Lady Winifred looked at him with a confused expression. Not curious, just uncertain. But before they could continue their talk, the Countess of Snodgrass came down the path and smiled at the pair. “There you are, Winifred. And hello, Your Grace.”
Baldwin nodded. “My lady.”
“Winifred, you’ve been roaming through the duke’s gardens for almost half an hour now. You do not want to get too tan. A gentleman doesn’t like a lady who is too sun-kissed—isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
Baldwin released Winifred, who returned to her mother’s side. He felt a great sense of relief when she did so. “I would not be able to speak for all gentlemen,” he offered.
Lady Snodgrass giggled and Winifred blushed. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. We’ll see you at supper tonight.”
The pair turned and walked away, leaving Baldwin to sag against the nearest tree in exhaustion.
“Good afternoon.”
He froze, his heart leaping as it had not when he was standing with the other young lady. He knew that voice. And he turned to find Helena standing a few feet away, watching him carefully.
“Helena,” he whispered, her name a prayer, a plea, a balm. “I’m so glad it’s you and not some other woman my mother is marching down from the main house for me.”
Helena shifted slightly. “Yes, I saw you with Lady Winifred. She is one of the…options then?”
Baldwin stared up at the house where the young woman and her mother had gone. “Yes,” he said softly. “She is, I suppose.”
“Well, she’s pretty,” Helena offered, her tone very careful.
He turned on her with a grin. “Are you now playing my matchmaker?”
She did not return the smile. “I think that would be too difficult.”
He nodded. “Yes. All of this is…difficult.”
“For both of us, I would imagine. You didn’t like her at all?”
Baldwin shrugged. “It isn’t about liking or not liking. She’s a nice enough young woman. I just don’t feel…anything when I’m with her.”
Helena swallowed hard. “I see.”
“Not like when I’m with you,” he murmured, and moved toward her a step.
She caught her breath and he saw her pupils dilate with desire. He loved to see that blossom in her, rather like the flowers Lady Winifred had been going on and on about.
“We’re so close to the house,” Helena whispered. “Anyone could see.”
“A valid point,” he said, and offered her an arm. “Walk with me? I’d much prefer your company.”
She looked like she would argue. Probably make a point that what they were doing was dangerous and wrong and not conducive to acceptance of the future either of them would soon face.
Instead, she sighed and said, “Of course. You know I couldn’t say no.”
She took his arm, and this time there was plenty for him to feel. Warmth and pleasure, desire and desperation. He was aware of every part of her that pressed to him, of the feel of each finger that curled into the crook of his elbow. He felt it all and he reveled in it.
“So what did you talk about?” she asked.
He glanced down at her as they began to walk farther into the garden, farther away from the house and whatever prying eyes there might see. “You really want to know?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “Part of me does want to know. Part of me doesn’t. All of me is jealous and I hate myself for it.”
He shook his head. “You needn’t be jealous. Lady Winifred is quite a fan of flowers and all I heard about was roses, roses, roses for half an hour.”
She glanced up at him. “That’s all she could think of to say to you?”
“You sound incredulous. I may just bring out the dullest of subjects in people,” he said with a laugh that lightened everything about his mood.
He only felt that way with her, it seemed.
She smiled. “You may at that. I wouldn’t have picked that subject to talk to you about.”
“What subject would you have chosen?” he asked, and guided her into the covered gazebo.
She looked around with a blush, and he could see her mind turning. Working out the same problem he’d been pondering. Would they be safe enough here for a kiss? Nothing more, of course, there was too much danger. But could he kiss her?
She bit her lip as she released his arm and backed away. “My cousin told me she plans to pursue you.”
All of Baldwin’s happy, playful thoughts faded from his mind and he stared at Helena in horror. “Charity?”
“Yes, she is my only cousin who could pursue you, I think, since all the others are back in America,” she said, turning away to pace the gazebo. “She told me this morning after I returned from—from when you…”
She didn’t look at him, but placed both hands on the half wall of the gazebo and leaned there like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.
“I see,” he murmured. “You know I don’t want her.”
“You don’t want any of them,” Helena said, glancing at him. “But we both know the danger. Charity has a huge dowry. It may even be bigger than everyone is whispering about. I recognize you’d have to consider it.”
His stomach turned. “Hear me, Helena. I could not consider your cousin, not if she had a hundred thousand pounds, or a million.”
High color touched her cheeks and she smiled slightly. “Don’t be silly. I would marry her for a million pounds.”
He recognized what she was doing, how she was trying to diffuse the situation through humor. And it worked. He smiled despite himself and reached out to take her hand.
“Let’s not talk about her,” he said. “I have such little time with you, I don’t want to waste it talking about Charity or Lady Winifred or roses.”
“Then you choose the topic, since you’ve suffered so today,” she said, another teasing smile tilting her lips.
Lips he wanted to kiss so very desperately. Only a kiss would lead to other things right now.
So instead, he guided her so they could sit together on the bench in the gazebo’s center. “Tell me about your friends at home.”
He had expected her to brighten at that topic, but instead her body went stiff next to his and her jaw tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding her hand a little tighter. “I did not mean to find a painful subject for you.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “The truth of my ruination came out amongst my friends. I had confided in my closest friend, needing someone to talk to. Instead, she told the rest and they…they turned away from me. The scandal grew, its facts twisted to be even worse and…well, I wouldn’t want to return to Boston, I don’t think.”
Baldwin shook his head slowly, filled with disbelief. “Those do not sound like friends,” he growled. “I cannot imagine my own set of friends not standing by my side.”
“Is that why you lie to them about your situation?” she asked, gently but pointedly.
He stared at her. “A fair argument,” he said. “And not one we need to hash over again. But Helena, please know that the friendships you’re forging with Emma, Meg, Charlotte and Adelaide, they are far truer. A better group of women I have never known in my life.”
Helena shifted. “I thought my own friends would see me through, too. I don’t want the duchesses to know the truth.”
There was a hint of desperation to her tone. A lilt of terror and sadness and grief that twisted Baldwin’s gut. He could no longer hold himself back. He cupped her chin, leaned in and brushed his lips over hers.
She made a soft little sound of surrender in her throat that drove him mad, but he didn’t deepen the kiss or demand more from her. This wasn’t about possession or desire. It was about comfort. Support. And emotions he refused to name because they could come to nothing.
He drew back and held her gaze evenly. “I will not tell your secret, Helena. I would never betray you like that. But I do want to say that I promise you that your new friend
s would never turn on you.”
“But they wouldn’t understand,” she whispered.
“Adelaide and Emma would,” he said softly. “Both of them narrowly escaped the same fate you experienced.”
Her eyes widened. “Adelaide and Emma?” she repeated.
“Attacked by the same man, at different times,” he said, his jaw tightening as he thought of those stories James and Graham had told. At the time he’d been angry enough, but now he was enraged. Now he could picture what Helena had endured, and it shattered his heart.
“The same man,” she said, her eyes widening with terror.
“He’s dead now,” he reassured her. “I’m only trying to say that what happened to them was not their fault. And I know they would understand what you went through if you chose to tell them the truth.”
She sighed heavily and stared off into the garden, though it was with distant eyes that didn’t seem to truly see. “I’ll think about it, Baldwin. I will. It might be…nice to have friends to confide in who understood.”
“You’ve been dealing with this on your own for so long,” he encouraged. “I hope you will consider it.”
She looked around and then briefly rested her head against his shoulder. Warmth spread through his whole body, and he wrapped his arms around her as she sagged against him. She trusted him to be her strength in that moment, and his body swelled with pride…and a desire to protect her for the rest of her life.
Only he couldn’t. And she seemed to recall that at the same time he did, for she sat up and smiled at him. It was a shaky expression, not entirely believable.
“Now we should go back,” she said. “Charity was taking a nap, but she’ll wake soon and I will have duties to perform for her.”
He nodded and stood to offer her his arm a second time. As she took it and he guided her back into the garden, he said, “The good thing is that now I can tell you facts about every rose that ever existed as we make our way back to the house.”
She laughed, a full belly laugh that seemed to jolt him in an electric way. “I cannot wait, Your Grace. One can never know too much about roses, I’ve heard.”
“Not true,” he teased. “By the time I’m done, you will modify that statement. Now, let us consider the centifolia…”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Normally Helena loved breakfast. She’d never been a picky eater, and Baldwin’s cook was talented in every way. But this morning, she found that everything before her tasted of sawdust and even the smells turned her stomach. But the reason had nothing to do with the quality of the food.
She glanced down the table and watched as Baldwin leaned toward one of the eligible misses who currently surrounded him. His prospects, as she knew he called them. The women from whom he would pick a bride. Including her cousin, despite all his arguments to the contrary.
And today he seemed determined to connect with those women. She wasn’t angry. Of course she understood. But oh, how it hurt to look at it. To see him talk with those women and know that one day he would touch one of them the same way he’d touched her.
“Miss Monroe, you do look lovely today.”
She jolted and turned to look at Baldwin’s mother. The Duchess of Sheffield had taken a place beside her a few moments earlier, but had been engaged in conversation with the Duchess of Abernathe until this moment. Now she smiled at Helena.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Helena said with a blush. Her dress was not as pretty or fancy as some of the other ladies’ gowns. By design, she supposed. Charity was very stingy about hand-me-downs. She generally only gave Helena the plainest items in her closet. Still, she liked the color, a happy blue with a spring-green overlay.
“My daughter and her friends speak so highly of you,” the duchess continued. “Charlotte has so enjoyed having you here.”
“Her Grace is very kind,” Helena said. “I very much enjoy spending time with her and the other duchesses.”
“Tell me more about yourself,” the Duchess of Sheffield pressed. “Charlotte says you are a great reader.”
“I do enjoy a good book, yes. To be taken away to a whole other world, to lose oneself for a few hours. It is my favorite thing.”
The duchess nodded. “I’ve always felt the same way. We will have to compare reading lists, as I am in the mood for something good.”
“Certainly,” Helena said. “I’d be happy to share. Actually, I finished a very good book on the trip out to Sheffield. My cousin is not a reader, so if you’d like it…”
The duchess gave her a warm smile. “That would be lovely, thank you.” She shifted slightly and her gaze moved to Baldwin. There was no mistaking the worry she felt. The pressure. All of Helena’s warm feelings faded as reality returned, as it always did.
“You are…concerned for your son?” she asked carefully.
The duchess looked at her slowly, one eyebrow arched. “Am I so obvious?”
Helena shrugged. “Only if one is observant.”
Now the duchess held her stare. “And you are when it comes to Baldwin, I think.”
Helena’s breath hitched. It seemed she wasn’t the only observant one. She thought they had been careful, but the shift in the Duchess of Sheffield’s demeanor told her it wasn’t careful enough.
“I’m a bit on the fringes, that is all, Your Grace,” she said. “I notice everyone.”
The duchess nodded, but her expression remained as focused as before. Helena had not diffused its intensity or understanding. “I’m a mother,” the duchess said slowly. “It is my prerogative to worry about my children. Charlotte is so happily settled now, so I’m afraid my concerns all shift to Baldwin.”
“I should not have pried,” Helena said softly. “I apologize.”
“No, it’s clear you are a…you’re a very good woman,” the duchess said. “No one could spend a moment with you and not like you. You seem to care for my children, as well, so I appreciate that.” She looked off at her son again. “Baldwin has responsibilities, Miss Monroe. Life is often not fair in that way, but it is what it is. We must accept. We must…we must accept it.”
Helena stared down at her plate, the food now turning her stomach even further. The duchess wasn’t just talking anymore. This was a statement directed at Helena. A gentle statement, yes. One kindly put, but it did its job nonetheless. She was discouraging Helena from a pursuit of Baldwin.
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. The discomfort of embarrassment. The faint resonance of loss. But she could not let those things show. As always, she had to pretend.
In fact, the only place where she didn’t have to pretend were in those stolen moments with the very man she had just been told could not be hers. And time was running out on what they could share.
Which made her desperate, indeed.
Baldwin stretched his back as he entered his chamber, where he actually smiled at his bed. What he wanted more than anything was to sleep off what had turned into very long day. He’d spent his entire afternoon with the prospects. His mother had made certain of that. She hadn’t even been particularly subtle about it.
And they were fine. They were all fine. Nothing truly wrong with a one of them, save perhaps Charity, who he didn’t like at all. The rest had one common issue. They weren’t Helena. Helena, who he kept looking for in every crowd. Helena, who had been kept just as busy as he had, by her wretched uncle and cousin. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought his mother and Helena’s family had coordinated their efforts to keep them apart.
Only his mother wouldn’t work in league with Peter Shephard. She had some standards, even in her desperation.
He moved to ring the bell and call his valet, but before he could do so, there was a rustling behind him. He turned and was shocked when Helena, herself, stepped from the shadows in the corner of his room.
Her face was pale, her eyes wide and her hands trembled at her sides as she whispered, “I—should I have come?”
He didn’t answer, not with words. He
could find none when his emotions and his desires were swelling up inside of him. Instead, he crossed the room in a few long strides, gathered her against him and kissed her. She immediately softened, winding her arms around his neck, gasping when he caught her backside and drew her even closer.
“I have great hopes that this isn’t a dream,” he murmured against her lips.
She smiled. “It isn’t,” she reassured him as he began to kiss her neck. “But it isn’t quite reality, either.”
He drew back and looked down at her. So lovely and so perfect and yet so out of reach. He cleared his throat. “Then let’s celebrate the fantasy while we can. But first, a question.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“What about your cousin?”
“Charity is snoring in her bed, believing with every fiber of her being that I am asleep on the settee in her dressing room. She’s never been one to get up in the middle of the night, so we are safe in that regard.”
“Good,” he said, backing her toward his bed slowly. “Then I can keep you all night. Or nearly so.”
She shivered and he paused, forcing himself to recall her past, feeling the potential for fear and anxiety. He took a deep breath and leaned with her against the high edge of his bed.
“I want to make love to you, Helena,” he whispered. “I want that more than anything. But not if it causes you grief. So tell me, is that what you want?”
She didn’t hesitate, but nodded immediately. That put some ease into his heart. As did her words when she said, “All I can think about is you, Baldwin. It won’t last. It can’t. But I want tonight.”
“Good,” he said, and slid his hands to where her simple gown fastened in the front. He never broke her gaze as he slipped each button free. “But if you need me to stop or wait or go slowly, I want you to tell me. We have all night. And I want to make it perfect.”
Helena shuddered as Baldwin parted her gown and revealed the plain chemise beneath. His warm fingers slid beneath the fabric and slowly eased it from her shoulders, down her arms, her hips, and let it fall around her feet.
The Duke of Nothing (The 1797 Club Book 5) Page 14
