A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,8
obviously clever woman. Only a fool or an amateur would fail to admit this.
This was a problem because—first, distraction. His regard for her, even as an appreciative observer, would interrupt his ability to contain her. Second, beautiful, clever things incited sympathy, and he could not sympathize with this woman; he worked for her enemy. And third, Declan had made a habit of running in the opposite direction of Problem Women.
Females in Declan Shaw’s life had fallen mostly into one of two categories: convenient and willing . . . and everyone else. Clients were always “everyone else” because he was a professional, and putting his hands on a client was bad for business. Nonclient females—if convenient and willing—were a respite between jobs, so long as they harbored no illusions about pinning him down. Declan had been a natural solider and an even more natural soldier-for-hire. He liked his job. He was good at his job. No woman had ever tempted him to interrupt his success and he preferred it that way.
But he’d never met a woman like Helena Lark, and this realization shook him to the core. He would walk away from this job if he did not require Girdleston’s money so desperately and if he was not afraid the man had the power to send him back to prison.
“Well done, Huntsman,” said Girdleston, suddenly beside him. Declan jerked around, unnerved by the man’s omnipresence. “God knows why she consented to you and not the others; her intentions are a maddening mystery to us all. But now you’ve had a glimpse of the impertinence we’ve faced.”
What Declan had glimpsed was cleverness and contempt, but Girdleston had not hired him for his opinion. He said, “It was ambitious to press five servants on her at once.”
“By the time she becomes duchess, I will have broken her of the notion that she will ever be alone.”
Declan paused. He hadn’t known of a larger plan to “break her”—not of solitude or anything else. He swore and glanced at the disappearing form of Lady Helena. She was last in line again, following her entourage.
He looked away. Something sharp and heavy broke off in his chest and lodged in the pit of his stomach. He forced himself to think of the money, and his sisters, and his father. The decision to go along was no decision at all. He had no choice.
“Now you will stand attendance in the dining room, listening and watching,” said Girdleston. “You must familiarize yourself with her machinations and insubordinations.”
“A groom in the dining room?” Declan asked. “That makes no sense. Let me—”
“I’ll decide what is sensical, Huntsman,” said Girdleston. “You’ve only just been assigned to her. There is much to learn if you’re to be effective.”
Declan wanted to tell him that he’d learned quite enough already, but he gritted his teeth and thought of prison. Slipping into the dining room, he took up space in a dark corner.
Chapter Four
“I beg your pardon,” Helena said, one hour into the family meal. She pushed up from the long dining table, smiling serenely. Up and down the table, conversations fell silent.
“Will you excuse me to see the duke is settled somewhere more comfortable? His Grace is . . .” She looked down at the Duke of Lusk and corrected, “His Grace has finished his meal.”
All eyes settled on the duke, who slouched in his chair like a pile of laundry. His head lulled to one side and his half-lidded gaze was fixed philosophically on the remains of the goose on his plate. He’d propped his right hand loosely on the arm of his chair, and the goblet of wine dangling from his fingers threatened, at any moment, to drop and shatter on the floor.
For a long moment, everyone froze, and Helena took pains to gaze upon the duke with affectionate concern. She placed a gentle hand on his sloped shoulder.
The duke’s uncle was the first to animate, opening his mouth to object, but Helena dropped to kneel at the duke’s side.
“Would Your Grace fancy a little nap before your evening ramble?” she whispered.
The duke snorted, blinked, and helpfully leaned into her cheek. Helena maintained a serene smile while he trailed a wet, breathy nuzzle along her neck. She forced herself to laugh.
“If we may be excused,” she said to the table, “everyone else may enjoy the meal with no rush. I’m told there is to be cake. We are newly reunited, and this meal has lasted an age . . .”