“I don’t know. I’ve never had a dog, but Aunt seems resolved to get a small dog, perhaps to see me entertained.” She grimaced. “I am not certain I should like to have a dog at all.” She studied him, then. “Why do you not like small dogs?”
“It is my understanding that they are inclined to bite.”
“But you are not certain?”
He shook his head. “Large dogs are all I have ever known. They are even of temper, every one of them.”
“Truly?” she asked. “How large?”
The viscount held out a hand. If he had been standing, it would have been at his hip.
“So big as that?”
He nodded. If her brother had made the claim, Helena would have thought he teased her. Such a dog would be almost as large as a pony. But the viscount’s gaze was steady and his manner sincere, an indication that he told the truth.
There was something to be said of a man whose word could be trusted.
She would not remember her folly over Mr. Ethan Melbourne, a man whose every declaration had been a deception. He had been fulsome, all the time, a marked contrast to the viscount.
Hmm.
“Goodness. They must eat a lot,” she said.
The viscount chuckled then, surprised into it, and amusement transformed him utterly.
Helena smiled at his pleasure, savoring the sight. If he looked like this all the time, she might have been unable to resist him, duke or not. If he had been outside, doing some purposeful deed, she might have lost her wits over him. If he had possessed adimple, well, her heart would be captive. She could envision a man with just such a small confident smile fording a stream in a storm, the water surging around him but unable to slow his progress, to pluck a lost child from the churning waters.
Or climbing a tower, oh yes, to free a maiden locked in its highest room. Storm clouds would churn behind him, waves of the sea would crash against the rocky shore, the wind would snatch at his cloak, but he would be undeterred in pursuit of his goal. Oh, yes, he would be the silent hero, upon whom everyone could rely.
He sobered as he studied her, his gaze falling to her lips with such concentration that she caught her breath. She watched his eyes darken in a way that reminded her suddenly of that forbidden passage she had read in Eliza’s letters.
What had it said? Something about the signs of a man’s interest in a lady, how it might be revealed by a quick inhalation or the darkening of his eyes. Helena had thought it must be nonsense but as she held the viscount’s gaze, she wondered.
In his youth, the viscount must have been most alluring.
Suddenly, as if shutters closed against the sunlight, his expression became composed again, his very soul seemingly hidden from view. The viscount looked again into the depths of his tea, as if he had forgotten her.
Helena was irked by the change.
On impulse, she abandoned her seat and moved to sit beside him. The viscount did not retreat or visibly disapprove. He simply flicked a glance at her, as if she were unpredictable.
Truly, his wariness made her feel bolder than was even her custom. “I must ask you, sir, since you abide near Haynesdale, if there are any highwaymen in the region?” The question fell from her lips unplanned, but made a kind of sense, given her impression of him as a man of daring. The viscount might, infact, make a good highwayman, if he could abandon his reserved manner for longer intervals than he had thus far.
She wondered whether it was possible to provoke him to do as much.
She was tempted to try.
“Of course not,” he replied stiffly and Helena almost sighed in despair.
“Aunt said that Robin Hood was believed to have lived in Nottinghamshire, and there are highwaymen everywhere else. Why should there not be any in these particular region, especially if tradition supports it?”
“Because any such person would be swiftly made to face justice,” he replied, his tone crisp. “You may be confident, Miss Emerson, of your safety in Nottinghamshire.”
“But safety is dull, is it not? Even at your age, you must yearn for a little adventure.”
His tone was stern when he continued. “Miss Emerson, you cannot wish to encounter a renegade, outlaw, or other individual pursuing some view of rough justice beyond the measure of the law.”
He was so severe that Helena had to defy his expectations.
