Page 10 of The Duke's Dream
Helene’s hand drifted to her waist, fingers brushing the spot where his hands had steadied her. The fabric there felt different, warmer somehow, as if his touch had never truly left. "Why was he at the stage?"
Louise startled. "You don't know who he is?"
Helene shook her head.
"Do we live on the same island? He's none other than the Duke of Albemarle, better known as the Silent Sovereign."
Helene dropped her tool. She had believed him to be an aristocrat, but royalty? "Silent Sovereign?"
Louise narrowed her eyes. “Because he’s more powerful than the Regent—without the indulgence or the vanity. He leads the Public Safety Committee.”
Helene tilted her head. “I thought that was something from the Revolution.”
“It was. But England formed its own version, after the guillotine started singing across the Channel. To keep the chaos out,” Louise said. “Now, that committee exists for one reason: to fight Napoleon. Every penny of the war budget, every whisper of rebellion, every maneuver on the continent—it all passes through them. Through him.”
Helene’s chest tightened. So that was who he was. Not just a man of power, but a man at war with everything she had once called home.
"The Silent Sovereign is dangerous," Louise said.
Helene renewed her attack on the lock. "He is not dangerous to me."
"I'm serious, Helene. He stared at you."
"Don’t be absurd," Helene scoffed. "Just because he was watching the performance—"
"He wasn’t watching the stage. He was watching you."
Something in Helene twisted, and she forced a laugh.
"Then he will be disappointed. There is nothing else to see." Heat colored her cheeks, but she feigned indifference. "Perhaps he mistook me for an acquaintance."
It wouldn't be the first time. People watched her onstage, projecting their fantasies onto her figure, only to be disappointed when faced with the woman behind the role.
"A brooding duke is falling for Helene? How romantic. Like inMuch Ado About Nothing. Oh, you must act as Beatrice and use your wit and banter to reform Benedick's reactionary views," Celeste said, hugging her magazine.
Louise pinched Celeste's shoulder. "Every girl on Harry's list must have worn your dreamy gaze."
"No one is going into Harry's list," Helene said.
Once a ballerina entered the horrid compilation of women who sold sexual favors in London, there was no going out. The list included names, physical traits, addresses, and how they turned to the profession. Every season, they lost corps members to West End gentlemen who relished ruining a girl's life.
To avoid the same fate, Helene lived by two rules—never become a man's mistress and never accept gifts that could not be repaid with her art.
Her waist tingled… he had not hesitated when he caught her—as if she belonged in his hands. She did not know what unsettled her more—the way his touch had stolen her breath, or the way it had felt like the safest place in the world.
Helene sat back on her haunches. "This is pointless."
"You can't stay here. What if a burglar breaks in?" Louise asked.
It wasn't as if she owned anything worth stealing. Helene doubted anyone would covet her barre, her worn slippers, or the faded curtains she had sewn by hand. Still, she could not abide the thought of someone barging in unannounced.
She wedged her hip against the door and worked the latch again. The Silent Sovereign would have no such trouble. She doubted he had done a day of real work in his life. He was the sort who commanded doors to open for him, with no regard for the poor people who actually hurt their fingers to make them openable. What was she even saying?
The latch rattled, useless. Helene swore under her breath and stepped back.
She was no Beatrice... She was a tired ballerina with lousy maintenance skills. Still... A real Shakespearean heroine would work with what she had and solve her problems. Helene's gaze fell on a discarded slipper near her trunk. She retrieved it, filled its hollow with smooth river pebbles, and then looped its ribbon into a delicate snare.
With hopeful precision, she balanced the slipper atop a chair by the door. If anyone tried to enter it would tumble, sending a warning clatter through the tiny room.
