Chapter One #3
No brandy. Just the slightly muted aroma of wine.
Roxboro raised a brow at her. “What is wrong with you?”
Now that Helen considered further, what was the duke doing at the Stout ball?
Roxboro was rarely out in polite society, preferring his gambling hells, copious amounts of spirits, and courtesans to balls.
He often hosted wild parties at both his London home and his estate in the country to amuse himself, not dance with young ladies.
Oh, and there were whispers of opium dens.
And the sheep business which Helen didn’t quite understand.
“Nothing at all, Your Grace. But it is time Lady Cerise and I—” she noted the momentary confusion on Roxboro’s features at the mention of her charge. “Should return to the ballroom.”
There was enough rumor surrounding Roxboro that even to be seen speaking to him would constitute a minor scandal in Galway’s eyes, especially since Roxboro had recently compromised—according to gossip—Canterbell’s daughter, Lady Sophia, though the official tale put out by her family was that they had been courting in secret prior to their surprise betrothal. Which no one at all believed.
Roxboro made a sound in the back of his throat at her proclamation.
“I bid you good evening, Your Grace.” Helen waved a gloved hand bravely in dismissal. Not something you should do to a duke, but given Roxboro was barely a duke he wasn’t at all deserving of her respect.
“Are you going somewhere, little gnat?” A grin ghosted his lips.
Cerise laughed like the harlot she’d one day likely be, fingers drumming lightly on Roxboro’s arm. “I think I’ll stay, Miss Cosgrove.”
Those shimmering eyes lingered on Helen, long enough that Cerise frowned a bit at his interest. A small, delicate freckle sat right at the tip of his perfect nose, like the kiss of an angel.
Dear God, Helen. Stop looking at him.
She jerked her gaze to Cerise. “You are not staying, my lady. Come, we must return to the ballroom.”
Cerise regarded her with loathing. “How dare you speak to me as if I’m a wayward child, not to mention your lack of respect in addressing a duke. Miss Cosgrove is impertinent, don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
“My lady—”
“Oh, I don’t know, my dove. A lady should be able to speak her mind without fear of reprisal.
But to be blunt, Miss Cosgrove,” Roxboro continued in a voice full of crisp arrogance, though the strange rhythm of his speech was still apparent.
“I am a duke and as such, I can engage a lovely young lady.” He looked down at Cerise who beamed back at him. “In conversation anytime I wish.”
“I understand your position bestows you with a great deal of power, Your Grace,” she answered without thinking.
“However, should you wish to engage Lady Cerise further in conversation, I suggest you do so in the presence of Lord Galway, not in a dark area of Lady Stout’s home where such a conversation could be mistaken for something else. ”
“Yes, but you’re here now, Miss Cosgrove, to ensure all respectability,” Roxboro countered. “Also nothing has occurred. No impropriety.” The word rolled off his tongue in an odd manner.
Perhaps he is foxed or full of opium. That would explain his interest in Cerise.
Helen bit her lip to stop from laughing at her little jest. Not suitable given the circumstances.
Roxboro’s gaze landed on her mouth unexpectedly. That, combined with the flutter of her…lady parts made Helen rather unsteady. Composing herself, she gestured at Cerise.
“I am pleased to hear you say as much, Your Grace. Undue speculation, given your betrothal to Lord Canterbell’s daughter, would be highly unwelcome.”
There, she’d called out Roxboro. What could he do? Ducally smite her?
But Roxboro didn’t smite her, only regarded her intently.
Good lord, he was just brilliant standing there. She had to struggle to maintain her composure with the humming and fluttering occurring over every region of her person.
“You are so tiresome, Miss Cosgrove,” Cerise snarled in Helen’s direction. “You know nothing of the duke’s situation, which is somewhat complicated, is it not, Your Grace? And betrothals are broken every day.”
Roxboro made a small, noncommittal sound.
“My apologies, my lady, but what have I misunderstood? Perhaps the duke might wish to explain the situation to me. You are betrothed Your Grace, are you not?”
Roxboro’s betrothal to the Lord Speaker’s daughter, Lady Sophia, was unlikely to be broken for any reason, and especially not for Cerise. Canterbell was highly influential. He had the queen’s ear. He would never allow his daughter to suffer the humiliation of a broken betrothal.
The duke didn’t answer, only kept that slightly amused look on his handsome features.
“Having never been betrothed before, Miss Cosgrove, or dare I say even courted,” Cerise sniffed. “I doubt you understand how such things are handled in society. Nothing is impossible for a duke.” Her hand glided lightly over Roxboro’s arm.
Helen had been courted. Once. She knew well the intricacies of a broken betrothal after having experienced one. Cerise couldn’t have known, but her words stung all the same.
But you didn’t love Owen. Didn’t even like him much.
“I understand perfectly well.” Helen glared at Roxboro, determined to ignore her skipping pulse and…
the annoying twist in her mid-section. “On this particular matter, I believe Lord Galway would share my opinion. His lordship sent me in search of you, my lady. If we do not return, Lord Galway might come upon us, and I do not think either you or the duke would wish that.”
There was a small amount of grudging respect glinting in Roxboro’s eyes, hidden amidst the irritation as he regarded her. Turning to Cerise, he finally spoke. “Unfortunately, my dove. I believe Miss Cosgrove is correct, much as I hate to admit it.”
“She is?” Cerise said, bewildered. “But Your Grace, you could speak to my father tonight. We don’t have to wait. He is in the ballroom.”
“Undue speculation from the other guests before I can fix matters would only cause talk, my dove. I fear we will need Lord Gangway’s support in this matter.”
“But,” Cerise pleaded. “This is the perfect opportunity to explain your position. My father would be thrilled. That you had a change of heart after seeing me in the park.”
“Ah, yes.” But Roxboro didn’t sound…certain.
He had to be foxed.
Helen accompanied Cerise to the park because the girl wasn’t permitted to go alone. Not once had she seen Roxboro strutting about, and the duke was hard to miss given he typically fell off his horse on a regular basis.
“I would prefer to speak with him in private,” Roxboro murmured.
“We don’t want to cause a scandal, do we?
” He leaned over Cerise in such a way that her slender form was completely hidden by his own.
Helen could not see a thing, though she could hear him whispering to her in a soothing tone.
She was about to interrupt them once more when Roxboro straightened.
“Off with you, my dove. I’ll call upon you and your father soon.”
“You promise?” Cerise whined, mooning over him.
Roxboro bowed and took her fingers. “Nothing could keep me away.”
It was all Helen could do not to roll her eyes in derision. He was betrothed to a powerful man’s daughter and would marry Lady Sophia. Roxboro had only been trying to steal a kiss or perhaps take a liberty, but he certainly wasn’t going to break his betrothal.
Cerise nodded, then sailed past Helen without so much as a glance, skirts belling out around her as she made her way back to the safety of the ballroom.
The crisis had been averted, which was a great relief.
Helen spun about, anxious to be away from the duke a man who was far too charming but one she could easily resist. The hum along her skin was a result of the fear over Cerise’s potential ruination. She was no green girl. Roxboro had little effect on her.
“You ruined all my fun, little gnat.”
Her steps halted. “My name is Miss Cosgrove. Please address me as such, Your Grace.”
There was a sudden rush of empathy for Lady Sophia, who would end up married to this cad and doomed to a life at the side of a libertine. “If tonight is any indication of your behavior and lack of respect for your future wife, I pity Lady Sophia. Greatly.” She emphasized the last word.
“Good lord, but you’re tart.” His teeth flashed white in the dim light. “Like a crisp, fall apple.” Roxboro moved closer. “I happen to enjoy apples a great deal. The more sour, the better.”
The duke was good at this, charming ladies to get beneath their skirts. Moments ago, he’d been trying to steal a kiss from Cerise, now he was attempting to charm Helen, but to what end, she’d no idea.
Well, it won’t work.
“You are a cad.” Helen stated firmly and without apology. “A scoundrel of the highest order. A villain.”
“A villain?” Roxboro said above a whisper. “Possibly.”
“Stealing kisses.”
A tiny snicker left him.
“From innocent young ladies. Perhaps their hearts as well.”
“Or other things.”
“Despicable.” She nearly shouted. “And shameless. You are soon to be wed, yet you are slinking about with young ladies other than the one you’re betrothed to.”
It isn’t my fault, Helen. You drove me to it. Had you not been so frigid.
“Shut up, Owen,” she snapped under her breath.
“You’re not about to have a fit of some sort, are you, little gnat?” Roxboro cocked his beautiful head. “You look incredibly unsettled.”
“I am merely overcome with disgust, Your Grace,” Helen tossed at him furiously, recalling how it had felt to be…
discarded. Tossed aside after a promise had been made.
A wedding date planned. She didn’t want that for Lady Sophia and would stand in solidarity with Lord Canterbell’s daughter.
“You are condescending. Arrogant. Lecherous,” she blew out the last word. “And you lack character.”
“You don’t know me, Miss Cosgrove. But I find you judgmental, all the same.”