Helen stretched her fingers along the folds of her skirts, sparing a glance towards the house, wondering how she should proceed. Coax him into meeting her in the park and stroll past Roxboro’s, she supposed, all without letting him know that Helen knew hewasn’tRoxboro. The duchess would need to be informed immediately.
Another flutter over her heart.
No matter the reason, she was happy to see him. Her small body ached to be closer to his. The pull was unmistakable.
“You appear in the most unusual places, Your Grace,” she said lightly, attempting to keep her voice even.
“I do, don’t I?” He grinned back.
Helen walked calmly to the far side of the fountain and took a seat on a stone bench beside one of the large breasted mermaids. The bench and this portion of the fountain weren’t visible from the house, something Helen knew because Cerise, in her efforts to be ruined, often insisted potential suitor stroll with her in this direction. Helen had never once been able to see her charge clearly from the drawing room and usually had to march out and demand the walk come to an end.
“I thought I made myself clear the other day.” She clasped her hands and regarded him with irritation because now she…well she must tell the duchess. Had he only stayed away.
“Perhaps I misunderstood,” he countered.
I’m an idiot. He sounds nothing like a duke.“You did not, Your Grace,” she replied tartly. “Why are you here?”
“The rosebushes,” he answered. “The scent enticed me.”
“You’re a duke,” she replied, sharper than intended, already hating this farce and her part in it. But if nothing else, she must try to save Kate. “I imagine you have your own roses to sniff, alongside your duchess.”
“Well, she’s rather boring.”
Having met the Duchess of Roxboro, Helen could have assured him boring was hardly a correct description.
“What a pity,” she fluffed out her skirts, wishing her body wasn’t vibrating gently at his nearness. If she gave into his presence too quickly and asked him to meet her in the park, Helen might scare him off. “How unfortunate for you, Your Grace.”
There was a grayish cast to the green eyes today, akin to fog clinging to trees, muting the color of their leaves. He didn’t approach Helen, but stayed sitting cross legged in the grass watching her, his body partially hidden by the spewing water of the fountain.
“This,” he pointed at the bosom of the largest mermaid, “Is obscene even by my standards. Don’t you agree?”
“A trifle garish, Your Grace. But I wouldn’t say obscene, exactly. Simply not to my taste.”
A derisive snort left him. “What is that, Miss Cosgrove? Luxurious velvets? Expensive rugs? Tufted chairs? Say, for example, if you were to refurnish a home, how would you go about doing so?”
What an odd question, especially from a criminal. “Why?”
“Curious, I suppose.” The accent was still in place but wavered in and out. Her eyes darted to his boots. Scuffed. No hat. Coat a bit…worse for the wear, but expensive. Not the coat he’d worn when Helen had seen him on Bond Street, but the same as the day in Hyde Park. No gloves.
She tilted her head, mulling over the question. “I think, Your Grace, I would start with the rooms that mean most to me. The drawing room, for example. My own quarters. The breakfast room which must have a cheery appearance.”
“Hmm. A breakfast room.”
Helen caught the slight wrinkle of his brows. Had he ever actually….seena breakfast room?
“What colors you would choose?”
No one ever asked what Helen wanted in regard to accommodations, or anything else for that matter. As a poor orphaned relation, she’d been happy to have any space at all. Took whatever linens could be spared. The color of whatever room she’d been shown to had never been considered.
“I know that the fashion is for creams, pale yellows, and rich, dark blues,” she said slowly, forming an image in her mind. “But I think I’d prefer a palate of greens and browns. Maybe only a splash of cream. No yellow.”
“Like a forest.” His smiled widened.
Like your eyes.Helen’s mind whispered.
“And the fabrics for furnishings? What would you choose? You have plenty of funds, keep in mind.”
“Oh, I’m not sure. I think I would have to visit the draper, touch the samples of fabric. I’d know by touch what I wished to sit on, Your Grace. Comfort is paramount.”
