A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,53

yellow,” said Mr. Godfrey.

“Leather gloves?” Helena wiggled her fingers.

“Too small.” Mr. Godfrey crinkled up his nose.

“Crimson cloak?”

“Too wet.”

“Ladies’ boots?” She pointed to her toe.

“Too modern.”

“Belt with attached sheaths for blades?” Declan hated to part with his belt, but he was desperate. He reached beneath his tunic, revealing the broad leather belt strung with concealed daggers.

“I’d prefer something that is not an article of clothing.”

“But not money?” Declan ground out. “We have little more than the clothes on our backs and these few trifling suggestions.”

“Oh, surely not?” enthused Mr. Godfrey.

Helena laughed again but then covered her mouth with her hand. Declan spun away. “Have I mentioned that we are in an extreme hurry?”

Helena began patting herself down. When her fingers reached the pocket of her cloak, she pulled out a leather pouch.

“But would you consider this little sachet of apple seeds?” she asked.

“What an interesting thought . . .” mused Mr. Godfrey, his eyes brightening. He held out his hands like a child anticipating a treat.

Helena laid the pouch on the counter. “These are seeds from my orchard in Somerset. The apples are a new variety cultivated by my grandmother. The fruit is a beautiful red, it ripens late in the season, and the taste is a perfect mix of tart and sweet.”

“And the seeds are poisonous!” exclaimed Mr. Godfrey gleefully.

“What?” Declan turned back.

“Oh yes, there is that,” Helena said, working open the pouch. “When ground into a fine dust, apple seeds can be used as a mild cyanide. Not a deadly dose, but certainly the dust would make a person ill.” She tapped a few seeds onto the counter. “Or,” she said brightly, “you may plant them and grow a lovely apple tree?”

“A mild cyanide,” cooed Mr. Godfrey, poking the seeds with his wand.

“Why do you have these?” Declan asked her lowly.

Helena shrugged again. “I tossed them into my trunk when I came to London—a talisman of my grandmother, I suppose. And then I brought them to Lusk’s farm in case I needed to impress the horticulturist.”

“But can you part with them?”

“Actually, I feel as if Gran gave them to me for this very purpose,” Helena said.

“Excellent,” boomed Mr. Godfrey. “A lovely addition to my inventory. And many thanks to you. Do enjoy the coat.” He scooped up the seeds and closed a chubby fist over the pouch.

Declan’s hand came down like an ax. “Not so fast.” He held the man in place.

To Helena he said, “You’re certain?”

The smile she gave him, gratefulness and kinship and something more, something misty and personal, a look just for him, caused his throat to go tight.

She nodded.

Declan released Godfrey and gave him a curt nod. “Thank you. If anyone asks, you never saw us.” To Helena he said, “Let’s go.”

Helena was calling a polite farewell to Godfrey while Declan peeked out of the entrance.

Damn! He clamped the tent shut and spun. “Lusk is outside,” he said.

“No.”

“Yes,” Declan said.

To the shopkeeper, he called, “Is there another way out?”

“You’d be amazed,” sang Mr. Godfrey, “at the number of customers who ask this very question. It happens so often I’ve constructed a side entrance for this purpose.” The large man pulled the rear curtain and gestured to a flap that led to the alley behind his stall.

“Thank you,” said Declan, taking Helena by the hand. “Any idea who your neighbors are? To the back?”

“But of course,” said Mr. Godfrey. “It’s dear Mr. Jones-Tussle. We set up near each other when we can. Old friends, don’t you know.”

“Please tell me,” grumbled Declan, slipping into the alley, “that Mr. Jones-Tussle sells Japanese screens or giant hats.”

“No,” said Godfrey, “textiles.”

“Close enough,” said Declan, and he pulled Helena into the opposite tent.

Chapter Thirteen

They were laughing when they spilled into the textile booth. Declan held her behind him, looking around. The tent was empty. And styled like a harem room. Heavy woven tapestries hung from the walls; the floor was piled with pillows. The dirt was padded by carpets. Colorful yarn weavings hung from the spokes of the tent.

Helena grabbed his shoulders from behind. “Where did you see Lusk?” she asked breathlessly, her lips close to his ear.

“Across from Godfrey’s stall. He was two yards away.” He turned his face to hers, his heart thudding.

She nudged closer to his ear. “It’s a little exciting,” she whispered, “to evade him.” She brushed his cheek with her nose. His hat fell.

“Helena,” he rasped. A very weak warning.

She released his shoulders and pulled off her gloves. She pressed into his back, sliding her hands