“Then, I shall expect you tomorrow at four,” Helena said as she collected her reticule and guided Miss Sinclair toward the foyer.
Miss Sinclair nodded and pressed her lips together into a tight line as though she was trying not to cry. Setting her hand on the brass door handle, she paused, rose on her toes, and placed a gentle kiss on Helena’s cheek. Before Helena could react, Miss Sinclair ripped open the door and darted out into the frigid night air, leaving a faint scent of lavender hovering in the air.
Had Miss Sinclair worn lavender that evening?
Unable to stop herself, Helena stepped onto the doorstep and looked down, her gaze sliding across the fresh coat of fallen snow, searching for any hint of purple.
“Lost something?”
Helena spun, drawing in a quick gasp at the proximity of the Duke of Lennox, who hovered in the doorway directly behind her, leaning against the frame.
“Your Grace,” she managed, adding a hasty curtsey.
“I didn’t intend to startle you.” He saluted her with a half-empty glass of wine. “You were staring at the ground quite intently.”
“I thought I may have dropped a coin from my reticle.” She lifted the beaded pouch, waving it in his direction. “However, I believe the sound was caused by one of the embellishments falling off the drawstring.”
“That’s fortunate.” He moved aside, allowing her to enter the house. “No one else wishes to participate in our game. They’ve decided upon another method to determine the wedding date order.”
“What game did they choose?”
“Snapdragon.” Reaching around her, the Duke of Lennox closed the door, and his nose wrinkled. “Do you smell lavender?”
Helena shook her head quickly. “No, Your Grace.”
“You’re not wearing the scent?”
“I hate it.” Helena shuddered, rubbing her arms. “My mother taught me to make perfume with lily of the valley; it’s all I ever use.”
“Would you like to know a secret?” he asked, lowering his voice as though he intended to impart a significant revelation. “You must not tell one person… I hate lavender, too.”
She burst out laughing. “I promise not to reveal your abhorrence for the flower.”
“Now,”—he held out his arm—“we have a wager to attend.”
“And where will you stay after I win?” she asked, placing her hand lightly on his sleeve and strolling toward the parlor.
Snorting, he turned his head toward her. “You seem quite sure of yourself.”
“A lady without callers has time to develop other skills, Your Grace.” She released his arm as they passed through the doorway.
“I’m curious,” the Duke of Lennox said, chasing after her, “regarding the other skills you’ve learned.”
She spun. “Not why I haven’t any callers?”
“Perhaps you detest them as much as lavender.” Trapping her between himself and a table, the Duke of Lennox set down his empty wine glass and bent closer. “Your choices don’t concern me, only the hidden abilities you may possess. I don’t like to lose.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, more so to prevent him from hearing the drumming of her heart than to appear intimidating. “Neither do I.”
He inclined his head, then straightened, dissolving the intimacy between them. Rounding the table, he stopped on the opposite side, pulled out a chair, and sat, gesturing to the seat across from him.
“Would you care to deal?” he asked, removing the gold watch fob from his waistcoat.
Her eyes flicked to the chain. “Are you certain you want to play?”
“None of my companions desire to return to my home this evening.” The corner of his mouth pulled. “And if I must purchase rooms for them, I’d rather do it sooner than later tonight.”
“Why is that your obligation?” Helena picked up the deck of cards and shuffled the stack.
