She shut the door and stuck out her tongue at it the way she wished she could do to her cousin’s face. But she couldn’t. She stomped to the settee that would apparently be her bed and flopped down on it. At least it was comfortable and it was angled so she could see out the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked another fine view of Baldwin’s gardens.
Her mind turned as she lay there looking at that wonderful sea of green. In a way, Charity was right. Helena had no right to connect with a duke who had made it clear he could not pursue her, even if they both felt the connection between them.
But that didn’t mean the connection melted away. She’d felt it in Baldwin’s stare, in the way he’d come to her on the stairs. In the way her body had responded to him even when she didn’t want it to do so.
And it also didn’t mean that she didn’t still feel a driving desire to offer him support. Thanks to how jealously he’d guarded his secrets from everyone else in his life, she was likely the only one he could turn to.
So despite her cousin’s warnings and her uncle’s bluster, she knew that at some point during this weeklong gathering, she was going to reach out to Baldwin. As a friend and a confidante.
And there was nothing they could do to stop her.
All Baldwin had to do was stay away from Helena. He’d been reminding himself of that fact since their awkward exchange on the landing, when he’d very nearly caught her in his arms and kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. That moment of sharp desire had been a reminder that he couldn’t control himself.
So avoidance was the key.
Except now, as he stood in his ballroom, surrounded by spinning couples and longtime friends, his vow seemed impossible to keep. Helena was everywhere. When he looked into the crowd, he found her standing with her cousin. Or worse, with his friends, where she laughed and smiled and looked like she fit perfectly.
When he turned to speak to a servant, there she was, collecting drinks for her horrible family, who treated her like she was less than a lady.
When he walked through the crowd, he had to dodge her, stepping out of his way to stay out of hers.
She was everywhere, both physically and in his addled mind, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to lessen the pulsing desire he felt for her. Even as he danced with each and every prospect his mother had brought here for him, the only thing he thought about when they were in his arms was that not a one of them was Helena Monroe.
“I think Charity Shephard is next.”
He jumped, for he had not realized his mother had approached him as he stood, staring off toward Helena and brooding about the lack of fairness in this bloody situation.
“Charity?” he repeated as he glanced at the duchess.
She tilted her head in confusion. “You’ve danced with all the rest. Charity is the last of the prospects.”
His stomach turned. Not only did he not particularly like Charity Shephard after watching how she treated Helena, but the idea of pursuing her was the worst thing he had ever pondered. What would he do, marry Charity and have Helena come into his home as her companion? Spend his life in the arms of one woman while the one he really wanted traipsed through his halls being…her?
Fifty thousand pounds would create more problems than it solved at that point.
But there was no saying that to his mother, so he bobbed his head. “Of course. It looks like she’s just finishing a turn with the Earl of Grifford at present. Once they have finished, I will see if her dance card is open for the next.”
She reached out to catch his arm as he began to walk away, and he turned his attention back to her. “You are pale,” she said softly. “Is everything well? Did you like any of the young ladies?”
He almost laughed, but he bit it back and tried to put a serene expression on his face. “Certainly they are all lovely ladies.”
Her expression pinched, like she didn’t like that vague praise, but she released him so he could go to the last on his hated list.
The song ended, and Charity and her partner left the floor together. He watched as the earl bowed over her hand. To his surprise, she actually tittered as she said farewell to him. But at last she was left standing alone. He was grateful to have caught her between dances. Her father was even worse than she was, a blustering fool who thought his money gave him class when it certainly did not. Baldwin had no desire to talk to him.
She smiled as he approached, and there was a moment when he could admit she was lovely. She had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her gown was perfection, not too revealing but still alluring.
Yes, she would make a pretty piece on any man’s arm. And with her fortune to boot, a hundred mercenaries would soon be knocking at her door.
Baldwin hated that he had to be one of them.
“Good evening, Miss Shephard,” he said with a stiff bow as he reached her side.
“Your Grace,” she said with a coy smile. There was nothing real about it—it was all put on for a show. Unlike Helena, who was only real. “I wondered when you would seek me out.”
He blinked at the playful forwardness of her words. “Did you?”
“I saw that you have danced with all the eligible young ladies in the room.”
He frowned. Well, he could add observant to this young woman’s list of qualities, such as they were. Something he’d have to be aware of.
“I have saved the best for last, it seems,” he said, and hated how untrue the words sounded. But Charity liked them, for she blushed. “Is the next song open on your dance card?”
She nodded, and took his arm to allow him to lead her to their places. He stared at her as they waited and others took the floor. He could think of nothing to say to this woman. Nothing he wanted to know.
It was beastly of him, of course, not to give a damn. But how could he dare when he knew what would happen if Charity became the focused object of his pursuit?
The music swelled and he let out a soft breath. A damned waltz. Of course it was. She stepped up into his embrace and they began to turn around the floor in what felt far too close proximity.
“Your home is lovely,” she said, pulling him from his thoughts and reminding him once again how rude he was being.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I can’t imagine you prefer it to London, though,” she continued.
He shrugged. “They both have their advantages.”
She laughed. “Do they? London is so exciting. There is always some adventure to be had there, some new shop to find or thing to see.”
“I suppose,” he said. Honestly, he had not thought of London in that way in a very long time. It was a place where creditors could show up on one’s doors without warning and make a scene that would someday bring everything down around him.
“My father has always been obsessed with this country,” she continued. “He liked your side better in the revolution, though he never talks about it much at home, for obvious reasons.”
“Yes, I assume that would have him counted as a traitor,” Baldwin drawled.
She didn’t seem to take offense. “Oh, yes, he must keep his sentiments to himself. Whisper them to others who think as he does while he plays patriot in public so that he can continue to draw in funds.”