Page 112 of The Dueling Duchess

She made a low humming sound and lifted her glass, emptying the contents in four big swallows before standing. “I’ll go see what I can find.”

“You’re going now?”

“No time like the present.” She wrapped her cloak around her more snugly and pulled on a pair of battered leather gloves before taking a knitted cap out of her cloak pocket and pulling it over her distinctive hair. By the time she was done arranging herself, she looked like a woman of the laboring classes, dressed in blacks, browns, and grays.

Without another word, she turned and left.

Guy’s brow furrowed as he watched her depart. If there was a stranger person in London, he’d yet to meet them.

He put on his own hat and gloves and headed back to the house.

Nobody was loitering in the book room when he got home, but then it was quite late, and Blade’s act had been the last of the night.

Guy hesitated outside Helena’s door, sorely tempted to knock and ask her what the devil she was about. But all he needed to do was frighten the poor woman and have her scream down the house. He could just imagine how delightful that would be to explain to Cecile.

As it happened, when he opened the door to his room and saw a person sitting on his bed, he almost screamed down the house.

“Bloody hell,” he hissed under his breath after making a very unmanly squeaking sound. He closed the door with exaggerated care. “What are you doing in here, Miss Carter?”

She raised a finger in front of her mouth. “Shh, please don’t use that name—here, I am Miss Helen Keeble.”

Guy heaved a sigh, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the door since she was sitting on the only thing in the room a person could sit on.

“I suppose you are wondering what is going on,” she said.

“Yes, a bit,” he said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Her cheeks flushed and she chewed her lower lip. Interestingly, she looked more attractive with her short haircut, although he wasn’t sure the dark color suited her. Her rather plain, severe gown looked better on her, too. In the past he’d only seen her covered in ruffles with her hair in sausage-like ringlets.

Yes, this pixie-like cut suited her slender face and fine-boned looks.

But no matter how good she looked, Guy didn’t want her in his room—or in this house, masquerading under a different name. Because if anyone was going to get blamed for the impropriety, it would be him.

He cleared his throat when she didn’t begin speaking. Every second she was in his room was another opportunity for Cecile to catch her there. The woman knew everything that went on under her roof.

“I came here because I read about Miss Tremblay hiring you. And I knew that the Duchess of Staunton once lived and worked here, too. If that was the case, then it must be a respectable place. And of course you spoke so highly of Miss Tremblay, too. It seemed like a—a safe place for a woman with few options.”

Well, Guy couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Tell me what happened—why you decided to run away.”

“You know I, er, well—”

“Became betrothed to my cousin after publicly jilting me?”

Her flush deepened. “I’m sorry, it’s not—”

“Shh,” he said, feeling a bit ogreish for being so sharp with her. “I know your father is making those decisions.” He frowned. “But why here? What about the man you loved and wanted—”

Her delicate features shifted into a scowl. “Him!”

“Ah,” Guy said. “You’ve had a, erm, falling out, I take it?”

“He is utterly spineless,” she spat, her voice rising.

“Shhh.” He jerked his chin toward the corridor.

She grimaced and then whispered angrily, “He accepted a position in my father’s Newcastle factory.”