A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,77

in the nursery,” she told Helena slowly. “And we share a bevy of maddening friends. He’s a lark.” She drew out the word lark as if it contained five as and rs.

“Of course you have,” said Helena defeatedly. “It is a pleasure to meet one of Lusk’s friends.”

“The pleasure is all mine. But aren’t you gorgeous? Bradley loves pretty girls. But will you excuse me? I’m just stepping away for some . . .” she searched for the correct word, “. . . air.”

“By all means,” Helena said, pointing the general direction of the terrace. Miss Lisbette walked away with the uncertain toddle of a child.

Declan took up position behind Helena. “She was out of her head,” he said. “We could try her again on—”

“No,” Helena cut in. “If he already knows her, and he’s never shown any serious interest, he’ll not make a bold gesture to show a preference for her now.”

“You’re probably right.”

“There is no guarantee he will like any of the girls,” she said, her voice very low and very sad, “but certainly not one he’s already had the opportunity to consider, and done nothing.”

“Don’t let it defeat you,” Declan said, surprising himself. He’d expected defeat with every girl upon whom they embarked.

“Things are running very thin, aren’t they?”

“We still have the two strong contenders. And another girl tomorrow.”

Helena nodded, staring into the bouncing, bounding dancers in lines on the dance floor.

“I’d like to catch sight of those two contenders you mentioned. They’re both meant to be here; they hope to lay some foundation, if they can. Ingratiate themselves with Lusk.” She glanced at him. “I would feel better if I saw some progress on that score. Anything. I’m terrified the two girls will catch sight of him and beg off.”

“They won’t,” Declan said, but he had no idea. He’d had so very little idea about any of this from the start.

“Declan, look,” whispered Helena suddenly, standing tall. “That person in the black cloak. Do you see? To the right, just beyond the man dressed as Big Ben? I swear this person follows us, hovers until we see him or her, and then bolts. Look they’re getting away again!”

Before Declan could see the person at whom she pointed, Helena was off.

Chapter Nineteen

Seven Duchesses (Potential)

Happy ✓

Sneezy

Doc

Sleepy ✓

Bashful

Dopey

There was no small number of hoods and capes in the ballroom; considering this, it was a miracle Helena spotted the cloaked person at all. But black was not a pervading color among the revelers, and the cloak stood out like an inky stain in a wave of blues and oranges, golds and pinks.

Helena darted toward the person, dodging lines of grinning dancers, rounding footmen with buckets of champagne. The sunken design of the ballroom effectively trapped all guests in the lower level; one could only truly escape by mounting the substantial open stairwell.

To Helena’s delight, the cloaked figure strayed very little from what seemed like a straight line for the stairs. She didn’t know what she would say or do when she reached the person, but she was determined to catch them. At the very least, she hoped to expose a face.

She’d just rounded the buffet when Lady Rodericka Newton, the potential duchess she’d met first that night, charged into her path and caught her by the arm.

“Lady Helena!” chirped the towering heiress. “Your betrothed is embarking on the most amusing parlor game, and look at you here near the food! You’ve nearly missed it. You must come at once.”

“What?” Helena strained to see the stairs around the imposing figure of Lady Rodericka.

“Lusk, your fiancé!” enthused Lady Rodericka, her sharp Yorkshire accent rising above the band. “The card room’s been given over to the most diverting game of Mirror-Mirror. You cannot allow him to play it without you.” The girl began to tug her by the arm.

“Oh, well, actually,” began Helena, pulling the opposite direction, “Lusk and I have a habit of going our separate ways at parties. We are loath to pair off and seem exclusive.” She reared, searching for the black cloak. When, finally, the view cleared, she saw the person stumping their way halfway up the stairs.

Helena swore under her breath. She had to be so very careful about giving off the appearance of running in society settings. Her reputation as a bolter had, obviously, preceded her.

She pivoted, trying to locate Declan, and—oh thank God—spotted him immediately. His black-leather hood loomed a foot taller than everyone else. He was already in pursuit, brushing past her with a hidden