The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(76)

She returned his grin, inclining her head.

The Duke and Duchess of Wilkinson stepped into their path, shattering that connection. As the trio exchanged polite greetings, the duchess’s warnings and cruel taunts came rushing back.

As long as you do not think to make yourself a duchess. You are not one of us, Miss Banbury. It is important you remember that . . .

Helena fisted her scarred hands, those unwitting reminders standing as a mocking testament to the accuracy of the duchess’s claims.

“I have been studying you for an hour now, Miss Banbury, and I cannot determine whether you are attempting to hide, or plotting your escape.”

She gasped, and spun to face the owner of that unfamiliar, faintly amused voice.

The gentleman of a similar age to the Duke of Wilkinson stood, evaluating her in an appraising manner. Where the duke had let age soften his middle and round his cheeks, this man stood lean and powerful still, even with the cane in his hand. But for the drawn lines at the corners of his blue eyes, there wasn’t a hint of weakness to the man.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” she said at last.

The nameless stranger smiled.

Suspicion brought Helena’s lashes sweeping down. Long ago she’d learned to be wary of the motives of gentlemen. Though she hadn’t been born to this world, she well knew no respectable one would approach a lady so and speak with such familiarity. “Forgive me,” she said between tight lips. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “I am the Duke of Somerset.”

The Duke of Somerset. Robert’s father. The man who by Robert’s admission had sought to manipulate him into a proper match. Her skin pricked under his pointed stare. He’d surely read the papers linking her name to his son’s and sought to assess her worth as a future duchess. Alas, if he were hoping for a miss with all the proper responses, he was to be disappointed. Helena dropped a belated curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured. She cast a look about for Robert. She’d no doubt this meeting was not coincidence, and given his station and connection to the Duke of Wilkinson, his was, even for the ghost of a smile, not a friendly chance exchange.

“So very dreadful,” he murmured to himself, as he turned his attention out to the ballroom. The latest set just concluded, couples filed off the dance floor. Her gaze landed on Diana, being escorted over to her parents, by her respective partner . . . and Robert. A spasm wracked her heart.

“These affairs,” the duke was saying.

Yanking her gaze away, Helena looked questioningly up. What was he on about?

The older man waved his cane over the crowded room. “I never liked them, you know.”

Helena opened and closed her mouth several times. Actually, she didn’t know. She’d simply believed attending these events was an additional function, like eating and breathing, to these people. How odd to know one of the most powerful peers in the realm should also despise them.

“What of you, Miss Banbury, do you enjoy the balls and soirees?”

“I . . .”

Robert’s father settled his walking stick on the floor, and shifted his weight over it with a grimace.

She took in the strain in the older man’s eyes. His ashen complexion. The white, drawn lines at the corners of his mouth. He is ill . . . Sympathy battered away the aloof demeanor she’d donned moments ago. By God, Robert didn’t know the truth of his father’s circumstances. He was so focused on his family’s finances, he’d failed to see the truth right in front of him.

Her gaze locked with the Duke of Somerset’s, and a silent understanding passed between them. His Grace flashed her a sad smile, an affirming smile that said with more than words that she’d correctly gauged his circumstances. “Well, Miss Banbury?”

“There are certainly other things I would prefer to be doing,” she settled for.

He chuckled. “That is true. If you enjoyed it, you wouldn’t even now be hiding in this corner talking to me.”

“Oh, I’d vastly prefer to speak to you than . . .” most others. Heat exploded on her cheeks.

A knowing twinkle lit his eyes, momentarily dimming the strain in their blue depths. Robert’s eyes. “What would you be doing?”

At the unexpected question, Helena cocked her head.

“Other than attending balls and soirees.” He motioned once more with his cane.

I’d rather be alone with your son. Speaking freely and laughing when I’d forgotten how . . . She gave him a small smile. “I enjoy numbers, Your Grace.”

“Numbers,” he repeated with no small amount of surprise.

“I enjoy mathematics and learning new equations.”

With his spare hand, he captured his chin in his hand and rubbed it contemplatively. “To what end?”

She tipped her head.

“A number is a number, isn’t it? They are not words that can be shaped into different, poetic meanings.”

Yes, that was how he must see it. To Helena, they’d long made sense, and revealed so much in an equally magnificent way that words did. “Ah, yes, but where would we be with only words and numbers?” she said, gesticulating with her hands. And perhaps if she were another woman she’d be properly shamed by the way the duke flared his eyebrows. “Before the sixteenth century, there was an addition and subtraction sign, but do you know how mathematics equations were once written?”