Page 58 of The Duke of her Dreams

“Take it easy, Aunt Gertrude!” Helen yelled. “You might fall and break your back!”

But her aunt was not backing down when she saw Theodore emerge from the shrubbery and straightening his coat. Just like Helen said, she slipped down the wet grass, all the way past them and down into the lake.

“Help her!” Helen exclaimed to Theodore.

He rushed down to the mouth of the lake, calling for the help of a footman to bring Helen’s meddlesome aunt from the lake.

* * *

Helen lay on the bed, covering herself with the heavy sheets. Even with the warmth in the room that came from the grate, she still felt cold. Never did she feel so alone or rejected.

His words played again in her mind:I cannot, Helen. You are beautiful and witty, but alas, I cannot give out my heart.

What did that even mean?

When she did not find an answer, Helen pounded the pillow, letting all of her anger out. For a while, all she could do was cry at the blatant rejection. For once, she had been happy, giving herself to him wholeheartedly. It was a beautiful relationship, one that was adored by all and sundry, even though their courtship was not even real.

Helen wanted him. She knew in her heart that she had fallen in love with him. But he rejected her. All those times she had seen the desire in his eyes could not have been a ploy too. Helen desperately wanted the truth. She wanted to know what his words meant. Every fiber in her wanted to know if he was acting all along. Even all those times he kissed her.

She recalled her aunt’s warning not to leave her room, but Helen tugged on her satin chemise and started toward the door. Slipping out quietly in her silk slippers, she made her way through the hallways.

Helen was glad that she went on the tour after all, even with Theodore’s sour mood. Now, she knew his room and was carefully making her way toward his door, but she had to stay in the shadows for fear that she might be caught sneaking into a man’s room wearing only her chemise. Helen merely wanted an explanation and not to entrap him in a marriage that he did not want.

Running her hands along the dark wallpaper, Helen shook from the cold. His room was farther than she envisaged, and it would take much more than a chemise to keep her from the frosty night air. She moved even faster now, staying away from the flickering candles and their elaborate brass candelabras on the walls.

She knocked quietly on the white door and waited, hoping that Theodore would come out and see her. Helen knocked several times, trying to keep the sounds as quiet as she could. Soon, she came to the conclusion that Theodore was not in his room.

A part of her urged Helen to return to her room and have a good night’s rest so that she would be rested when they traveled back to London the following day. But Helen knew that some words were better said in private, rather than in the boisterous atmosphere of a carriage. Panting, she headed for the next possible place he could be. Theodore once told her that he felt comfortable around books when sleep eluded him. So, she headed towards the library.

She passed under an archway when she bumped into something hard.

It sent her reeling, and she stumbled for a while before finally using the wall as a crutch. The darkness surrounded her from all sides in the hallway, but she knew that someone was there. Not only could she feel the warmth, but Helen could also hear his raspy breathing.

“Who is there?” she asked softly, careful not to raise her voice.

Still, no one answered. Slowly, Helen edged back into the light, anxiety clawing at her gut. From the darkness, a familiar voice rumbled.

“Hello beautiful,” the voice drawled out. “You must have sought me out for another taste.”

Helen felt sick to her stomach. Her senses went reeling at the tone of that voice. It was eerie and menacing, slow and dangerous. Every part of her senses screamed at her to run, but she was rooted to the spot. Shivers ran down her spine, and her tongue became heavy like lead.

It was the voice of the man who attacked her in the garden — the event that caused her perpetual downfall among theton. She was so petrified at the memory as it assailed her mind. Suddenly, Helen was unable to breathe.

“Unable to say anything?” the voice came again from the darkness, sending chills down her spine. Helen’s mind was trying to find means of escape, but she was cornered. The only way she could go was back, but the person could easily catch up to her.

“Now this is what you should have worn on the night of the ball. Flimsy and soft enough to tear apart with my own hands,” the person said again.

“Come on out, you coward,” she replied, shaking profusely.

“Coward? I am everything else but definitely not a coward.”

And the figure stepped out of the darkness and into the dimly lit hallway. His tall frame was exactly like Helen remembered, but this time, he was in the light. Blond hair curled on his head and framed his face, pale like corn silk. His shoulders were broad like Theodore's — a wide sweeping arc that once covered Helen in an oily embrace.

It was Sebastian Simmons. She could never forget the drawl that was filled with a twisted pleasure. Not while she lived.

“Sebastian?” Helen asked, unsure of what she was seeing.

The Sebastian Simmons she had just gotten to know was kind and sweet, always doing everything to make sure that they felt relaxed. He had a boyish smile that lit up the room where Theodore’s played with her mind. But the man in front of her was not any of that. His muscles were flexed and tightened, like an animal that was ready to pounce. And his eyes were filled with greed and insatiable hunger.

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