Page 8

The rest of his profanities came to an abrupt halt when recognition dawned, though his scathing tone remained.

“What,” he bit out, eyes flicking between her face and the now-empty glass dangling limply from her fingers, “are you doing outside unchaperoned? And what was in that glass?”

“It was ratafia, Your Grace.” A good portion of it had soaked into the front of her bodice, a slow trickle disappearing between her breasts. “I—I’m terribly sorry.”

“Which one are you?”

“Pardon?”

“Which sister?”

“Helena.”

“I should have known.”

She ignored the remark, watching as he shrugged off his coat. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut over the swells of his upper arms as he moved.

“I’m happy to reimburse you for your coat,” she offered, regaining focus.

“There’s no need.” He slung the stained garment over his forearm. “Now, why are you here?”

She frowned. “Why am I here? I was invited.”

“No.” His impatience flared. “Why are you here alone ?”

“I hardly think that’s your concern,” she countered.

“It is when I stumble upon an unmarried woman wandering the grounds like a fool. You shouldn’t be allowed out unescorted.”

Helena lifted her chin. “I’m not a dog, Your Grace. I do not need to be kept on a lead.”

And she was no fool either. The insult simmered beneath her skin, but she refused to rise to it.

One dark brow arched. “That’s not the way of this world, Miss Helena.”

“I merely wish for a moment to myself?—”

“Not alone,” he interrupted.

“That rather defeats the purpose.”

Her fingers twisted the stem of the glass flute absently, her annoyance surging.

“You’re going to break it.” Carrivick plucked it from her hand and set it on the stone newel post. “If you had a chaperone, you wouldn’t have ruined my coat.”

“I wouldn’t have ruined your coat if you hadn’t been loitering in the dark like a highwayman,” she shot back.

“Unlike you, I’m actually allowed to be outside.” He drawled, patronizing. “I suggest you return to whoever had the misfortune of watching over you.”

He waved his fingers as one might shoo a pesky fly.

Helena’s jaw tensed. Insolent man. “Perhaps you ought to stay outside, then—away from the rest of civilized society.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you always this disagreeable?”

“No, in fact, it’s a trait I’ve only recently developed.”

“I don’t find you amusing,” he said, leaning forward slightly.

“And I don’t find you frightening.” She straightened to her full height—though next to him, it wasn’t much of a triumph as she was abysmally vertically impaired. Truthfully, she was a little frightened, but not of him. Rather, of the repercussions should her mother ever find out.

He cocked his head. “You think I’m trying to frighten you?”

“Why else would you be looming ?”

“You’re quite diminutive ,” he mocked, matching her tone. His gaze dragged slowly up and down her body, lingering just a moment too long at her breasts. “I imagine you’re accustomed to people looking down at you.”

Heat swelled to her cheeks, a mixture of anger and humiliation. “For a duke, you’re utterly graceless.”

“Graceless, am I?” He lifted his coat in reminder. “And wasn’t it you who had that little mishap during the dance?” A smirk ghosted over his lips. “Not only disagreeable, but clumsy as well. Perhaps you should be kept on a tighter lead.”

Her temper snapped. “Well, if I had one, I’d use it to muzzle you!”

The words had barely left her lips before she regretted them. She nearly clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

A flicker of surprise crossed his features, and for the first time that evening, the Duke of Carrivick stood in stunned silence.

Taking advantage of the duke's stupefied pause, Helena deftly sidestepped him and sped past. With her back to him, she quickly wiped the moisture forming in the corner of her eyes and realized her dance card was missing. The damned ribbon must’ve come undone, but she was not going back to fetch it.

There was no chance she’d return to the ball with this horrific stain on her bodice and red-faced.

She’d been embarrassed enough for one evening.

Vexed, she tugged off her gloves, too impatient to bother with the buttons, and balled them up in her fist. Somehow, she would have to find a way to return to her quarters unnoticed, but for now, she needed solitude.

The path she chose was lined by a hedge maze leading to a gazebo at its center.

Thankfully, the maze itself wasn’t complicated—it had been trimmed low enough that one could see over it—and even in the dark, Helena was sure-footed enough to find her way.

All she wanted was to sit alone for a few minutes, mourn the failure of her evening, and curse the duke’s name into the night sky.

Surely, she wasn’t entirely at fault. The servants had neglected to light the lanterns, and Carrivick had blocked the stairwell.

It could’ve happened to anyone. If it had been anyone else, they certainly would’ve offered her a handkerchief instead of a scathing remark.

She glanced down at her dress— even under the pale moonlight, the dark stain spread across her bodice like an inkblot.

Like every young unmarried woman at a ball, she wore white, and there would be no hiding this. Her mother would be furious.

She sighed, forging ahead, her destination marked by the outlined steeple of the gazebo. If she were not obliged for several more dances, she would sit out the rest of the ball beneath its wooden beams, but someone would come looking for her—perhaps they already had.

What could she possibly say once she was found?

What clever excuse could she concoct? Her reputation could not take another hit, and she doubted the Duke of Carrivick would do the honorable thing and wed her.

She shuddered at the thought. He was cold, proper, humorless.

Why was Charlotte so desperate to marry such a man?

Beneath Charlotte’s snobbery was a sensitive and steadfast young woman. Helena doubted Carrivick had such layers beneath his stony exterior.

Why was she even still thinking about him?

She smacked the ball of her hand against her forehead, as if she could knock loose any lingering thoughts of the duke, and continued her march.

The crunch of gravel beneath her shoes was accompanied by a much heavier stride behind her—growing louder, closer.

Alarmed, Helena spun around.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded, louder than she’d intended. Her voice, however, was no match for the cacophony coming from the ballroom.

Carrivick didn’t react to her question. Instead, his hand shot out, catching her wrist in a firm, gloved grip. The movement was so swift that she barely had time to jerk away before she felt his fingers against her bare skin.

“What—”

A familiar panic rose within her until she realized what it is he was doing.

“You dropped something,” he answered impassively. In his other hand, between his index finger and thumb, dangled her dance card. Without another word, he released her wrist to tie it back in its rightful place.

Even in the low light, he worked quickly, gloved fingers moving with practiced precision as he secured the ribbon tightly. Helena watched, mesmerized, as the white of his gloves flickered against her skin and heat bloomed in her chest.

When he finished, he didn’t step away. Instead, he looked down at her.

“I’m escorting you back inside.”

“I think not, Your Grace.” She rubbed the place where his touch lingered, still aware of his nearness. Without his tailcoat, he seemed larger, more rugged, and he was far too close for comfort. She could feel his warmth, catch the subtle scent of him—curiously floral for a man. Pleasant.

She hated that she liked it.

“How is it that you think you’re in a position to deny me?”

“Seeing as you’re neither my father nor my husband, I have no cause to listen to you.” She stepped back.

He followed.

“Seeing as I’m your better, you ought to listen. You might even learn something.”

“What could I possibly learn from you?” she snapped. “Arrogance?”

“If it would help you conduct yourself in a more becoming manner, then certainly.”

“There is nothing wrong with the manner in which I conduct myself.”

“I’ve heard quite the opposite.”

Over time, Helena had strengthened herself against the pain of rumors, but in this instance, her resolve wavered. She felt the familiar sting of shame creeping in, yet she forced herself to keep her voice light.

“Then are you certain you wish to be seen with me?”

“I can afford the risk. No one would dare think I have an attachment to you,” he replied with smooth cruelty. “I merely wish to see you safely back to the terrace.”

Helena was grateful for the darkness as her eyes pricked with tears. She crossed her arms tightly. “No, thank you.”

“There are worse men here than me,” he said, motioning behind him. “Allow me to escort you before one of them finds you alone and does not grant you the same courtesy.”

“Why do you care?”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her. Though dark, she was almost certain his eyes narrowed.

“A gentleman would’ve listened when I said no the first time.”

With no desire to waste any more of her time arguing with him, she turned sharply to leave, only for her stride to catch. The train of her dress had snagged on a bramble, jerking her off balance. She stumbled forward, hitting the ground hard.

The impact knocked the air from her chest. Dust swirled up around her, stinging her eyes, filling her mouth. The jagged pebbles scraped her palms raw, pain sparking up her arms. Strength drained from her limbs. Pain and mortification crashed over her like a tidal wave.

A sob broke free.