Page 27

Helena spent the next day thoroughly confused by her husband’s motivations. After their exchange in the library, she had dashed up to her room, assuming Lowen would follow behind—yet he hadn’t come, and she had fallen asleep undisturbed.

She supposed she ought to be relieved that he hadn’t come to her, but she couldn’t help the stab of disappointment.

Did he despise her so much that he couldn’t even fathom finalizing their union?

After all, he had insinuated he was obliged to endure her company—did that mean he intended to shirk his duties to her altogether?

But then why had he threatened to bend her over and take her?

At the memory, Helena’s nipples puckered, just as they had all day whenever the thought crossed her mind. It was odd and uncomfortable, but she could not deny the pull of her own curiosity—an unfamiliar, perverse, sensation she hadn’t expected to feel, especially for him.

And maybe—only a little—it was the way Lowen’s deep voice had nearly purred when he spoke the words.

This time, she shivered and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

Now was not the time to be thinking of that .

She and Lowen were currently attending a dinner at Lord and Lady Osgood’s home nearby—one of the many invitations Helena had reluctantly accepted.

To her surprise, Lowen had been pleased she agreed to attend this particular event.

She’d learned that Lord and Lady Osgood were among Lowen’s most ardent supporters in Parliament, and their influence had helped secure votes for several of his proposed bills.

Because of this, her husband sat at the far end of the dinner table, more lively than she had ever seen him.

The same could not be said for her. She had learned that Lady Babbage was a cousin of Lady Osgood on her mother’s side, which only deepened Helena’s discontent this evening.

The women around her, with practiced tact, managed to converse in a way that subtly excluded her—something only she seemed to notice, while the men remained oblivious.

No matter; Helena contented herself with listening and occasionally answering one of the few questions some of the men asked her.

After dinner, as the men and women parted ways, Helena found herself relegated to the back of the crowd. The women had cloistered together, forming an impenetrable wall of bodies that left Helena trailing behind, entering the withdrawing room last.

Though Lady Osgood politely offered Helena the choice of a seat, the women continued their chittering as if she weren’t there.

After thirty minutes or so, Helena excused herself—though it hardly mattered.

The retinue only eyed her carefully as she slipped out of the room.

A servant pointed her to a balcony overlooking the gardens.

There, Helena slouched against the balustrade in relief—tired from sitting stiffly on edge for hours.

There was no telling how much longer she’d have to tolerate this abysmal dinner, but the thought of it made her want to scream into the night sky. For once, she actually wished to be near her husband, if only for the solidarity.

“Helena? What are you doing out here?”

Helena’s heart jumped, and she turned to Lowen, who stood at the doorway.

“What are you doing out here?” she parried.

“I need to speak with Lord Osgood in private for a moment. His study is just down this hall.” Lowen drew closer but kept an arm’s length between them.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she answered without thinking.

Lowen exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Did you want me to lie?” she retorted, pretending to pick at something on her dress. It was better not to look at him—she already knew what variant of emotion was on his face, and in such a short amount of time, she was exhausted from seeing it.

“No, but I can’t possibly fathom what is bothering you tonight.”

“Nothing in particular,” she lied. “I just don’t have anything in common with those women.”

“Is that all?”

Helena didn’t answer.

“Look at me.”

She did. Unexpectedly, Lowen did not appear so severe. Instead, there was a softness to his brow—or maybe it was just shadows playing tricks on her—but when he spoke, he did so without any acerbity.

“Whether you have anything in common with them is irrelevant. You only need to tolerate them as best you can. Perhaps one day they’ll grow on you.”

“Perhaps,” Helena replied, though she doubted it. Still, she was grateful for the more agreeable nature of his answer, having fully expected censure.

Lowen stared at her momentarily. His heavy-lidded gaze caused Helena to avert her own eyes, though her heart quickened excitedly.

“Return to the ladies' drawing room before your absence is overlong and deemed rude,” he finally said.

Suppressing an annoyed sigh at his command, Helena nodded and started back toward the drawing room, resisting the urge to fidget as she felt her husband’s eyes follow her.

Once back in the vaguely familiar corridor, Helena paused.

The door was closed. Did they go somewhere else?

she wondered momentarily, before faint laughter from within caught her attention.

It must have closed accidentally, she reasoned, reaching for the handle.

It didn’t budge. Helena tried again, this time more forcefully.

It immediately dawned on her that the door was, in fact, locked.

Damn them!

Her patience growing thin, she tried again, just to be sure, rattling the handle harder. The shrill laughter from the other side mocked her. They knew, they knew, and they sat there watching in amusement at the spectacle.

If the women desired a performance, Helena would oblige. She banged her fist so loudly on the door that the hinges shuddered.

The booming sound echoed in the hallway. She considered kicking at it for further dramatics.

A few moments later—with a soft click of the lock—the door swung open. Several women stood just inside, their expressions a mix of innocence and glee.

"Oh, Your Grace," one of them drawled. "We hardly noticed the door was closed."

Helena dug her nails into her palms, heat prickling behind her eyes as the others exchanged knowing glances, barely able to conceal their smirks.

“Closed and locked,” she clipped, swallowing down her rising indignation.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it was not locked,” interjected Lady Osgood haughtily.

“And I beg your pardon, my lady, but I heard it unlock,” Helena said, forcing a tight smile through gritted teeth.

As much as she wanted to argue, she had her Pharisaic husband to consider.

Lord knew she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she offended yet another one of his precious acquaintances, especially when she and Lowen were already navigating unsteady waters.

But Lady Osgood merely laughed, and the others followed suit.

"Well, I don’t know quite what to say, Your Grace. I wouldn’t presume to question your feelings, so if you believe it was locked, then I shall take your word for it.”

“How generous of you, my lady. I’d hate to impose on your sense of reality,” Helena said as calmly as she could, gaining some satisfaction at the waning smugness on Lady Osgood’s face.

Taking a seat, Helena suffered through three more hours of the party until it was time to depart.

She practically raced down to the carriage, bypassing Lowen, who raised a brow at her brevity but ultimately made no remark upon it.

The ride was quiet and dark, and Helena’s mood even darker.

She made no effort to speak to her husband, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Lowen watched with growing irritation as Helena danced with yet another man.

It was another evening, another party, and she had been occupied the entire night, with suitors clamoring to write their names on her dance card, hardly spending any time at his side.

He could scarcely justify his feelings; it wasn’t proper for couples to dance together—unless they were particularly gauche—yet she reveled in the music, spinning away as if he didn’t exist.

While many eligible women waited for their turns, most men hardly glanced at them, their attention fixed instead on his wife—and her breasts—surrounding her between sets with flattery and pomp.

Lowen’s jaw tightened.

Hadn’t it always been like this for Helena? It was precisely why he had never approached her when her season first began. Of course he found her desirable—he wasn’t blind—but he would never participate in such pathetic fawning over a woman.

As the dance neared its end, Lowen took it upon himself to shepherd Helena away before any more men could rally for her attention. She appeared surprised but said nothing, allowing him to escort her to a more private corner of the ballroom.

Her lovely face was delicately flushed from exertion, and for the first time in days, her eyes shone a little brighter. "I mustn't tarry long," she said. "Lord Auden wished to procure me a glass of lemonade."

Lowen spotted the young earl nearby the drink table, somewhat handsome with a mane of fiery hair, loitering as he waited for Helena.

"I’ll get you the lemonade," Lowen nearly growled, offering his arm.

"Oh, well, that's very kind," she replied, hooking her arm through his. "But I promised him the la boulanger . It’s the next dance."

"Skip it."

"That’s awfully rude. His mother is hosting this ball, after all."

If Lowen’s memory served him correctly, the earl had once asked Helena for her hand. "Didn’t Lord Auden propose to you?"

Helena’s delectable lips tightened into a thin line. "No, he wished to court me, but I had no desire for him. He was terribly disappointed, but it’s all behind us now."

Lowen stifled a snort. Jilted men were rarely so generous with their pardons.

"If you don’t wish me to dance with Lord Auden, then why don’t you take his place?" she asked, accepting the glass of lemonade Lowen had just secured for her.