Page 23 of The Haunted Duke

So he kept them there, and he did not move.

She would never want this from him, and he knew it. One good look at what lay beneath the cravat and the gloves, and she would scream in disgust. He had no illusions left on that score.

Did our letters mean anything to her? Does she even remember them?

He had loved her before he ever became a beast. And he wondered whether she had spared a single thought for the man who wrote to her, or whether she had folded him away and forgotten him the moment a better prospect walked through her door.

Scowling, Helena picked up the key and raced toward the door. Before he could register what she was doing, she locked it and slipped the key into her sleeve, giving him a triumphant look as she planted her hands on her hips.

Evander gaped, torn between shock and rage that she had ruined his plan so fast.

“Have you lost your mind? Give that back!” he ordered, raising a pointed finger at her.

“Dry off and I will,” she replied haughtily, shrugging a delicate shoulder.

When he glowered at her, Helena only glowered right back, raising a cheeky, challenging brow as if she were daring him to do something. Evander ground his teeth, his jaw ticking in irritation as he did his best to make her fold under his gaze.

“Glaring at me so hard is only going to give you a headache,” she stated coolly, taking a step toward him.

“This is all very improper. Jeremy would not—” he began to say.

“Jeremy would never forgive me if I allowed one of his oldest friends to catch his death in an act of unnecessary chivalry,” she cut him off.

The haughty expression on her face slowly shifted into one of almost remorse as she bowed her head.

“Furthermore, I would not…”

Evander’s rage cooled as a look of guilt came over her downcast face, and he could not help but reach out and slip his gloved fingers under her chin, coaxing her silently to look back up at him.

“You would not what?” he asked softly, caressing the buttery smooth skin of her chin with his thumb. Even that small touch felt so incredible that he could not hold himself back from caressing her a second time as she stood there, silently, with blushing cheeks and wide, beautiful eyes.

“Would not what?” he repeated.

Helena’s tongue darted out between her plump lips, and he nearly groaned, wanting so desperately to lean in and capture it with a kiss.

“I know we do not seem to prefer one another’s company,” she whispered. “Even so, I would not want to be responsible for your pain or discomfort. You have been through enough.”

Evander’s hand slipped away from her chin, and he took a step back. She knew. Of course, she knew; everyone whispered about it behind his back.

“I do not need your pity,” he stated, walking away from her and toward the fireplace. He stood close enough that the heat scorched his skin, and let it, as if the burn were a penance he owed for wanting her the way he did. “As you can see, I am quite fine.”

“It is not pity,” she countered, capturing his gloved hand. He turned to look at her and nearly fell to his knees as he met her pleading eyes.

“What is it then?” he rasped.

Helena blushed as she stroked the back of his black leather glove with her fingertips. Even through the fabric, her gentle touch shot sparks of pleasure into his flesh.

“It is compassion,” she answered quietly, gently tugging the leather glove away from his hand. “Empathy. I only wish to help you.”

Evander let out a humorless laugh as he began to loosen his suddenly too-tight cravat with his free hand. His mind, clouded by Helena’s soft touch and gentle voice, made him forget what his cravat and high collar were concealing.

“Such words sound kind enough, but from my experience, they are only different forms of pity,” he remarked, tossing the cravat away from him.

“Then you simply have not been patient enough to feel the difference,” Helena murmured, tracing her fingertips over the veins on the back of his bare hand.

He could not help but let his lashes flutter shut as he felt her touch. She was so soft, so tender in her touch. It made that beast inside him cease its roaring, and in seconds it was lying down, purring like a cat getting its belly scratched.

“Such strange veins,” she murmured, tracing them lightly. “Why do I not have them?”