The first gathering occurred after Ash and family had been home two weeks. Aunt Florence truly had invited the entire county, Ash mused—he hadn’t realized he had so many neighbors. Most he recognized to nod to, some had become good friends, and a few were complete strangers. Aunt Florence knew everyone, of course, and Ash went through the ritual of introduction several times.
He only realized his predicament when he was introduced to Miss Lucy Howard and her family. Miss Howard was tall for a lady, young, but with intelligence in her eyes.
The name was familiar. Alarm bells rang in his head when Ash remembered she’d been on the list of Helena’s potential brides.
Ash was a bit more abrupt to the poor girl than he ought to be, but she looked puzzled rather than hurt, likely labeling him a boor.
Coincidence that she was here, nothing more. Aunt Florence had sent out the invitations, not Helena.
The alarm sounded again when he met the Honorable Miss Hannah Werner, and then Lady Megan Winter. And then another lady, a young widow this time, whose name he’d spied on the list before he’d thrust it into the flames.
Damn and blast. Aunt Florence would answer for this.
Ash was cursorily polite and escaped the ballroom at the first instance. He had so many guests no one would blame him for attending those in other parts of the house.
He made for the card room, that realm of safety where husbands and fathers retreated once their obligatory greetings were finished. Ash had almost reached it when an all-to-familiar voice pulled him up.
“There you are, Ashford. Your home is most splendid. I cannot think why you do not live here more often—it must be a magnificent view over the park when the sun sets. Have you met my ladies, yet? I apologize for being late, but dear Millicent is a bit slow. She likes to arrive last thing, though I have pointed out that this is a bit rude.”
Ash stood frozen in place while the words washed over him, then he slowly turned.
It was not a dream. Helena Courtland stood behind him, red lips smiling, in a silver and blue gown that rendered her a glowing angel.
Chapter 4
Helena could pretend all she liked, but Ashford did not look happy to see her. His cold gray stare as she neared him was quite forbidding.
My, he was handsome in evening dress. The trousers suited him, as did the fit of his coat across broad shoulders. His waistcoat emphasized his slim torso, the ivory silk broken by the fine gold chain of his watch fob. The only other color amid all the black and white was a sapphire pin in his lapel.
The clothing showed his athletic build that Helena believed had grown even trimmer since he’d left London. Lady Florence had told her he spent most of his time riding or tramping about, and it showed.
“I beg your pardon, Ashford,” Helena said in a light voice, as though she’d forgotten all about the kiss they’d shared—the passionate, blood-stinging kiss. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“What the dev—” Ashford straightened and cleared his throat. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Courtland?”
Her brows went up. “Well, that is not much of a greeting. I was invited, of course, by your aunt. My friend Millicent lives not a mile outside your gate, so we are neighbors once again. Is that not entertaining?”
Ashford advanced on her. To throw her out? Or kiss her once more? Helena waited eagerly to find out.
He halted three feet away, to her disappointment. “You brought those ladies here,” he said in a hard voice. “The ones on your be-damned list.”
“Indeed, I did. I instructed your aunt whom to invite. Which lady do you favor? Or do you need more time to converse with them?”
“Do they know why they are here? Did you recruit them as a general recruits his soldiers?”
“Goodness, no. They’d be horribly nervous if they knew a duke looked them over with an eye to marry them.”
“But I do not have an eye to marry any of them.”
“Perhaps not immediately. You’d hardly go down on one knee and propose to a young lady in the middle of the ballroom tonight. It would embarrass her, and you. No, none of them have any idea you’re hanging out a shingle for a wife.”
“I am not …” Ashford broke off with that strange growl. “Of course, they’ll believe it. I’m a duke, a widower, and I’ve allowed my aunt to invite eligible young women into my house, along with my busybody next-door neighbor. They’ll believe my shingle is hanging high and swinging mightily.”
Helena’s breath caught as his eyes flashed his rage. Ashford was so very handsome—did he not realize? The young ladies here would be in transports if he closed in on them as he did so now with Helena.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her back in London—she knew that. She’d sprung upon him, he’d been angry, and she’d talked too much as usual. He must have been very confused.
And good heavens, why did she long to kiss him again? She was meant to marry him off to one of her young ladies and have done.
The pain in Helena’s heart surprised her. Ashford wanted nothing to do with her, she told herself firmly. She’d promised his children she’d help him find a wife. That was all.
“Where are you rushing off to?” she made herself say. “All will be disappointed if you do not dance.”
“I am not a caper merchant,” Ashford snapped, his cheeks staining red.
“No one believes you should be. But you are the host. You must be gallant and dance, not hide in …” She glanced past him, but she had no idea what lay behind the double doors he’d been
