A Duchess a Day Page 20

“I’m going back out,” she said, sliding her hands away. Stepping back. He let her go. He clenched his fists at his sides. She smoothed her hair and flowers molted to the floor.

  “Did you see the woman with whom I was speaking?” she asked. Her voice was raspy. She glanced at him and then away, blushing slightly. She looked happy but a little uncertain. He felt like glass in a storm. One strong gust and he would shatter. I love you.

  Helena went on, “The tall girl, dressed as Cleopatra? That was one of the two potential girls. Lady Rodericka Newton.”

  Declan couldn’t remember any woman beyond Helena.

  “She’ll not suit, I’m afraid,” Helena went on, shaking her head, smoothing the silk strips that fringed her gown. “She comes across as . . . sort of . . . humorless? Domineering, I’d say. When you came upon us, she was giving me advice on how I might improve my costume.”

  “You’re joking,” he said. “Your costume is the best of the night.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled with genuine pleasure. Declan’s heart shattered.

  She went on, “She’d already informed me that she’d made a list of music she felt the band should play, including the order of songs, and given it to the conductor. She’s found fault with the temperature of the soup and lectured several footmen.”

  “A bashful sort of girl, is she?” Declan asked.

  “Bashful?” Helena laughed. “Oh yes, definitely. She’s under the impression that she’s somehow responsible for this ball, and she barely knows the hosts. She said she and her mother would make some recommendations for future events, but they were only invited because her father is a viscount from Yorkshire and they are new to town.”

  “She wasn’t sensual enough for Lusk,” Declan said, turning to crack the door and peek out.

  “Look who’s taken note of sensual women at this ball,” Helena teased.

  Declan closed the door and turned back, sweeping her into his arms. “I only see you, sweetheart.” He dipped her back and kissed her. “From the beginning, I have only seen you. God help me.”

  When she was breathless, he lifted her upright and checked the door again. “I will go first. It makes no sense for me to be alone in a music room. If you are discovered, at least you can pretend to play a musical instrument.”

  “I am a rather accomplished pianist.”

  “Really?”

  “Sadly, no,” she said. “I’m terrible. But I can pretend.”

  Declan returned to the door. “After five minutes—don’t rush it—wander out. Have you seen the other potential girl?”

  She nodded. “Earlier. She was lounging in a room down this corridor.”

  “Which?”

  “The second—no, the third room.”

  “With all the smoke and the couches?” Declan looked at her.

  “Yes. I saw her rather clearly; it had to be her. She’s pretty. But she was surrounded by friends, and the room . . . unnerved me for some reason. I couldn’t invent a reason to go in.”

  “The smoke in that room was opium. Let us not have you go in, shall we? Wait her out instead? Surely she’ll emerge eventually.”

  “Yes, yes,” Helena said, adjusting her dress. “Far preferred. Will you be nearby?”

  “Always.” The word was out before he could stop it, and her face lit up.

  Declan’s heart lurched and he turned back to the door. “I’m going,” he said.

  “So you say.” A giggle.

  Declan shot her a look—if only she knew how badly he wanted to lock the door and never leave. Securing his mask, he gazed at her another long moment and went.

  He made an easy slow circuit of the dance floor and anterooms, checking first the location of Lusk, who was in the card room. Helena’s parents were at the drinks table upstairs. Girdleston was smoking with men on the terrace. No one seemed to notice Helena’s absence. He marveled that someone so incredibly important to so many people was also so widely ignored. It made no sense. He’d been trying for days to put her out of his mind—his life and the lives of people he loved depended on his ability to forget her—and he could not.

  When he made his way to the row of rooms beside the dance floor, Helena was there. She hovered outside the murky room that reeked with the sickly sweet smell of tobacco, hashish, and opium. Guests coasted in and out, their half-lidded eyes red-rimmed and blinking.

  Declan took up position against an opposite pillar and stared into a glass of claret. He waited a beat and looked up, willing her to glance his way. When their eyes locked, he winked.

  Her green eyes grew large; she arched a brow.

  She looked ready to mouth something when a young woman caught her eye. The girl stepped from an anteroom and Helena pounced.

  “Excuse me . . .” she began. The young woman stood just outside the door, fiddling with a crooked wing hanging limply from her costume. Declan shoved off the pillar and ambled closer.

  Helena asked the girl, “Are you, Miss Lisbette Twining?”

  The young woman looked up. “Ah . . .” she began, her voice tired and drawn out.

  Helena tried again. “But may I help you with your wing?”

  “That would be so . . . niiice,” drawled the girl, speaking slowly, enunciating every syllable.

  “Miss Twining,” Helena mused philosophically, wrestling with a wire inside the costume. The girl toddled this way and that as Helena worked. “What a pleasure to meet you. You do not know me, but I’ve . . . I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “All wicked, I assume,” the girl drawled. She giggled.

  “Nonsense. But I don’t suppose we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Lady Helena Lark. I am betrothed to the Duke of Lusk . . .” She enunciated the duke’s name formally and let it dangle.

  “Oh, I know you,” rasped the girl. Her words came out in a kind of extended yawn, as if she’d only just awakened. She spoke as if she was talking more to a pet cat than another girl. “Bradley’s future wife. Charmed.”

  “But are you acquainted with the duke?” Helena asked, stepping back from the wing, now hanging at a more upright, but still very odd, angle.

  “Oh, Bradley and I have known each other since we were in the nursery,” she told Helena slowly. “And we share a bevy of maddening friends. He’s a lark.” She drew out the word lark as if it contained five as and rs.

  “Of course you have,” said Helena defeatedly. “It is a pleasure to meet one of Lusk’s friends.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. But aren’t you gorgeous? Bradley loves pretty girls. But will you excuse me? I’m just stepping away for some . . .” she searched for the correct word, “. . . air.”

  “By all means,” Helena said, pointing the general direction of the terrace. Miss Lisbette walked away with the uncertain toddle of a child.

  Declan took up position behind Helena. “She was out of her head,” he said. “We could try her again on—”

  “No,” Helena cut in. “If he already knows her, and he’s never shown any serious interest, he’ll not make a bold gesture to show a preference for her now.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “There is no guarantee he will like any of the girls,” she said, her voice very low and very sad, “but certainly not one he’s already had the opportunity to consider, and done nothing.”

  “Don’t let it defeat you,” Declan said, surprising himself. He’d expected defeat with every girl upon whom they embarked.

  “Things are running very thin, aren’t they?”

  “We still have the two strong contenders. And another girl tomorrow.”

  Helena nodded, staring into the bouncing, bounding dancers in lines on the dance floor.

  “I’d like to catch sight of those two contenders you mentioned. They’re both meant to be here; they hope to lay some foundation, if they can. Ingratiate themselves with Lusk.” She glanced at him. “I would feel better if I saw some progress on that score. Anything. I’m terrified the two girls will catch sight of him and beg off.”r />
  “They won’t,” Declan said, but he had no idea. He’d had so very little idea about any of this from the start.

  “Declan, look,” whispered Helena suddenly, standing tall. “That person in the black cloak. Do you see? To the right, just beyond the man dressed as Big Ben? I swear this person follows us, hovers until we see him or her, and then bolts. Look they’re getting away again!”

  Before Declan could see the person at whom she pointed, Helena was off.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Seven Duchesses (Potential)

  Happy ✓

  Sneezy

  Doc

  Sleepy ✓

  Bashful

  Dopey

  There was no small number of hoods and capes in the ballroom; considering this, it was a miracle Helena spotted the cloaked person at all. But black was not a pervading color among the revelers, and the cloak stood out like an inky stain in a wave of blues and oranges, golds and pinks.

  Helena darted toward the person, dodging lines of grinning dancers, rounding footmen with buckets of champagne. The sunken design of the ballroom effectively trapped all guests in the lower level; one could only truly escape by mounting the substantial open stairwell.

  To Helena’s delight, the cloaked figure strayed very little from what seemed like a straight line for the stairs. She didn’t know what she would say or do when she reached the person, but she was determined to catch them. At the very least, she hoped to expose a face.

  She’d just rounded the buffet when Lady Rodericka Newton, the potential duchess she’d met first that night, charged into her path and caught her by the arm.

  “Lady Helena!” chirped the towering heiress. “Your betrothed is embarking on the most amusing parlor game, and look at you here near the food! You’ve nearly missed it. You must come at once.”

  “What?” Helena strained to see the stairs around the imposing figure of Lady Rodericka.

  “Lusk, your fiancé!” enthused Lady Rodericka, her sharp Yorkshire accent rising above the band. “The card room’s been given over to the most diverting game of Mirror-Mirror. You cannot allow him to play it without you.” The girl began to tug her by the arm.

  “Oh, well, actually,” began Helena, pulling the opposite direction, “Lusk and I have a habit of going our separate ways at parties. We are loath to pair off and seem exclusive.” She reared, searching for the black cloak. When, finally, the view cleared, she saw the person stumping their way halfway up the stairs.

  Helena swore under her breath. She had to be so very careful about giving off the appearance of running in society settings. Her reputation as a bolter had, obviously, preceded her.

  She pivoted, trying to locate Declan, and—oh thank God—spotted him immediately. His black-leather hood loomed a foot taller than everyone else. He was already in pursuit, brushing past her with a hidden pinch to the arm.

  Helena leaned against the sharp clasp of Lady Rodericka’s hand and watched the room part as he approached. Women turned to stare, men skittered out of the way. If her parents caught sight of him, would they know? Would her sister Joan? What of Girdleston? Helena couldn’t imagine catching even a glimpse and not recognizing the Lusk stable groom. Regardless, she knew she could not follow him. Even if she could wrestle free of Lady Rodericka, he attracted far too much attention. In a room of spectacle, watching Declan Shaw, shirtless, in black leather, was the only show worth watching.

  “It’s this way,” Lady Rodericka was saying, pulling her in the direction of the anterooms. “But how could you allow him to play such a naughty game without taking part?”

  “Really, Lady Rodericka, it’s not—”

  “Here we are,” sang the heiress, coming to a stop in front of the card room. “Oh, and look, we’re just in time. Lusk will have a go, and then perhaps you may take a turn!”

  The tall woman thrust Helena forward, propelling her into the card room like a sack tossed from a horse.

  Bashful indeed.

  Inside the card room, all activity and conversation stopped.

  After a long moment, a thin man said, “And what have we here?” He stood beside a table with a mirrored contraption.

  Helena waited for him to say more, to introduce himself, to invite her from the threshold, but he merely stared.

  She searched her brain for something to say. Hello seemed too hopeful. I beg your pardon too apologetic. She was just about to say Good-bye when the man let out a sputtering, can’t-hold-it-in laugh. Snickers and snorts followed from around the room. It was as if the population of the card room had been holding their breath, waiting for her to turn up and amuse them.

  Helena glanced at each of them, searching for some common ground. She’d had very little contact with the men in Lusk’s circle. She knew them only as the crowd collected in the entryway, boisterous but aloof, before he went out; or as whispering, snickering interruptions to the opera when she’d been dragged to the ducal box.

  Tonight, the men were splayed in chairs or leaned against the wall, the posture of someone without sufficient motivation to hold themselves upright. There were women too; they roosted more than lounged, their hips perched on card tables or balanced on the laps of men. The Duke of Lusk was seated at a center table, his cravat hanging loosely open, his hair mussed. A woman dressed as something like an ice storm stood behind his chair, her gray-blue gloved hand across the back.

  The other women were dressed as a feathery tropical bird, the goddess Aphrodite, something to do with a rainbow or prism, and the most voluptuous Mona Lisa Helena had ever seen.

  The costumes of the men seemed to be less literal and more ironic. Most wore the usual evening attire with a simple mask. Lusk had, in fact, approximated the look of sturdy English limestone, although Helena would have never guessed. His evening suit was creamy white (the color of stone, she assumed), with bits of crushed rock affixed to a matching hat. On the floor, propped against a chair, was a forgotten pickax.

  When the laughter died, the room fell into the expectant silence of an audience. Ice clinked in a glass. The women’s bangles rattled. Someone cleared his throat. No one said a word.

  “Forgive me . . .” she began.

  There was no reply, no reassurance or introductions or welcomes. A deep blush burned her cheeks and her stomach twisted into a tight, bobbing knot. She felt small and plain and provincial. Her confidence, typically as reliable as the sunrise, sank under their collective, silent stare. She wished for a mask, she wished Meg had pinned her hair up, she wished for a fan to snap open or, at the very least, squeeze in her fist.

  She wished she was at home in Castle Wood, reading by the fire, far away from disingenuous people and a fiancé who sat back and allowed her uncertainty to be the source of amusement for strange men.

  But she was not in Castle Wood, and she had little choice but to stand straight and raise her chin. She looked to Lusk, the only familiar person in the room, and he stared back with flat eyes and a snarled lip. His indifference took her breath away. Her eyes began to sting, and she glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. Lady Rodericka hovered just outside. She saw her error now, and she was slowly backing away.

  Helena gritted her teeth and turned back.

  “Forgive my intrusion,” she said, forcing volume. Her voice came out nervous and airy, and she cleared her throat.

  “I was led to this room by mistake. Please continue your game.” She inclined her head to Lusk, a show of respect, and farewell, and (hopefully) Go to hell. “Your Grace,” she said as she took a step backward.

  “Oh, but you cannot go now,” said the man beside the table with the mirror device. “You’ll miss your betrothed’s spin. Really, you must stay. It’s one of our favorite little games.”

  “I feel certain the duke can carry on without me,” she said.

  “Nonsense. Who would like the future duchess to stay?” the man called.

  Hoots and whistles and Here-heres confirmed him.

  “You’re not afraid
of us, are you, dear? As the bosom friends of His Grace, we’ll want to get off on the right foot, considering the Wedding of the Century is set to finally, really, happen. That is—if no one among the key players runs away.” He stifled a laugh. More titters from around the room. “Don’t tell me you’re looking to run even from our little game?”

  “Leave it, Bearington,” drawled Lusk, dropping his head onto the woman’s arm at the back of his chair. He stared at the ceiling.

  “Don’t be a coward, Lusk, it’s all in good fun,” teased the man. “Who can say, maybe the future Duchess of Lusk is wicked enough to join our merry band, after all.”

  “She’s not,” Lusk said to the ceiling.

  “Come and have your turn,” the man said to Lusk, giving the mirrored device on the tabletop a spin.

  Helena stared at the unfamiliar contraption revolving in the center of the table. It was shaped like a large cylinder lantern with five flat sides. Each side was a rectangular mirror that reflected the room at different angles. When the man jabbed it with his finger, the device spun crookedly on a metal base, blurring the reflections and splashing the room with spinning light.

  Helena glanced around, trying to ascertain what her role in this game could possibly be. Would she operate the device? Interpret it? Or perhaps they meant for her to touch it and they would examine her reflection and . . . and . . . call out things about her?

  Contempt roiled in her stomach. She detested not knowing what to expect or what to say. The humiliation would be greater now if she fled. They were waiting for her to run. She had no choice but to simply allow the moment to pass.

  “What do I do?” Helena heard herself ask. On cue, the room dissolved into laughter.

  “Oh, you do nothing, dear,” said the man. “It’s not your turn.” He turned to Lusk. “Lusk will not ninny out, I hope, just because his betrothed has come to look in on her duke.”

  “It’s a stupid game,” Lusk said, repositioning his hat.

  “You say that about every game. Go on. Give it a spin.”

  Helena was relieved. Nothing would be required of her. Lusk would have his turn, and she would go. She glanced around the room. Lady Rodericka had abandoned her. There were only—