Page 36 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

The dark shadow walking toward her was more intimidating than the Duke of Roxburghe, which was quite a statement, considering Helena nearly fainted upon meeting him at the Duke of Lennox’s Christmas party.

When he reached Helena, he bowed, taking her hand. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Harrison St. John, Duke of Mansfield.”

Helena curtsied. “Miss Helena Rowe.”

A snicker floated over her shoulder. She didn’t need to turn to know the derision came from Miss Drummond.

Fortunately, Miss Drummond sat at the table with the Duke of Mansfield, a choice Helena believed was made because the two unavailable dukes were paired with Miss Webb and Miss Philbert, and Miss Drummond wanted a chance at a duke.

For that same reason, Helena took the available seat between Miss Webb and Miss Philbert. However, Helena didn’t expect the Duke of Lennox to drag his chair over to her table and place the seat directly beside her.

He leaned over and murmured, “If Miss Webb and Miss Philbert can receive assistance, so should you.”

She wouldn’t survive an entire game with the Duke of Lennox whispering in her ear. Not when his first sentence sent a bolt of lightning zipping through her body.

“What about Miss Fernsby-Webb?” Helena managed, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart thrumming.

The Duke of Lennox waved his hand. “Beaufort or Warwick can help her.”

A chair appeared behind Miss Fernsby-Webb, and the Duke of Beaufort peered around her, his mischievous eyes twinkling. “Warwick is asleep.”

“Where?” Helena leaned to the side for a clearer view of the Duke of Beaufort.

She didn’t believe the Duke of Warwick would be so disrespectful as to fall asleep in the parlor of another person’s house, but considering the group’s current inebriated state, she needed to verify his location.

“Your housekeeper, Mrs.…” The Duke of Beaufort snapped his fingers several times as though the action would nudge his memory, then shook his head. “Mrs. Something took him upstairs to the first chamber.”

“I promise,” the Duke of Lennox murmured, sending a shiver ripping down Helena’s spine, “to take him with us when we depart.”

Helena nodded, then twisted around to pose a question, not realizing how close the Duke of Lennox was to her. She froze, her lips millimeters from his, and her breath caught.

“Is something else troubling you?” he asked, the words brushing seductively over her skin.

“What happens if neither Miss Webb nor Miss Philbert wins?” Helena winced when her voice cracked.

The Duke of Lennox leaned back, dissolving the intimacy between them, and stroked his chin. “What a delightful difficulty.”

“You appear amused,” the Duke of Beaufort said, winking at Helena. “Do share what Miss Rowe said to you.”

“She asked what would occur if either herself or Miss Fernsby-Webb won the game.” The Duke of Lennox chuckled. “I assume the wedding date issue will continue.”

“Ah!” The Duke of Beaufort steepled his fingers together, nodding. “Yes, that is quite a difficulty. Did you decide upon a solution?”

“I shall help Miss Rowe win.”

The Duke of Lennox’s statement earned him two exasperated glares and one side-splitting guffaw that caused the Duke of Beaufort to fall out of his chair.

“Your Grace,” Helena said, ensuring she maintained a respectable distance when she turned toward the Duke of Lennox again, “there’s no need to assist me. I do understand the rules of the game.”

He pinned her with an intense brown stare. “I don’t accept your refusal.”

“Pardon?”

“Every other lady has assistance, and,”—he wiggled his eyebrows—“I want nothing more than to see you best Roxburghe and Grisham.”

“Then I shall follow your instructions.”

However, with the steady stream of advice pouring from the Duke of Lennox’s mouth, she found it difficult to concentrate on the game, especially because every time she placed a respectable distance between them, he moved closer and eliminated it, bathing her in a unique earthy scent that reminded her of a spring meadow.