A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,38
her whole, and she kept up, tilting her head and digging her fingers into his hair. His body was as hard as granite. He’d never wanted anything more than he wanted to pull Helena Lark to the floor and finish this. It was a dangerous want, more dangerous than their plan and her future and his freedom.
He pulled his mouth away and gasped for breath. “The end,” he panted, and she made a little sobbing noise.
“Helena,” he breathed, kissing her once more, hard and final. “My lady. The end.”
He stepped away. It felt like rolling from a warm, soft riverbank into a cold, hard current. It felt like more than he could take.
She stared at him through blinking eyes. “Then go,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
Helena arrived in New Bond Street with a full contingent of sisters, her mother, and a matronly cousin of Lusk’s called Maude. Declan Shaw clung on the outboard runner of the second carriage, one of four grooms.
A day had passed since the armory and they’d not spoken again. Declan Shaw had kissed her like a man sentenced to death and then gone.
He was good, she told herself, very good. As cold as the Thames in February. He’d gone so far as to affect a mix-up, pretending he couldn’t distinguish her from her sisters.
Helena had played along, making a show of exasperation, ignoring him with equal opaqueness. It was part strategy, part self-preservation. There was nothing small about her flourishing desire for Declan Shaw. She wanted him almost as much as she did not want the Duke of Lusk. As desires went, it was reckless and disruptive and dangerous to both Declan and herself. He’d been correct to remove himself from the kiss in the armory; it was right to pretend he could not distinguish her from her sister Joan.
And now she would do her part, and win Lady Genevieve Vance to Helena’s side.
But first, they must locate her.
New Bond Street clattered with carriages and the snorts and whinnies of horses. Shopgirls swept stoops and wiped broad windows on the parallel rows of smart shops. Shoppers in colorful silks and fluttering hats moved with a sort of choreographed formality. They seemed to browse for the benefit of each other as much as commerce.
When they were out of the carriage, Helena embarked upon immediate separation from her mother and Lusk’s cousin.
“Would you see Madame first, Mama?” she asked, looking to the modiste’s door. “I should like to take a turn up ’round the shops before the midday crush.”
“Lovely, darling,” her mother had said, eager for her own time with Madame. “I’ll take the first fitting. But mind your sisters, will you? Their squabbling has awakened that terrible throbbing behind my left temple. It was an error in judgment to bring only one governess.”
Helena had planned for this, but she feigned irritation as she gathered her sisters and dispatched the youngest girl’s governess to retrieve forgotten parasols from the carriage. Her sisters were fourteen, seventeen, and eighteen; well old enough to relish time to themselves in New Bond Street.
“Theresa, Joan, Camille,” Helena called when their mother had gone, “how would you fancy a refreshment before your appointment with Madame? A little lemon ice, perhaps, to sustain you through hours of pinning and prodding?”
Her sisters’ bickering and preening fell silent and three heads swiveled in her direction.
“What refreshment?” challenged Joan, her oldest sister.
“Why, there is a café just there,” said Helena, pointing. “You see? On the corner? Fromley’s Emporium, it’s called. The duke has told me Fromley’s is known for the loveliest lemon ices in all of London. The grandest ladies and gentlemen pop in for tea as a respite from shopping.”
“Since when do you converse with the duke?” asked Theresa.
“He is my betrothed,” defended Helena, “of course we converse.”
Three sets of green eyes stared at her with open suspicion.
Helena ignored them. “Perhaps you’re not hearing me. I’ve got two shillings for each of you. Indulge in whatever the café has on offer. Settle in at a window table and examine the fashionable ladies and gentlemen.”
“What do you care for fashionable ladies and gentlemen?” asked Joan.
“I won’t be there. I’ve my own errand in the street. You’re old enough to enjoy the café without me. When Theresa’s governess returns from the carriage, she will accompany you. And I’ll send a groom to watch over you.”
Helena glanced around. Shaw had gone to settle the carriages. Only Nettle hovered on the periphery of their group.
“You hate shopping,” said Camille, the shrewdest of her