Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

EVELINE/HELENA

"W e aren't?" Helena jerked her head sideways, staring at the Duke of Lennox. "What else do you wish to accomplish this evening?"

"I want to play against you." The corner of his mouth crooked. "You have something I want."

Helena licked her lips, her heart tightening. "Which is?"

"A soft bed?—"

"Devoid of Mr. Philbert," the Duke of Roxburghe added, glancing over at them.

Clasping her hands together, Helena fixed the Duke of Lennox with a hard stare. "Mr. Philbert is dead. I was in attendance the night he was murdered."

"He is dead," the Duke of Lennox confirmed, rolling his head toward the Duke of Roxburghe and scowling. "Or at least the physical portion of him is deceased."

"And the rest of him?" Helena asked, uncertain she wanted to hear the answer.

The Duke of Lennox grimaced. "May or may not be residing in my conservatory."

"And parlor," the Duke of Beaufort added, lifting one finger.

"That seems…" Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word that wouldn't offend the Duke of Lennox. "Complicated."

"Thus, my request for temporary lodging," he replied, settling back in his chair.

"And if I win?" Tilting her head, she offered him a tiny smile. "I've been quite fortunate this evening."

Holding her gaze, he reached beneath the table, unhooked his watch fob again, and tossed the gold chain toward her. "Will you accept this as compensation?"

She folded her hands into her chest, staring at the chain. The piece, when sold, would provide the emergency funds necessary to flee Wiltshire ahead of Humphrey should Miss Drummond not keep her word.

"Just one night?" Helena asked, ignoring the nagging, warning voice in her mind that sounded distinctly like her brother.

The Duke of Lennox slapped his hand over his breast. "You have my word."

"You have a wager." She extended her arm.

The Duke of Lennox took her fingers, squeezing them before lifting them to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss on them. Her stomach flipped over.

"Your Grace?" Miss Drummond appeared beside Helena, clasping her reticule in front of her waist. "My cousin and I must take our leave. However, I'd like to speak with Miss Rowe before our departure. May I have a few moments of her time?"

"Certainly." He flicked his eyes to Helena as he collected the fob. "I'll keep this safe until our game."

He rose, leaning on the table for support, offered them both a wobbly bow, and wandered in the direction of the Duke of Beaufort, who'd somehow convinced Mrs. Hawkins to retrieve several bottles of wine from the cellar.

Glancing over her shoulder, Miss Drummond took the empty seat, set her reticule on the table, and pulled open the drawstring. "Put in the watch fobs."

"Wouldn't you prefer everything at once?" Helena said, keeping her voice low.

"The gold isn't part of my demand." Miss Drummond pushed the pouch closer to Helena.

Helena's eyes dropped to the embroidered sac. "Then, why do you want them?"

"I wasn't quite as fortunate as you,"—Miss Drummond tilted her head—"and I won't allow my funds to pay your debt."

"If you take the chains, I won't have enough to pay you tonight," said Helena, her fingers clenching into fists.

She'd never struck anyone in her life. However, at this moment, she couldn't remember why.

"You have another opportunity to win the money..." Smiling, Miss Drummond gestured at the card stack in the center of the table. "If you best the Duke of Lennox."

"Good luck," Miss Venning said as she strolled around Helena toward Miss Drummond.

Helena's heart stuttered. Had Miss Venning heard their discussion?

"My father," Miss Venning continued, her blithe expression suggesting she hadn't overheard the conversation, "says the Duke of Lennox is one man he'd never challenge to a game of cards."

Miss Drummond laughed and quickly covered her mouth, twisted away from Miss Venning, who frowned.

"I hope…" Miss Venning stared at her cousin for a few moments before giving her head a tiny shake and returning her attention to Helena. "I hope our ball next week provides as much amusement as this evening."

"I'm certain it will be spoken about for months afterward." Helena rose and embraced Miss Venning.

"That would be lovely," Miss Venning replied, returning her warm hug.

Standing, Miss Drummond scooted her body between Miss Venning and the table, blocking the view of her reticule, and said, "My brother may attend as well."

"Truly?" Clapping her hands together, Miss Venning danced in a tiny circle. "I do hope Humphrey comes to visit. It's been years since I've seen him."

Miss Drummond stared at Helena, arched her eyebrows, and indicated her reticule with a flick of her eyes. "I'm expecting a letter from him tomorrow. He's to confirm if he'll be traveling to Wiltshire in the next few days."

A soft gasp escaped from Helena. She ripped open her pouch's drawstring, snatched up the two gold chains, and, in one swift moment, yanked her hand out of her reticule and stuffed the adornments into Miss Drummond's, releasing the watch fobs.

Miss Venning grabbed her cousin's arm and pulled Miss Drummond to her side. "You'll let me know as soon as you hear from him."

"I promise," Miss Drummond replied, collecting her reticule from the table. "The moment I learn of his plans."

Looping her arm through Miss Venning's, Miss Drummond flashed Helena a brilliant smile, offered an elegant curtsy, and then escorted her cousin through the parlor toward the exit and their waiting coach.

Helena's heart thrummed, her chest squeezing around the rapidly beating muscle. Humphrey couldn't come here, not to Wiltshire, not where she'd built a new life for herself. She hoped Miss Drummond was lying, as she'd been given to doing in the past whenever it suited her needs, but Helena couldn't risk being wrong. She couldn't be one farthing short tonight.

She had to win.

"Tomorrow." Miss Sinclair dove in front of Helena and grabbed her hands, squeezing tight.

"Pardon?" Helena asked, a tiny winkle carving its way across her forehead.

"We're having tea tomorrow afternoon." Her grip constricted, and she jerked Helena closer. "At four."

"I would be delighted." Unable to pull free from Miss Sinclair's surprising iron grip, Helena offered her a reassuring smile. "I've never been to your home."

"Oh!" Reddening, Miss Sinclair released Helena and took a step backward. "I meant for me to call upon you tomorrow for tea."

"Is there something wrong with your house?" Helena asked, closing the distance between them and lowering her voice.

"My mother lives there." Twisting away, Miss Sinclair covered her face with her hands, hung her head, and released a shuddering sob. "I'm a terrible daughter for saying such things."

Helena reached out, her hand hovering over Miss Sinclair's slight shoulder, but she didn't touch the young woman, fearing the sudden contact would startle her.

"You are allowed to have an opinion," Helena said, winding her fingers together. "Even when it doesn't agree with what society deems appropriate."

…and you're forced to run from the only home you've known.

Dropping her arms, Miss Sinclair spun around and pushed her lower lip into a pout. "Not if I wish to find a suitable husband."

"Any husband who demands his wife remain silent for the course of the marriage isn't worthy of your time," Helena replied, adding a succinct nod.

"A fine idea, but its pursuit may leave me penniless and alone." Miss Sinclair's eyes blinked rapidly, and she daubed her fingertips beneath her eyes. "Would you take me in if my circumstances worsened?"

"Absolutely!" Helena grabbed Miss Sinclair and enveloped her in a crushing embrace. "We will be a garden of wallflowers."

Eyes shining, Miss Sinclair peeled herself away from Helena. "I cannot imagine a more perfect dream."

"Are you certain you want to depart this evening?" Helena gestured toward the hallway. "There is an unclaimed chamber?—"

Miss Sinclair shook her head, peeking over at the riotous group gathered at the far end of the parlor. "Perhaps another time. Mother will be desperate without me."

They both knew it was a lie, but Helena didn't press the matter. Whatever reason Miss Sinclair had for declining the offer, she didn't intend to share, and Helena possessed enough of her own secrets to know prying would only sour their burgeoning friendship.

"Then, I shall expect you tomorrow at four," Helena said as she collected her reticule and guided Miss Sinclair toward the foyer.

Miss Sinclair nodded and pressed her lips together into a tight line as though she was trying not to cry. Setting her hand on the brass door handle, she paused, rose on her toes, and placed a gentle kiss on Helena's cheek. Before Helena could react, Miss Sinclair ripped open the door and darted out into the frigid night air, leaving a faint scent of lavender hovering in the air.

Had Miss Sinclair worn lavender that evening?

Unable to stop herself, Helena stepped onto the doorstep and looked down, her gaze sliding across the fresh coat of fallen snow, searching for any hint of purple.

"Lost something?"

Helena spun, drawing in a quick gasp at the proximity of the Duke of Lennox, who hovered in the doorway directly behind her, leaning against the frame.

"Your Grace," she managed, adding a hasty curtsey.

"I didn't intend to startle you." He saluted her with a half-empty glass of wine. "You were staring at the ground quite intently."

"I thought I may have dropped a coin from my reticle." She lifted the beaded pouch, waving it in his direction. "However, I believe the sound was caused by one of the embellishments falling off the drawstring."

"That's fortunate." He moved aside, allowing her to enter the house. "No one else wishes to participate in our game. They've decided upon another method to determine the wedding date order."

"What game did they choose?"

"Snapdragon." Reaching around her, the Duke of Lennox closed the door, and his nose wrinkled. "Do you smell lavender?"

Helena shook her head quickly. "No, Your Grace."

"You're not wearing the scent?"

"I hate it." Helena shuddered, rubbing her arms. "My mother taught me to make perfume with lily of the valley; it's all I ever use."

"Would you like to know a secret?" he asked, lowering his voice as though he intended to impart a significant revelation. "You must not tell one person… I hate lavender, too."

She burst out laughing. "I promise not to reveal your abhorrence for the flower."

"Now,"—he held out his arm—"we have a wager to attend."

"And where will you stay after I win?" she asked, placing her hand lightly on his sleeve and strolling toward the parlor.

Snorting, he turned his head toward her. "You seem quite sure of yourself."

"A lady without callers has time to develop other skills, Your Grace." She released his arm as they passed through the doorway.

"I'm curious," the Duke of Lennox said, chasing after her, "regarding the other skills you've learned."

She spun. "Not why I haven't any callers?"

"Perhaps you detest them as much as lavender." Trapping her between himself and a table, the Duke of Lennox set down his empty wine glass and bent closer. "Your choices don't concern me, only the hidden abilities you may possess. I don't like to lose."

She crossed her arms over her chest, more so to prevent him from hearing the drumming of her heart than to appear intimidating. "Neither do I."

He inclined his head, then straightened, dissolving the intimacy between them. Rounding the table, he stopped on the opposite side, pulled out a chair, and sat, gesturing to the seat across from him.

"Would you care to deal?" he asked, removing the gold watch fob from his waistcoat.

Her eyes flicked to the chain. "Are you certain you want to play?"

"None of my companions desire to return to my home this evening." The corner of his mouth pulled. "And if I must purchase rooms for them, I'd rather do it sooner than later tonight."

"Why is that your obligation?" Helena picked up the deck of cards and shuffled the stack.

"They were my guests," he replied, tossing the chain toward the center of the table.

"Your generosity is commendable," Helena said, alternately placing cards face down in front of the Duke of Lennox and herself. "Miss Webb spoke of the assistance you provided in freeing her from prison."

"Would that convince you to give me reprieve?" He peeked at his cards, then lifted his eyes, keeping his face devoid of emotion.

"Were I Miss Webb, my answer would be yes. However, aside from gaining a wonderful acquaintance, your sacrifice does not affect me."

He stared at her, his captivating eyes focusing on her as though she were the only person in the room.

"Then I shall have to find a way to do so," he rumbled, his words brushing over her skin.

"To affect me?"

He nodded once, keeping his gaze locked on her.

Despite the stern command to her body to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, she shivered.

A shout from the table beside them drew the Duke of Lennox's attention. When he twisted around, he flashed his cards at Helena, giving her a glimpse of a pair of tens.

She had him beat. But did she want him to leave? And was she willing to risk Miss Drummond's ire for a few more fleeting moments of his time?

He chuckled as the Duke of Beaufort pulled the last almond from a flaming bowl, then returned his gaze to Helena.

"It appears they have not reached an acceptable solution regarding the wedding date."

"Nor shall we," the Duke of Roxburghe said, shooting over a dark scowl. "Unless Grisham agrees to a duel. What say you?"

"A duel?" Miss Webb and Miss Philbert gasped simultaneously.

"They cannot!" The blood draining from her face, Helena set down her cards, but the Duke of Lennox rose before she intervened.

"Miss Rowe will not share her home with either of your spirits," he declared, striding toward the other table. "It's bad enough that I'm facing the issue. This stops now. The situation has become completely inane."

"Agreed," Miss Webb said, who glanced at Miss Philbert and widened her eyes, sharing a silent conversation.

Miss Philbert inclined her head, accepting the unspoken proposal.

"Since neither of you will relinquish your position," Miss Webb said, taking hold of the Duke of Roxburghe's hand, "Miss Philbert and I have reached a solution. We'll marry on the same day, at the same time, in the same place so that anyone who supports either marriage may attend both."

The Duke of Grisham wrapped his arms around Miss Philbert and pulled her close, his light brown eyes searching hers. "Do you find this arrangement acceptable?"

"Of course." She smiled, curling into his embrace. "It will be a joyous occasion that we will share with our friends."

"Indeed." He grinned, leaned down, and murmured something in her ear, causing Miss Philbert's face to flush several shades of pink.

"With the wedding issue settled," the Duke of Grisham said, not releasing his hold on Miss Philbert, "we must make our immediate departure."

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Rowe," Miss Philbert said, peeking out from beneath the Duke of Grisham's arm as he escorted her across the parlor. "We must play again… once I've recovered from my losses."

"How much did you lose?" the Duke of Grisham asked as they entered the foyer.

She giggled as the outer door closed, cutting off Miss Philbert's muffled reply.

"Lennox." The Duke of Beaufort took a seat at the table beside Helena. "Where am I laying my head this evening?"

"Our game isn't concluded," the Duke of Lennox replied, his mouth folding into a grim line as he retook his chair. "Miss Rowe, it's your turn. Would you like any additional cards?"

Lifting the cards, she glanced at her hand. Vingt-et-un.

No one takes another card when they're holding twenty-one. No one. Unless the fondness they'd been nurturing for a specific duke during the past few weeks exploded into full-blown affection.

And it had.

"One card." Her tongue tripped over the words.

The Duke of Lennox selected the top card, flipped it over, and set an eight of diamonds on the table. Then he lifted his expectant eyes to her face, his breath catching between his teeth.

She grimaced, placed her cards face down on the table, and pushed the gold chain toward the Duke of Lennox. "It appears you've won yourself a reprieve from Mr. Philbert."

Whooping, the Duke of Beaufort leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair, and danced around the table, his antics earning a giggle from Miss Fernsby-Webb.

"Miss Rowe,"—the Duke of Mansfield appeared at her shoulder and sent the Duke of Beaufort a scathing glower—"I think it best we retire for the evening before we use up the last of your good humor."

"Of course," she replied, rising. "If you would follow me upstairs."

The collective fell into line behind Helena, with the Duke of Beaufort directly behind her, and they marched—some stumbling—from the parlor and up the staircase.

A low snore crept from beneath the first door to their right.

"That must be Warwick." The Duke of Beaufort swung his arm, nearly hitting Helena, who ducked at the last moment. "Who will share with him?"

Sighing, the Duke of Mansfield trudged around him and muttered, "I'll make the sacrifice."

He opened the door, wincing when a snore smacked him in the face, and entered the dark room, shutting the door behind him with a light click.

The Duke of Roxburghe winked at Miss Webb. "We'll take the next chamber."

"You," Miss Fernsby-Webb said, her eyes narrowing as she slid between him and her sister, "may have the company of either the Duke of Beaufort or the Duke of Lennox this evening."

"Why must I suffer?" the Duke of Beaufort asked as Miss Fernsby-Webb ushered him toward the next door.

"Because my sister is not yet married, and I won't allow the scandal of pregnancy to occur prior to her wedding." Miss Fernsby-Webb opened the door and, glancing back at the Duke of Roxburghe, pointedly said, "Good evening, Your Grace."

A dark grin split the Duke of Roxburghe's face.

"Good evening," he replied, draping an arm over the Duke of Beaufort's shoulders and escorting him into the room.

Helena turned to indicate the door leading to the final chamber, but the Duke of Lennox wasn't in the corridor. Frowning, she spun in a slow circle, her gaze searching the shadows.

"Did the Duke of Lennox disappear into the other chamber?" she asked, taking a hesitant step toward the first door.

"I don't know." Miss Webb looked at her sister, who shook her head.

"Should we search for him?" Miss Fernsby-Webb indicated the staircase.

A moment later, the Duke of Lennox's head appeared, his black hair bathed in the light of a flickering candle. His gaze slid over the trio, stopping on Helena.

"Miss Rowe," he said, his grave tone causing her stomach to clench, "may I speak with you a moment?"

She nodded, abandoning Miss Webb and her sister in the hallway and following the Duke of Lennox downstairs to the empty parlor.

"Has something happened?" she asked, winding her fingers together in front of her waist.

"Yes," he replied, slamming the candlestick down on a table. "I know that you lied to me."