Page 70 of From Rakes to Riches

“Helena.” He reached for her, but something in her expression must have given him pause, because he dropped his hand without touching her. “I’ll go up myself, if I have to, but you’re not climbing that bloody tree. I forbid it.”

Forbidit? Oh, dear. That hadn’t been the right thing to say at all. “Very well, my lord. Since you forbid it, I won’t climb the alder tree.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s it? No further arguments?”

“Of course not, my lord.” Why should she argue over the alder tree when one of the silver maples lining the drive had plenty of mistletoe?

She turned to go, but he caught her wrist before she could take a step, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Wait, Helena. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been avoiding me all day, but you can’t hide from me forever. As enormous as this castle is, Iwillfind you.”

His hot green eyes held hers, and dear God, she wanted nothing more than to slide her arms around his neck and sink into him, but just as she was in danger of doing just that, she caught sight of Lady Anne over his shoulder, tying long lengthsof wide velvet ribbon into elegant bows, a pretty flush coloring her cheeks.

“Your guest is waiting for you, my lord.”

“Listen to me, Helena. I want?—”

He didn’t get any further, because she tugged her wrist from his grasp and fled the ballroom.

But she had little enough reason to congratulate herself for her escape. She spent another sleepless night tossing in her bed, wondering with everything inside her how Adrian would have finished that sentence, if only she could have given him the chance.

14

TWO DAYS LATER, DECEMBER 24, 1812

The ballroom was drowning in kissing balls.

Everywhere Adrian looked—the mantelpiece, the wall sconces, the brightly lit chandeliers above his head, even the backs of the gilt chairs arranged around the outskirts of the ballroom—were smothered in kissing balls. If there was a flat surface or an unadorned protrusion to be found, Lady Codswaddle had draped or dangled a kissing ball atop it.

Or rather Helena had, at her ladyship’s insistence.

Christmas had come to Hawke’s Run with a vengeance, and cast up its accounts all over his ballroom.

Between the kissing balls, Lady Codswaddle’s imperious demands, and Cook’s hysteria over the supper menu, he could hardly blame Helena if she was heartily sick of the Christmas fete, and spent the entire evening hiding in her bedchamber.

He could blame her for other things, though.

It had been three days since he’d kissed her in the stillroom—three days that had spun into an eternity because since then, he’d scarcely spoken two dozen words to Helena. Every time he got within touching distance of her, she either fled in the otherdirection, or somehow maneuvered it so he was obliged to shift his attention to Lady Anne.

It didn’t make any bloodysense.

It had been, of course, the height of impropriety for him to have kissed her at all. A proper gentleman didn’t kiss his sons’ governess, particularly not a proper gentleman who wasn’t proper at all, but rather a scandalous rake.

Helena was aninnocent, for God’s sake. Even if she did agree to listen to him, what could he say? He hadn’t any excuse for losing control as he’d done. None of the thousand words that rushed to his lips whenever he saw her face felt like enough.

Yet as tangled as things with Helena had become, he couldn’t make himself regret kissing her. No man couldeverregret a kiss like that one—a kiss that seized his body and soul, a kiss that left him so shaken it was as if Helena had reached directly into his chest and wrapped her warm, gentle fingers around his beating heart.

He’d only ever experienced one kiss like it before, and that was the first time he’d kissed Sophie. He’d recognized that kiss as the revelation it was then, and he recognized it again now.

For reasons he couldn’t fathom, fate had gifted him with a miraculous second chance at another great love, and he had no intention of squandering it. Helena might duck and dodge and evade him as much as she liked, but he’d never give up chasing her until he made her his.

He’d chase her to the ends of the earth if he had to, and since they’d shared that dizzying kiss, it was beginning to look as if he would have to do just that. Over the past few days, he’d spent so much time skirting around corners and wandering empty corridors in search of her, he’d begun to feel like a dull-witted cat doomed to chase a very beautiful, very clever mouse though his very large castle for all eternity.

She was driving him mad?—

“Oh, Lord Hawke, here you are.” Lady Goodall swept up to him, her face lighting up as she took in the ballroom. “Goodness, how pretty everything looks lit up with candlelight! The decorations committee outdid themselves, did they not, my lord?”

“Indeed, my lady.” He bowed over Lady Goodall’s hand, then turned to Lady Anne with a smile. She was wearing a gown of cream-colored silk tonight, and had little sprigs of holly scattered through her fair hair. “You see the fruits of all your labors tonight, Lady Anne. Are you pleased with it?”

“My, yes! It’s perfectly lovely, my lord.” Lady Anne glanced around, and her bright smile turned mischievous. “Though I can’t help but notice there are quite a surfeit of kissing balls.”

---