The Earl of Huntingdon wasperfection.
Full stop.
And that was the problem with him. Also, likely, the problem with Helena. She was far from perfection. Unapologetically imperfect, that was what she was. Too loud, too bold, too opinionated. Hair too light, laughter too brash, teeth unevenly spaced. Her father had hoped for a dedicated daughter who would meekly cower to his whims and accept his matrimonial guidance. But she was doing everything in her power to thwart him.
“Why did I come here?” he asked, repeating her query, a note of disbelief edging his baritone now. “By God, my lady, do you even dare to ask such a question of me? It is plain as the sun’s rays that men such as Lord Algernon Forsyte are not to be trusted. The scoundrel was letting it be known to everyone within earshot what he intended to do with the incomparable Lady Helena Davenport. What else was I to do, hmm? Find my oldest friend and inform him that his lady sister was about to forfeit her innocence to a villain like Forsyte?”
Dismay washed over her.
“Lord Algernon was obviously the wrong man for the task,” she said. “Next time, I will choose better.”
He caught her arm again—her elbow, to be precise, his touch like a brand—and pulled her nearer. Almost imperceptibly. A gentle tug, nothing more. The Earl of Huntingdon would never deign to importune a lady. No matter how vexed he was with her.
And as she eyed his visage, Helena was willing to wager her entire dowry that Huntingdon was indeed quite vexed. Mayhap outraged would be a more effective descriptor…
“What the…” Huntingdon paused and seemed to gather himself before continuing. “No, my lady. Whatever nonsense is rotting your mind, I implore you, steer yourself in a more beneficial direction.”
A more beneficial direction being marriage.
To Lord Hamish.
No cursed thank you, my lord.
She pulled her elbow from the earl’s grasp. Reluctantly, of course, because she did so enjoy his touch, and she could not deny it. But he was acting the elder brother to her now. Pretending he knew better of her future than she could possibly comprehend.
As if a man such as he—an earl who had possessed endless independence from the moment of his birth—could possibly understand.
“I will steer myself in the course I choose,” she informed him coolly. “In the course that is the best for me. Lord Hamish is not my future. I would sooner throw myself from a roof.”
“Your melodrama is tiresome, my lady.” He offered her his arm. “Come. I will see you safely escorted home.”
Of all the men her stupid heart could have chosen to love. Why this one? He was maddening.
Helena ignored his arm, her frustration and desperation superseding all other feelings. “I will see myself home, Lord Huntingdon.”
He frowned. “Of course you will not. Shelbourne would have my hide if I allowed anything ill to befall you.”
The mention of her brother had Helena’s back stiffening. It was like a dagger’s sharpened edge, the reminder that Huntingdon was only here out of a misplaced sense of duty to his friend. Not because he cared about Helena. He had Lady Beatrice.
“If Shelbourne cared about me, he would stand up to my father and insist he cease pressuring me into an unwanted marriage,” she countered.
Instead, her brother had attempted to dissuade Father before ultimately siding with him, telling her she must honor their father’s wishes. Her objections she wanted a love match had met with disapproval. Love, he had told her cuttingly, had nothing to do with one’s happiness or one’s future.
“Shelbourne is right in encouraging you to do your duty,” Huntingdon said then.
Duty.
A hated word, especially in connection to Lord Hamish.
But Helena was tired of arguing. Now that Huntingdon had spoiled her chances of ruination, she needed to ponder her next move.
She bent to retrieve her fallen hat, then placed it upon her head, rearranging her veil. “I have no wish to continue quarreling with you, my lord. I must go home before my absence is noted.”
It was imperative that her father not discover what she had been about. She could not take the risk he would hasten her marriage to Lord Hamish if he feared she would jeopardize the nuptials. She needed all the time she could get to arrange for a scandal.
“Lady Helena,” he said, a warning in his voice.
She ignored him and swept past. “Good day, my lord.”
