The look of ravenous hope on Girdleston’s face almost made her laugh. It would certainly appease him if she consented.
“Precisely, my lady,” said Girdleston. “Someone to ease your way around the city.”
Helenawouldrequire help navigating London. She was a country girl, loath since girlhood to spend more than an afternoon in the capital, and now her first order of business was to rove Mayfair, ferreting out potential duchesses. If this groom could be used for her own purposes rather than... whatever purpose Girdleston intended, then she was being inadvertently given a most useful ally.
Helena looked back at the rejected circle of private servants. The maid had been an obvious spy, and the old footman was likely loyal to the dukedom. Helena had no doubt the private cook would slowly poison her. But the groom—the large, biddable simpleton of a groom—might be harmless. And useful.
“Yes, Uncle Titus,” she said. “I do believe I canfind use for a groom on the unfamiliar streets of London. How kind of you.”
“But you may thank His Grace, my lady,” gushed Girdleston, bowing slightly. Helena refused to acknowledge this and instead spoke to the groom. “Pray, what is your name, sir?”
The groom raised his head but he kept his brown eyes averted.
“Shaw, my lady.”
His voice was lower than she’d thought, although she couldn’t say what she’d expected. She’d struggled to hear him, and she suddenly wished very much to hear him again.
“Very good, Mr. Shaw,” she said. “I am Lady Helena. I grow apples in Somerset. Would you like one?” She reached into her pocket and extended a shiny, speckled apple. Behind her, she heard her parents groan.
Girdleston chortled. “Shaw is not accustomed to receiving, er, food from his charges, Lady Helena. Pray do not trouble yourself.”
The groom stared at the apple like it was a tiny cannonball. He glanced up. For a split second, their eyes locked. Helena could have sworn his expression said,You’re joking.
She blinked. Surely not. Surely he was simply nervous and confused.
Helena waited for him to look up again, to reveal himself, but he merely made another approximated bow and kept his gaze fixed to the floor.
Well, she thought. She pocketed the apple. There would be plenty of time to establish some rapport. It didn’t matter. He need only to dowhat she said when she said it, lift heavy things, and unwittingly aid her plan to escape with her future.
“You mentioned the duke will join us for supper,” Helena said brightly to Girdleston. “I do believe I am hungrier than I thought.”
Chapter Three
Declan had not expected this.
Understatement of the century.
He had expected a rich gentleman’s daughter. A patchwork of deficiencies. Some combination of demanding and childish or flighty and selfish, with the potential for daftness or madness thrown in.
In no scenario had he envisioned a captivating beauty, determined to undermine the bloody dukedom. He knew insubordination when he saw it. And brains.
When she’d entered the great hall, she’d spared not a look at the stained glass or the carved staircase or the chandelier. She ignored the servants. Unless Declan was mistaken, she was looking for a way out. Girdleston had summoned her, and she didn’t obey him so much as charge him. Her posture was upright but not rigid; she was thin but not brittle.
Declan had blinked, telling himself it was his job to stare.Looking at herwas his job.
I cannotnotlook at her.
Fine. Right. So look.
Her eyes were pale green, the color of a peridot, and her hair was the color of ink.
She had dark lashes and brows, but her skin was the color of the inside of a shell, pale and luminescent. The contrast of light to ebony was stark and beautiful. A raven’s feather in the ice.
In that moment, Declan comprehended the level of difficultly—nay, the level of impossibility—of this cursed job. It hit him like a bat to the chest. He was looking at Helena Lark as a woman, not a client.
And not just any woman, a stunningly beautiful, obviously clever woman. Only a fool or an amateur would fail to admit this.
This was a problem because—first, distraction. His regard for her, even as an appreciative observer, would interrupt his ability to contain her. Second, beautiful, clever things incited sympathy, and he could not sympathize with this woman; he worked for her enemy. And third, Declan had made a habit of running in the opposite direction of Problem Women.
