Page 133 of The Duke's Dream
Helene allowed herself to be dragged into the open, her body moving as if in a trance. She felt like a tree with deep roots, resisting being yanked from the ground. A mist hung like a ghostly veil, filling her lungs and clinging to her skin. Everything was unreal, almost as if she were on stage, playing the scene in La Sylphide when the forest was at its darkest.
Gaetan bade her wait by a lamppost while he called for his carriage. Helene brushed her arms, the chill seeping into her bones. The gaslight flickered above her, failing to warm her on this cold, cold night. She hugged herself, trying to contain the shivers coursing through her body.
Footsteps struck the cobblestones behind her. A figure emerged from the fog. Her pulse quickened as William's tall frame came into view. Shoulders rigid, he frowned, his eyes scanning her.
He took her hand in his and kissed it. "I'll sack Baines. Why didn't he take you to Soho?"
Helene trembled—a violin's string stretched too far. She would break apart. How could she choose between her brother and the man she loved? Her throat was tight, choked with unspeakable words, so she shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.
"You are freezing." He peeled off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Come, I will take you home."
Helene's body shuddered uncontrollably, her teeth rattling despite his warmth. She wanted to open her mouth, to say the words that hung like a stone in her throat. She couldn't go home. There would be no home for her in England, not after tonight.
The sharp sound of a sword being drawn pierced the fog, snapping her out of her daze. William spun, eyes widening at the sight of her brother advancing, his saber gleaming in the gaslight.
"Step away from her," Gaetan growled.
William pulled her behind him, shielding her with his body. His stance was protective, and his muscles tensed like a drawn bowstring.
"Is this him?" Fury edged Gaetan's voice. "The man who stole your virtue and means to make you a kept woman?"
Helene tried to peek from behind William's shoulder, her heart hammering in her chest. "Gaetan, please—"
"I don't know the discipline they teach in Francis II's army, but in England, an officer doesn't challenge a peer of the realm." William's gaze was locked on Gaetan, his voice dangerously low.
Gaetan ripped the shako off his head and held the hat at arm's length, his eyes narrowing with contempt. "Thank God I don't serve those pussies."
He threw the shako aside, his white teeth showing through his feral grin. "In Napoleon's army, a general takes what he wants from the enemy."
Helene could only watch, dismayed, as Gaetan slashed the sword.
"I'm the Count of Wagram, general of l'Emperor's Grand Armee."
William tensed, his shoulders a stone wall.
He unsheathed his sword. "Helene, go back inside. Find Lord Cavendish in the ballroom and send him to me."
This could not be happening. Her lover would not fight her brother. She refused to be living in a Shakespearean tragedy. A peal of hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest as William advanced, his sword lifted, preparing to defend himself.
A vision of the men she loved crumpled on the wet floor, their eyes staring lifelessly at the night sky, pierced her mind, making her pulse race.
"No!" she screamed, placing herself between them.
"Helene, this man is an enemy of the realm. Do as I told you."
Helene took a shuddering breath. No more lies. "Gaetan is my brother."
William lowered his sword and turned to her.
"Is this true?"
The fog distorted the gaslight above her, bending its glow into strange shapes that danced on William's red coat.
She nodded, unable to find her voice. Helene wrung her hands, her skin cold and clammy.
He looked from her to Gaetan, his nostrils flaring. His grip on the sword hilt slackened, fingers loosening as if the weapon had grown foreign in his hand.
For a heartbeat, he didn't breathe.
