Page 34 of The Haunted Duke

His eyes darted and narrowed toward Helena as he added, “You will be better off without me.”

Helena flinched at the sudden coldness in his tone, and quickly averted her eyes. Those words, she felt, were intended for her and her alone, despite Patricia and Mary-Anne’s presence.

“Perhaps now that you have no one to gossip with, you can finally pay attention to the music,” Patricia condescended as Evander left the room.

“Of course,” Helena replied meekly.

Yet try as she might, Helena’s focus would not bend to the music. Instead, it once more wandered to Evander and stayed there.

Was he so upset by something I said?

Helena nibbled at the tip of her thumb anxiously as she walked the dark corridors of the house. Her mind was a mess, and her body seemed to be going through its own storm. She felt heated. Sensitive. A longing had settled into her bones that she did not dare let rest. Yet even as she paced through quiet darkness in hopes of dispersing such a feeling, it was proving to be a failed effort. The Duke, despite Patricia’s insistence, had not attended the daily luncheon or dinner after he had left the ballroom. The dowager had made her annoyance over his absence known, giving Helena a much-needed respite from the planning. Yet instead of feeling relief for the break, she found herself worried.

Not just for what she might have said that could have offended him. No, she wished that was all she had to worry about. What was more troubling was the way her body kept craving the Duke’s touch, even in the smallest ways. How many times had her leg brushed against Jeremy’s while they sat beside each other, and she felt nothing? Yet when Evander’s knee brushed against hers, she nearly melted.

And worst of all was how she had leaned into the rubbing of his thigh, even though what she was doing was scandalous. Scandalous because she was marrying Jeremy. He was her betrothed, not the Duke of Redgrave!

Yet Jeremy’s touch had never felt so addicting as Evander’s brief contact with her. Not even once. Jeremy needed to return, and soon. She had to speak with him about it all. Not as a betrothed, but as a friend—a friend who had lived a very rakish life by his own confession, and she wanted to know if he had ever felt such things before.

Helena paused, blushing at her own thoughts. How could she ask her betrothed such a thing? Jeremy had said that he would never touch her as a man touches a wife. He had even encouraged her to take a lover in their marriage—but surely, he did not mean for her to take one before it even started. Even if he did, was that what Helena wanted? A lover instead of a husband?

Helena groaned softly and rubbed her face, wanting nothing more than to be able to take all the convoluted thoughts in her head and straighten them out. What she was feeling was wrong. Even if Jeremy would approve, Helena’s own conscience could not.

Perhaps if I called off the wedding…

“My lord, please. Someone is coming! Let me go.”

Helena’s head shot up when she heard her mother’s voice; her loud thoughts suddenly fell silent. She scanned the dim corridor she had been walking through and quickly saw the cracked-open door.

“Our arrangement does not allow you to tell me to stop,” Lord Ingram’s voice came next, seething with mocking condescension through the crack in the door. “Did you think you would come all the way here and I would not follow? I will do with you what I want, when I want. Now, take off your nightgown.”

Helena’s stomach tightened so quickly she felt vomit rise in her throat; the acidic taste made her frown just as much as Lord Ingram’s vile words. She tiptoed to the door and looked in. Her nausea grew worse as she saw Lord Ingram with her mother near her bed. Lord Ingram had her backed up against the foot of the bed, and her mother’s one hand was clenched around the lapels of her own silk robe while the other was trying to push Lord Ingram’s hand off the knot she had tied in the robe’s belt.

“Our arrangement is ending the moment my daughter marries Mr. Winterbourne,” Mary-Anne whispered, her tone growing more panicked as she kept pushing his hands away. “I do not want to do this anymore!”

“You and your daughter are both mine until the wedding contract is signed,” Lord Ingram retorted, catching Mary-Anne’s wrist. “Even then, what makes you think our arrangement will ever be over? You have been my whore for years now. All it takes is one word to the right gossipmonger, and your reputation will be forever ruined. Just because someone else can pay your bills now does not mean your debt to me ceases to exist.”

Helena watched for another horrified moment as Lord Ingram captured both her mother’s wrists in one hand and once more reached for her knotted robe with the other.

“Please do not do this,” Mary-Anne sobbed, shaking her head.

Lord Ingram shook his own head as he tsked his tongue and pulled Mary-Anne’s robe belt free of its knot.

“You always say you do not like it at first, but you always come around toward the end,” he replied.

“Stop this at once!” Helena demanded, shoving the door open.

Mary-Anne looked up through her tears, startled for a second, then her face crumpled as she began to sob.

Lord Ingram sneered as he pushed away Mary-Anne’s wrists and her waist, sending her into a sitting position on the bed, which made her gasp.

“I will be paid what I am owed, little girl. There is nothing you can say or do to stop that.” Lord Ingram’s tone was a vile mixture of arousal and rage as he stalked toward Helena.

Helena scrambled back, but he quickly took a step forward, reaching out and gripping her upper arms.

“The question is… Is your mother going to pay her debt? Or are you?” Lord Ingram asked, pushing his face closer to Helena’s as his grip on her arms became painfully tight.

“Do not touch me,” Helena seethed, struggling against his grip.