Declan stared at her, still not moving, and the woman laughed and threw herself into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“No,” Declan said, his brain churning to comprehend. Knightly Snow was standing before him—rather, she was hurling herself at him.
“No. No. No. No,” he repeated, his voice more hushed. His reflexes kicked in and he caught her, just as she crashed against him.
“Oh, Deck!” she whined, clasping to him like a crab. “I’ve waited so long for you to discover me.”
“Stop. Talking,” he growled, looking right and left.
By some miracle, no one had seen. He stalked from the door, unable to peel her from his body without considerable effort. When he passed Helena, he reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her along.
“Oh, your friend!” sang Knightly Snow, still clinging to him. “She’s so pretty.”
She was here.
Knightly Snow was here.
In London.
She was not dead.
She’d not been abducted.
Hope swirled inside him with cyclone force.
He disappeared down the warren of corridors and stopped in the alcove with the toga statue.
“Miss Knightly Snow,” he recited formally, detaching her from his body, “meet Helena La—”
He stopped, considered the ramifications, and thought, To hell with it.
He continued, “Meet Helena Shaw. My wife.”
He turned to Helena. She gaped at him. Her eyes were larger than he’d ever seen. “Helena, meet the girl whose disappearance sent me to prison. Miss Knightly Snow.”
“H-how do you do?” stammered Helena.
“Your wife?” accused Knightly. “Declan! You told me you would never marry!”
“No,” he sighed. “You told me that I must not ever marry.”
“Silly Declan,” said Knightly, swatting his arm. “Why would I say something like that? I adore weddings!”
“I cannot begin to imagine,” Declan mumbled. If memory served, she’d been trying to enlist him as her own paramour. But there was no need to recall that now. Or ever. He’d not touched Knightly Snow, not once, despite her repeated attempts at seduction.
“Miss Snow,” he sighed, trying again, “let us start over. Where the bloody hell have you been? I’ve been looking for you for the good part of a year. Your parents accused me of abducting you, and I went to prison.”
“Stop!” cooed Knightly. “They told me you’d be investigated but not charged. That you’d be exonerated in the end.”
“Who told you?” asked Declan. “Are you saying you knew I was being accused of abducting you?”
Knightly Snow sighed as if she was being asked to recite a familiar poem for the entertainment of grandparents. “Those savages at the palace gave me a bit of money . . .” she winked at Helena and made a pinching gesture with her thumb and pointer finger, “. . . if I promised to make myself scarce when we got to France. They were so insistent their precious Crown Prince should recover from his heartbreak. Poor man, he loved me so very much.”
“They paid you to evade me?” Declan hissed. He spun away. “They knew all along. I should have known. What a fool I have been!”
Knightly Snow laughed as if it was the most hilarious prank. She told Helena, “They felt the prince would cling to the vain hope of my return if I wasn’t . . . in a manner . . . dead.”
Declan spun back. “Let us forget for the moment that an innocent man was accused and sent to Newgate, Knightly. But you’ve let the world believe you’d been kidnapped and . . . and done in. Even your parents!”
“Shhh,” said Knightly, holding a finger to her pouty lips. “I’m not meant to talk about it. But of course I had to tell you. I felt honor-bound to relieve any great guilt you might harbor. For killing me.”
“I did not kill you! Obviously.”
“That’s why I’ve been following you,” she continued. “Also, the South of France in winter is such a bore.”
“Why did you take so long to reveal yourself?” Declan demanded. “Why stalk us for weeks?”
“Oh, that. Well, the palace put a date on when I could ‘reemerge’ in London if I wanted the balance of my lovely money. But I wanted to come home. And I thought to myself, I know, I shall fashion a disguise. Something mysterious and ominous. Like a little witch. A beautiful little witch.” She smiled and drew up her hood, and then let it fall. She giggled. “Clever, don’t you think?”
Declan stared at her. Did he feel relief or rage? The two emotions roiled inside of him like the fires of hell. Helena must have seen it on his face, because she clasped his hand.
“Knightly,” he began, trying to remain calm, “you cannot fathom the agony you have put me through. You are— You are—”
Helena stepped up. “Let us not insult Miss Snow,” she said carefully. “It’s clear she meant . . . no real, er . . . harm.” She forced out these words like she was swallowing bad milk.
She cleared her throat. “We’ll need her to travel to her family and show herself. We’ll need everyone to know that she is alive and completely unharmed by you.” She looked at Knightly. “Am I correct in assuming that you’ll attest to being unharmed by Declan?”
Knightly Snow let out a breathy sigh. “Of course.”
Helena added, “And that Shaw and you are very . . . friendly.” She shot Declan a raised-eyebrow glance.
“Oh, we are the very best of friends,” confirmed Knightly, throwing herself against him again. Declan stood like a post and allowed her to hang.
“Lovely,” said Helena, dropping his hand. “Are you such good friends that you would be willing to tempt the . . . disappointment of the palace by dropping the disguise and showing yourself? Now? For the sake of Declan’s exoneration?”
“Of course!” she said, hopping back. “The disguise was diverting for a time, but I’ve grown rather bored of it actually. And I bought so many lovely gowns on the Continent . . .”
In what Declan remembered as one of her signature gestures, Knightly Snow flung off her black cloak to reveal a tricolored dress, with yellow skirt, bright-blue bodice, and red sleeves.
The bodice was cut so low on her ample breasts Declan squeezed his eyes shut. Beside him, Helena was laughing. He opened one eye. Yes, it was true. His wife was so amused she’d put a hand over her mouth to hold in the laughter.
The hem of Knightly’s skirt was short enough to reveal trim ankles. He’d never seen so many vivid colors on such a small garment in his life.
“Do you like it?” Knightly cooed.
“Knightly?” he clipped. “Helena is correct. You owe me the, er, ‘favor’ of exoneration. We will go to your parents and show them that you’re alive—nay, that you are veritably bursting with life.”
“I’ve already been to Cornwall,” said Knightly. “Where do you think I’m staying in London? In our townhome. You are exonerated, Declan—and you’re welcome. I dare the palace to try and threaten me. I was exiled, plain and simple. And no amount of money is worth cooling my heels in a deserted French ocean village in winter.” She made a face.
Declan stared at her, trying to believe what she said. He looked to Helena. She was smiling a faint, cautious smile.
“Were you surprised?” Knightly now asked, jumping up and down. “Even a little? You were such a gentleman, so handsome and strong, on that dreadful journey to France. I couldn’t put it out of my mind, the thought of returning to England, surprising you, and . . .” she said as she extended two fingers and walked them up his arm like a spider, “. . . learning if you might like to—”
Declan grabbed her hand and detached it from his sleeve.
Helena said, “That is quite out of the question.”
“Well, there’s no need to be rude about it,” pouted Knightly. “I can see that you are married. Even if you have no ring.” She whispered to Helena, “Something I’d look into, if I were you, love.” She brightened suddenly. “But perhaps the three of us c
ould have a bit of fun together—”
Declan said, “Oh God,” and ran his hand through his hair. He spun away.
Helena began, “And I think perhaps we’ve said all we need to say for this moment. How can we help you?”
And now Helena floundered. Declan opened his mouth, just about to suggest they escort her to the door, when the Duke of Lusk rounded the corner.
Declan turned to stone.
Helena made a small gasping sound.
The duke came to an unsteady stop before them and stared.
Knightly Snow said, “Oh, hello there!”
“Hello,” said the Duke of Lusk.
It was the most cordial thing Declan had ever heard the man say.
Seconds ticked by. The four of them were as still as the toga statue.
Finally, slowly, ever so slowly, Helena turned her head. She stared at Lusk.
Declan followed suit.
The duke ignored both of them. He was gazing with a startled sort of amazement at the colorful, bulging, preening Miss Knightly Snow.
Helena found her voice. “Your Grace,” she said carefully, “may I introduce you to a new friend? This is Miss Knightly Snow, most recently returned from the South of France. By way of Cumberland.”
“Cornwall,” corrected Knightly. “What a pleasure to meet you . . .” She let the introduction trail off because no one had had the presence of mind to introduce the duke.
Helena leapt to finish. “Forgive me. Miss Snow, please meet His Grace, Bradley Girdleston, the Duke of Lusk.”
“Oh, a duke!” enthused Knightly, and she dropped into a curtsy that somehow revealed more of her bosom and ankle at the same time. Watching Knightly Snow affect even the most common posture was like hearing a trained soprano sing “Drink Another Round Before Sunrise.”
“How do you do?” said the duke—the second most cordial thing Declan had ever heard the man say. “Are you enjoying the party?”
Declan looked at Helena, and she stared back with their future in her eyes. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
“I don’t really like the birthday parties of old men,” proclaimed Knightly Snow. “If I’m being honest. But I do like dukes.” She gave him a smile that said very plainly, What do you like?
“Well . . .” began the duke, and now Declan witnessed another first. The man was nervous.
Helena saw it too. “Miss Snow,” she began, “would you mind very much if I said two words to the duke before we continue this conversation? Perhaps you could say your farewell to Shaw. I’ll steal the duke away only for a moment?”
Knightly narrowed her eyes, preparing to challenge this. Declan knew she hated to be obstructed when she’d homed in on a new prospect. He slipped his hand around her arm and yanked her down the corridor. “Novel idea, my lady. Miss Snow and I will say our farewells.”
“Declan,” Knightly complained, but he shepherded her away. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Helena rounding on Lusk, whispering as if her life depended on it.
Declan did the same. “Listen, Knightly. I need you to throw your considerable . . . ‘enthusiasm’ toward this duke and . . . and make him fall head over heels for you.”
“What?” she said, pulling free of his grasp.
“You owe me, Knightly. You owe me so much more than simply coming back to England. I was in jail. I have had to marry my wife under the cover of darkness, with strangers, and keep it a secret—”
“What does any of that have to do with me?”
He took a deep, frustrated breath. “More than you’ll ever have the patience to comprehend. Look, this man is so incredibly wealthy, and so incredibly indulged, and so incredibly cynical, that no woman—no woman—fazes him. But he perked up when he saw you. Did you see it?”
“Well, naturally . . .”
“As a favor to me, because you owe me, I’m imploring you to captivate him. Bring all of Knightly Snow’s considerable charms to bear. If you can get him to marry you, even better.”
“Marry me?”
“You have to marry sometime, Knight. Even I’ve done it, and you were correct. I swore I’d never marry anyone.”
“How rich would you say he is?”
“You see this mansion? It’s one of three he has in London alone. There’s one in Somerset. He’s a duke, Knightly; he’ll have homes all over the country. And carriages. Your every whim would be indulged. Best of all, the two of you have the same interests. You could be Duchess of All the Things You Love to Do.”
“I cannot commit to marrying him, Declan, even as a favor to you.”
“Fine. Just get him to break away from his family and release Helena from their clutches. They want him to marry her.”
Knightly wrinkled up her nose. “Oh, they would never suit. She’s far too . . . thin. And she’s married to you.”
Declan held out his hands, a gesture of surrender. “I’ve done what I could to pry her away from the combined ambitions of the two families. Now you can do what you can for me. If ever you cared for me. If you are up to the challenge. When you meet his family, you will see. I guarantee it will be a greater challenge than ever you have faced. Greater even than the palace. He’s got an uncle just begging to go toe-to-toe with you.”
“Really?” Now she sounded intrigued.
“The uncle will deplore you—but he’s not the duke. There’s the lucky bastard who’s ‘Your Grace.’ ” Declan pointed at Lusk. “And he is in dire need of someone to liberate him in a very particular, very Knightly Snow sort of way.”
Knightly stared down the corridor at the duke, his hands in his pockets, his head down, as Helena spoke quickly and urgently.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” said Knightly, tugging on her bodice. “For you. And because I think he’s handsome. In a dazed, malnourished sort of way. It makes me want to fatten him up.”
“I’m sure that you will expand him in every known way,” said Declan, and Knightly, who was far smarter than she let on, snorted.
She took a deep cleansing breath. She patted her hair and gazed down the corridor.
“Your Grace?” she called.
Lusk looked up, his eyes drinking her in.
Knightly strode to him. “You look like you could use something I like to call ‘true love’s kiss.’ ”
“I beg your pardon?” said the Duke of Lusk, freezing in place.
Helena hopped out of the way just in time, and Knightly collided with the Duke of Lusk. She fell against him with enough force to push the two of them three steps back. She went straight for his mouth, kissing him full on, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kicking her heels behind her. The duke widened his stance, staggered, and then kissed her so hard they fell in the other direction, colliding with the wall. A painting of a dead pheasant bounced with their impact.
Helena rushed to Declan’s side. “Oh my God,” she said.
They watched in shock as the two strangers embraced.
When at last the duke pulled back, placing his hands on either side of her head, he repeated his original line. “Hello,” he said to her.
“Hello,” she said back, taking his cheek in her hand.
And then the flat-eyed, indifferent duke raised his head to the ceiling and howled.
Declan took Helena’s hand and briskly pulled her away . . . down the corridor . . . around a third corner . . . out of sight.
“He’s awakened,” Helena marveled, allowing Declan to pull her along.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Declan led Helena down the corridor, up a set of stairs, and through a door that led to the alley beside the house.
“What now?” he asked, collapsing against the bricks. “Knightly Snow is smarter than she looks but she is hardly reliable. Anything could happen. What is our next play?”
Helena nodded. “For now, we wait and watch. But only I should go back in. Perhaps you should vanish for a time? Not entirely, but go to the stables. If anyone asks, say you’re ill. The two of us disappeared from the party for too
long to now reemerge together. Camille believes we’re off alone too frequently.”
“Yes,” he agreed, tugging her to him. “Meet me tonight after the house is asleep.”
She nodded against his chest, listening to the drum of his heart. “The stable. Like before.”
“Only well after midnight,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.”
She reached up on her toes and kissed him again. “We almost have it.”
“We cannot say this yet. There is more hope than before, but no guarantee.”
“Everything I’ve known since I met you has been more hopeful than it was before.”
“If the situation with Lusk resolves itself—”
“When,” she corrected.
“When Lusk is resolved, and you wake up married to a mercenary, you may not think this.”
“I will,” she said, and she kissed him again and disappeared down the steps.
Almost ten hours later, Helena picked her way across the garden, through the rear gate, and slunk to the half-open door of the stable. Moving carefully, she peeked her head into the dark, musty barn.
“Thank God,” came Declan’s voice.
She couldn’t see him, but she slipped between the open doors and pulled them shut behind her. When she turned, he was there. She leapt at him.
“Sweetheart,” he said, tucking her against him. He kissed her hair, her ear, her neck, her mouth. The kisses came fast and hard, like he meant to get them all in before she disappeared. Helena kissed him back, trying to keep up.
“We’re alone?”
“Only the horses.” He led her through the same rear door. He’d lit the carriage room with a lantern and put wood in a stove. It burned low and hot near two chairs.
“What happened?” he asked, walking to the fire.
Helena saw the workbench where they’d first kissed. It stood empty, cast in low light. She bypassed the chairs and went to it. “Well, the party ended,” she said. She propped her hip on the workbench. “As usual, no one cared that I’d been gone for half an hour.”
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