The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(82)

Passion clouded his eyes. “Marry me.”

She blinked up at the twinkling night stars. Surely she’d merely imagined that hoarse half please, half command.

That dream he held forth tugged at her. A month ago, she’d have preferred death by quartering to marriage to a nobleman. Now she wanted all of what he offered . . . but selfishly she wanted more. “Oh, Robert,” she said, flipping to her side so she could search his face. Uncaring that she was bastard born, he would marry her anyway. Tenderness pulled at her heart, as she fell in love with him all over again for defying every preconceived notion she had of noblemen and of women of her station. She stroked her palm over his cheek. “You don’t have—”

“I want you.” He captured her wrist in his hand, and dragging it to his mouth, he placed a kiss where her pulse pounded away.

Want.

Not love.

Helena studied him, the intensity pouring from his endless blue gaze. Since she’d been a girl she’d disavowed marriage. She had wanted nothing but the safety of her role at the Hell and Sin Club, and self-control of her life. If she wed him, she would be forfeiting that role. That self-control.

Robert removed a kerchief from inside the jacket on the ground and tenderly cleaned her. He shuttered his lashes but not before she detected the wounded spark there. His lips turned at the corner in his lazy half grin. “You’re going to wound me with your silence, love.”

Love. The single defining gift he’d not offered. Because his heart was already given to another.

With a sound of impatience, Helena sat up and set to work righting her dress. She’d never bind herself to a man out of his misbegotten sense of honor. She would not have Robert because of that. “I do not need you to marry me because of what we’ve done,” she said, hurrying to adjust her wrinkled skirts and bodice. Honorable as he was, Robert would always wish to do the right thing . . . even by a duke’s by-blow daughter. “You have to return to the ballroom.”

As it was, her hasty flight would be noted. Had the guests present also spied the marquess’s retreat? A laugh bubbled past her lips. Not that it mattered, either way. She was not long for here. Something stabbed at her heart.

“Is that what you believe?” he said quietly, as he gathered his jacket and stood. “That I’m offering for you because I feel a sense of obligation?”

“You are a gentleman, Robert,” she said simply, as she attempted to shove her tresses into a semblance of an arrangement. Robert stuffed his arms into his sleeves, and then wordlessly turned her around, quickly setting her hair to rights. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I do not doubt you’d marry me because—”

“I love you.”

Her breath caught loudly. She shook her head.

He nodded.

She gave another shake.

“I love you,” he said again, in quiet, solemn tones. He palmed her cheek with a tenderness that threatened to shatter. “I would marry you because I love you.”

Her lower lip trembled. She’d thought taking Robert in her arms would be enough. Only, three months would never be enough, and to marry him would mean abandoning her family, the club, and every pledge she’d taken.

How had her life become so muddied in so short a time? Death by hot flame had always been preferable to life amongst the haute ton. Nor had there been a possibility of her sliding into this foreign world. Until she’d failed to lock her door and Robert had tripped into her life.

Is it truly abandoning a dream as much as embracing a new one? A dream she’d never allowed herself because of how unattainable it had been.

“Yes,” she whispered, as he stroked the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.

He stilled. “Yes?”

With a smile, he held her close and she drew in the sandalwood scent of him. “I’ll speak to Wilkinson on the morrow.” Even that deliberate use of the duke’s title, as opposed to the term “Father,” spoke of Robert’s awareness in ways that most nobles would never have.

There would be time enough for all that came with this in the morn. For now, she had this.

With reluctance, he set her away and consulted his timepiece. “I should return.”

She managed a nod, and he hesitated.

Then, with several long strides, he reached the door and left.

As soon as it closed behind him, Helena buried her face in her hands. How could she set aside the existence she’d made for herself as a woman with some control, for the life of a duchess?

A faint click at the front of the gardens brought her head up, and her heart quickened. “Rob . . .”

The Duchess of Wilkinson closed the door behind her. Her astute gaze took in Helena’s sloppy chignon and her wrinkled gown, and then settled on Helena’s cheek. Vitriol poured from the woman. “You would not stay gone, Miss Banbury.”

I was forced here . . . But how glad she was to be here . . .

The woman strolled over with the casualness of one walking in Hyde Park and as she came to a slow stop before Helena, Helena resisted the urge to break past her and flee. Alas, she’d endured far more evil than this angry duchess.

“I understand why you do not like me,” she said softly.

“Do you?” the woman shot back in clipped tones.

Loving Robert as she did, Helena couldn’t fathom the agony of marrying him and watching as his heart belonged to another. “I do.” Helena turned her palms upward. “I am sorry you’ve known pain.” And she was. Even as ugly as the duchess’s soul was, life had turned it that way.