She rolled her shoulders as if burdened by retelling a tedious bit of boring family lore. “One of the ways I’ve tried to avoid this wedding was to feign madness.”
“Naturally,” he sighed.
“I know the gown is ridiculous,” she pronounced, “but I rather like it. Especially because Girdleston does not. He caught sight of me sailing down a corridor one night and cried out, dropping a glass. It’s a powerful tool actually. I haul it out whenever I wish to appear ghostly or unhinged. It is particularly effective when combined with a pantomime of sleepwalking. And then there is Lusk’s reaction.” She took up a billowy swath of fabric and fluffed it. “It’s the virginal sort of... density of it, I believe. So, there’s an added benefit.”
Declan wondered what sort of man thought to run away when he saw this woman. In any garment. “So you’ve come alone? To the stables? Dressed like... like that. On purpose?” he asked.
She nodded. “In case I encountered anyone. This nightgown is a sort of shorthand for my intermittent madness. It unnerves people. No one likes the bother.”
“I am not unnerved,” he said. “Just to be clear.”
He scanned the alley through the open door behind her. She had to go back, of course. She had to conceal herself and go back.
“We had a deal, Mr. Shaw.”
“Lady Helena. Stop,” he said. “Turn around. Go back into the house.”
“Not until we’ve spoken,” she said breezily. She gathered up handfuls of her gown and trudged closer. Beneath her hem, she wore leather boots and drooping stockings. Her legs were bare above the ankles. His mind frosted over with desire.
“Where can we speak?” she asked, coming up to the first stall.
“We cannot speak,” he said.
She stepped in front of a lantern, and the thick layers of white went magically translucent. He could make out the outline of her body as if she stood naked.
Explanations failed him. She was perfectly formed. Thin and long-legged, with small, pert breasts. So lovely and natural and unexpected. Declan couldn’t remember ever seeing anything quite as lovely.
“Can we speak in a stall?” She pulled an apple from her pocket and moved to the gate, clucking softly to the horse. The animal, half dozing, opened its eyes and caught sight of the shifting white gown and spooked, neighing nervously, crowding himself in the corner.
Declan swore. “You’re frightening the horses.”
“I’m not. I’m merely—”
In one fluid movement, he fastened his hands around her waist and lifted her up, backing them away from the anxious animal. Helena let out a little yelp, but he kept moving.
“Youaremad,” he said, gathering up arms and legs and yards of white fabric. The gown wrapped around his forearms, tangling him like a net. He struggled to find her body within the cottony vortex, the robe trailing behind them like a train. Swearing again, he hoisted her into his arms like a mermaid.
“I can walk,” she said.
“But you weren’t walking, were you? You wereinciting a stampede. Horses don’t like things they cannot understand.”
But I do, he thought. He glanced down at her and then away.God help me.
She said nothing, allowing him to carry her. He stalked past the tack room, the bridle room, the blacksmith’s station. His only plan was to remove her from the open stable door and the sleepy horses. The building ended with the carriage room and he slowed only long enough to nudge through the door.
“The other grooms have gone,” she informed him. “I made certain. I am only seen when I wish to be seen.”
“Shhh,” Declan said, but he thought,You must want me to see you very much.
I see only you.
Darkness pervaded the carriage room. The corners were swallowed by shadows. The duke’s four vehicles loomed like carriage-shaped voids. A distant window offered a dusty rectangle of silver moonlight. Declan blinked, willing his eyes to adjust. He closed the door gently with his hip and pivoted. For a long moment, he held her, listening, alert for any stray movement or sound.
In his arms, she breathed in and out. Her breath on his neck was a caress. It wrecked his concentration.
You were in jail too long, he told himself. Across the room, he could just make out a workbench, clean and level. He strode to it, plunking her down.
“You have five minutes,” he said.
