Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

EVELINE/HELENA

H e couldn't know. She still had thirty minutes until midnight.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Helena squeaked out a confused, "Your Grace?"

The Duke of Lennox snatched her cards from the table and spun them around, showing their value. "You told me I won."

"You did." Heart thrumming, she took a wobbly step toward him and gestured at the cards. "I had twenty-nine."

A low rumble emanated from his throat. "You had twenty-one."

"But then I took one more card." She forced a smile.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Mr. Philbert doesn't live here."

"Neither do I." He tapped the edge of the cards on the table, his intense gaze locked on her. "Miss Rowe, I thank you for your generosity this evening. However, I wish to make something quite clear. I have no desire to marry."

"I didn't ask for your hand," she retorted, the sting of his unprovoked rejection spreading through her chest.

Every time she followed her heart's advice, she landed in a worse situation. Perhaps it was best to remain a stoic wallflower.

A strange expression flickered across his face. "Why would you request my hand?"

She strode forward, wrapped her fingers around the back of a chair, and hissed, "Why would you believe my aim was to trap you into marriage?"

"You purposefully lost the game!" He threw the cards down.

"Did you wish to transport four men in various stages of drunkenness to the nearest inn?" She gestured toward the street. "I'm certain it would be quite the adventure."

Grimacing, he dragged his hand down his face, sighed, and collapsed into the chair opposite Helena. "I apologize for my assumption."

"Accepted, Your Grace." She added a sympathetic smile. "It must be difficult to be a man of title; there aren't many people whose intentions can be trusted."

"There are a few." His eyes flicked toward the ceiling. "And I thank you for your understanding. The man who marries you will be quite fortunate."

But that man won't be you.

The unspoken words hung between them.

"You're too kind," she replied, the words barely audible.

She leaned forward, collected the candlestick from the table, and turned away before the flickering flame highlighted the wayward tears creeping down her cheeks.

"If you would follow me," she said, shuffling toward the exit, "I'll show you to your chamber."

"Miss Rowe…" Hesitation crawled across the room.

Hastily wiping her face, she turned back toward him. "You owe me no explanation, Your Grace. Now, I'm certain you're exhausted."

She twisted back toward the doorway, waiting until she heard the muffled scrape of chair legs on the rug before exiting the parlor.

"Wait," he called from the doorway.

Hovering in the center of the foyer, Helena paused, her back stiffening. When she was certain she wouldn't cry, she spun around, holding the candlestick far from her body.

"Yes, Your Grace?" she said, hoping she sounded indifferent.

A flash of concern slid through his eyes, darkening them to burned coffee. "Have I said something to offend you?"

"Not at all, Your Grace." She forced a bright smile. "We are friends, as we always have been."

"Then, as your friend," —he placed an absurd amount of emphasis on the word— "I must give you this."

He strode across the foyer, extended his arm, and opened his hand. Glistening in his palm sat the gold fob.

"No." Tucking her arm behind her back, she shook her head, turned away, and started up the stairs.

"Why?" He chased her, catching her on the sixth step and grabbing her elbow. "It should have been yours."

"It represents something different now," she said, jerking her arm free.

He darted around her, blocking her progress, and held out his hand again. "I don't understand."

Fire surged through her body. "You've just rejected me despite never having actually courted me, and as an apology for your brutish behavior, you're paying for my forgiveness with gold."

If she'd been speaking to Humphrey, he would have hit her… and had.

Darkness crawled across the Duke of Lennox's face. She cringed, squishing her head into her shoulders, and twisted away, waiting for the burst of anger that would undoubtedly follow. Nothing happened, and after several moments, she peeled her eyes open, finding him staring at her, his mouth partially agape.

Wordlessly, he dropped his hand to his side, turned, and trudged up the remaining steps, the gold fob dangling loosely from his fingers. When he reached the second-floor landing, he cursed, spun around, and stomped back down the steps, a low snarl in his throat.

"I've never given you cause to fear me." He jabbed a trembling finger at her.

"You have not." She inclined her head, gathered her skirt, and scooted around him, hoping her dismissal would end the conversation.

He hastened up the staircase and cut in front of her, blocking her progress again. "You reacted as though I had."

Damn. The man was persistent.

She sighed, her eyes flicking to the corridor behind him as though the action would encourage him to allow her past. He didn't budge.

"If you have committed no such transgression, why are you insulted?" she asked, arching her eyebrows.

"I find your reaction alarming."

"Then perhaps you should have said, ‘Is there something that frightens you,' instead of arrogantly assuming yourself as the cause."

His jaw popped open. Taking advantage of his stunned silence, she dashed up the final three stairs.

"Is there?" he asked, hurrying after her. "Something, or perhaps, someone who frightens you?"

"Not in this house." She indicated the first door to the left, across from the room with the Dukes of Warwick and Beaufort. "Your chamber, Your Grace."

He appeared as though he wished to say something further, but instead, he pursed his lips, stiffly bowed, and strode to the door. As he placed his fingers on the handle, he turned and offered her a tight smile.

"Have a pleasant evening, Miss Rowe."

The moment he vanished into the chamber, Helena turned, raced down the stairs, and flew around the corner, heading for the parlor. She'd left her reticule on one of the tables, and though she didn't expect anyone in attendance to be a thief, she needed to reconfirm the total before meeting with Miss Drummond.

In five minutes!

Snatching up the reticule, Helena held her breath and upended the pouch, dumping the contents into a small mound on the table. She winced as the coins clinked, the soft metallic sound echoing in the empty room.

Her eyes slid over the stack. Was it smaller than she initially assumed?

She grabbed a discarded napkin and spread the cloth on the table in front of her. Counting by fours, she piled the crowns in the center of the napkin.

"Ninety pounds."

Her chest squeezed.

In all the exchanges she'd had with Miss Drummond, Helena knew the woman to be deceptive, calculating, and cruel—the actual reason Miss Drummond failed to hold on to a suitor, despite her claims that Helena's brother had a hand in their sudden disinterest.

She wouldn't accept any excuse for the shortage… unless Helena appealed to Miss Drummond's materialistic desires.

Nodding her head once, Helena folded the corners of the napkin together, tied them into a sturdy knot, and tugged the top to ensure no coins would tumble out. Then she crept to the doorway and peered around the side, ensuring the foyer was empty before hastening over to the front door.

After unlatching the lock, Helena opened the door and shivered. Leaning around the edge of the door, she pulled her fur-lined pelisse from a nearby coat rack, then darted outside, shutting the door behind herself with a light click. As she shoved her arms into the coat, she strolled toward the snow-covered garden, her gaze sweeping back and forth over the grounds.

A voice crawled out of the darkness. "I didn't expect you to follow through with my demand."

Helena's hand—holding the makeshift sack of coins—flew to her mouth, stifling a squeak, and she spun around. "Miss Drummond? Is that you?"

"We've known each other quite some time now," Miss Drummond said, appearing from the shadows. "You may use my given name."

Helena shook her head. "We've only just been introduced, Miss Drummond."

"As you wish." Miss Drummond bared her teeth and held out her hand.

"It's not quite the full amount," said Helena, setting the napkin in Miss Drummond's open palm. "However…"

The soft flickering light of a candle appeared in one of the second-floor chamber windows, drawing Helena's attention. Aside from Mrs. Hawkins, who would be awake at this hour?

"However?" Miss Drummond pressed as she picked at the knot in the napkin.

"I'll have the full amount to you?—"

"Double."

"Double the balance I owe?—"

Miss Drummond shook her head. "Double the amount I originally requested."

"That means I need to give you one hundred and ten pounds more!"

"Yes, it does." Miss Drummond tilted her head. "Unless you wish me to write Humphrey and convince him Wiltshire would be quite a diverting adventure for him. He could be here in just a few days."

Helena paled. "No, please."

"Then, we're agreed. One hundred and ten pounds tomorrow morning, or not only do I tell Humphrey where to find you, but I also report to the society papers that Miss Helena Rowe is actually Miss Eveline Braddock, runaway fiancée and wanted thief."

"I am not a thief," Helena growled, taking a step toward Miss Drummond.

"You kept the ring my brother gave you," retorted Miss Drummond, a sneer hovering on her lips.

"Humphrey refused to accept it." Helena glanced at the second floor again, relieved the light extinguished itself. "He laughed when I tried to end our engagement."

Miss Drummond chuckled. "That's Humphrey. Once he sets his mind to something…"

"I'm not some thing ." Helena stretched herself tall. "I am a person, not a possession, and I deserve to be treated as such."

"I don't care what you are, as long as you're faithful with your payment." Miss Drummond tucked the napkin of coins into her reticule, adding a haughty sniff, "I'll expect you to call upon me tomorrow morning. If I have to return here, it will be with my brother."

A shiver raced down Helena's spine as though an icicle had fallen from the roof and slithered its way beneath the collar of her pelisse. "I understand."

"Excellent." Miss Drummond nodded toward the house. "If you're lacking ideas on how to raise the amount, may I suggest your guests?"

"Miss Webb and her sister don't have excess funds, either," Helena replied, her eyebrows pulling together.

"But Miss Webb's fiancé does."

Helena shook her head. "I cannot ask a duke for money."

A dark smile crossed Miss Drummond's face. "I didn't say to ask him."

"Theft is punishable by imprisonment, and to steal from a duke…" Helena swallowed. "The sentence will be quite severe."

"Then don't allow anyone to catch you." Miss Drummond turned and sashayed toward the street.

"How simple," Helena murmured, trudging toward the door.

Prison or ostracization? Which was worse?

Chewing on her lower lip, she grasped the door handle and pushed, but it didn't open. She grabbed the brass lever with both hands and, pressing down, drove her shoulder into the wood panels. Again, the door wouldn't budge.

It was locked!

She couldn't knock… How would she explain why she ventured outside, alone, at this time of night?

Helena cursed, the soft word floating over her head and crystalizing in the frigid temperatures, which would continue dropping as the evening progressed toward morning. If she didn't find a way inside, she'd freeze to death before anyone discovered her absence.

Tucking her hands under her arms, she hastened around the side of the house, her gaze sliding over the first floor's darkened windows. Hopefully, one of the locks wasn't strong enough to withstand a bit of force.

To prevent handprints on the glass, she covered her hands with her sleeves, placed her palms flat on the pane, and shoved. Nothing. Repositioning her stance, she braced herself and tried a second time, adding a low growl as she pushed upward, but the lock refused to snap.

With a grimace, she turned, trudged through the ankle-deep snow toward the next window, and repeated the process. Neither the second nor the third window yielded any respite from the bitter cold. As Helena rounded the side of the building, she stumbled on a rock buried beneath the snow and fell forward, landing on a thinly covered patch of ice and knocking the breath from her lungs.

Slush seeped into her clothing.

Lifting up with a grunt, she glowered at her hidden assailant, then pushed backward onto her legs and gingerly climbed to her feet.

Another burst of light appeared in an upstairs window, as though the tiny flame she'd seen earlier traversed the hallway and stopped at—Helena counted the windows, bobbing her head with each number—Miss Webb's chamber.

She pressed her lips together, swallowing a bubble of laughter. Despite Miss Fernsby-Webb's threat, the Duke of Roxburghe chose to risk her ire and call upon his fiancée at this inappropriate hour.

It also meant the Duke of Mansfield was alone in the chamber.

Inching over to the house, Helena closed her eyes, issued a silent prayer, set her palms on the window, and pushed upward. A soft creak met her attempt. Her breath caught between her teeth. She reset her hands and shoved.

The lock snapped, and the window slid upward. Expelling a quiet whoop, Helena grabbed hold of the sill, then dragged herself over the apron, tumbling gracelessly onto the library floor and entangling her legs in the adjacent cream-colored drapes.

Biting back a curse, she pulled herself free of the material, grimacing when a large tear appeared in the delicate fabric.

Nothing could be done now.

Helena scrambled to her feet, closed the window, and darted across the floor. Opening the library door just wide enough to stick her head through the space, she craned her neck to the left and right, verifying the corridor was empty, then slipped through the opening and closed the door behind her.

Before she could sway herself to a different plan, she dashed down the hallway, up the staircase, and stopped when she reached the Duke of Mansfield's chamber. Inhaling a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Helena leaned her ear against the door, listening for sounds of movement.

When none came, she cautiously depressed the handle and pushed the door open. Peeking over her shoulder at the hallway to ensure it was empty, she crept into the chamber and shut the door but couldn't cross the room.

Her body, pressed against the door's smooth wood, ignored every command she issued, refusing to move one inch closer to the Duke of Mansfield's sleeping form.

He'd fallen asleep in his clothing, his coat half-pulled from his shoulders and one arm flung over his face as though he'd given up on the effort of removing the garment and collapsed on the bed.

Groaning, the Duke of Mansfield rolled to his side, his face highlighted by the warm fire crackling in the fireplace. His eyes opened, and his unfocused dark brown gaze slid across her, then they closed again without registering that she'd entered the chamber.

She could still leave. She could endure Miss Drummond's wrath and deal with the consequences of being outed as a liar and fraud… but she couldn't marry Humphrey. Ever.

Helena rolled back her shoulders, then forced her body forward, her limbs moving jerkily as though she were a marionette. When she reached the bed, she knelt, bringing herself even with the Duke of Mansfield.

Her gaze slid down his body, searching his deep blue waistcoat for a flash of the gold fob. When she spied the piece, she whipped her hand out and grabbed the chain but couldn't detach the fob. Gritting her teeth, she added a second hand, wrestling with the clasp.

The fob popped off, and she tumbled backward, landing hard on the floor.

Sitting up, the Duke of Mansfield opened his eyes again.

"Hello?" he slurred.

Holding her breath, Helena froze, staring at the carved ceiling. Her hand tightened around the chain, crushing the links into her palm.

How would she explain why she was in his chamber?

With a grunt, the Duke of Mansfield fell back and expelled a loud snore.

Quickly, Helena removed the watch from the chain, discarding the timepiece on the floor, then crawled across the floor on her stomach, using her arms and feet to propel herself forward. When she reached the exit, she stood, ripped open the door, and dashed out of the room. As soon as the door closed, she exhaled a nervous giggle.

Intending to enter the Duke of Warwick and the Duke of Beaufort's chamber next, Helena turned to her left. However, when she reached the entrance, a strange shuffling sound, accompanied by a muted thump, crawled from beneath the door.

The Duke of Warwick was awake!

With a squeak, Helena darted across the corridor to the Duke of Lennox's chamber and snuck into the room just as the Duke of Warwick opened his door.

Peering through the space between the doorframe and the door, Helena held her breath as the Duke of Warwick limped toward the staircase. When he reached the steps, he grasped the handrail, his fingers tightening around the bar, and descended the stairs in a slow thumping movement. Several moments later, his cane echoed in the downstairs hallway, heading toward the library.

She exhaled, closing the door, spun around, and swallowed a gasp. Unlike the Duke of Mansfield, the Duke of Lennox had chosen to remove all his clothing, leaving the pieces strewn across the floor.

Her stomach clenched as her gaze slid over the thick hair adorning his chest, which softly rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm. Licking her lips, Helena edged toward the bed and a small table beside it, upon which glistened the Duke of Lennox's gold chain as well as a ruby ring encircled with diamonds and his watch. She hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the Duke of Lennox.

He had offered the piece to her…

However, when her hand whipped out to grab the chain, it also closed around the ruby ring, snatching both items. She turned toward the door before she could change her mind and took one step.

"Miss Rowe."

Helena froze, her eyes widening. He'd seen her.

She spun around, an apology forming on her lips, but the Duke of Lennox was asleep.

"Miss Rowe," he said again, adding a sigh.

"Your Grace," she replied, unsure what to do.

Before she could react, he reached out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled. Surprised by his sudden movement, she lost her balance, sprawling atop of him. One hand cupping the back of her head and digging into her hair, he brought his mouth to hers, sending a burst of flames flying through her body.

Unable to stop herself, she moaned, her lips parting, and he thrust his tongue forward, drawing a second, louder moan from Helena.

The Duke of Lennox's eyes opened.