Slowly, she rose to her feet. Aware that she was breaking every single rule of propriety, she slowly wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He melted into her warm embrace. She felt the heat of his body.
Slowly, his hands trailed up her body, from the small of her back and up to her face. He gently moved a stray lock of hair behind her ear, licking his lips.
“You are so beautiful, Miss Davenport. How is it that a chap like me was lucky enough to encounter such an ethereal vision?”
Her eyes closed. The air smelled of florals, wax from the candles, and sandalwood. They moved into one another. Her lips parted.
Suddenly, a shrill voice screeched, “Mama, we must be the first ones to find him!” Labored breathing and heavy footsteps brought a woman in an ivory white gown out to the garden.
Helen and Mr. Marcellus hastily jumped back from one another. He put a finger to his lips and signaled for her to crouch down in the shadows behind the potted rosebush. She splayed a hand on her chest, her heart beating a mile a minute.
The lady stomped her feet. “Where is he? We’ve looked everywhere!”
Helen made out the curvy silhouette of a shorter woman wearing a red feather. “Sweetling, come inside before you catch a chill. The man will not be out of doors, where he could be easily compromised. He’s been smart enough to stay away from society until now.”
“You’re right, Mama.” The woman in the ivory gown crossed her arms, but lingered in the doorway. “I just can’t comprehend why it has only just become common knowledge that the man parading around as Mr. Marcellus is in fact the Duke of Willowbard!”
A gloved hand covered Helen’s mouth as she gasped.
Mr. Marcellus was a duke—one of the most richest and most powerful men in the country. He had been lying to her the entire time. She could not trust him.
Her body stiffened, and she clenched her fists.
The eyes of the lady in the ivory dress swept the garden one last time. “Mark my words, I will be a duchess if it’s the last thing I do! Nobody is going to stand in my way.”
The mother and daughter headed back towards the ballroom, their voices becoming quieter until Helen could only hear the sound of running water and heavy breathing. She was once again alone with Mr. Marcellus.
As he removed his hand from her mouth and slowly came to a standing position, he sputtered, “Miss Davenport. I can explain—”
“No. You’ve done quite enough for the evening, sir!” Helen backed away. “Mr. Marcellus, or whatever your real name is, consider our courting at an end. I will not consent to marry a man who seeks to lie to me.”
“Miss Davenport, I haveneverlied to you.”
Helen turned her back to him. “I ask you, then, good sir, what is yourrealname?”
He winced. “I am Robert Anthony Lily, the sixth Duke of Willowbard.”
“How could I have been so blind?” She shook her head. “Just as I allowed myself to begin to develop some type of feelings for you.”
“Miss Davenport. Helen?.?.?.”
Salty tears began to roll down her cheeks and into her mouth.
A second chorus of female voices approached the garden doorway.
They both froze.
“Have you heard about that country upstart Miss Davenport? The room cannot stop speaking about it! She’s penniless. Mr. Chapman confirmed she has a dowry of only one thousand pounds.”
“And she fancies herself able to catch a duke!” The women cackled.
“I heard that she is not even gently bred. Her mother was a lowly maid whom her father took a fancy to.”
“It’s no wonder she’s been on the shelf for four Seasons!”
Helen could not stand to listen to them any longer. She wanted to yell and scream, but knew little good would come of it. Leaving the stunned duke and vile gossip behind, she fled the garden.
“Was that Miss Davenport? I think she heard you!”