“Hmm?” he said, kissing her.
“There is one way to make certain that I cannot marry the duke.”
“Marrying him off to one of these other girls,” he recited.
“Yes,” she said, kissing him again, “but if that doesn’t work.”
“It must work,” he moaned.
“It might,” she said. She gave him a hard kiss. “But regardless of what happens with the other girls, the Duke of Lusk cannot marry meif I’m married to someone else.”
Declan went still.
She finished it. “He cannot marry me if I am married to you.”
Chapter Twenty
The seventh and final potential duchess was a baron’s daughter called Miss Tasmin Lansing. Most mornings, she was said to ride her horse in Hyde Park, and Declan and Helena had planned to approach her on Saturday morning while the household recovered from the masquerade.
It was meant to be the simplest and most straightforward of all their duchess encounters. The equestrian-minded men and women of London routinely rode in the park, many in the company of their grooms. Helena could approach Miss Lansing as any young woman might reach out in casual friendship to another.
Declan had never dreaded a meeting more.
The masquerade ball had not been a disaster so much as a cascading torrent of freezing panic that plunged him under again and again. The final dip had nearly killed him.
After Helena’s... well, it wasn’t a proposal of marriage so much as her announcement of the next, most natural course of action.
Ultimately, she’d been too exhausted and too cold to carry on discussing it, and they couldn’tremain away from the masquerade for more than an hour. When she’d had enough, he’d walked her as close to the party as prudence would allow. From the shadows, he’d watched as she slipped back inside.
Her plan was to locate her sister Joan, remain close, and bide her time until a carriage to Lusk House departed. Declan hadn’t left the street until he’d seen Nettle tuck her into a carriage with her mother and sister.
And he had not seen her until now, when he was meant to accompany her to Hyde Park. Their discussion would, undoubtedly, resume. Declan hadn’t slept all night for dreading it.
“Good morning, Shaw,” she said cheerfully, mounting the gray mare he’d saddled for her. They met in front of Lusk House, Helena in a snowy ivory riding habit, black gloves, and cream-colored hat. She was accompanied by her sister Camille.
Declan had not expected company, and he had the fleeting hope that her sister would ride with them until Helena approached Miss Lansing. With Nettle there, too, Helena couldn’t speak freely. He would have more time to think, to fortify, to finagle the plan in such a way that his family was provided for and she was free of Lusk but also not married to a mercenary. Avoiding prison felt like a very distant and very vain hope at this point, but if he had more time, perhaps he could discover some way to provide for everyone else.
More time was not in his future. Within moments of loping into the park, Helena said, “Camille wishes to explore the trails around the Serpentine. Nettle? Would you mind looking after her?”
“Very good, my lady,” said Nettle, and Camille took off like a shot. The older groom dug in his heels, trying to keep up.
Declan watched them ride away like coins sinking into the sea. They were not coming back.
“Tell me,” Helena said. No preamble.
“What?”
“All the reasons.”
“Helena,” he began.
“And do not tell me I’ve not considered all the ramifications of life as your wife. My regard for you from the beginning has been very clear.”
She wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were trained on the open field of green winter rye.
He remembered that he was meant to be escorting her as her groom, not riding beside her as a companion, and reined his horse to follow a few paces behind.
“Where, I ask you, am I meant to find a vicar to marry us with no license?” he began. What choice did he have but to answer her? “And what of the banns? I haven’t the money for a special license.”
