A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,80

to slow, Helena realized that one mirrored surface would always reflect Lusk’s face, seated in the adjacent chair. The other mirrors hung on small hinges that changed their angle with the force of the spin. They reflected a range of random points around the room—the faces of other guests, or the pink-papered wall, or a chair leg, or someone’s elbow. The slower the device spun, the more clearly the reflections could be seen. While it spun, a new reflection came into view every half second, along with one fixed reflection of Lusk’s bored, half-lidded face.

She saw the face of his friend, his expression distorted into a monster’s leer; the carpet; half of a gutted candlestick; the enrapt face of one of the women; the bulging bodice of still another woman. Every reflection was met with hoots of laughter. On and on it went until, at last, the device creaked its final revolution and the mirrors were still. Collectively, the room leaned in, watching the mirrors as if they would reveal the secrets of the world. Helena held her breath.

When the spinning finally stopped, the reflections in each mirror revealed the following: Lusk’s face, an empty goblet, someone’s leg, the carpet, and finally Helena.

The room burst into a wild eruption of approximated boos, laughter, hisses, and the word Oy!

Helena, shocked at the paleness and trepidation seen in her own reflection, stepped to the side.

“Sodding bad luck, Victoria!” someone crowed. “The mirror never lies!”

“Now be a good girl,” the man called Bearington sang, “and kiss your mate! There you are, none of those virginal nerves here. Christ, can someone get her a drink? She looks like she might swoon.”

Two laughing women were suddenly behind her, herding her in the direction of the duke’s chair. Helena dug in, but they swept her along on a wave of tinsel and petticoats. Before she could pull away, the women propelled her into Lusk’s lap. The room erupted again into laughter. Helena recoiled, scrambling to get up, but he latched an arm around her waist and held her to him.

The pinch of his bony fingers flooded her with panic. She went stiff, lurched, and finally opened her mouth to scream. He squeezed harder, forcing the scream into a yelp. She coiled her strength, ready to lurch again, but Lusk leaned his head into her ear and whispered, “Get out of here.”

His tone was flat and irritated and he jolted her with his hands when he spoke.

What?

It was the last thing Helena had expected him to say. But had he really just ordered her to go?

All around them, his friends hollered and toasted. Someone spun the mirror again, and the room was a swirl of dizzying light.

Helena tried to turn her head, to look into his eyes. He evaded, leaning into her ear a second time. “Did you hear? Take your bloody groom and go.”

She was about to jerk away when she heard a gasp and the room fell silent. A goblet dropped and shattered. Helena looked up.

Declan.

He walked to her as if the room was empty. The crowd saw only him. Their faces were lit with fascination. He was unknown, of course—a towering, muscled highwayman. His expression was taut with silent fury. He looked only at her. Helena stared, choking back a sob. She pulled out of Lusk’s grasp, and he let her go.

She wanted to run to Declan—it was her only thought—but a cautionary word rose behind her.

“Discretion,” Lusk whispered.

A reminder and warning.

The three of them were being watched by a roomful of people who wanted nothing more than a riveting story to tell.

Helena slowed her step and raised her chin. She walked to Declan but did not touch him. With her eyes, she said, I am alright. He hesitated. She nodded at the door and put one foot in front of the other. He fell in beside her and they walked from the room.

Once outside, Helena navigated the ball through burning eyes. She would not cry, but she also would not remain. Her time at this ball had come to an end. She felt Declan fall back, following but not flanking. She must pretend to be alone. Inside, she ran; outside, she was simply wafting through the ball. She circumvented the dance floor and ascended the steps, weaving through revelers.

At the top of the stairs, she fixed her eyes on the front door. Footmen stepped up to offer her pelisse, but she ignored them. When a butler fumbled with the door, she reached for

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