The Duke of Nothing (The 1797 Club Book 5)

by Jess Michaels

  “And do you two share the same…interests?” he said, still treading very carefully.

  “Hardly,” Charity laughed. “Helena is a bookworm. You should see her devour them, one after another. She’d read the instructions on a tonic bottle and be enthralled. I prefer excitement. My papa owns a racehorse and he’s taken me dozens of times. I’ve even won some coin at it.”

  She said the last with a little wink and his stomach turned. One more reason to avoid Charity as a bride. The last thing his family needed was another gambler. He’d had quite enough excitement in his day—he didn’t need her dragging him out and insisting she spend their money on horses.

  “Some have the luck,” he said as he turned her around the floor once more. When would this song end? It felt like it had been going on forever. “Did you and Miss Monroe grow up together?”

  Charity’s eyes narrowed. “You are very interested in my cousin.”

  Baldwin drew back. Damn, he’d pushed too far. Now he had to back himself down without rousing more of her suspicion. “Not at all,” he lied. “I’m interested in you, of course, as we are dancing. I only inquired after your childhood.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but launched into a recitation of her days in Boston as a girl. She never once mentioned Helena, and Baldwin found himself drifting into his own thoughts, counting the steps and the beats to the dance as he waited for it to just end.

  And at last, it did. He smiled in relief at Charity as he guided her from the floor and toward her father. “Thank you again for the dance, Miss Shephard.”

  She eyed him closely as he brought her to her father. “And to you, Your Grace. Perhaps when next we speak, we can talk of more interesting things than my cousin.”

  He pinched his lips at her pointed tone, nodded to her father and left her side. It was like he was being freed from prison, and he drew a long breath. Now he had fulfilled his duty, at least for tonight. He’d danced with the prospects, appeased his mother and made a few mental notes here and there about them.

  So he was free to do as he pleased. He glanced around the room and found Helena standing along the wall. She was alone, with a wistful expression that could not be denied, watching the couples who had retaken the floor as they waited for the next song to begin. She wanted to dance. And he wanted desperately to dance with her.

  In that moment, he knew he would. She would be his reward for enduring the evening so far. What could be the harm?

  He took a step toward her, but before he could cross the room, Walker rushed up to his side. “Your Grace?”

  He turned toward his butler with a groan. “Yes, Walker, what is it?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb in the midst of the party, but you have a message.”

  “Can it not wait?”

  Walker shook his head. “I don’t think so, sir. It is from Mr. Deacon.”

  Baldwin froze. Deacon was the man he’d hired to investigate the missing debts owed by the estate. “When did it arrive?”

  “Just now, Your Grace,” Walker said. “And since you’d told me before that any correspondence from the man was—”

  “Urgent, yes,” he said. “It is. I assume you deposited the message in my study?”

  Walker nodded and Baldwin sighed as he cast one more glance over his shoulder toward Helena. She was still alone, but now she was looking at him from across the room. He shivered under her focused stare and longed to cross to her, to gather her up and forget the troubles that weighed so heavily upon him.

  But it seemed his moment with her was not to be. At least not now. Not there.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Helena watched Baldwin leave the ballroom, and her heart sank. His expression. Oh, it was awful. Like a man being led to the gallows. It wasn’t as if he’d looked pleased during the rest of the night. She’d seen the tension on his face as he interacted with his guests, but this was something different.

  Something dreadful.

  She longed to go to him, to offer him the friendship they had both vowed was all they could share. She was a fool.

  “Helena.”

  She turned and smiled as Adelaide, Duchess of Northfield, slid up beside her and gave her a little squeeze.

  “Adelaide, oh, you look beautiful!”

  And she did. The duchess was the epitome of sophistication in a gold-and-silver gown with intricate braiding and a flowing skirt that swirled when she turned. Unlike the other ladies in the room, whose hair was pulled high to accentuate cheekbones and necks, her companion’s blonde locks were done looser and framed her pretty face to perfection.

  “Thank you,” Adelaide said with a little blush. “It is still odd for me to come out into Society with such…fanfare.”

  Helena wrinkled her brow. “You didn’t before?”

  “Oh no,” Adelaide laughed. “I stood along the wall for many years. It is Graham who convinces me to be…” The duchess looked across the room to where Graham was standing, laughing heartily with Simon. “…more.”

  Helena shifted, for there was no denying the love this woman felt for her husband. Actually, that was the common thread that seemed to tangle in all the members of the duke club who had married. They all loved deeply, passionately, truly.

  It was truly something to behold.

  “I have a hard time imagining you as a wallflower,” Helena said with a laugh. “You are so confident and lovely.”

  “Love helps with that,” Adelaide said, tearing her gaze away from the husband. “And practice. The more I dance and, as Graham calls it, exhibit, the easier it gets.”

  Helena shook her head. “I used to like to dance. Not exhibit, but dancing was one of my favorite pastimes before—”

  She cut herself off. Had she truly been on the cusp of telling this lady, this stranger, about her past? A faux pas of the highest order. Her uncle would be enraged, despite the fact that he always liked to imply she was a scandal in the flesh. But to tell the particulars was something different. Not to mention if she did, the story would spread through their tight little circle, and then what would happen?

  Her lovely new friendships would dissolve as swiftly as her ones in Boston had.

  Adelaide examined her a bit closer, but she did not press. “If you like to dance, I’m surprised you have not done it. Baldwin seemed to be taking a turn with all the unmarried ladies, though I do not see him here at present.”

  Helena swallowed. “Sheffield was dancing with the eligible ladies.”

  “You are not eligible? Are you married and we did not know it?”

  “No.” Helena shook her head. “You are all lovely to pretend that I’m in the same sphere as you are, but it isn’t true. I’m not eligible because I’m here as a companion. Even if I weren’t I am certainly out of Baldwin—er, Sheffield’s league.”

  Adelaide shrugged. “Emma felt the same way about James. Certainly I did with Graham. You would be surprised how little you know about men and what they want in their hearts. I think they are often surprised when it runs them over like an out-of-control phaeton. At least that is how Graham describes his feelings for me. Romantic, though a bit violent, I keep telling him.”

  Helena stared. “I have seen Emma with Abernathe. They are so deeply in love. And right now your husband is staring at you like you are a chocolate and he’s a starving man.”

  Adelaide glanced over her shoulder again, and she shivered ever so slightly as she noticed the look on Graham’s face. “The love you see now does not change the circumstances of our beginnings. I’m just saying, don’t count yourself out when it comes to Baldwin.”

  “It’s different with me,” Helena whispered, and ducked her head. “With us.”

  Adelaide lifted a hand and covered her smile briefly. When Helena’s lips parted, she shook her head. “I know I’m laughing, but it isn’t at you. It’s just that I bet Meg a pound that you’d say just that. So she owes me and I thank you, for I’ll shamelessly hold it over her head.”

  Helena forced a smile. She
saw the humor, but Adelaide didn’t know the circumstances. The barriers that could never, ever be crossed.

  “Chances at happiness come so rarely, Helena,” Adelaide said, gentler now as she took both Helena’s hands. “Don’t discount even their possibility, or there will be nothing worth looking forward to.”

  Helena sighed, and her mind filled for a brief moment with those possibilities. With more kisses in gardens. With that connection that had been instantaneous and so powerful that it had set her on her heels in surprise.

  “I suppose you are right,” she found herself whispering. “I appreciate the support anyway.”

  “It’s yours,” Adelaide said. “From all of us.” She grinned. “Now here comes my lovely husband and Simon.”

  Helena wiped her emotions away and smiled as the men joined them. Graham immediately reached out and settled his hand into the small of Adelaide’s back. Their love was palpable in that moment, and Helena was even more jealous of her new friend’s obvious happiness.

  “Helena was just telling me how much she likes to dance,” Adelaide said.

  “Ah,” Simon said with a smile for her. “Well, I am the best dancer in our group.”

  “And the most modest,” Graham said with a laugh.

  “You shouldn’t talk the way you lumber,” Simon said with a roll of his eyes in Helena’s direction.

  “I take offense to that—my husband has never lumbered in his life,” Adelaide said.

  Helena wondered at it all. They were all so playful and funny, and they included her so effortlessly. And it was bewitching to pretend she could belong with them. Now or in the future.

  Simon shook his head. “Ignore them, they are simply jealous of my skills. I would be delighted to share the next with you, unless you have another partner in mind.”

  Helena glanced to the door where Baldwin had left the ballroom moments before. Then she smiled at Simon. “I would be honored, Your Grace, as long as Meg wouldn’t mind.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t,” he said as he offered her an arm and led her to the dancefloor. But as they began the intricate steps of the jig the orchestra played next, Helena couldn’t help but think once more of Baldwin’s face when he left the ballroom.

  And wish that she could find a way to help him. Even though that wasn’t her place.

  Baldwin stared at the letter that had been left on his desk for what had to be the tenth time in a half hour. The words swam, just as they had from the first moment he read them. Now he could hardly see them, but it didn’t matter.

  They were seared onto his soul, statements he would never forget even if he tried with all his might.

  “‘The missing debts have been found,’” he said out loud, flinching as his hands began to shake. “‘Or their previous whereabouts were discovered, held by three gentlemen.’”

  He swallowed as he got up and tossed the letter aside. He’d been waiting to hear this, to know who held his fate in their hands, who could drop the guillotine on his neck.

  Only the men who had owned those debts no longer did. They’d sold them, all on the same day, all through the same solicitor.

  Which meant that one man probably held them now. Someone who had discovered and purchased the debts in a calculated way and protected his identity through the solicitor, who refused to give Baldwin’s man any further information, including terms of repayment.

  It turned his stomach to think of what the intentions of such a man might be. To think of the nightmares he could create with a flick of his wrist.

  Baldwin paced to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He didn’t bother with a glass, but slung himself into the seat before the fire and took a long swig. He should go back to his party, but right now he couldn’t even think of roaming around amongst prospects and friends, pretending to be well when his head was spinning and his heart hurting.

  Right now he wanted to forget. And this was the best way he knew how.

  Helena crept up the quiet hallway, her skirt fisted in her hand as she looked from one closed door to the next, trying to find some hint as to where she should go.

  It had been hours since Baldwin’s departure from the ballroom, his face pinched and pained. She’d waited for him to come back, trying to pretend like his whereabouts meant nothing to her. It became harder and harder as the whispers started. The questions as to why their host had abandoned the party so abruptly.

  She’d seen the worry on Charlotte’s face and on the Duchess of Sheffield’s as they made excuses and exchanged looks. With every moment, Helena’s desire to help Baldwin grew. And now, with the party winding to a close and her cousin returning to their room to be helped to bed by her maid, Helena knew this was her only chance to do so.

  She turned another corner in the endless hallway and stopped. While most of the rooms were dark, there was a small sliver of light coming from under one door at the end of this hall. Her heart began to pound as she moved toward it, hoping she’d found Baldwin. Fearful she had. Totally lost as to what she’d do if he was behind that door.

  She knocked, but there was no answer. Her shoulders slumped. The room was likely empty. She moved to go, but before she could step away there was the clatter of something hitting the ground and a muffled curse from behind the door.

  She reached out and pushed the door open.

  If there had been a lamp lighting the room, it had long since burned out. The fire was all that remained, and it flickered and sent long shadows throughout the chamber. It was a study, much like the one in Baldwin’s London home.

  When she turned to look at the fire, there he was. He had been seated in front of the mantel, but now he rose, rather awkwardly and stared at her.

  He gripped a bottle in his hand. A half-empty bottle, at that. His jacket was gone, his cravat was gone and his shirt was half undone, revealing a shocking expanse of skin peppered with wiry chest hair that a lady should not see. Not when she had such wicked thoughts about a gentleman, at any rate.

  She caught her breath and stared at him. He stared right back, unblinking, unmoving, unreadable.

  “Are you a dream?” he finally asked, his words just ever so slightly slurred.

  She glanced over her shoulder. He would not want others to find him this way. She stepped into the room and pulled it shut behind her. For a moment she hesitated, and then she turned the key in the lock, granting them privacy and a heavy dose of inappropriate aloneness.

  “No,” she whispered when she could find her voice.

  “That’s worse, actually,” he muttered, and collapsed back into the chair with a grunt. The bottle in his fingers slid free and rolled away, spilling the remainder of its contents on the carpet. “If you were a dream, I could have what I want.”

  She moved forward, confused and driven and attracted and terrified all at once. “You left your party, Baldwin,” she said gently. “I was worried when you didn’t return.”

  “Everyone else gets what they want,” he said, ignoring what she was saying. “Have you ever noticed that?”

  She eased into the chair beside his and leaned forward, examining his face carefully. She’d thought him unreadable, but that was wrong. No, emotions were there. There were just so many that it was hard to parse them all out.

  “Some people are lucky,” she conceded.

  He laughed, but there was no pleasure in the sound. No light. No happiness. It was harsh and cold. “Oh yes, so many. My friends are lucky. Half of them are married and oh-so happy.”

  She frowned. “You cannot mean that you’d begrudge them that, Baldwin. I know you care for them.”

  The hardness of his face softened a little, and he shrugged. “No, not begrudge. They earned it. They deserve their joy. But I still have to look at it, don’t I? Those little looks between them, their endless comments about how I should marry for love. ‘Marry for love, Baldwin.’ They have no idea.”

  She swallowed hard. “No, they don’t. You haven’t told them the truth.”

  He stared a
t her, and it was like he saw her for the first time all over again. “You’re going to be very rational, aren’t you?”

  She smiled despite the precarious situation. “I suppose I am.”

  “Why?” he asked. “It’s not like you get what you want, either. Here we are, two people who’ll never get what they want because of what someone else did. Because of what we did to ourselves.”

  She flinched. He had no idea what he was saying, but he was awfully close to home, to her secrets that she had to keep silent in order to find any kind of peace with her past. She bent her head.

  “I suppose there is such a thing as acceptance, Baldwin. Torturing myself does no good.”

  “Yes, I’m torturing myself,” he agreed. To her surprise, he suddenly leaned forward, nearly off the chair. His face was very close now, too close. “You’re here, aren’t you? You’re here under my roof. In a bed just ten or twelve doors from my own. In my study with the door locked. You are a torture, Helena Monroe. Because what I want, more than anything in the world right now…is you.”

  The slurring had gone out of his words as he said them. Like what he said was true enough that it overcame tipsy foolishness. She stared at him, at that handsome face so close to her own. Every rational thing in her screamed at her to get up and walk away. To pretend like this had never happened.

  Except rationality wasn’t her most powerful drive in that moment. So instead of listening to that very wise voice, she reached out and let her hand cup his cheek.

  He let out a long, steady hiss of breath. He caught the edge of her chair and dragged it forward, the legs screeching against the floor as he pulled her into the space between his legs. She was shaking as she drew her fingers up through his hair.

  He grunted out some incoherent sound, and then he leaned in and his mouth touched hers.

  In the garden, his kiss had been gentle. Tentative, even. The kiss of a man with all his senses and reason. This was something entirely different. The alcohol had not stolen his senses, but dulled them a little and left him much wilder. His lips slanted over hers, hard and demanding, and she opened without hesitation. He drove in, tangling his tongue with hers. She tasted scotch and desperation and drive and need. She found herself lifting closer, drowning in his kiss.