Page 57 of The Duke's Dream
Langley pulled her to her feet. Smiling, he kissed her cheek. “Well done, dear, well done. Everyone, take a rest. Tomorrow, I want you here at four o’clock.”
As the corps and principals left the stage, Sophie passed by, bumping her shoulder. “Well done, perfect ballerina,” she smiled sweetly. “You dance beautifully, but how long will you keep the part without the Duke of Albemarle’s favor?"
Suddenly tired, Helene watched her former friend leave.
Louise caught her hand. “The snake is jealous of your success.”
Helene’s gaze drifted past the empty seats to Verón, a lone figure in the shadows. William had vanished after playing for her. She should be grateful, shouldn’t she? That he’d left her alone. Yet after those moments they shared, how could he stay away? Her cheeks heated as she recalled her boldness, kissing his lips... But she’d been swept up in the moment. She’d never danced like that before. And his music? What she saw in his troubled eyes was a passion for art that mirrored her own.
Louise linked her arm through Helene’s. “Come, let’s go to the cafe and get our friend her favorite pastry.”
Celeste clapped her hands. “Can we get a chocolate croissant?”
Helene forced a smile. “You two savor one for me. I need to do something.”
As dusk gave way to the glow of Grosvenor Square gas lamps, Helene stood on the frostbitten pavement, staring at the facade of the duke’s townhouse. The February chill seeped through her cloak, and her breaths appeared and disappeared as fleeting wisps of fog.
The windows caught the fading daylight. With its obnoxious brass fittings, the front door glared at her—a dour guardian of the wealth and secrets within.
What was she doing here? A foreign intruder, a visitor from another world.
Pulling her coat closer, she turned to leave.
“Miss Beaumont?” Baines’ voice startled her. “May I assist you?”
Helene crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I was just admiring this…this impressive mountain of bricks.”
“Shall I inform His Grace of your presence?”
Helene shrugged, ridiculously on the verge of tears.
Baines caught her arm, his expression a mixture of concern and disgruntlement. “There now. I will take you out of the cold.”
Instead of entering the house, he guided her over the corner to Park Lane and, after looking at both sides, opened a door built conspicuously into the wall.
They entered a vestibule, well appointed with gilded ornaments and velvet upholsteries.
Shivering, she drifted to the fireplace. “What is this place?”
Baines blushed, his gaze hopping everywhere but at her. “His Grace will be with you momentarily.”
After bowing three times, he left through an inner door, leaving her alone.
Helene wandered through the room, her fingers brushing over objects too garish to suit the Silent Sovereign. The opulent decorations, the separate entrance... This was where he entertained his assignations. Was she just another fleeting amusement to him? A nauseating pain pierced her chest—the bite of Othello’s green-eyed monster. It served her right for coming here. What had she hoped to achieve?
The door opened, revealing the Duke of Albemarle in all his polished glory.
Her pulse quickened. His sharp profile caught the light, each line impossibly elegant. His mahogany hair brushed the lapels of his gray coat—he looked like he’d been carved from restraint. How many days had passed since he’d played for her? Since she’d seen the man beneath the duke?
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Miss Beaumont. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Monsieur le Duc, how kind of you to receive me.” She made a graceful curtsy. “This was the place you invited me to the other day, wasn’t it? I commend you on the practicality.”
He frowned, gazing at a nude statue as if embarrassed by the lack of clothes. “My father built it.”
Helene lifted her brows. “So lechery is hereditary?”
His jaw tightened. “After my mother left, he took a mistress. They were together for years. The apartment was… convenient.”
