eye, and he gave her the slightest we will win this nod.
She answered back with a heartbreaking tiny headshake. No.
Declan looked back, not blinking. What’s happened?
She shook her head again, blinking back tears. She mouthed one word.
No.
Helena could not control what the girls did or said, and it was killing her.
It wasn’t their fault. They were trying, she could see them trying. Any normal man would have slipped away from the party for an easy assignation with any of them by now.
Miss Lansing was witty and droll and rather naughty. She whispered dirty jokes and made sarcastic fun of other guests.
Lady Genevieve was purer; she went straight for his vanity and his lust. She rubbed him like a shedding cat against a sofa, employing hands, shoulders, hips, and once she’d even inclined her head and leaned it against his shoulder.
Not to be outdone, Miss Marten, shy at first, but clearly in possession of the most to lose (or rather, the least to return to), did it all. She laughed with the trill of a bird, she touched his knee, she fetched him drinks and fed him cake.
Working together and separately, the girls were like a lesson in flirtation; they were so overt almost every guest noticed. What else was there to do at a party as boring and pointless as this one? Three beautiful women beguiling a duke was the only spectacle on offer, especially as the duke seemed wholly unaffected. He was, in fact, so inattentive Helena was forced to stop watching. The prospect of obvious failure frightened her too much. These three girls had been their key to freedom, her greatest hope. And now—
She shoved from her seat to make a circuit of the room. A table of gifts stood near the door, and she snatched up a toy bridge and carried it to Girdleston’s doll village. By sheer force of will, she glanced only once at Declan.
When she passed him, Declan said, “You’ll have to engage with the four of them. They’ve made a scene, and the future duchess must acknowledge it. If people see you laughing with the girls, it will give them less reason to talk.”
“Really?” she asked. She balanced the bridge on top of the cottage.
“It will give them something different to talk about.”
Declan was right, it couldn’t hurt. She left the miniature village and settled among the three women and sleepy duke and endeavored to engage them like old friends.
That is—the women chatted, while the duke said to no one in particular, “I’m only required to remain here for two hours. Does anyone know the time?”
On cue, the three potential duchesses twinkled with laughter—such good sports, all of them—but Helena’s chest collapsed. They’d failed. The duke meant to go. There was no girl here who would cause him to throw her over and stand up to Girdleston. These women hadn’t even broken the surface. Forget beguiling him, the Duke of Lusk seemed annoyed.
The more he ignored them, the more Helena wanted to take each girl by the shoulders and tell them, Save yourselves. No dukedom is worth this. Obviously he’s dead inside!
But then she looked around, and she saw steely determination on the face of each woman.
So be it, she thought.
She glanced at Declan. Her husband. The sight of his strong, handsome face—her face, her strength—should have filled her with such joy and hope. Instead, she felt as if her heart was being torn apart, piece by piece.
Why had fate set him in her path only to keep him forever out of arm’s reach? What had she done to deserve the machinations of Girdleston, and St. James’s Palace, Miss Knightly Snow, and her own parents? Must limestone and money and power fuel everything?
Tears began to tighten her throat and she excused herself, quitting the room. Before she slipped out the door, she caught Declan’s eye. He winked, but the playful gesture felt like an arrow to her throat.
She wanted to weep. She wanted to fling herself at the duke and shake him until he awakened enough to see these women, to really see them, and to acknowledge their ambitions perfectly aligned with every trapping of his life. If he could attach himself to one of them, if he endeavored to form some bond, they could build a life together. They could attend limitless parties and spend the year traveling in sequence to each of his lavish homes.
Five minutes later, Declan sought her out in the corridor.
“Helena, don’t,” he said, coming upon her two