“Not at all, Your Grace.” She forced a bright smile. “We are friends, as we always have been.”
“Then, as your friend,” —he placed an absurd amount of emphasis on the word— “I must give you this.”
He strode across the foyer, extended his arm, and opened his hand. Glistening in his palm sat the gold fob.
“No.” Tucking her arm behind her back, she shook her head, turned away, and started up the stairs.
“Why?” He chased her, catching her on the sixth step and grabbing her elbow. “It should have been yours.”
“It represents something different now,” she said, jerking her arm free.
He darted around her, blocking her progress, and held out his hand again. “I don’t understand.”
Fire surged through her body. “You’ve just rejected me despite never having actually courted me, and as an apology for your brutish behavior, you’re paying for my forgiveness with gold.”
If she’d been speaking to Humphrey, he would have hit her… and had.
Darkness crawled across the Duke of Lennox’s face. She cringed, squishing her head into her shoulders, and twisted away, waiting for the burst of anger that would undoubtedly follow. Nothing happened, and after several moments, she peeled her eyes open, finding him staring at her, his mouth partially agape.
Wordlessly, he dropped his hand to his side, turned, and trudged up the remaining steps, the gold fob dangling loosely from his fingers. When he reached the second-floor landing, he cursed, spun around, and stomped back down the steps, a low snarl in his throat.
“I’ve never given you cause to fear me.” He jabbed a trembling finger at her.
“You have not.” She inclined her head, gathered her skirt, and scooted around him, hoping her dismissal would end the conversation.
He hastened up the staircase and cut in front of her, blocking her progress again. “You reacted as though I had.”
Damn. The man was persistent.
She sighed, her eyes flicking to the corridor behind him as though the action would encourage him to allow her past. He didn’t budge.
“If you have committed no such transgression, why are you insulted?” she asked, arching her eyebrows.
“I find your reaction alarming.”
“Then perhaps you should have said, ‘Is there something that frightens you,’ instead of arrogantly assuming yourself as the cause.”
His jaw popped open. Taking advantage of his stunned silence, she dashed up the final three stairs.
“Is there?” he asked, hurrying after her. “Something, or perhaps, someone who frightens you?”
“Not in this house.” She indicated the first door to the left, across from the room with the Dukes of Warwick and Beaufort. “Your chamber, Your Grace.”
He appeared as though he wished to say something further, but instead, he pursed his lips, stiffly bowed, and strode to the door. As he placed his fingers on the handle, he turned and offered her a tight smile.
“Have a pleasant evening, Miss Rowe.”
The moment he vanished into the chamber, Helena turned, raced down the stairs, and flew around the corner, heading for the parlor. She’d left her reticule on one of the tables, and though she didn’t expect anyone in attendance to be a thief, she needed to reconfirm the total before meeting with Miss Drummond.
In five minutes!
Snatching up the reticule, Helena held her breath and upended the pouch, dumping the contents into a small mound on the table. She winced as the coins clinked, the soft metallic sound echoing in the empty room.
Her eyes slid over the stack. Was it smaller than she initially assumed?
She grabbed a discarded napkin and spread the cloth on the table in front of her. Counting by fours, she piled the crowns in the center of the napkin.
“Ninety pounds.”
