Page 92 of Caught by the Forbidden Duke
“He came to my door,” she said. “The night after. I heard him stop in the corridor.” She paused. “He was there, and then he was gone.”
Helena looked at her.
“He didn’t knock,” Annabelle said.
“Did you open it?”
Annabelle said nothing.
“You are as bad as each other,” Helena said, with the tone of a woman who had been holding this observation at some distance and had finally set it down.
“I know that,” Annabelle said. And she did. She knew perfectly well that she had sat on the other side of that door and not moved, and the knowledge only sharpened the anger that had been sitting behind her sternum since Tuesday. “But I am the one who went to his study and said what I said. I have been the one, every time, who has walked the distance. At some point he has to walk some of it himself.”
“Yes,” Helena said. “He does.” She stood up. “Right. We are going out.”
Annabelle looked up. “Where?”
“There is a morning market near Craven Street. Mrs. Alderson told Mama about the ribbon stalls last week.” She was already at the bell pull, already in motion. “We are going to walk about and look at things and you are going to think about nothing useful for one hour. I am going to buy something entirely frivolous to justify the excursion.” She glanced back. “Your gloves are already on. We only need your bonnet.”
They came down Helena’s front steps at half past eleven, Helena still tying her bonnet ribbons, Annabelle half a step behind with her umbrella not yet raised against the thin morning drizzle.
Dominic was on the pavement.
He was twenty feet along the street, on his way somewhere else—his coat buttoned, his hat on, his gaze traveling the far end of the road when the door opened above him. He turned at the sound of it. He saw them both.
Two seconds passed. Perhaps three.
“Miss Thrupton.” He inclined his head.
“Your Grace.” Helena’s voice was entirely pleasant. “Good morning.”
He looked at Annabelle. “Your Grace.”
“Your Grace,” Annabelle said.
The distance between them was twenty feet of wet cobblestone, and neither of them crossed it. He had not looked away from her. She could not tell, at this range, what his eyes were doing with the looking.
“You are well?” she asked, because something had to go into the gap.
“Well. And you?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“Indeed.”
The maid on the far side of the square had stopped sweeping. Helena, beside Annabelle, drew a breath through her nose.
Then Helena’s hand closed around Annabelle’s wrist.
She had already turned them toward her carriage—already walking, already pulling—when she stopped. She looked back over her shoulder.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was entirely without warmth. “If you continue to break my friend’s heart, this will be the last time you see me taking her away from here. Next time, I will not be so courteous.”
“Helena!” Annabelle gasped, but her friend was having none of it.
“Hush,” Helena said, and kept walking.
