Fletcher.
“Well, Fletcher. You realize it isn’t just a resemblance you have to the duke. It isn’t that you look like him only when the light hits you in a certain way. Or from a distance. But alike in every way. Don’t you find that odd?”
Fletcher shrugged. “Not really. Lots of blokes look alike.”
“No.” Helen shook her head. “You and Roxboro areidentical. And I don’t believe in doppelgangers.”
“Dopple…what?”
“It’s not important. But you and Roxboro must be…related, though he has no brothers or male cousins that the duchess is aware of.”
Fletcher paled so dramatically, Helen was in fear he might faint. Looking over the gardens, he said under his breath, “There’s no Hannah.” He came gracefully to his feet. “Damn her. That’s her secret. I have to go. Else the duke will have me imprisoned.”
“No, he won’t. Not when you look exactly like him. Tell me how to find you. Please, Fletcher.”
Fletcher made an ugly laugh. “That isn’t going to happen. You can tell His Grace I won’t be in London, or possibly alive much longer to be much of a bother to him. Oh, and be sure to tell the duke that everyone in society thinks him a total disgrace. You should hear the things they say.”
“I believe the duke is already aware. Fletcher listen to me, Cerise’s maid will be accused and possibly imprisoned for stealing the pendant. Can you—”
“Do what? Confess to Galway? Are you mad, Helen? First you want me to go meet the man whose name I’ve been usin’ and now I’m to admit to a crime? You hate me so much you want to see me swing?” he snapped. “Have your friend the duke make things right with that wrinkled prune.”
“Prune?”
“Galway. Always looks as if he needs to relieve himself.”
“Fletcher.” She might never see him again which had pain sinking like claws into Helen’s chest, threatening to tear her open. “Don’t disappear. Please. I won’t tell Roxboro.”
“And I’m to trust you now?” He whistled. “No thank you.” His tall form disappeared into the shadows at the edge of Galway’s garden, gone before Helen could stop him.
Helen held back tears, clutching at the grass. “Fletcher.”
He would never come to her again; Helen could feel it in her soul. Unbearable sadness filled her and she sat for the longest time, hoping Fletcher might return or that the sun would warm the sudden cold in her limbs. Finally, Helen admitted defeat.
Adjusting her clothing and brushing away stray bits of grass, she stood just as Parker appeared on the path leading to the fountain, stiff-lipped and unfriendly.
“Miss Cosgrove. Lord Galway wishes to speak to you in his study.”
Chapter Nineteen
Ideserve tohave Lark slit my throat.
Of all the incredibly stupid things he’d done in his life, and there were many, spending the last few days following Helen Cosgrove about—what a lovely name—and then breaking into Galway’s garden by picking the gate lock was at the top of the list.
He’d gone to convince Helen to come away with him. Confess every bloody sin. Fletcher wanted to tell her about the manor house requiring extensive renovation. Paint for her a picture of the life they could have together once he got them out of London. Then he’d lost his bloody mind, driven insane by the taste of her and put his mouth on Helen’s quim.
Fletcher was already half in love with Helen Cosgrove before he got to Galway’s garden, now well there wasn’t any question.
Hyde Park had been a risk. The timing of his visit to the modiste’s shop, more coincidence than anything else. But entering a lord’s garden and then pleasuring her behind a fountain had been the act of a complete imbecile.
I’m one of Mrs. Bean’s secrets.
Was he in that fucking book?
Fletcher hadn’t been to the boarding house in Cheapside for some time, explaining to Ripps off hand that he’d had a falling out with his ladybird. Then, when the craving for Helen became too great, he made an excuse about “goin’ to snag a purse” sohe could buy his non-existent ladybird a red petticoat, which allowed him to follow Helen about. Fletcher did lift a couple purses, dutifully gave Lark his due and went to buy a red petticoat in the better part of London, hoping to allay suspicion.
He was still being watched.
Fletcher had done all of that, risked his life and that of Mrs. Bean, for a woman who meant to betray him. The thought felt like a punch to his stomach. The part where he’d fallen in love was bad enough.
