to attend?"

"I've never participated in one before," she replied as she climbed into the sleigh. "And if the Duke of Roxburghe believes the event to be safe enough to invite other ladies of the ton, I would like to be included."

"As you wish," he replied, his tone giving no indication of his feelings on the subject.

The Duke of Lennox picked up the thick wool blanket, shook it out, and spread the heavy coverlet across Helena's lap. Then he leaned over her and tucked in the edges of the blanket beneath her leg, his earthy scent wafting directly beneath her nose.

Her stomach clenched as though she'd fallen a great distance in a short amount of time. Before she could stop herself, she inhaled, her eyelids fluttering close. Seemingly oblivious of the effect his proximity had on Helena, he pulled away, trailing his fingers over the blanket's coarse fibers and sending a smattering of goosebumps zipping down her legs.

She shivered.

"Miss Rowe, are you certain you want to make the journey?" he asked, his eyes sliding over her. "You look half-frozen."

"Then I suggest we move quickly as both the Duke of Roxburghe and the Duke of Beaufort are ahead of us." She grinned and scooted down on the seat until her head was level with the back of the sleigh.

Stepping onto the runners, the Duke of Lennox removed the reins from the metal post and grabbed his whip. Before the other dukes could react, he swung the leather strap, snapping over the horse's back, and the sleigh jerked forward, slamming Helena backward into the seat.

She didn't expect the Duke of Lennox to catch up to either sled. However, his boast appeared legitimate when the rear of the Duke of Roxburghe's sleigh came into view.

"No!" The Duke of Roxburghe directed his horse to the left, swinging his sled into their path and cutting them off. "I won't lose to you twice in one day."

"You can still best Mansfield." The Duke of Lennox swerved around the Duke of Roxburghe.

"Impressive." Helena waved to Miss Webb as they passed. "However, with the delay in our start, I doubt you'll arrive before the Duke of Beaufort."

"And if I do?" The Duke of Lennox leaned down and murmured in her ear. "What will you give me if I exceed your expectations?"

Her heart hammered. "What would you like?"

"A kiss."

"And if you fail to overtake the Duke of Beaufort?" She turned her head, her mouth nearly colliding with his. "What do I win?"

"I'll give you a lily of the valley plant from my conservatory."

"You have one?"

"I have four," the Duke of Lennox said, cracking the whip again. "I loathe to part with it. However, I know you'll appreciate the flower's delicate beauty."

"And its smell," she added, earning a chuckle.

"Yes, definitely the scent," he replied as he straightened, dissolving the intimacy between them. "Much better than lavender."

The whip swung, and the horse surged forward, the momentum pinning Helena to her seat. In the distance, a tiny black speck appeared and gradually grew larger until they were less than two lengths behind the Duke of Beaufort. Nimbly balancing on the runners, he turned and looked over his shoulder, his mouth popping open when he realized the Duke of Lennox bore down on him.

"Hold on, Miss Fernsby-Webb!" the Duke of Beaufort yelled as he yanked his whip from the holder.

Two simultaneous cracks echoed through the frigid afternoon as the sleds raced pell-mell toward the small bridge leading to Lennox's property. Judging the bridge's narrow width, Helena gasped. Only one sleigh would fit, and neither man appeared to possess the desire to relinquish their speed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, ducking her head, and braced her hands against the front of the sled. Her breath caught, and she waited for the sickening crunch of the sleigh smashing into the bridge's post.

"Miss Rowe?" The Duke of Lennox placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Are you ill?"

Helena peeled one eye open, then the other, twisting around in time to witness the Duke of Beaufort's sleigh skid to a halt beside them.

"You could have killed us!" He jumped from his sleigh and stormed toward the Duke of Lennox.

"I knew you'd slow," he replied in a calm tone, detaching the horse from the sleigh.

"Because I knew you wouldn't!" The Duke of Beaufort flung his arms in the air.

"I had a wager to win."

"I certainly hope your actions were worth the risk."

The Duke of Lennox's heated gaze slid over Helena. "They were."

Helena blushed, the red color staining her cheeks. She turned away, hiding her face as the Duke of Roxburghe passed over the bridge, followed closely by the Duke of Mansfield.

"Ladies," the Duke of Lennox said, winding the reins around his hand, "while we attend the horses, please warm yourself inside."

After rising on her toes to brush a kiss against the Duke of Roxburghe's cheek, Miss Webb led Helena and her sister along an imperceptible path toward the entrance.

They settled in the parlor, with Miss Webb seated at a writing desk hidden in the corner and her sister and Helena hovering around her in a loose circle and peering over her shoulder as she penned the first missive to Miss Sinclair.

"Do I admit what we're doing?" Miss Webb asked, glancing up. "It may frighten people into refusing the invitation."

"You must tell them." The Duke of Mansfield's deep voice rolled into the room, startling all three women. "If they don't believe, the ceremony won't work."

"Aren't you concerned with damaging?—"

"Lennox's reputation?" he snorted. "Lennox can withstand the scandal. In truth, it might even elevate him in the ton's esteem."

"I certainly hope not," the Duke of Lennox said, appearing in the doorway behind the Duke of Mansfield and crooking his finger. "Miss Rowe, while the invitations are being written, may I have a few moments in the hallway?"

Pressing her lips together, she nodded, wondering what she could have done in the last five minutes to require a solitary audience with him. Crossing the room, she accepted his offered elbow.

"Am I in trouble, Your Grace?" she asked, attempting to ease the trepidation pounding through her body.

"You are," he replied, adding no further description as he led her down the corridor.

His gaze flicked behind her, catching Mansfield and Beaufort as they departed with approximately a dozen invitations to deliver to the neighboring houses, then returned to Miss Rowe.

She paled, her heart thrumming. "What have I done?"

"You've bewitched me."