A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,28

it over now, you may let go of this madcap plan before you’ve wasted any more effort.”

“Wasted effort? You don’t think I can manage it.”

“Helena, please,” he gritted out. “We are not allies or collaborators, but if we make an effort to be civil, we need not be enemies.”

“Civil?” she said. “Was that our rapport in the stable last night? Civility?”

“You would not,” he said.

“Would not what?”

He dropped her arm. He took two steps back. “What am I thinking? Of course you would!”

“Would what?” she demanded, confused. “You think I’ll tell Girdleston about the stable? Are you mad? That was a personal moment, between the two of us.”

“I barely know you,” he gritted out.

“Well, that is your poor choice, because I’m a lovely girl. Really. And I’ve been nothing but honest with you. Which was your idea, by the way.”

“Too honest,” he growled. He took her elbow again. “But now you must get in the carriage. Your mother’s vehicle is ready.”

“Give me the list.”

“Forget the list.”

“Oh, Shaw,” she breathed, the words coming out in a dramatic, melodious rush. He swung around, surprised by her sudden change in tone.

She looked him in the eye and shook her head in two slow, determined shakes.

She tugged her arm free of his grasp.

“What is it?” he asked, letting her go.

She took one step back, then another. Then another. She continued to shake her head.

He should have known. In that very strange moment, he should have known. He was a fool not to know.

When next she spoke, her voice had taken on a new quality. “You asked for this,” she said.

“For wh—”

Before he could finish the question, Lady Helena took two more determined steps backward, raised her eyebrows as if to say, What did you expect? and spun around to bolt down the street.

It happened so fast, and with such unexpected fervor, Declan actually froze. He blinked at her retreating form, a streak of purple and black hair and mud.

“Oy!” shouted another groom, spurring Declan from his trancelike state of immobilized disbelief. Reflex took over and Declan lunged, giving chase.

A rain-soaked dog darted into the road and he hurdled over it.

A hunched figure in a dark cloak shuffled between them, and he spun, nearly going down, but he righted himself with a hand to the mud.

She was quick but he reached her in five yards. When he was upon her, he did not hesitate; he wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked, pulling her off her feet, legs still churning, soaked skirt fanning out in a whirl of muddy rainwater.

“Oof,” she said, her back colliding with his chest. He braced, prepared to restrict arms and legs, biting and scratching, but she did none of these. She clung to him instead, sagging arms and legs akimbo. She was wet seaweed in his arms.

He grunted, “What the bloody hell—”

“Put me down, put me down!” she cried, although her voice was still strange, and she did not sound distressed so much as loud. She sounded as if her voice was purposefully pitched to resound in the street.

In an entirely different voice, her real voice, she whispered, “Give me the list.”

The contrast in her two demands was startling. Put me down came out in a shrill wail. Give me the list was a stone-cold threat.

“You’re mad,” he whispered back, the only thing he fully understood in this moment.

He made a move to lower her and set her to rights, but she held on. She hooked her left hand over his shoulder and snaked her right hand down his chest. It would be impossible to put her down in her tightly held position. He didn’t restrain her so much as balanced the two of them off the ground.

While he staggered along, Helena began to feel around his ribs and chest for pockets. Declan grunted and missed another step.

“You’re joking,” he rasped, trying again to set her down. She climbed higher and hung on with the opposite hand. Now she searched the other side of his body with torturous attention to detail.

“Where is it?” she demanded lowly.

“Shaw?” Girdleston’s voice called through the rain.

Declan swore. He could just make it to the third carriage. He dropped against the side, reaching for leverage to peel her away. He’d just managed to catch her beneath the arms when her searching hand found his pocket and dipped in, locating the damp parchment. He could feel her smile against his throat when she closed her hand around it. She retracted the list, shoved it down