Page 18 of The Wolf of Mayfair
“I’m not,” Helia maintained.
She released a sigh. “Very well, Imayhave been hiding,” she conceded. “I washiding.” She gave herself a stern look. “Are youhappy?”
Finallybeing honest with herself, Helia acknowledged she’d remained shut away in her temporary rooms to avoid seeing the marquess again.
Which ... given she’d been on her own these past three months, and faced the cruelty of her distant cousin Mr. Draxton, wasludicrous.
Everything was worse in the dead of night; shadows were monsters and groaning floorboards the wails of long-dead ancestors. And Lord Wingrave—a fearsome rake whose reputation preceded him—was no different.
But morning had come and they were both clearheaded.
With Lord Wingrave having offered Helia sanctuary—albeit more as a dare—he’d proven benevolent and merciful. Had he truly been cruel, he would have had one of his many servants toss her right outside, storm or no storm—as he’d initially threatened to do.
The more she considered it, she reckoned her exchange with Lord Wingrave—as well as her response to him—had been the culmination of the fear that had followed her on her flight from Scotland and to Horace House.
Or maybe you’re just telling yourself all this to make yourself feel better ...
She gave her head a shake. It was time to stop hiding in her temporary rooms. She was in trouble, and whether she liked it or not—andshe decidedly didn’t—the marquess was the only person she could turn to for help.
At last, the incessant pressure at the base of her skull which had nagged her since the moment she left her meeting with Lord Wingrave dissipated some.
Before she let all her earlier doubts and fears win out, Helia walked briskly across the room, and without stopping, she pressed the cast-brass door handle and sailed out into the hall.
When Helia reached the end of the corridor, she found two footmen, one stationed on each side of the passageway.
Each man wore a white powdered wig, and the two stood facing one another, their inexpressive gazes directed like the King’s Guard outside St. James’s Palace.
As neither servant paid her any notice, she cleared her throat.
Still, they remained motionless and numb to her presence.
“Excuse me,” she finally said, when it appeared they’d absolutely no intention of looking at her. “I was wondering if you can help me?”
The pair blinked in a like slowness. Only the bewigged fellow to her left, however, glanced at Helia—and, barely, at that.
“His Lordship, the Marquess of Wingrave,” she murmured.
The footman remained blankly staring, and she wondered whether her earlier assessment had been correct and the fellow was, in fact, simple.
When no response proved forthcoming, she spoke more gently and with greater clarification. “Do you ken where I may be able tofindHis Lordship, the Marquess of Wingrave.”
That managed to crack the composure of not one servant, but both.
A faint look passed between the two men.
“When at Horace House,” the footman on her left murmured, “His Lordship does not welcome company, miss.”
Aye, she trusted a man so surly didn’t ... except maybe from the wicked women with whom he was rumored to associate.
Both servants went back to their on-alert position, and it soon became apparent they intended to say not a word more.
Again, Helia made a clearing sound—that had no effect. “Ahem,” she repeated a third time, more loudly. “I appreciate that ... information about His Lordship’s preferences ...?” she urged, when only the slightly more communicative fellow on her left deigned to cast the faintest of glances her way.
A confused glimmer flared in his eyes.
“I trust you have a name?” she asked gently.
The handsome footman glanced back and forth, up and down the corridors, as if he sought the person whose identifier she’d requested.
