Page 6 of Married to the Ruthless Duke

“You truly don’t believe that about him, do you?” Margaret asked, taking a sip of her tea.

Helen smiled at how elegantly her sister moved and sat a little straighter, trying to emulate her.

Margaret, with her chestnut-brown hair, green eyes, and slim frame, which she had inherited from their mother, looked like a woodland creature and moved as elegantly. As a child, Helen had been endlessly jealous that she had not inherited their mother’s looks.

Helen had inherited her short and curvy frame from her father’s side of the family, as well as his dark hair and blue eyes. Those were her favorite features.

“I do not, but all of Society seems to think that of the Duke of Blackhill,” she told her sister.

“It isn’t nice to judge someone you barely know.” Margaret sniffed. “For all we know, he could just be shy.”

They shared a laugh at that, but their laughter subsided when a knock sounded at the door. Mr. Biggins walked in looking downright startled.

“A caller is here to see you, My Lord,” he announced, visibly buzzing with excitement but still looking spooked.

Helen wondered what could have spooked him so.

“A caller? I’m not expecting anyone.” Their father frowned. “Girls?”

“We didn’t invite anyone.”

“Who is it, then?” her father asked. “I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind for…”

“The Duke of Blackhill is here to see you, My Lord.”

Helen’s eyes widened, as did her sister’s and father’s.

Speak of the devil, and he really would appear.

What was the Ruthless Duke doing in their house?

She shot her sister a questioning look, which her sister returned. When Helen looked at her father, there was an interesting change in his demeanor. He shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably.

“Send him in,” he instructed, rising from his seat.

They rose too as the man himself was led in, looking every bit regal in an elegant coat that framed his body nicely and accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist. There was not one strand of dark hair out of place, and his dark green eyes glittered like emeralds as he gave them a polite smile. He looked every inch the perfect gentleman and nothing like the man he was rumored to be.

Helen had known he was handsome when she had randomly seen him in ballrooms, but having him here in her home and so close… her cheeks flushed as she became well aware of his masculinity. When his eyes met hers, she looked away quickly.

Her friends had been right, after all. His jawline was impeccable. She stole a quick glance at him and found his eyes on her sister this time, and a weird feeling crawled into the pit of her stomach.

“Honeyfield,” he greeted her father with a tilt of his head. “It has been an age since I last saw you.”

“Your Grace,” the Viscount returned with a short bow. “Indeed, it has. Last I saw you, you were still refusing to wear your knickers.”

They shared a laugh.

“And lest I forget the lovely flowers in your home.” The Duke smiled. “You two are indeed as beautiful as I was informed.”

Helen and Margaret curtsied politely.

For some weird reason, Helen reddened even further. When she turned to look at her sister, Margaret also had red cheeks.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Margaret answered.

Helen, remembering her manners, thanked him as well when her father shot her a glare.

“You are welcome to our home, Your Grace,” her father said, leading him over to one of the sofas. “What brings you by?”

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