A Duchess a Day Page 10

  “Can you invite strangers to Girdleston’s party?”

  “Oh, he invites half of London,” she said dismissively, “the man has no real friends.”

  She looked again at the first girl on the list, Lady Genevieve Vance. “For this girl, I’ll be prepared to dangle Lusk’s great wealth. If she likes the shops, she’ll want to hear of all his vast houses to redecorate.”

  “The conversations will be your purview,” Declan said. “I’ll always be nearby, but my actions and behavior will be limited to that of a servant and—”

  “I’m sorry you have to serve me,” she said, glancing up. “Truly.”

  I’m not. The words popped into his head.

  I want only to serve you.

  “Certainly you’ve put me through my paces these last few days.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Oh yes,” she mused. “That. I was playacting, of course. Trying to calm everyone’s nerves after the theatrics at Lady Canning’s. I’ve found it’s useful to be very, very good after I’ve caused a . . . a moment of high drama. To this lot, being ‘good’ means treating staff with undue wretchedness, sleeping ’til noon, and talking about the next item I hope to buy. So tedious.” She glanced at him. “But surely you did not believe—”

  “I can take an order, my lady. Remember I was in the army.”

  “But surely the tasks I set before you are not so demanding as the army’s?” she said, laughing a little.

  “You are nothing like the army,” he said, glancing up and down her body with a heated look. “If you were, I would have never left. You may order me to do just about anything you like.”

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes wide. Color shot to her cheeks.

  “But don’t cut me out of the plan making. The service is for your wishes alone. The plans are a collaboration.”

  Helena stared at him a moment longer, her green eyes barely blinking. If nothing else, he had her full attention. His pulse began to pound.

  “You . . . you were correct to seize control of the plan,” she said finally, looking away. She sounded breathless. “I’ll manage the recruitment, you the logistics.”

  She turned from the map and looked across the room. The armory walls were hung with a fortress of rifles, swords, and rapiers.

  “Perhaps we should arm ourselves with some sort of weapon?” she said, her voice a little wavery. She was rambling. She cleared her throat. “These pieces are two hundred years old, but good enough for show, which is all we’d need. Why a London mansion requires an armory, I’ve no idea. If some valued item exists, Girdleston must have it. No one ever comes here. That’s why I chose this room to meet you.”

  He turned, too, leaning his elbows on the case beside her. “Enterprising choice.”

  She rambled on. “I hadn’t thought of our need for showy weapons, but—”

  “We won’t need weapons,” he said. “Everything that we do should look and feel very close to the task at hand. We play along. Tomorrow you’ll be in New Bond Street to buy dresses—”

  “Actually, tomorrow I’m meant to be fitted for my trousseau,” she said, turning to him.

  “Right.” He swallowed. “Fine. Do whatever your mother expects on the errand. Stay as close to the truth as possible. We must be watchful and nimble, able to take advantage of unaccounted time or distractions.”

  Helena nodded and turned back to her paperwork, fingering the edges of the map. Her expression was uncertain. “What you mean is, be subtle. I’m a failure at subtlety, I’m afraid.”

  “You finessed these names from the women at the party,” he said. “I don’t doubt you for a second. I would not have risked my job if I did not believe you could manage your part.” And my freedom, he added in his head. And my future.

  He tried not to examine why, exactly, he’d done it. He didn’t want to know.

  He went on, “The wild cards are these girls. We’ve no way of knowing if they’ll be remotely appropriate, or willing, or discreet.”

  She looked around the room again. “Another reason to arm ourselves. Perhaps just a small dagger? If they are uncooperative. To sort of . . . brandish?” She gave a tired smile.

  “Remember,” he said, “we are not mounting an offensive against Girdleston; we are undermining his offensive. We are sabotaging. Sabotage means hiding in plain sight. It’s targeted disruption, although in secret. And trust no one else, unless they can be bribed. Money is the only thing you can trust.”

  “Oh, actually, I thought of that. Even before I was a saboteur, I relied heavily on bribes. We’ll use this for bribes as needed.” She plunked a weighty velvet purse on the case.

  “But, Shaw?” she asked.

  It occurred to him that he loved to hear his name on her lips.

  She continued, “You’ve said to trust no one, but I want you to know that we may trust each other. I trusted you from the first moment, I don’t know why.”

  He turned his head, gazing at her. She was so certain of herself. So hopeful. And so lovely. It almost hurt to look at her.

  “Declan?” she asked softly.

  And now his Christian name. He was doomed.

  She put a hand on his arm and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  He mustn’t. They must not.

  “Declan?”

  He felt the weight of her hand on his sleeve. He need only straighten his arm to slide her palm down. Their fingers would lock. The slightest tug, and she would fall against him.

  He opened his eyes.

  She was staring at his mouth.

  “Bloody hell,” he rasped. He loomed closer.

  “So serious,” she whispered. “Always so serious.”

  “Helena.”

  She licked her lips, and Declan could taste her. She inched forward. She raised her face to him.

  “We cannot risk it,” he whispered, forcing the words out.

  “Can we not?” Playfulness. Her eyes were smiling.

  “No. We cannot. The plan is the priority. Above all. Keep you from Lusk. Find some better situation for my father and sisters.”

  She nodded. They were inches apart.

  “I am a groom and you are the future wife of my employer, and we are embarking on a tenuous plan that puts us both in jeopardy. If we are found out—”

  “If you are my groom, I have a task.”

  “Oh God.”

  “You’ve just said you are happy to do anything I ask.”

  “In service,” he corrected, his voice cracking a little. Now who was unsettled and wavery?

  “So serve me.”

  “Helena,” he breathed.

  “Just once more,” she said. Not a question.

  “If we are found out . . .” he repeated, but he was already leaning. Every cell reached for her, his need had crystalized, hard as a diamond. If the armory doors flew open and the entire household flooded in, he would not stop.

  “Last time,” she whispered. He felt her breath on his cheek. Her eyes drooped closed. She made a small noise of pleasure before he touched her mouth.

  When their lips met, Declan felt as if he’d been fitted into the most secure, most wonderful place on the earth. The crevice of a grassy hill in the sun. A hollowed-out rock, smooth from the tide. He existed, body and soul, to tuck her against his chest.

  She paused, waiting, and Declan let her wait. One beat, two beats. He breathed her in. When finally he moved, he went slowly, savoring, leading her into a last kiss that would sustain them. A kiss that celebrated The Now. Nothing more, nothing less. They would savor this forbidden thing now and never again.

  “I could not be more serious, Helena,” he said, turning his face against the silky skin of her neck. “No more. This is the last.”

  He found her mouth again, increasing the intensity, invoking his tongue, sweeping his hands up her back. With wide fingers and open palms, he memorized the dip of her waist, the run of her ribs, the lush roundness of the sides of her breasts.

  “Last time,” she agreed breathlessly. She
kissed him like she had something to prove. He’d taught her, and she’d understood. She was proficient, so much more than proficient. She was the perfect mix of seductive and playful, and killing him.

  Her kiss asked the question: What are you going to do about that?

  His brain answered, I cannot ever kiss you again.

  The reality of this sank in like teeth into a forbidden apple. Sweet but so, so fleeting. He devoured her like this really was the last time.

  He’d almost said, You and I may never be together, regardless.

  He’d almost said, Just because you don’t marry Lusk, does not mean you will marry me.

  He’d almost said, I am a mercenary and you are a gentleman’s daughter, and we have no future.

  But the words would not come.

  Every true thing did not need to be said.

  The strange tangle of regret and longing dulled his desire—a good thing, ultimately, because he’d almost said too much.

  “I want you to know,” he finally breathed, “I’ve never taken advantage of a client. Not ever.”

  This truth. It was easier. He tucked her closer and breathed in.

  “And I want you to know I’ve never kissed a servant,” Helena said blithely, far less serious about honor and professionalism.

  He chuckled into her neck and pulled her tighter still; he wanted to imprint her on his body, the searing outline of one last embrace.

  “We’ll need more of the lofty heiress charade,” he said into her hair.

  “What?”

  “You fooled even me, and it’s exactly what everyone expects. You were correct. Every inch the future duchess, issuing orders to your groom.” He dropped a line of kisses on her neck.

  “I’ve noticed you enjoy it,” she mused, dropping her head back.

  “Have you?” he rumbled, but he thought, Oh God, yes.

  She laughed and craned to reach his mouth again. He kissed her hard, trying to swallow her whole, and she kept up, tilting her head and digging her fingers into his hair. His body was as hard as granite. He’d never wanted anything more than he wanted to pull Helena Lark to the floor and finish this. It was a dangerous want, more dangerous than their plan and her future and his freedom.

  He pulled his mouth away and gasped for breath. “The end,” he panted, and she made a little sobbing noise.

  “Helena,” he breathed, kissing her once more, hard and final. “My lady. The end.”

  He stepped away. It felt like rolling from a warm, soft riverbank into a cold, hard current. It felt like more than he could take.

  She stared at him through blinking eyes. “Then go,” she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Helena arrived in New Bond Street with a full contingent of sisters, her mother, and a matronly cousin of Lusk’s called Maude. Declan Shaw clung on the outboard runner of the second carriage, one of four grooms.

  A day had passed since the armory and they’d not spoken again. Declan Shaw had kissed her like a man sentenced to death and then gone.

  He was good, she told herself, very good. As cold as the Thames in February. He’d gone so far as to affect a mix-up, pretending he couldn’t distinguish her from her sisters.

  Helena had played along, making a show of exasperation, ignoring him with equal opaqueness. It was part strategy, part self-preservation. There was nothing small about her flourishing desire for Declan Shaw. She wanted him almost as much as she did not want the Duke of Lusk. As desires went, it was reckless and disruptive and dangerous to both Declan and herself. He’d been correct to remove himself from the kiss in the armory; it was right to pretend he could not distinguish her from her sister Joan.

  And now she would do her part, and win Lady Genevieve Vance to Helena’s side.

  But first, they must locate her.

  New Bond Street clattered with carriages and the snorts and whinnies of horses. Shopgirls swept stoops and wiped broad windows on the parallel rows of smart shops. Shoppers in colorful silks and fluttering hats moved with a sort of choreographed formality. They seemed to browse for the benefit of each other as much as commerce.

  When they were out of the carriage, Helena embarked upon immediate separation from her mother and Lusk’s cousin.

  “Would you see Madame first, Mama?” she asked, looking to the modiste’s door. “I should like to take a turn up ’round the shops before the midday crush.”

  “Lovely, darling,” her mother had said, eager for her own time with Madame. “I’ll take the first fitting. But mind your sisters, will you? Their squabbling has awakened that terrible throbbing behind my left temple. It was an error in judgment to bring only one governess.”

  Helena had planned for this, but she feigned irritation as she gathered her sisters and dispatched the youngest girl’s governess to retrieve forgotten parasols from the carriage. Her sisters were fourteen, seventeen, and eighteen; well old enough to relish time to themselves in New Bond Street.

  “Theresa, Joan, Camille,” Helena called when their mother had gone, “how would you fancy a refreshment before your appointment with Madame? A little lemon ice, perhaps, to sustain you through hours of pinning and prodding?”

  Her sisters’ bickering and preening fell silent and three heads swiveled in her direction.

  “What refreshment?” challenged Joan, her oldest sister.

  “Why, there is a café just there,” said Helena, pointing. “You see? On the corner? Fromley’s Emporium, it’s called. The duke has told me Fromley’s is known for the loveliest lemon ices in all of London. The grandest ladies and gentlemen pop in for tea as a respite from shopping.”

  “Since when do you converse with the duke?” asked Theresa.

  “He is my betrothed,” defended Helena, “of course we converse.”

  Three sets of green eyes stared at her with open suspicion.

  Helena ignored them. “Perhaps you’re not hearing me. I’ve got two shillings for each of you. Indulge in whatever the café has on offer. Settle in at a window table and examine the fashionable ladies and gentlemen.”

  “What do you care for fashionable ladies and gentlemen?” asked Joan.

  “I won’t be there. I’ve my own errand in the street. You’re old enough to enjoy the café without me. When Theresa’s governess returns from the carriage, she will accompany you. And I’ll send a groom to watch over you.”

  Helena glanced around. Shaw had gone to settle the carriages. Only Nettle hovered on the periphery of their group.

  “You hate shopping,” said Camille, the shrewdest of her sisters.

  “I do not hate shopping, and I’m in search of a gift. For the duke.”

  Now the girls burst into laughter.

  “Ah, yes. Hilarious.” Helena shook her head and led them to the café. “You won’t convince me that you’re not interested in a London café. I won’t believe it.”

  The girls quieted and followed her, casting sidelong glances amongst themselves. After a moment, Joan said, “You cannot simply leave us. We’re not like you, accustomed to tromping around in the forest alone. We are meant to be ladies.”

  “First of all, I said the governess will be with you. Miss Turtle.”

  “Miss Tuttle,” Theresa corrected.

  “Miss Tuttle,” repeated Helena. “Second, I don’t tromp in the forest. I tend my apples and ride my horse and shop in the village, just as you do. If ever you chose to visit me and see the beauty of Castle Wood for yourselves, you would know this. How sad it has made me that you no longer come to the forest. Your preference is the manor house with Mama and Papa, I understand. But—”

  “It’s not a preference, Helena,” said Camille matter-of-factly. “Mama and Papa do not allow us to visit you.”

  Helena paused, surprised by this admission. Visits from her sisters had dwindled after their grandmother died, and Helena had been too grief-stricken and busy with the orchard to pursue them. When she called to the manor house, the girls’ reception of her had been cool and distracted. They
very clearly sided with their parents on the topic of merging families with the Duke of Lusk. Helena had begun to view them as disinterested bystanders at best; at worst, traitors.

  Honestly, she’d been so wrapped up in her own deliverance she’d given very little thought to the girls. She could only save herself. Or could she?

  “What reason do they give,” Helena asked, “for not allowing you to visit the forest?”

  Camille shrugged. “They don’t want to lose us to it, as they lost you.”

  Helena made a bitter laugh. “They’ve not lost me. I’m a mile away.”

  “Are you not? Lost to them?” Camille asked, watching her closely.

  “I am lost as any pawn, perhaps.”

  “And this,” said Joan, “is why we are not allowed to call on you.”

  “Girls,” Helena said, looking each of them in the eye, “mind yourselves. Be thoughtful about the men they propose under the guise of ‘your own good.’ Perhaps you’ve not been committed to arranged marriages like me—in this, perhaps, they’ve learned their lesson—but that doesn’t mean you will have say over your lives.

  “This is the strong-headedness they do not want,” said Camille, still watching her closely.

  “You are a bad influence,” recited Theresa, clearly a commonly heard refrain.

  “I am an influence,” Helena corrected, “this I’ll not deny. But you are old enough to decide for yourselves if I am a bad one. The truth is, I miss you very much. Perhaps I’ve indulged in my private sanctuary of the forest for too long. If I manage to return, I shall contrive to get you there more often. But you mustn’t believe what Mama and Papa say about exploring the world around you. You’ll be ladies in the forest. Certainly, you may enjoy lemon ices in a busy café for ten minutes. I am a lady. I’m . . . er, marrying a duke, aren’t I?”

  “Are you?” asked Camille.

  Helena narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Joan crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression said their parents were correct; for Joan, the indoctrination had already begun. Theresa barely listened, looking at the activity of the street. But Camille stared back with a level gaze, studying Helena like a door she wanted to unlock. Helena bit her lip, wishing she had more time. Later, she told herself. Soon but not now. If she could escape Lusk and gain a real relationship with her sisters in the process, she would have success beyond her wildest dreams.