“Truthfully,” she uttered under her breath. “I should have known then he had an ulterior motive. What duke would say such a thing?”
A distraction.That’s all I am.
And the connection she felt plucking at her skin? The longing?
Rubbish.
Helen settled across from Cerise and Galway, hands in the lap, placid expression on her features. Like the bloody sheep they both thought her to be. She must be careful not to arouse Galway’s suspicion concerning the pendant. Or that she wasn’t considering his offer of further employment.
“I nearly left you behind, Miss Cosgrove,” Lord Galway intoned, eyes flicking over the lace at her modest neckline. “Is that a new gown?” His gaze lingered. “Quite lovely.”
Cerise sniffed in annoyance.
Why wouldn’t she? Cerise had often claimed Helen’s figure to be that of a child which wasn’t true at all, she was only not…generously endowed. Either way, she didn’t merit or want Galway’s attention. She had a mission to complete.
She turned her head to the window, determined to ignore Galway. If he wished to ogle her non-existent bosom. Helen could hardly stop him.
The journey through the crowd gathered at the theater to Galway’s box seemed endless as every few feet Cerise or her father insisted on pausing to greet an acquaintance or gain an introduction. Tedious at best. Then the pair would continue on their way, Helen trailing closely behind. Entering Galway’s box, Helen could see that they’d barely arrived in time. The curtain was going up on the performance. Lord Lowell and his mother, the dowager countess, were already inside sipping champagne.
Lady Lowell had her son’s kind eyes and friendly, polite manner as she greeted them, but her smile faltered at Cerise. Clearly, she did not approve of her son’s choice in a wife.
Helen didn’t blame her.
But Lady Lowell seemed to like Galway well enough, taking his arm to escort her to her seat and chatting about a friend they had in common.
Helen’s place was at the back, a spot chosen by specifically by Galway because no one could enter or exit the box without first passing her, which was the entire point. There would be no opportunity for Cerise to slip away and attempt to see Roxboro. The displeasure on her charge’s face was so glaring, Helen nearly laughed. That was likely the only entertainment she’d have tonight, given the dull play and enduring Galway. Also, accusinga duke of theft wasn’t exactly steeped in amusement, but it would be satisfying to know Kate wouldn’t suffer Roxboro’s arrogance.
After another quarter of an hour of watching the dreadful performance on the stage, Helen stood and made her way quietly to Galway’s side.
“Please excuse me my lord. I need to see to matters of a personal nature.”
Galway turned away from Lady Lowell and rolled his eyes in exasperation. As if Helen’s bodily functions had been created solely to annoy him.
“I suppose. Hurry back, Miss Cosgrove. Remember your duties,” he breathed.
Helen bowed and hurried out. Once in the hall, she no longer strolled calmly but marched purposefully in the direction of Roxboro’s box, which Galway had earlier with a nod, pointed out to her. She would have known regardless. Cerise’s slender form had arched dramatically as they passed Roxboro’s box, which Helen found to be both ridiculous and overly dramatic.
Approaching the door to the duke’s box, Helen took a deep breath, preparing herself to face Roxboro, a terrible human being but the only man who’d ever inspired passion in Helen.
I have the worst luck.
Had she been wise, she would return to Galway’s box and forget this ridiculous endeavor, but Kate’s life floated in the balance. She couldn’t let that poor girl be accused of stealing something Roxboro had taken. Helen had practiced a scathing speech, one meant to slash at the duke so that there was no misunderstanding of her feelings.
Despicable. He’s despicable.
Helen stepped inside the duke’s box, heart pounding at the audacity of a lady’s companion entering without an invitation.A footman stood by the door and she blatantly ignored him, striding further inside as if she belonged there.
“Madam,” the footman said, voice fraught with warning as he stumbled after her. “This is the Duke of Roxboro’s box. Are you an invited guest?”
“Hardly.”
“Then allow me to escort you to your own box.” He took her arm. “Perhaps you are lost.”
“I am not lost.” She dug her heel into his toe and wrenched herself free.
There he was. Just standing, shining with magnificence, like a beacon.
Her stunning lapse of judgement.
