person on foot or horseback?”
“Mounted,” said Camille, breathless.
“Astride or sidesaddle?” Declan’s thighs dug into his horse. The animal began to dance.
“Astride,” said Camille, “like a man. But it was a slight person. I never saw a face.”
Declan glanced at Helena. For the first time ever, her expression conveyed the beginning stages of fear.
“Nettle,” Declan called, spinning around, “will you take the ladies safely home? Use very special care. Do not let them out of your sight. Keep to the main roads. I must pursue this.”
Nettle assured him, and Declan spoke to Helena. “Go with Nettle, my lady. Stay close to your sister. Be watchful and do not deter from the shortest route home.”
“But, Shaw?” she called, worry in her voice.
“Go,” Declan said, digging his heels into his horse and bolting for the tree line.
Chapter Twenty-One
Seven Duchesses (Potential)
Happy ✓
Sneezy
Doc
Sleepy ✓
Bashful
Dopey
Grumpy ✓
Declan came to her in the middle of the night.
She was in a deep sleep. Something about the very real, very near smell of him elevated her achingly sensual dream to a vividness that made her body hum. He was in her dream, but now she could taste him, she could feel him.
He shook her gently. “Helena?” he whispered. He put a palm over her mouth.
Helena’s eyes popped open.
“It’s me,” he whispered, hovering above her. “Shhh. It’s Declan.”
She blinked into the darkness. His face was clear, but his body blended with the shadows. He’d dressed again entirely in black. Not the black from the masquerade, but a black overcoat, dark shirt, and buckskins. Without the yellow livery, he looked like a thrilling stranger—an achingly familiar, very thrilling stranger.
“Can I move my hand?” he asked lowly. “You won’t scream?”
Helena nodded and he slid his hand away.
She gasped, “What are you doing here?”
“Does your maid sleep in the anteroom?”
“No. Belowstairs.”
“Good. Will you get up? Can you dress yourself?”
“Of course. But how did you get in?”
“The window. Which is the way we’re both going to get out.” He nodded to the fluttering drapes at her window box.
“Did you locate the cloaked figure? Do you have—”
Declan shook his head. “I searched the park for an hour, but there was no trace. I was afraid to spare any more time. I’ve . . . I’ve had a change of heart, Helena. That is, a change of plans. I used the time to make arrangements.”
Helena’s rapidly beating heart seized. She stared at his face in the dark. “What change?” she asked cautiously.
“About our future. That is, your future with me. I agree that we should get married. If you will have me. I’ve located a priest who will do it.”
For a long moment, Helena did not move. She examined the words, making sure she had heard correctly. She hesitated, waiting for him to reverse what he said.
He stared at her. “Helena?”
She threw back the covers and leapt up. Working quickly, she began to gather her garments. A dress—she would dress darkly like him—stockings, slippers . . .
“But where will we go?” she asked, dropping into a chair to slide on her stockings.
“To his church,” he said, watching her ease the silk up her legs. After a long moment, he spun around, staring at the wall. “But we must go now and be back before sunrise.”
“You’ve located a priest who conducts weddings in the middle of the night?”
“Actually, it’s early morning. Father Thomas—this priest is called Father Thomas—has parish commitments on Sundays. And Monday is Girdleston’s birthday. It’s tonight or—”
“Tonight,” she proclaimed, pushing from the chair.
Years later, she would amuse herself by looking back on her wedding night. How he came to her through the window, told her they would marry, and carried her down the side of Lusk House on the trellis. He’d turned his back modestly while she’d dressed. They spoke so very little, afraid of awakening the house. They’d already said so much, and the ramifications of what they were about to do felt too significant to say out loud.
When they left Lusk House, Declan hailed a hackney cab and they clattered across London squished beside each other on the seat, clutching both hands.
“What made you change your mind?” she finally asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Ever the romantic,” she said. “I do want to know. Tell me.”
He looked down at her. “If I marry you now, in the Catholic church, and if we do not consummate the marriage, then you may annul the union later.”
“I will no—”
“Stop. You asked for a reason, and I’m giving it. I’ll only do this if you have choices. You