Page 32

"Hush now, sweet boy," Helena whispered gently, shifting her posture to cradle him higher against her shoulder, patting his back with tenderness. "We are merely taking the air. There is nothing to fear."

Oliver, however, was not so easily placated. His lower lip trembled, his small face flushing a delicate shade of pink as he let out a sharper, fretful cry, his eyes opening wide as he looked around the unfamiliar, shadowed interior of the carriage with mounting distress.

Helena swayed slightly, bouncing him lightly in her arms while humming a soothing lullaby, but the restricted space made it difficult to offer him the movement he so desired. She looked across at George, half-expecting to see a look of sharp annoyance or cold detachment cross his features.

Instead, she saw George leaning forward, a look of distinct, anxious concentration overcoming his stern face. He looked at Oliver, his broad shoulders tensing as he sought a way to intervene.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, George reached into his waistcoat pocket. He withdrew his heavy, solid-gold pocket watch—a magnificent heirloom timepiece intricately engraved with the ancient crest of the House of Percy. He detached the fob chain from his buttonhole, holding the polished sphere suspended in the dim light filtering through the windows.

George extended his hand across the gap between their seats, holding the watch directly before Oliver's tear-streaked face.

Oliver's sharp cries cut off instantly. He froze, his small mouth hanging slightly open as his wide eyes locked onto the brilliant object dangling mere inches from his nose. His hand shot out from beneath his blanket, fingers clutching blindly at the air as he attempted to grab the shining treasure.

Just as Oliver's tiny fingers brushed against the polished metal, George smoothly pulled the watch back an inch, holding it tantalizingly out of reach.

Oliver let out an eager coo of indignation, his legs kicking with renewed enthusiasm as he stretched both arms forward, straining against Helena's grip to reach the magical object. George gently swung the watch back and forth like a pendulum, the arc reflecting tiny golden specks across the leather interior.

Oliver's eyes tracked the movement in spellbound fascination. His face lit up with a look of wonder, his previous distress vanishing entirely as he let out a bubbly laugh, his tiny fingers opening and closing in rhythm with the swinging timepiece.

George's blue eyes fixed upon the laughing child with a warmth so profound, so entirely unscripted, that it stripped away every trace of the unyielding duke he presented to the world. A faint, genuine smile touched the corners of his lips, transforming his harsh features into something remarkably soft and daringly handsome.

George looked down at Oliver, shaking his head with affection. "You are supposed to be impressed, little boy."

Helena let out a genuine laugh, breaking through the heavy tension that had gripped them both since dawn.

George snapped his head up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto her face, catching her completely off-guard as her laughter lingered in the air between them. "Was that amusing?" George asked, his brows rising slightly, though the faint, warm smile remained anchored upon his lips.

"Very," Helena replied softly, her emerald eyes shining with genuine excitement and a rush of affection.

"I am pleased someone thinks so," George murmured as he slowly lowered the pocket watch into Oliver's waiting hands.

Helena watched them, her heart swelling. This was a side of George that Helena had never seen. A man capable of profound gentleness, a man who possessed a natural warmth for his late brother's son. Right now, he was simply being an uncle, offering comfort with simple, awkward grace.

Helene pressed a fist to her chest, a soft smile warming her face. So he can look this soft and comforting too?

Pacified by the treasure resting in his hands, Oliver's eyelids began to flutter heavily. The earlier fit, the excitement and the rocking carriage quickly exhausted his brief burst of energy. His head rolled heavily against Helena's shoulder, his breathing slowing into sleep once more.

Helena smiled softly down at him, gently adjusting the soft flannel mantle around his back. The carriage lurched slightly as they passed over a deep rut, causing the coach to sway unexpectedly to the left.

Instinctively, Helena shifted her body to cushion Oliver, leaning her weight to counteract the tilt. Her free hand reached out blindly to steady herself against the opposite bench, resting firmly on George's thigh.

The delicate warmth of Helena's palm lit up his skin. Through the fine weave of his tailored wool trousers, her hand felt like a brand, searing straight through fabric, skin, and bone. Every muscle in his body coiled to breaking point, his knuckles turning stark white as his hands tightened around the edge of the cushion to keep himself from seizing her waist and pulling her across the small divide between them.

Does she have any notion of what she is doing to me? he thought, heart hammering in frantic thumps. Does she know the consuming fire that ignites the second she touches me?

The contact was a complete accident, yet, after the scorching passion they had shared the previous night, the simple weight of her palm against his leg felt anything but innocent.

For five agonizing seconds, time seemed to stand entirely still inside the dark maroon carriage. He stared down at her gloved hand resting against his leg, unable to tear his icy blue eyes away from the sight. She must have felt it too, no? She cannot possibly be this close to me, touching me with such brazen warmth, without feeling the ruin she wreaks upon my composure.

"Are you quite steady, Your Grace?" George asked, his voice coming out lower and far rougher than he had intended. He did not dare move his leg an inch away from her. He could not have moved if the coach had overturned into the gutter.

Helena remained frozen, her eyes wide and luminous as she looked up at him. "I… I am quite steady, Your Grace," she murmured, her melodious tone trembling just enough to send a fresh wave of heat crashing through his veins. "The carriage merely caught a rut in the cobblestones as we made the turn."

"A rut, indeed," George replied softly, his gaze drifting down to the rose-tinted curve of her lips. "The drive toward the Park is famously treacherous, Your Grace. One must exercise extraordinary caution, especially while holding the ducal heir."

"I shall be more mindful of my balance henceforth, Your Grace," Helena whispered, though her hand still rested on his thigh. She cannot possibly know what she is doing to me, George thought, the persistent pulsing in his groin a harbinger of danger. He could feel her touch radiating into every single particle of his being, saturating his thoughts until there was nothing left in the universe except the shape of her hand and the rise and fall of her breasts.

The carriage lurched again along the outer avenue, the wheels rolling smoothly onto the gravel paths. The sudden shift in motion caused a strand of her dark hair to slip free from her bonnet, brushing gently across his coat and grazing his shoulder like a feather. The heady smell of her perfume flooded his senses, intoxicating him more than the streets of Paris had ever done..