Read Chapter 14: Whispers and Tall Tales

The morning room at Ashworth House smelled of beeswax and cold ashes, a combination Helena had come to associate with bills left unpaid and fires left unlit. She sat at her father's desk—her desk now, though she still thought of it as his—and stared at the folded newspaper in her hands as though it had bitten her.

The *Morning Post*. Page three. The society column.

*Lord Julian Croft and Lady Helena Ashworth were seen in animated discourse at the Newmarket races, quite inseparable throughout the afternoon. Might there be a match in the making? The lady's family has long been known for its racing stock, and his lordship is said to be looking for a property befitting his ambitions. One wonders if the prize is a filly of the two-legged variety.*

Helena made a sound that was half laughter, half disgust.

"Miss Helena?" Polly appeared in the doorway, cap askew. "There's a gentleman caller."

"If it is Lord Croft, tell him I am not at home. If it is anyone else, tell them I am not at home."

Polly blinked. "It is Lord Croft."

"Then I am *especially* not at home."

The maid disappeared, and Helena read the column again, then a third time, as though the words might rearrange themselves into something less infuriating. They did not. *A match in the making.* As if she would marry a man who had spent the better part of a fortnight alternately saving her life and threatening to ruin it.

She heard footsteps in the hall—heavy, purposeful—and then Polly's voice, thin and apologetic: "My lord, she said—"

"I know what she said."

The door opened. Julian Croft stood on the threshold, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He wore a dark blue coat that fit him well—she hated that she noticed such things—and carried a copy of the same newspaper, folded to the same page.

"Good morning, Lady Helena."

"I am not at home."

"Clearly." He stepped inside anyway and closed the door behind him. Polly made a small sound of protest, but Julian ignored her. "I come bearing news."

"I have read the news." Helena snapped the paper up. "Apparently I am to be married. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Or condolences. I have not decided which."

Julian's mouth twitched. "I thought you might find it amusing."

"I find it *infuriating.*"

"Then you are reacting precisely as one might expect a lady in the midst of a secret engagement to react." He settled into the chair across from her desk, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. "Consider: if anyone reads this column and remembers that you wore no ring at the races, they will assume it a courtship in its early stages. If you appear flustered, they will assume the column speaks true. If you appear angry, same result. You are trapped."

Helena threw the paper onto the desk. "I am not trapped. I am merely—"

"Flustered."

"I am *not.*"

He smiled. It was infuriatingly warm.

"You are blushing," he said. "Which is charming, but not persuasive."

Helena pressed her palms flat against the desk, steadying herself. "What do you want, Lord Croft? If you have come to gloat, I have correspondence to attend to. If you have come to offer aid, I would advise you to keep it. Your aid has a price, and I find my purse empty of favors to grant you."

"On the contrary." He unfolded his paper and tapped the column. "I think we might use this to our advantage."

She stared at him. "You cannot be serious."

"I am always serious." He leaned forward, and his voice dropped, losing its teasing edge. "Think, Helena. Lady Aldersgate has summoned me to her carriage on racing days twice now. She is watching us. She liked seeing us work together at Whitbury. She liked it even more at Newmarket. The column merely confirms what she already suspects."

"And what does she suspect?"

"That we are a partnership worth investing in." He met her eyes. "Your father's reputation was built on his horses. Her patronage could rebuild it. But Lady Aldersgate does not extend her favor to strays. She extends it to people she believes will succeed—together."

Helena released a long breath. "You are suggesting we allow the world to believe we are courting."

"I am suggesting we allow the world to believe what it already does." He spread his hands. "I will not touch you. I will not presume. But if we are seen attending the same events, arriving together, leaving together—her interest will sharpen. She has already invited you to call. Imagine what she might do with the weight of public speculation behind you."

"And what do you gain?"

He was quiet for a moment, and she saw something flicker in his expression—something she could not name, could not quite parse. Then it was gone, smoothed over by that practiced charm.

"I gain proximity to the lady who holds my mother's snuffbox," he said. "And I gain the pleasure of your company, which I have found surprisingly agreeable."

Helena snorted. "You are a terrible liar."

"I am an excellent liar. I am merely also truthful when it suits me." He rose, collecting his paper. "Consider it, Helena. You need not decide this moment. But the season moves quickly, and the gossip column moves faster."

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.

"I will be at Vauxhall on Thursday evening. There is to be a supper and fireworks. If you wish to be seen with me—if you wish to *use* me—you know where to find me."

He was gone before she could respond.

Helena sat in the silence, staring at the door. Her heart beat an unsteady rhythm against her ribs. *Use me.* As if he were offering her a weapon rather than a leash. As if he expected her to take it and not notice the chain coiled at his wrist, ready to pull her back.

She looked down at the newspaper again. The words swam before her.

*A match in the making.*

She thought of Julian's face at Newmarket, pale with fear as he caught her. She thought of the coded note in his hand, the way he had chosen to show it to her rather than let her accuse him. She thought of his mother's snuffbox, now in Lady Aldersgate's possession—a token that linked him to the dowager in ways she did not fully understand.

He was not what she had expected. That was the trouble. He was not the cold, calculating investor she had braced herself against. He was something more complicated.

More dangerous.

She reached for a fresh sheet of paper and dipped her pen.

*Dear Lord Croft,*

*I will meet you at Vauxhall. Do not make me regret it.*

She signed it with a flourish, then hesitated. Below her name, she added a postscript:

*I am not flustered.*

She folded the note and sealed it before she could reconsider.

Polly returned as Helena handed her the letter. "I thought you were not at home, miss."

"I was not. I am now." Helena smoothed her skirts and rose. "Have this delivered to Lord Croft's lodgings."

Polly took the note, her eyebrows climbing. "And shall I prepare your gown for Thursday, miss?"

Helena's mouth tightened. "How did you know about Thursday?"

"The whole house knows, miss." Polly's tone was innocent, but her eyes were bright. "The servants' hall talks, and it is not always about the master's debts."

Helena felt heat climb her cheeks. "There is nothing to know."

"No, miss." Polly curtsied and slipped out, the note clutched in her hand.

Helena stood alone in the morning room, the newspaper still spread across the desk. She read the column one last time.

*One wonders if the prize is a filly of the two-legged variety.*

She laughed, and it came out sharp and bitter.

If they only knew. If they knew she was the one chasing a prize—a deed, a stable, a legacy—and that the man offering his arm might hold the very chains that would bind her to his game.

But she would play his game. She would be seen with him at Vauxhall. Because he was right. Because Lady Aldersgate's favor was the only thing standing between Ashworth House and the auction block. Because every day she delayed, Lord Eastman grew bolder, and Croft grew more patient, and she ran out of room to maneuver.

She would play his game.

But she would keep her own score.