Page 54 of The Insufferable Duke
“Would you pay attention?” Robert’s voice was so irate, Christopher put down the glass and turned to face his brother. The mask had shifted a little, enough to show Robert’s eyes that flashed with anger more fully. “What did you say to her?”
“What do you mean?” Christopher’s gaze darted to the door in the ballroom that led out to the gardens. Helena had run from him with such haste, he’d been left alone on that dance floor, quite cold without her.
“You made her angry, didn’t you? Why else would she run from here as she did?” Robert waved a hand in the direction of the door. “You fought with her again.”
“Robert, Lady Helena and I have been working to make the families accept you. You know that,” Christopher reminded his brother and reached for the brandy, knocking the entire contents back. He’d hoped the liquor would help calm his mind after that intoxicating dance with Helena, but it did no such thing. If anything, his gaze lingered on the door that separated the two of them more intently than it had before.
“And you two have taken pleasure in arguing when you’ve had every opportunity.”
“She wasn’t angry with me. That’s not why she left.” Christopher was certain of it. Surely, she left because of the strangeness of their encounter, that heat, those stares. All of it added up to something, though he couldn’t find the word with which to label it, but it certainly wasn’t anger.
“You just don’t care about any of this, do you?” Robert seethed, stepping toward him. “You were the one hope I had of making peace between the families. Do you seek to throw that all away by making Lady Helena march away from you and actually leave a ballroom?”
“Calm yourself.” Christopher reached for Robert’s shoulder, gripping it. “You misunderstand what just took place.”
“Then what did happen?”
Christopher’s lips parted, but he could find no words to talk about it. It was his own moment with Helena, and he didn’t wish to share it with anyone, not even Robert.
“Enough of this.” Robert shrugged Christopher’s hold off his shoulder. “I pray you have not upset her too much. Lord knows you probably have done.” He huffed and walked away, leaving Christopher reaching for another brandy.
He poured out the golden-brown liquid from a decanter and raised the glass to his lips, but he didn’t take a single sip. His mind was captivated by the way Helena had looked at him as they had danced together. It had been amusing to them both, he was certain of it. For why else would she smile as much as she had done?
Why did she leave?
He put the glass down on the table and flicked his gaze toward that door again.
“No, no, enough of this,” he muttered to himself and turned away, raising the glass once more. He insisted to himself that he didn’t care about what Helena felt or thought. She was a Carter; he was a Moore. It was expected for there to be some discord between them, some dislike.
I do not dislike her, do I? This feeling is certainly not that!
It amounted more to a longing these days, a wish to be beside her, to talk to her, to dance with her.
“So, you danced twice with her?” Percival’s voice had Christopher choking on the brandy. “Care for another brandy? You are in danger of spitting that one out across this table.”
Christopher wiped his lips hurriedly with a napkin that he snatched off the table and turned to look at his cousin. Percival was staring across the floor with his arms folded.
“You are lucky that I am just about the only person here who knows it was the two of you,” he whispered in a low tone. “You should have heard the way people talked of the couple dressed in gold. When you danced with her a second time, there were whispered suspicions of a courtship.” He smiled broadly. “Is there to be a courtship?”
“She is Lady Helena Carter!” Christopher reminded him in a hissing whisper.
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“It should be as good as an answer.”
“It’s not, and you know it.” Percival shook his head then suddenly smiled. “I’ve always thought of my mother as something of a romantic, you know. You cannot have escaped it, especially when she talks of your brother and his betrothed.”
“Yes, what of it?” Christopher asked impatiently. So often as of late he had seen his aunt reading romance books and talking about the wedding. She was, perhaps, the Moore most eager for the match though Percival did not object either. She showed vigor in the arrangements.
“I’m beginning to think that perhaps I’m more like my mother than I first thought.” Percival turned that smile to Christopher. “I like a good love story.”
“Don’t you dare.” Christopher raised a hand between them, the palm out flat, intent on keeping his cousin far from him. “Do not use that word in relation to Hel – Lady Helena and myself.” Yet the slip had been made, and Percival’s eyebrows raised so high, they were visible over the top of his navy mask.
“Then I won’t say anything at all.” He continued to smile. “Sad to think a lady such as she is now wandering the gardens, running from a ball. I wonder what you said to her, cousin.”
Christopher felt a tightness around his throat. The last words he’d said to her were a question. She had looked at him with such a mysterious expression that he was baffled. He’d simply asked her what that look meant, for it had made him burn.
Surely that was no reason to run from here… was it?
