Page 28 of The Duke of her Dreams

When he turned around and did not see Perceval, he mounted the horse. Theodore used his shoulder to keep her stable on his steed as he pulled the reins.

“We were waiting for my steward, but then, he will meet up with us at the house.”

“You have a steward?” she asked, and Theodore knew that she raised a suspicious brow even without looking at her.

“Of course. Do I look like I am not in dire need of a steward?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. You look like a simple man who is not in need of a steward's expensive services.”

Theodore laughed and kicked to make the horse go faster. “You will be surprised that you know so little about me, Miss.”

ChapterTwelve

Helen was stunned by the sheer opulence of the palatial scenery before her. She was born into wealth, but never had she seen such a show of luxury. Towering spires rose into the air as if to pierce the clouds. The manor was carved from stone and wood, painted white on all sides that loomed dangerously in the distance.

“This is your home? Tell me, who are you?” she asked, looking at the lawn that stretched as far as her eyes could see.

He ignored her other question. “Yes, Miss. Surely, you can rest a little before heading out on your travels. And if you are worried about your pursuer, he cannot catch up to you here.”

Helen grimaced. No one was chasing her, but she was tired of the life back at Aunt Gertrude’s cottage. For days on end, there had been no supper for her. She worked all day, a never-ending cycle of exhaustion, hunger, and scolding.

So she ran. With a few pennies in hand, Helen broke out of her prison and never looked back. Knowing Aunt Gertrude, she probably wanted Helen out of her life, and Helen was making sure that her aunt got her wish. It would not hurt either of them this way.

“If I may ask, why are you headed to Bath? Have you lost your way?”

Helen groaned. She was tired of the questions, but it was only polite for her to answer. At least, he was offering help to a total stranger. His eyes and the tone of his voice felt strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place where she'd seen him before.

Maybe it is the light, she thought.

“As I said before, sir, I have not lost my way, and my reasons for traveling are my own, and definitely none of your business.”

The man laughed, a deep rumble that tugged at the cords of Helen’s heart. It felt eerily familiar, like she had heard it somewhere else before. She tried to wrack her brain for information, to place the voice, but all she could recall was her aunt’s endless stream of scolding and punishment.

“Such an opprobrious manner to speak to someone who is helping you. Perhaps you would like to meander your way through the woods at this ungodly hour?”

“Oh, throttle me,” she replied, placing her hand on her forehead.

The pain in her ankle was taking away her ability to think properly. Also, she felt dirty and in dire need of a bath. She wondered how the stranger could sit behind her when she was still sopping wet and covered in scrapes and mud.

Helen also hated the fact that he was right. She had no idea where she was going, but she got the first part of everything she wanted — to escape from her old, bitter aunt. The second phase was to head to Bath to see her ailing father.

“Throttle you? As much as I would love to, I suppose that you cannot take any more throttling. Your body will give in and collapse on itself. And can you stop being crass? It is making my head hurt.”

“You think of me as fragile, sir? I assure you that underestimating me is a mistake. As for being vulgar, I realize that I should be more polite. My deepest apologies.”

Helen gawked at the mansion; its wide marble steps and whitewashed columns rose high into the air. On both sides, nature surrounded the edifice. She felt the mansion’s sense of belonging, even if it heavily contrasted with the trees around it.

“Just who are you?” she asked once they dismounted the horse.

A stable boy came to take the steed away, patting the mane and feeding it fresh apples.

“Me?” he asked with a grin on his stubble-covered face. “I am but a simple man. Is my house too small for you?”

She stared at him, boiling on the inside. “Are you trying to vex me? Or you are simply being boastful?”

“The term boastful is simply too high, even for me,” he said, climbing up the steps. “I was just about to welcome you to my humble abode.”

“Humble?” Helen repeated, the pain in her ankle making her features morph into a frown. “This is much larger than most of the houses in London. Even larger than the Duke of Suffolk’s.”

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