A moment later, they flew past Helena and the remaining dukes, the Duke of Roxburghe’s mouth set into a determined scowl.
Shaking his head, the Duke of Lennox held out his arm. “May I return you to your home?”
“Am I not invited to the exorcism?” Helena asked, wincing when she picked up a note of despondency in her question.
His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Would you like to attend?”
“I’ve never participated in one before,” she replied as she climbed into the sleigh. “And if the Duke of Roxburghe believes the event to be safe enough to invite other ladies of the ton, I would like to be included.”
“As you wish,” he replied, his tone giving no indication of his feelings on the subject.
The Duke of Lennox picked up the thick wool blanket, shook it out, and spread the heavy coverlet across Helena’s lap. Then he leaned over her and tucked in the edges of the blanket beneath her leg, his earthy scent wafting directly beneath her nose.
Her stomach clenched as though she’d fallen a great distance in a short amount of time. Before she could stop herself, she inhaled, her eyelids fluttering close. Seemingly oblivious of the effect his proximity had on Helena, he pulled away, trailing his fingers over the blanket’s coarse fibers and sending a smattering of goosebumps zipping down her legs.
She shivered.
“Miss Rowe, are you certain you want to make the journey?” he asked, his eyes sliding over her. “You look half-frozen.”
“Then I suggest we move quickly as both the Duke of Roxburghe and the Duke of Beaufort are ahead of us.” She grinned and scooted down on the seat until her head was level with the back of the sleigh.
Stepping onto the runners, the Duke of Lennox removed the reins from the metal post and grabbed his whip. Before the other dukes could react, he swung the leather strap, snapping over the horse’s back, and the sleigh jerked forward, slamming Helena backward into the seat.
She didn’t expect the Duke of Lennox to catch up to either sled. However, his boast appeared legitimate when the rear of the Duke of Roxburghe’s sleigh came into view.
“No!” The Duke of Roxburghe directed his horse to the left, swinging his sled into their path and cutting them off. “I won’t lose to you twice in one day.”
“You can still best Mansfield.” The Duke of Lennox swerved around the Duke of Roxburghe.
“Impressive.” Helena waved to Miss Webb as they passed. “However, with the delay in our start, I doubt you’ll arrive before the Duke of Beaufort.”
“And if I do?” The Duke of Lennox leaned down and murmured in her ear. “What will you give me if I exceed your expectations?”
Her heart hammered. “What would you like?”
“A kiss.”
“And if you fail to overtake the Duke of Beaufort?” She turned her head, her mouth nearly colliding with his. “What do I win?”
“I’ll give you a lily of the valley plant from my conservatory.”
“You have one?”
“I have four,” the Duke of Lennox said, cracking the whip again. “I loathe to part with it. However, I know you’ll appreciate the flower’s delicate beauty.”
“And its smell,” she added, earning a chuckle.
“Yes, definitely the scent,” he replied as he straightened, dissolving the intimacy between them. “Much better than lavender.”
The whip swung, and the horse surged forward, the momentum pinning Helena to her seat. In the distance, a tiny black speck appeared and gradually grew larger until they were less than two lengths behind the Duke of Beaufort. Nimbly balancing on the runners, he turned and looked over his shoulder, his mouth popping open when he realized the Duke of Lennox bore down on him.
“Hold on, Miss Fernsby-Webb!” the Duke of Beaufort yelled as he yanked his whip from the holder.
Two simultaneous cracks echoed through the frigid afternoon as the sleds raced pell-mell toward the small bridge leading to Lennox’s property. Judging the bridge’s narrow width, Helena gasped. Only one sleigh would fit, and neither man appeared to possess the desire to relinquish their speed.
She squeezed her eyes shut, ducking her head, and braced her hands against the front of the sled. Her breath caught, and she waited for the sickening crunch of the sleigh smashing into the bridge’s post.
“Miss Rowe?” The Duke of Lennox placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Are you ill?”
