Page 105 of The Duke's Dream
He linked their hands. "Why not Oberon? Since you are a Sylph, I should be the king of the fairies."
Helene thrilled the higher keys and peeped at him from under her lashes. "Possessive tyrant that you are, I doubt you would have made me fall in love with Puck, even to make me learn a lesson."
Exhaling, he pulled her back into his lap. "You are right. You have such a lovely backside. Why would I resort to something else?"
Helene laughed, brushing her cheek against his three o'clock stubble.
"I wish I could tell you I'm doing this out of compassion for Farley." His voice wavered, and he inhaled sharply as if trying to steady himself. "My mother was the same. My father said she couldn't control her passions. She left us to pursue her desire for another woman."
All this time, he had been suffering in silence. Heart clenching, she cradled his face. "Love, I didn't—"
"All my life, I have resented her. And I should also resent Farley. A man in my position should despise those who allow passion to control them, but after I met you…" His voice grew softer, and he brushed her lips with his thumb, his eyes reflecting turmoil. "I cannot avoid relating to him. When a contact implied you might have connections in France…"
William kissed her palm, his breath warm against her skin. "Do you know what I'm grateful for before I sleep? I thank God that nothing stands in the way of our love."
Helene's fingers stilled in his hair as a weight pressed against her chest. What if he found out about her brother? Would he still feel the same?
Thebutlerintonedhername, and Helene stepped into Lady Thornley's drawing room. Thankfully, her superb white gown concealed her trembling legs, and the lace gloves would keep her hands from becoming clammy. Straightening her pose, she smiled brightly. Look at her—about to enter this lovely British invention, the dinner party—and her cheeks hadn’t even begun to cramp. Who knew? She might yet succeed in proving to William she was not the Caliban he expected her to be—the wild, uncouth native fromThe Tempest—but someone who could charm his friends.
The scent of expensive perfume tickled her nose as she glided through the room, avoiding her reflection in the Venetian mirrors. When the murmurs fell silent, and multiple eyes turned in her direction, she felt the unsettling sensation of being exposed—like playing the naked man game in reverse, as if the finely dressed aristocrats were watching her promenade without a stitch of clothing.
Shooing away the ridiculous notion, she returned Lady Thornley's welcoming smile.
"Thank you for having me, My Lady."
When the older woman kissed her forehead, Helene curtsied.
"You are the guest of honor, my dear." She interlaced their arms. "They are all dying to meet you."
Helene gazed at the ladies and lords present. William was among them. Every inch the Silent Sovereign, he occupied the largest armchair, his very own throne. Clad in a black-on-black brocade vest and suit, he was so handsome she wondered how these women had not melted into bejeweled, beplummed puddles.
Their gazes met. Heat climbed to Helene's cheeks, and she fought the impulse to cover the evidence. How could she conceal that they were lovers if a mere glance caused her to go up in flames? When William made no sign of recognition, a pained gasp escaped her. Her mind knew it was for her protection, but her heart was not so wise.
The lady from William’s box sat beside him, her body angled toward his. From up close, she exuded beauty and sophistication, her blond hair sparkling with diamonds. Next to her, Helene's hair had the color of rotten wood.
"My dear friends, Miss Helene de Beaumont, our new prima ballerina." Lady Thornley tapped Helene's hand affectionately. "More than her ethereal performances as La Sylphide, it is her virtuous character that sets her apart. I've met her before La Sylphide, and I must tell you I knew all along she was born to shine."
Helene felt heat tinting her cheeks and bit her lip to avoid looking at William. Would Lady Thornley receive her as warmly if she realized this sylph had enjoyed her share of earthly pleasures?
After her hostess introduced her to everyone, Helene posed in a chair, her back stiff. The ladies crowded around her, and she restrained the urge to squirm. A curious energy emanated from them, not unlike when she stepped on stage, but at least there, the orchestra pit and all the theater's rituals acted as a shield. Here, she felt exposed.
"You must tell me how you keep so thin. Could you show us how you stand on the tips of your toes?"
"I'm not wearing my slippers." Helene smiled politely, accepting champagne from a footman.
The lady from William's box—Elisabeth was her name, caught her hand, her blue eyes sparkling. Her regard was disturbing. Did Echo feel the same when people gazed at him?
"Your performance was truly the talk of the town, wasn't it, Your Grace? It's all anyone could speak of at Lady Babcock's ball. You've brought something unique to our little circle."
"How charming that I could provide entertainment." Helene smiled sweetly. "I only hope you didn’t run out of things to discuss."
Viscount Montfort raised his glass to her, a gesture that felt more like a challenge than a congratulation. Lips curled into a perpetual smirk, his black eyes flashed at her. Helene hadn’t noticed him lurking in the shadows and swallowed her champagne, trying to steady herself.
Dinner was announced. Helene rose and arranged her skirts. William stood as well, and she started in his direction. He offered his arm to Lady Elisabeth. As Helene watched them proceed to the dining room, pain invaded her chest, so acute it forced the air out of her lungs. Her mind understood the act to be a formality. Yet, her heart throbbed as if she had been betrayed.
When he spoke something that made the other woman giggle, Helene flinched. How perfect they were for each other, and she, so small. They were the main couple in the ballet, and she was back being a part of the corps, watching their dance while keeping pose, a nameless statue.
Lord Cavendish stepped in front of her, cutting off her view. "Miss Beaumont, if you won’t take offense at my lack of grace, may I have the honor of partnering you at dinner?"
