Page 28 of The Haunted Duke

Alex quickly ran away without another word.

“And tomorrow I expect you to remember your manners!” she called after him, but all she got in return was the heavy thud of the door he went through.

“I do apologize for him, Your Grace,” she said quickly after Alex’s departure. “He truly does mean no harm. Sometimes his imagination is—”

“It is fine,” Evander interrupted, and reached for his scarf again. “It is my fault. I thought you would be a few more minutes, and I did not expect him to be with you. I will be more careful in the future.”

He lifted his arms to tie the scarf around his scars, and though Helena was not at all sure why, she grew annoyed and snatched it out of his hands.

“Stop that,” she bit out, balling the scarf up in frustration and tossing it to the floor. “You keep saying that everything is fine, Your Grace, but I do not believe you.”

“Is that so?” Evander asked, his left brow, the one his scar ran through, raised curiously. “And you know what I am feeling, do you?”

He reached for the scarf on the floor, and she kicked it away.

“You do not have to cover up all the time,” she snapped. “At least around me. I have no care for your scars, and you looked as if you were choking with that thing around your neck at dinner.”

Evander’s lips lifted toward a smirk, but he did not reach for the scarf again.

“So you know my feelings, and you watch me?”

Helena flushed, suddenly acutely aware that the two of them were now utterly alone. She shifted on her feet as she glanced away; the temperature in the room seemed to climb a little higher with each passing second of their very private moment.

Where are the servants? This is entirely scandalous.

“No,” she said, feeling her flushed cheeks grow brighter as she shook her head. “That is not…”

“In any case, we have much to do, and the ballroom arrangements to decide on,” Evander said, saving her from having to figure out how to finish her sentence. “Let us get this over with.”

The way he turned from her, as though she were one more chore on Patricia’s list, undid the last of Helena’s patience.

“Get it over with,” she repeated, her voice climbing. “Of course. Heaven forbid you suffer my company a moment longer than you must.”

Evander stiffened, but he did not turn around.

“I did not say that.”

“You did not have to.” She planted her fists on her hips, and the question she had been holding back for days finally broke loose. “Why do you hate me so, Your Grace? What on earth have I done to you?”

His back still turned to her, the Duke tilted his head just enough to reveal his profile. He looked hesitant for a moment, then finally faced her again. Her breath caught as she saw true pain in his blue eyes.

“You think I hate you?”

Helena bit her lower lip harder, her rising agitation blending into her increasing curiosity about him.

Why does he look at me like that? Do his old wounds still hurt? Or is it me?

Such a thought was foolish, she decided quickly. She had not hurt him. She did not even know him! It was the room’s fault, she decided. Their unexpected moment of privacy was making them both uncomfortable, and they needed to make haste and depart. First, though, she would speak her truth.

“What else am I to think?” she demanded. “Shall we review the evidence?” she asked, holding out her hand with her thumb up. “The moment you met me, you looked at me as if I were the most odious person on earth. You would not even look me in the eye.”

Her forefinger came up from her fist. “Then you did not speak to me for nearly a full day.” She then released her middle finger. “Then there is the mocking, which has been nearly constant. At the flower shop. At the modiste’s. At the inn.” She released her ring finger. “Ah, yes, the inn! The inn where you ran away as if I were some diseased leper that was sure to bring about your death!” She released her pinky finger then and felt the sudden and tingling urge to slap him with her now open hand. “You literally ran away. In the middle of a horrible rainstorm, you chose to come back here on foot! Instead of sparing a few hours in my presence so that you could get warm and dry! Not to mention how you have been actively avoiding me as if I had the plague these last few days. So yes, Your Grace, yes, I believe you hate me!”

Evander grimaced, then reached up to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Do not take my distance personally, Miss Robinson,” he murmured. “I am like that with everyone.”

“No, you are not,” she quickly insisted. “I have seen you with others, Your Grace, and you treat them all far differently than you treat me. And the worst part is that I do not understand what I have done wrong.”