“Is she all you can think about?” Decker asked, his tone knowing.
Yes.
“That is none of your affair, Decker,” he growled.
“You have never been happier than you are now, have you?” the blighter pressed.
Gabe searched inside himself. No, he had not. And there was only one reason for the vast feeling of contentment he had been steeping in ever since making Helena his countess.
The woman herself.
He cleared his throat. “I have always been happy.”
Liar.
Decker’s grin told him he was not fooling either of them with his response. “Love only leads to disaster when youallowit to, Huntingdon. Take my word for it.”
“Good day, Mr. Decker,” he bit out pointedly, having had enough of this unwanted discussion.
“Give Forsyte a black eye for me, won’t you?” Decker asked.
Yes, he bloody well would.
But as he made good on his escape, he acknowledged inwardly that there was one inescapable fact he could not flee. He had somehow—against his will and against every one of Grandfather’s maxims—fallen in love with his wife. What in the hell was he going to do about that?
“Tell her you love her, Huntingdon,” Decker called after him, as if Gabe had requested his advice.
He did not need Elijah Decker’s counsel on the matter, confound it.
Gabe thought of the look of undisguised adoration and happiness on the man’s face as he had spoken of his own marriage. Then again, mayhap he did.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The difference between right and wrong cannot be argued. The division is clear. The time to act, now.
—FromLady’s Suffrage Society Times
Helena took greatpleasure in the expression of shock upon the ordinarily placid countenance of her nemesis. It was apparent that Lady Beatrice Knightbridge had not been anticipating her call.
Excellent.
“My lady,” said Lady Beatrice in a stilted tone, recovering sufficiently from her surprise to dip into an elegant curtsy.
“Lady Beatrice,” she returned, grateful when her voice did not even betray a hint of a tremor. She refused to allow the other woman to see how shaken the incident with Lord Algernon had left her.
Or to give any indication of the fury burning within her soul.
The woman before her had conspired to hurt her, mayhap even to destroy her marriage. Fortunately for Helena, she had friends she could trust, friends who had helped her to unravel Lady Beatrice’s sick plan. Friends who had also enabled her to dismantle it.
There only remained thepièce de résistance.
“Do you care to sit, my lady?” Lady Beatrice queried, her complexion quite pale, her bright-blue eyes wide and laden with worry.
“Thank you.” Helena seated herself on a chintz settee.
The other woman sat on a chair opposite her, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect of a tête-à-tête. Silence reigned, with Helena’s reluctant hostess making no indication she was about to attempt idle conversation or a lessening of the tension.
Helena decided to take charge. “You may be wondering why I am calling upon you, Lady Beatrice.”
