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George closed his eyes. He wanted to reach out, catch the stray curl between his fingers, and bury his face in the crook of her neck, not minding the sleeping Oliver. But he remained utterly motionless while the coach swayed and bumped, neither of them daring to speak.

Oliver shifted softly in Helena's lap, clutching George's gold watch against his small chest, completely unaware of the silent storm raging above his head.

A sudden rap echoed against the wooden roof as the driver called down through the speaking aperture. "Hyde Park Gates, Your Grace! We shall reach the main drive near the Serpentine in two minutes' time!"

The announcement acted like a bucket of ice water thrown over a blazing hearth. Helena started slightly, a deep blush creeping up her neck and flooding her cheeks with color. Abruptly and almost frantically, she pulled her hand away from his thigh, drawing her arm back.

Before she could retreat entirely, George acted on instinct. Reaching across the small expanse separating them, his fingers gently caught her wrist, trapping her delicate hand in his grasp.

Helena gasped softly, turning her head back toward him in surprise, her emerald eyes searching his face with startled wonder.

George held her hand, refusing to let her go just yet. His icy blue eyes locked onto hers with transparency that held nothing back. A look so fierce, so brimming with unspoken longing and desperation that it made Helena gulp her saliva. With his eyes, George wished that the carriage would never stop, that the driver would lose his way in the fog, and that they might remain trapped together in this dark, silent carriage for another slow hour.

Slowly, George stroked his thumb over the back of her gloved knuckles, feeling the delicate framework of her bones, before reluctantly loosening his grip and allowing her hand to slide gently from his fingers.

"We are here," Helena murmured, turning her face toward the window to stare out at the misty lawns, her voice small and carefully controlled.

Unfortunately, George thought bitterly, his chest heaving. Helena's The lingering warmth still burned through his clothes, and he felt… empty. "So it appears," he said, struggling for a fraction of his accustomed composure. His eyes remained fixed upon her face.

Chapter Twenty

"Mind his head, Sarah; the wind has picked up near the water," Helena said softly, carefully extending her hands through the open carriage door to pass Oliver to the nursemaid who had dismounted from the driver's bench. "Keep him well wrapped inside the closed landau until we return from the promenade."

Sarah curtsied quickly. "I shall see to it immediately, Your Grace. The young master will not feel so much as a stray draft."

Helena placed her gloved hand upon the footman's outstretched arm and stepped down onto the damp gravel path of Hyde Park, her dark green pelisse fluttering gently against her skirts in the autumn breeze.

A sea of polished carriages lined the gravel paths, their occupants turned toward the Cavendish crest with curiosity. Ladies in rich velvet pelisses paused with their lorgnettes raised to their eyes, meticulously inspecting the trim of Helena's gown, the tilt of her bonnet, and the dignity of her posture. Gentlemen standing near the iron railings straightened their shoulders, their appreciative glances lingering upon her gentle features, while several unmarried ladies cast eager looks toward the carriage door in hopes of catching the Duke's eye.

They are dissecting my appearance as though searching for the secret mechanism that secured a ducal vow, Helena thought to herself. Or they are waiting for my downfall so that they may secure a duke as husband. She took a measured breath, her eyes sweeping calmly over the assembled crowd without showing the slightest trace of discomfort.

Before she could take a step toward the walking path, George descended from the coach, immediately drawing the focus of every aristocrat within sight. With their eyes on him, he deliberately positioned himself firmly at Helena's elbow, his presence acting as a formidable shield.

Across the path, she noticed Lord Rotherham and a small party of influential gentlemen detaching themselves from a cluster of open carriages and marching toward them, clearly focused on cornering the Duke. "Perhaps you should remain behind to greet Lord Rotherham and the gentlemen, Your Grace."

George did not shift his footing by so much as an inch, shaking his head slightly. "I do not see reason to vacate your presence. And if I do leave, the rest of the ton will devour you, my dear."

Helena tilted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his sharp profile. "You speak as though I am incapable of defending myself."

"You are capable," George replied without a second of hesitation.

"Then why must you stand beside me?" Helena asked softly, her tone light and searching as she held his gaze, seeking to draw out the deeper truth behind his unyielding stance.

"Because capability does not mean you ought to stand alone," George said softly, his fingers tightening briefly. "Being fully capable of enduring a wound does not mean I am required to sit by and allow them to inflict it upon you."

And to think I thought he doubted my strength. Helena realized the truth, a gentle warmth blossoming deep within her chest. She offered him a small, genuine smile that softened the quiet tension resting between them. "Your concern is most chivalrous, Your Grace, though I assure you I have faced the scrutiny of the ton before without perishing."

"You have faced them as an unmarried lady seeking her place," George countered smoothly as they began a slow stroll, his gait perfectly matched to her own. "You face them now as the Duchess of Cavendish. The stakes are entirely different, as are the weapons they choose to employ against you. Every compliment offered today will carry a double meaning, and every inquiry regarding our household will be a hunting expedition for scandal."

"Then we shall ensure their hunt yields nothing but polite disappointment," Helena replied with graceful confidence. "If they wish to find cracks in our foundation, they will find only an impenetrable wall. Is that not the primary purpose of our public appearance today?"

"It is," George agreed, though his eyes lingered upon her face for a moment longer. "Yet I find I am far less concerned with their opinion of our marriage than I am with their insolence in treating our private life as a public spectacle."

"Do not loosen your grip upon my arm, Helena," George said, his voice a mere whisper.

Helena might have survived them once, but did not deserve the vipers of Mayfair. A gentle, patient spirit and an extraordinary grace should not be smeared by the dirt the gossips of the ton loved to fling.

Helena glanced up at him as they stepped beneath the rain-dampened branches of a row of elm trees. "You do not need to command me so fiercely, Your Grace."