A Scandalous Bargain

by Burke, Darcy

  Regan continued to stare at Beatrix. “Why do you always dress like a boy?”

  “It’s comfortable.”

  Regan transferred her stare to Thomas. “Papa, can I dress like a boy?”

  “We’ll discuss that another time. Why are you awake?”

  “Alice woke me.” She held up her doll.

  Beatrix seemed to have composed herself. The color in her face had returned to normal. She leaned forward, lowering her head to Regan’s level. “Why is that?”

  “She wanted a story. Papa tells good stories.”

  “Does he?” Beatrix’s kiss-swollen mouth curved into a heart-stopping smile as she looked over at him.

  “Will you tell me a story?” Regan asked Beatrix. “Then it will be new.”

  “Yes.” Beatrix didn’t hesitate before answering, and Thomas didn’t think his heart could swell any more.

  Smiling, Regan turned and padded toward his chamber.

  “Where are you going?” Beatrix asked.

  “Papa always tells me a story in bed. That way, I can fall asleep easier.” She said the last as if it should be patently obvious. Thomas couldn’t help but laugh.

  Beatrix grinned. “Your daughter is rather brilliant.”

  Thomas watched as Regan slipped into his chamber. “I think so.” He stood and helped Beatrix up. “You don’t really have to stay. I can say you needed to leave.”

  “Absolutely not. I said I would tell her a story, and I won’t disappoint her. What kind of friend would that make me?” She tsked, her eyes narrowing briefly.

  Thomas caught her hand before she could move toward his bedchamber. “You are wonderful.” He kissed her wrist and looked into her eyes. “But know this is not the way I imagined you in my bed.”

  Her brows climbed her forehead. “You imagined that?”

  “Often.”

  He felt her shiver.

  “Well, this is still quite lovely—for other reasons. Come, I’m going to tell a story about two sisters.”

  “Is it autobiographical?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “You’ll have to stay awake to find out.”

  “Oh, I intend to. After all, I have to take you home.”

  The exhalation that passed her lips was tinged with regret. “Yes. But first, the story.” She grinned at him before turning and going into his room.

  Thomas hesitated before following her. He couldn’t quite believe how much his life had changed in such a short time—and for the better. Entering the chamber, he stopped short, his breath hitching completely.

  Beatrix lay on top of the coverlet next to Regan, who was burrowed beneath it. Both were propped against pillows. As he watched them, emotion curling in his chest, Regan snuggled into Beatrix’s side. Beatrix’s mouth pulled up, and she put her arm around his daughter.

  “Once upon a time, there were two sisters, both with fair hair, one tall and one short.” Autobiographical, then.

  Regan patted the space on her other side. “Aren’t you coming, Papa? You’ll miss the story.”

  He had to clear his throat. “Yes, of course.” He hastened to the bed and slid over the coverlet until he was next to Regan. “Better?”

  She looked up at Beatrix. “Continue, please.”

  “Now, where was I? Yes, one tall and one short. They were sent away to boarding school by their evil stepfather.”

  “What’s board school?”

  “A horrible place,” Beatrix said drily.

  Thomas made a mental note to ask Beatrix why she’d said that. “It’s a school where students go and live.”

  “Will I go there, Papa?”

  He leaned down and kissed her head. “No.”

  “Because you aren’t evil.” Regan yawned.

  “I hope not.”

  Beatrix’s eyes met his as she whispered, “Not even close.”

  “What happened at the board school?” Regan asked, yawning again.

  “The sisters were taunted by the other girls.” Was that true? Thomas wanted to know everything.

  Regan looked up at Beatrix. “Why?”

  “Because the sisters were smart and pretty, and the other girls were jealous. They did their best to get the sisters in trouble.”

  “I hope this has a happy ending,” Regan said. “Papa’s have happy endings.”

  “How would you know?” he asked with mock incredulousness. “You never stay awake.”

  Regan giggled. “Because you tell me in the morning. Papa, if I fall asleep, will you tell me the end in the morning?”

  “Of course, darling.”

  “Or she can, if she’s still here,” Regan said, glancing toward Beatrix.

  Thomas looked at Beatrix and glimpsed a future he’d long ago deemed impossible. “You need to let her tell the story,” he said softly. He nodded toward Beatrix.

  “I promise this story has a very happy ending, and if you fall asleep, I’ll make sure your father knows how it ends so he can tell you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Settling in, Thomas couldn’t wait to hear how it concluded. And for the first time in ages, he wondered if he might find a happy ending of his own.

  * * *

  Beatrix should have been tired after being out late the night before at Thomas’s house, but she was too excited for Selina’s wedding. She picked up the small box from her dressing table before leaving her chamber and going downstairs to Selina’s room.

  After Regan had fallen asleep in Thomas’s bed last night, Beatrix had tried to persuade him to let her go home on her own—it was clear he should stay with his daughter. However, he’d insisted on hailing a hackney and accompanying her to Cavendish Square. It was, at least, faster than walking, which meant he was able to return to Regan as quickly as possible.

  He’d asked about her time at Mrs. Goodwin’s. She hadn’t told him quite everything—not the bits about stealing—but sharing the torment of the other girls, her close friendship with Selina, and how she’d left with Selina before her education had been completed had made her feel surprisingly good. Perhaps because he was an exceptional, and sympathetic, listener.

  He’d then regaled her with a few stories of Oxford, which involved a great deal of drunkenness and buffoonery. She had a bit of difficulty reconciling the troubled widowed father with the jovial young man and wished she could have known him then.

  Although she was quite happy with knowing him now. As well as his daughter. She was charming, and Beatrix was so glad to know she had a loving father.

  Situated at the rear of the first floor, Selina’s room was the largest bedchamber in the house. When Beatrix stepped inside, she stopped short at seeing Selina in her wedding gown. Made of ivory silk and trimmed in pale pink, the dress looked like a delicious confection.

  Her new lady’s maid, whom Selina’s almost-mother-in-law had insisted she needed, was busy fastening the buttons along Selina’s back.

  “You look so beautiful,” Beatrix said, sighing.

  Selina turned her head and smiled. “So do you.”

  Beatrix glanced down at her new dress. Light green with darker green embroidery, it reminded her of a bright spring day, which today was. “Thank you.”

  “All finished, miss,” the maid said, stepping back.

  Selina pivoted and held her arms slightly out from her sides. “Well?”

  “Nearly perfect.”

  Lines furrowed Selina’s brow. “Nearly?”

  “I have just the thing.” Beatrix looked to the maid. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  The maid dipped a curtsey before taking her leave.

  “I shall never get used to that,” Selina said.

  “I might, but then my mother had a lady’s maid.” Beatrix held out the small box tied with a blue ribbon. “I have something for you.” She placed it in Selina’s palm.

  “How did you—?” Selina pressed her lips together, her brows drawing together as she untied the ribbon. She opened the lid and gasped. Her free hand shot to her mouth
as her gaze lifted to Beatrix’s.

  Beatrix moved closer and looked down at the coral necklace. “I know it’s not the one you remember, but I thought it must be very similar.”

  “It’s lovely. Dammit, you’re going to make me cry. I told you I’ve become a watering pot.” Selina blinked several times and laughed. “It’s perfect.” She ran her fingertip over the flower. “Truly. This is the best thing I’ve ever received. Except Harry’s love.” She flashed Beatrix an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  Beatrix grinned. “As it should be.”

  “Will you put it on me? I want to wear it today.”

  “I rather hoped you would,” Beatrix said softly, happy that Selina loved the gift.

  Taking the present, Beatrix removed the necklace and set the box on the dressing table. As she turned to Selina, she hesitated. “I’m going to need a stool. You are, as always, a giant.”

  “No, you’re a sprite.” Selina bent her knees. “I’ll squat as I usually do.”

  Smiling, Beatrix went around Selina and fastened the pendant around her neck. The chain holding the flower carved in coral was gold and matched the gold-and-pearl earrings Selina already wore. Her honey-blonde hair had been artfully styled by the maid, incorporating pale pink ribbon and pearls.

  Selina looked into the glass at the dressing table and fingered the pendant. “Absolutely perfect. I almost think it’s the same kind of flower, but I always thought the one I remembered was a rose and this is clearly a peony.”

  There was a knock on the door, and they both turned their heads.

  “Come in,” Selina called.

  Stepping inside, Rafe stopped abruptly. His gaze swept Selina from slipper to crown. They were clearly siblings, both tall with golden hair and blue eyes, though Rafe’s right one had a peculiar orange spot. He also had a nasty scar that cut through his lip and chin. Beatrix had no idea how he’d gotten it, and she wasn’t sure Selina knew either. It hadn’t been there when he’d sent her away from London.

  “I imagined this day for so long,” he said quietly. “You’re a beautiful bride.”

  “You imagined it?” Selina asked.

  Rafe came toward them. “I hoped you would wed someday and that I would be there to see it.”

  “I hope the same for you.”

  He shook his head. “That isn’t the path for me, and I’ve made my peace with that.”

  Selina frowned. “This conversation isn’t over, but I’m not going to pursue it today.” She touched her pendant, her features relaxing. “Look at what Beatrix gave me.”

  Rafe reached out and she dropped her hand. He slid his fingers beneath the coral and ran his thumb over the flower. His lips parted, and he breathed, “This was hers.”

  “Our mother’s?” Selina asked.

  He nodded.

  “Not this exact piece, surely,” Selina said.

  Releasing the pendant, Rafe wiped a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. It’s very similar—the coral, the flower. But it may have been a rose.”

  “That’s what I remember.”

  Rafe looked at her in surprise. “You remember it?”

  “Just the coral and the flower and that it hung around someone’s neck—I didn’t know who. I remember touching it, like you just did.”

  “I did the same. She would hold me on her lap. Once, we were on a blanket near a small lake. There was a building behind us.” His brow creased, and his gaze took on a faraway stare. “It was like a miniature…temple.”

  “A folly?” Beatrix asked, recalling one she’d visited with her mother once. They’d gone to a country house, but Beatrix didn’t remember why or where. She had always recalled the folly, however. She’d wanted to live there with the fairies her mother said inhabited it.

  Rafe and Selina looked at her in bafflement.

  “It’s a fake building. I mean, it’s a real building, though I guess some don’t have a roof, but it’s a replica of something else, like a temple. Some people build them on the grounds of their estate. They might even pay a hermit to live in it.” Beatrix remembered one of the girls at Mrs. Goodwin’s talking about her uncle’s folly with a hermit.

  Though they nodded in understanding, Selina and Rafe also exchanged looks of disbelief.

  “The bloody rich,” Rafe muttered.

  “Which is now you,” Beatrix said with a laugh.

  “You won’t see me building a ridiculous folly—it’s the perfect name for such a useless thing. And you definitely won’t find me paying someone to live in it. Jesus.”

  “But you remember a folly,” Selina said insistently, her gaze fixed on Rafe.

  “And a lake,” Beatrix added.

  “Was that where we lived?” Selina sounded incredulous.

  “I don’t know.” Rafe paced to the window. He’d been five when their parents had died and they’d been taken in by a “relative.” A decidedly not rich relative who would not have been anywhere near a lake with a folly. The man who hadn’t really been their uncle had taken them to East London and used them to swindle people.

  “But I can distinctly see the folly and the lake.” He inclined his head toward Selina. “And that pendant.”

  “This exact pendant?” Selina asked, and Beatrix could hear the wonder in her voice.

  He turned to Beatrix. “Where did you get that?”

  Oh hell. She’d hoped to avoid mentioning the receiver shop. But she could believably explain why she’d bought a gift there. “The Golden Lion.”

  They both directed surprised looks at her. “Why did you go there of all places?” Rafe asked.

  Beatrix shrugged. “I wanted to find something nice, and those are the best places to do so without paying a fortune. And since you recently owned the shop, I thought it the smartest choice.”

  “Did Tillman help you?”

  “If he’s the wiry gentleman with an excessively lined face, then yes.”

  “That’s him.” Rafe shook his head. “I’ll go and speak to him, see where this came from.”

  “Do you really think this belonged to our mother?” Selina sounded as if she couldn’t believe it. Beatrix didn’t blame her. It would be beyond astonishing.

  “I don’t know.” Rafe blew out a breath. “It’s been an awfully long time. But if it isn’t that pendant, it’s bloody close. I still want to talk to Tillman about it.”

  Selina brushed her hand over the coral. “Yes, please. I may hold my breath until you do.”

  “Don’t do that,” Rafe said with a smile. “You need to breathe on your wedding day at least.”

  “Of course.” Selina rolled her eyes. “Speaking of that, we should be on our way to church.”

  “Ready?” Rafe offered her his arm.

  “As I’ll ever be.” She put her hand on her brother’s sleeve. “I never envisioned this day. Not once. I still worry something may happen to spoil it.”

  Rafe put his hand over hers and squeezed. “It won’t. I wouldn’t let it, but it won’t.”

  Selina nodded. He kissed her forehead before guiding her from the room.

  Beatrix lingered a moment, watching them precede her. Unlike Selina, Beatrix had envisioned a wedding day for herself. One where her father would give her away to her groom.

  That dream had died when her father had rejected her. Now it was up to her to find a new one.

  Chapter 12

  The wedding ceremony at St. George’s had been lovely, with Harry’s entire, rather large, family in attendance. He had two parents, a twin brother, three married sisters, and a variety of nieces and nephews. They were the opposite of what Beatrix and Selina—and Rafe—were used to.

  Beatrix watched in delight as they all embraced Selina, hovering around her and just generally welcoming her into their fold. She knew the attention was a trifle overwhelming for Selina, just as she knew that Selina had begun to enjoy it.

  The breakfast was being held at Lord and Lady Aylesbury’s grand house on Mount Street, and the drawing room and adjoining chamber w
ere full of well-wishers. Beatrix was glad to see some familiar faces in the women of the Spitfire Society, which now met at a variety of homes, including those of the Marchioness of Ripley, the Duchess of Clare, and the Duchess of Kendal. Beatrix suddenly realized she’d achieved a rather lofty position in Society—at least amongst her friends—without the aid of her horrible father.

  “Ah, Miss Whitford, allow me to introduce someone to you.”

  Beatrix had been so busy surveying the room, she’d missed the approach of Harry’s brother, the Viscount Northwood. Identical to Harry except that his shoulders were not quite as broad, North, as he was called, sported the same auburn hair and tawny eyes.

  But it was the man beside him who drew Beatrix’s full attention: Tom.

  Her breath caught as she schooled her features not to reflect the fact that she knew him. She dipped a curtsey. “Of course.”

  “Rockbourne, may I present Miss Whitford, my new sister-in-law.”

  Beatrix hadn’t considered that this large, boisterous family was now her family too. How positively wonderful, for she liked them very much.

  Curtseying again, Beatrix tried not to smile at Tom even though her heart was speeding at a frenetic pace. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Miss Whitford, this is the Viscount Rockbourne. He’s a dear friend of mine.”

  Beatrix saw the black band encircling Tom’s upper arm. “I heard about the tragedy you suffered. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply, but his gaze, locked with hers, held a dark, stirring heat.

  “I’m glad you decided to come today, Rockbourne,” North said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s good for you to get out.”

  “Some would say it’s not appropriate,” Tom said softly.

  “Eh, you’re an old friend of the family, and it’s not as if you’re out frolicking at a gaming hell.” North glanced toward Beatrix. “I beg your pardon.”

  She quirked a smile. “Not at all. Frolicking at a gaming hell sounds rather diverting.”

  North howled with laughter. “I knew I liked you.” His gaze fixed on something across the room and he gave a slight nod. Looking back to Beatrix and Tom, he said, “Please excuse me. My mother is giving me the eye.” His brows arched in amusement as he took himself off.