A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,60

leaned his head through the open door.

“Maid’s come,” he said.

Helena nodded, looking up, and she was struck with an idea. Unorthodox. Bold and provocative. But what part of her scheme was not all of these things?

She said, “I need a favor, Shaw. Will you come in?”

To Miss Keep, she said, “My groom is very obliging.”

Declan asked, “In the office?” He looked confused.

“Come. Sit.” Helena rose. “Right here.” She stood behind her chair and patted it with three taps.

Cautiously, Declan entered the small room. The very breadth of his muscled body put the spindly table and fragile tea service in jeopardy. The chair creaked when he sat.

Miss Keep took up a piece of parchment and pen and resettled into her chair. She stared at Helena as if she would explain some complicated magic trick.

“Shaw?” Helena asked, coming up behind him in the chair. “Will you help me demonstrate flirting to Miss Keep?” She settled both hands on his shoulders.

Declan reeled around. “Ah, no,” he said. His expression said, You wouldn’t.

Helena ignored him. “I’m no expert,” she continued, dropping her face to beside his, dangling her wrists over his shoulders, “but based on what I have seen, you must touch unnecessarily at every opportunity.”

Slowly, wiggling her fingers over his chest, she began to tug at her gloves.

Miss Keep madly scribbled notes.

“Did you say that my maid, Meg, has arrived?” Helena asked sweetly, speaking close to his face.

“Ah . . . ?” said Declan.

Helena dropped her limp gloves onto his thighs. He stared down at them as if something had died in his lap.

She leaned farther, encircling his neck with her hands. “Is she concerned?”

“Who?” Declan’s voice cracked.

“Meg.”

“No,” he said flatly. “She’s confused. But not as confused as I am.”

Helena laughed, pressing her forehead to his, a quick nuzzle, and then slid away. She circled the chair to sit down in his lap.

Declan jumped as if something had bitten him.

She ignored this and shimmied deeper into his lap. She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her palm on his chest. Did Lusk’s women drape themselves across him? Helena couldn’t say. But if she had the freedom to be playful and affectionate with Declan, she would sit in his lap. She’d wanted to be in Declan’s arms since they’d left the market. Helena’s longing was real and urgent and ever present. Miss Keep would have to pretend all of these.

She told the other woman, “You hold eye contact for prolonged periods of time.”

Helena gazed up at Declan. He stared back as if she’d burst into flames.

Miss Keep scribbled more.

“And you laugh at everything he says,” Helena added.

“My lady . . . ?” Declan rasped. His voice was a warning.

Helena frowned. “Obviously, it would be difficult to laugh at something like my lady, but can you see what I mean?”

She slumped a little in his arms, happy, in spite of herself, to be so near to him. “You ruffle his hair. You say things that are funny and spirited. You suggest that the two of you embark on outings or adventures that are provocative or unorthodox. Like . . . ice skating at night. Or swimming in winter.”

Now Helena was simply guessing.

She glanced at Miss Keep, and the other woman stared back with a look of applied absorption, forcing herself to understand. Beneath it all was a pale, tight panic. It was as if she’d just learned that her hospital was on the other side of a deep canyon, and all she had to do was flap her wings and fly to it.

“And this is how you landed the duke?” Miss Keep asked. “In the beginning?”

Now Helena laughed. “Good God, no. My parents arranged the betrothal. Lusk and I cannot abide each other. I could not fake a flirtation with him if my life depended on it. Nor would I want to. And honestly, Miss Keep? I’m not certain you could either. I . . . I’m not certain you are the correct girl for this proposition.”

Helena climbed from Declan’s lap and dusted her hands together. Declan shoved from the chair.

“If I was a duchess,” Miss Keep ventured, “I would be so much closer to realizing the work of my life.” The words sounded forced. Her face was pinched with reluctance. She studied her notes, looking at the words like the recipe for poison.

“Wanting to be a duchess will not be the same as becoming the Duchess of Lusk,” said Helena. “You’re a smart woman, clearly, and your aspirations are not merely noble,