Roxboro was absolutely blinding, with an allure that drew women to him like bees to honey. Impossible to ignore. Despite his list of depravities. His falling of horses in Hyde Park. The courtesans that were said to flock to his house for nightly entertainment. There was also something about sheep and—
“Oh, that’s just Miss Cosgrove,” Cerise’s petulant tone interrupted Helen’s assessment of the duke. “Bat her away as you would an insect, Your Grace. A gnat, perhaps.”
“Well, she is the size of one, isn’t she?” Roxboro returned in a mocking tone, those startling eyes never once leaving Helen.
The hum inside her grew louder, making the blood beneath Helen’s skin pulse in an alarming manner.
“I am not an insect,” she declared in a firm, authoritative tone. “I am Miss Cosgrove. Lady Cerise’s companion and chaperone. Unhand her immediately.”
“Unhand—” Roxboro chuckled. “Do you have a sword tucked in your skirts to defend her honor? What a ferociouslittle gnatyou are.”
The cadence of Roxboro’s speech was…wrong. There was a coarseness that mimicked the tradesmen who often came to Galway’s back door. Perhaps on purpose.
More mockery.
Helen lifted her chin a notch. She would not be deterred. “Gnat or not, if you do not step aside, I will be forced to summon Lord Galway.”
Roxboro’s brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out once more. A lazy, indolent smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, no.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “We can’t have that, can we?”
There was that…strange rhythm to his speech again. But, Helen reasoned, Roxboro was rumored to be a sot. Possibly too much brandy was the culprit. The gossips insisted he swilled spirits day and night. She took a tentative sniff of the air.
No brandy. Just the slightly muted aroma of wine.
Roxboro raised a brow at her. “What is wrong with you?”
Now that Helen considered further, what was the duke doing at the Stout ball? Roxboro was rarely out in polite society, preferring his gambling hells, copious amounts of spirits, and courtesans to balls. He often hosted wild parties at both his London home and his estate in the country to amuse himself, not dance with young ladies. Oh, and there were whispers of opium dens.
And the sheep business which Helen didn’t quite understand.
“Nothing at all, Your Grace. But it is time Lady Cerise and I—” she noted the momentary confusion on Roxboro’s features at the mention of her charge. “Should return to the ballroom.”
There was enough rumor surrounding Roxboro that even to be seen speaking to him would constitute a minor scandal in Galway’s eyes, especially since Roxboro had recently compromised—according to gossip—Canterbell’s daughter, Lady Sophia, though the official tale put out by her family wasthat they had been courting in secret prior to their surprise betrothal. Which no one at all believed.
Roxboro made a sound in the back of his throat at her proclamation.
“I bid you good evening, Your Grace.” Helen waved a gloved hand bravely in dismissal. Not something you should do to a duke, but given Roxboro wasbarelya duke he wasn’t at all deserving of her respect.
“Are you going somewhere, little gnat?” A grin ghosted his lips.
Cerise laughed like the harlot she’d one day likely be, fingers drumming lightly on Roxboro’s arm. “I think I’ll stay, Miss Cosgrove.”
Those shimmering eyes lingered on Helen, long enough that Cerise frowned a bit at his interest. A small, delicate freckle sat right at the tip of his perfect nose, like the kiss of an angel.
Dear God, Helen. Stop looking at him.
She jerked her gaze to Cerise. “You are not staying, my lady. Come, we must return to the ballroom.”
Cerise regarded her with loathing. “How dare you speak to me as if I’m a wayward child, not to mention your lack of respect in addressing a duke. Miss Cosgrove is impertinent, don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
“My lady—”
“Oh, I don’t know, my dove. A lady should be able to speak her mind without fear of reprisal. But to be blunt, Miss Cosgrove,” Roxboro continued in a voice full of crisp arrogance, though the strange rhythm of his speech was still apparent. “I am a duke and as such, I can engage a lovely young lady.” He looked down at Cerise who beamed back at him. “In conversation anytime I wish.”
“I understand your position bestows you with a great deal of power, Your Grace,” she answered without thinking. “However,should you wish to engage Lady Cerise further in conversation, I suggest you do so in the presence of Lord Galway, not in a dark area of Lady Stout’s home where such a conversation could be mistaken for something else.”
“Yes, but you’re here now, Miss Cosgrove, to ensure all respectability,” Roxboro countered. “Also nothing has occurred. No impropriety.” The word rolled off his tongue in an odd manner.
Perhaps he is foxed or full of opium. That would explain his interest in Cerise.