Declan did not respond and she climbed wearily into the carriage with Meg.
Not seen to any of them was the lurking figure in the black cloak hovering on the corner.
Chapter Fifteen
Seven Duchesses (Potential)
Happy ?
Sneezy
Doc
Helena was sorry?
Sorry.
Sorry for what? Declan wondered.
Sorry for jeopardizing his wholesale betrayal of Girdleston by flaunting their obvious intimacy in front of a woman they’d only just met?
Sorry for allowing a perfectly willing candidate to simply walk away?
Sorry for making him want her through it all?
It was impossible to guess at her regret, and they were given no opportunity to discuss any of it, as she was locked inside the carriage with her maid, and then her sister Camille rushed to receive her when they reached Lusk House.
Declan went through the motions of stable chores with jerky, agitated precision. He ate dinner with the other grooms in stony silence. Girdleston summoned him to the green salon for his nightly threatening. This time, thank God, he also paid him: £75 and a bottle of brandy. Declan gave the liquor to Nettle and wrote a long-overdue letter to his father.
Da,
Still on the new job in Mayfair.
Busy but well.
You would be appalled—they’ve given me the most jaundiced shade of yellow livery, and the fit is terrible. I look like a walking daffodil.
Beyond that, they feed me well, and they stable the finest horses and the most modern carriages. The client is...
Declan paused, his pen hovering above the page.
The client is beautiful and clever and demanding.
The client leaps from one bold, erratic gesture to the next.
The client is trapped.
The client is relentless.
The client thrills me.
The client embodies something I’ve never wanted but now struggle to do without.
The client has hair as black as ebony and green eyes.
The client terrifies me.
The client is killing me.
