Page 94 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
“I see we’re back to late nights.” Helen walkedin with her usual briskness, discarding her coat and already planning the next activity, despite having worked a ridiculously long day.
But when she drew near him, she stopped and let out a little gasp.
She stomped closer and swept up his empty glass.
“Good God, Ben. It’s ten in the morning.”
“I started last evening if that eases your mind.”
“It does not. Have you slept at all?”
He was still wearing his clothes from the previous day. “I don’t think so.” He squinted up at her. She’d turned up the gaslights, and they were suddenly a menace. “Did you?”
“I slept late yesterday. It was an overnight round. If you were compos mentis, you’d remember that.” She let out a weary sigh and bent to look in his eyes. “You never drink. What’s wrong?”
She took the glass and bottle from him, but there wasn’t much alcohol remaining in either. After setting them aside, she sat down in front of him and took his face in her hands.
“Ben, what’s happened? Is it Miss Prince? Has something happened to her?”
“Miss Prince?” Calling her that reminded him of the day they’d met. The spark of a lady, Helen had called her.
“Yes. Goodness, are you still completely addled? Shall I throw cold water on you?”
Too many questions.Shewas the truly relentless Drake. Not him.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” he told her, his voice gravelly. “I don’t think it would fix anything.”
“Well, it might get you to talk some sense to me, and I need to know what’s wrong.” Helen was rarely shaken. In years of nursing, she’d seen loss and terrible injuries and illnesses and remained stalwart, but he could hear the tinge of real worry in her voice, and he felt like a royal ass for causing it.
“I’ve never seen you like this before,” she told him in a low voice. “And to be honest, it’s a bit frightening. Benedict, what has happened?”
He stood and found his head weighed a thousand pounds and every muscle in his body fought him. How long had he been slumped in a straight-backed chair?
“The problem is what hasn’t happened,” he told Helen. “I should have caught him by now. And Miss Prince is safe and well. Or at least she will be if she keeps her distance from me.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“I’m not good for her. You know that as well as I do.”
Helen stood. All the tenderness and worry he’d seen a moment ago turned to distaste. “I will not give credence to your drunken self-loathing.”
Ben approached her, and she winced. He knew he looked a fright and no doubt smelled like a whiskey barrel. But he had to make her understand. He’d convinced himself. He could convince her too.
“You’ve met her. She’s full of energy and vibrancy. And hope. And I’m none of those things.”
Helen began tidying. She could never remainstill for long. “That’s not true. You do have hope, or you wouldn’t do the work you do.”
Ben scoffed. “Helen, you’re describing yourself.”
She walked out of the room, and he thought perhaps that was her answer, but she returned soon after with a damp rag and began wiping down the table he’d made his home for the last several hours.
“People without hope don’t become detectives. They don’t become doctors or nurses. We do these things because we have hope that we can make things better.”
“I can make the world better by finding him. By stopping him.”
“And by walking away from Miss Prince.” She tipped a look over her shoulder at him. “You know, there’s nothing less appealing than a man playing martyr.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
