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George replied. "With me at your side, the rumors will settle. Somewhat," he admitted after consideration. "As your Duke and husband, my primary role is to protect you at all costs. Even if one of those costs is your comfort."

"And if I do not require protection?" Helena asked softly.

"At the moment, you are not allowed the luxury of rejection," George countered instantly, his tone smooth, dark, and absolute.

He held out his arm, his icy eyes scanning the promenade with a fierceness that made more than one hovering matron snap her lorgnette shut. "Take my arm," he instructed in a low tone next to her ears. "The gravel is slick from the rain, and we have already drawn an audience that seems entirely lacking in basic discretion."

Helena stared at his offered arm for a quiet minute. George could see her hesitation before she reluctantly reached out, laying her gloved fingers against the dark blue wool of his sleeve. The touch was light, almost tentative, yet the instant her palm rested against his forearm, a familiar spark of heat shot straight through his arm.

She does not see that every eye in this park is calculating our ruin

"And who protects me from you?"

The question landed with a blow straight to his chest. George froze. The rustle of damp leaves, the distant clatter of carriage wheels, and the murmur of passing gentlefolk seemed to instantly drop away, leaving only the sound of his own ragged pulse pounding in his ears.

Who protects her from me? he thought, his icy blue eyes searching her serene, unblinking face while his mind reeled in silent chaos. She has a fair point. Who protects her from the man who spends waking dreams starving for her touch? From the husband who lies awake in the dark, terrified that his attentions will shatter her fragile world entirely?

To Helena, George had no answer.

"George! I had heard a rumor at the club that you had abandoned Cavendish Manor for the damp mist of Hyde Park, but I refused to believe it until I saw you with my own eyes!"

George turned his head sharply, immensely relieved for the interruption. Walking toward them was Caspian in a dark green riding coat and buff trousers, strolling arm-in-arm with his wife, Arabella. A few paces ahead of them, Timothy skipped along, tossing small pebbles toward the water.

"Caspian," George greeted as the couple came to a halt before them. "Arabella. I see you have also chosen to brave the inclement weather for the doubtful pleasure of the morning promenade."

"We had little choice in the matter, I assure you," Arabella said with a warm smile. "Timothy was bouncing off the drawing-room furniture by nine o'clock, and Caspian insisted that a half-hour in the cold air would settle his spirit," Arabella paused, taking both of Helena's hands in a fond greeting. "But look at you, Helena! You look positively radiant, despite the clouds."

"Thank you, Arabella," Helena replied softly, her melodious voice instantly regaining its charm as she released Arabella's hands. "We thought it wise to give little Oliver a brief outing before the rain turns heavy."

A short distance behind them, standing discreetly near a manicured holly hedge, Sarah stood cradling Oliver, keeping a respectful distance to allow the nobility their privacy.

George stepped away from Helena's side for a brief moment, toward the hedge where Sarah stood. He looked down at Oliver, whose tiny fingers were still tightly wrapped around the pocket watch dangling from his blanket. George reached out with two fingers, gently tapping Oliver's rounded knuckle.

"Until later, Mr. Percy," George whispered softly, a fleeting touch of warmth breaking through his eyes.

Arabella, who caught the gesture just in time, let out a delighted laugh that echoed merrily. "I declare, George, I never imagined seeing the formidable Duke of Cavendish bidding farewell to a child with such formal courtesy!"

Helena turned her head toward Arabella. "Oh, he takes his duties as an uncle with the utmost seriousness, Arabella," Helena noted innocently, her tone dripping with gentle irony. "I fully expect him to present Oliver with a copy of parliamentary procedures for his first birthday, so the child is properly prepared for his future responsibilities."

George slowly turned his head to look at Helena, his eyes narrowing into a smoldering glare that instantly cut short her playful teasing.

In a second, George closed the distance between them. He placed his large hand around her waist, pulling her against his side before the watchful eyes of Caspian and Arabella. Her body trembled at the sudden intimacy, her fingers clutching his coat for balance.

George smoothed his broad palm against the small of her back, applying a gentle pressure that grounded her effectively, calming her frantic pulse.

"The duchess delights in underestimating my domestic virtues," George said smoothly, his voice cool and completely unbothered as he looked down at Helena with a dangerous smile. "Though I assure you, Arabella, Oliver shall have plenty of time for frivolity and childlike indulgence before I require him to master estate governance."

Caspian chuckled heartily, watching Timothy hopping back toward them. "Pay no attention to them, George. Arabella spends half her mornings lecturing me on Timothy's Latin studies, yet she complains the moment you mention discipline."

"I do not complain about discipline, Caspian. I complain about boredom!" Arabella countered with a merry laugh, nudging her husband playfully with her shoulder. "And speaking of discipline, look at Timothy. He has managed to find the only mud puddle within fifty yards."

Timothy stopped beside Sarah, his curious eyes fixing upon Oliver in her arms. He leaned forward on his tiptoes, making a comical, exaggerated face at Oliver. Roused by the sound of voices, Oliver blinked his eyes open and let out a high, bubbly giggle, feet kicking beneath his blanket as Timothy began hopping up and down on one foot to entertain him.

"See? He likes me!" Timothy proclaimed proudly, looking back over his shoulder at the adults. "Mother, may we take him to see the horses near the rotunda?"

"Certainly not today, Timothy," Arabella replied with a fond shake of her head. "Master Oliver is far too young for such adventures, and his mother and father are taking him home shortly."

"We shall walk with you toward the gates, if you have no objection," Caspian suggested. "The crowd near the entrance is growing dense, and society seems particularly eager for a glimpse of the Duchess of Cavendish today."