Lady Southridge's eyes narrowed at the man, then she nodded ever so slightly. Adjusting her skirt slightly, she shifted. "You understand I need to protect my interests. How very inconvenient for me, should I hire a lady's companion I actually enjoy, only to have her snatched from my service by some gentleman in search of a wife? No. You must understand my predicament."
"But—" Beatrix tried to interject.
"I do understand, Lady Southridge, but the deception…" Neville interrupted Beatrix then took a few lazy steps to the left of the chair and faced Lady Southridge fully, his gaze direct and intent. "…but your deception was foolhardy. How can you expect to protect your… interests… so improperly prepared, should the worst happen? I must say… your young lady's companion would have been easy prey had I not been a gentleman."
Beatrix cast him a disbelieving look. His interpretation of gentleman must be much looser than that of hers.
"I can see the folly of my ways. However…" Lady Southridge stood. "…there is the matter of your behavior, Lord Neville, toward someone of my employ. An unmarried woman at that." She tilted her head slightly.
"I am present… just in case you had forgotten that detail," Beatrix spoke in an annoyed tone, lamenting her injury that prevented her from standing as well. "And both of you have lost your wits! Everyone in this room already knows that—"
"Miss — Bev, I would suggest you cease speaking, or else I'll be forced to kiss you once more, stunning you into silence again." He gave her a wink.
Beatrix felt her face heat with anger and humiliation once more. Was it possible to be in the same room with that man and not feel so emotionally engaged? She either wanted to kiss him or kill him.
Neither were wise ideas.
"So you've kissed her?" Lady Southridge asked, walking in a loose circle around him, like a lioness circling her prey.
Beatrix swallowed hard against what she knew was coming. Unable to decide how she felt about it, she simply stared as Lady Southridge measured up the man before her.
Lord Neville didn't flinch, but met her gaze directly, as if daring her to continue.
As if it were part of the plan.
Heavens above! The man has planned this!
"No. No, no, no, you did not!" Beatrix narrowed her eyes and tried to stand, but rather flopped back into the chair in a decidedly ungraceful motion. Glaring at him, she spat. "How could you!? Why would you? You do not know me!"
"I know you well enough to know what I'm doing. Please calm yourself."
She gasped. Calm herself? As if this was simply a walk in Hyde Park!
"Bev, it would seem that Lord Neville just admitted to taking liberties with you. Now, I must ask… Were these liberties welcomed?" Lady Southridge queried, and Beatrix felt the color drain from her face.
Turning to face her, Beatrix swallowed. It would be so easy to lie… to say it had been unwanted attention… forced even.
But lying had never been an option for her. To speak so fully in opposition to the truth went against everything within her. So, knowing she was sealing her fate, she simply nodded and closed her eyes so she'd not see the disappointment on Lady Southridge's face.
"Then I believe we have a wedding to plan."
Beatrix had expected the words to be spoken in a dull, lifeless tone. But she'd been mistaken.
Opening her eyes, she saw Lady Southridge's grin, wide and free as she winked at her.
Winked.
As if she hadn't just been compromised.
By the very man from which they were trying to get riddance!
A pulsing throb began at the back of her neck. The world must have somehow turned on its ear!
And why were they insisting on calling her Bev? Had they all lost their bloody minds? It was the parlor! It wasn't as if they needed to keep with the ruse… unless…
"Brilliant," Lord Neville replied and bowed. "If you'll excuse me, I have some affairs to attend to at present, given the recent circumstances. By your leave."
"Of course, but you will be back to take dinner with us, will you not?" Lady Southridge asked, rather than demanded.
Beatrix glanced between them, trying to pull the pieces of the scattered puzzle together in her mind.
"Of course. Lady Southridge, you must know, I will not be far, should… Bev… need me." There was a weight to his words, as if trying to convey some secretive meaning.
"Very good." She nodded.
Lord Neville strode toward Beatrix, his gaze dark and inviting, as if being rewarded, rather than punished, for his bad behavior. His expression was fascinating, and she steeled herself against it, knowing there was far more going on than met the eye.
And she vowed to find it out.
"Miss… Bev," he spoke softly then reached for her hand and kissed it tenderly. "I must say that the day has taken a delightful turn. I do hope you'll come to the same conclusion soon," he whispered then quit the room, leaving the scent of cloves in his wake.
"Well, I couldn't have planned that better." Lady Southridge clapped her hands once his footsteps were out of earshot.
"Pardon?" Beatrix glared at her, careful to hold her dress together in the back.
"My dear, for being so intelligent, you really miss the obvious, don't you?" She clicked her tongue. "You are the safest you could possible be! Wedded to Lord Neville? Why—? Wait! You don't know who he is, do you?" Lady Southridge paused as apparent understanding dawned across her face.
"He's a previously reclusive lord who decided to re-enter society and be the bane of my existence," Beatrix replied hotly.
Shaking her head, Lady Southridge spoke. "My dear, you may try to fool yourself, but no one else believes that lie about your indifference to him. The very air about you heats when you two are together. It was the same at the library in Greenford Waters."
"How—?"
"I have my ways. Now… it's not my story to tell. But I do believe you should speak with your future husband tonight after dinner. His past is one that will lend security but, potentially, fear. You alone can make that decision." She walked to the door. "Now I suggest we get you properly attired. After all, you have a betrothed to impress at dinner."
NEVILLE SIGNED HIS NAME with a flourish and closed the envelope with the warm wax before pressing his seal atop. The Neville crest imprinted perfectly, an impressive and bold N with a shield behind it. Distinctive yet elegant. He glanced about the rented room at the Goose Inn and collected his belongings. The room was unused, save the necessity of the desk, as his plan had worked out far better than he'd imagined.
Betrothed.
He dared not consider the full implications lest he become far too distracted by the truth of it… the pleasure to be had. But there were far more pressing matters needing his full attention. That Beatrix had not caught on when he and Lady Southridge had continued to call her Bev, even within the Breckridge House walls, was a situation he'd have to address with her forthwith. No one could be trusted, no risks taken. Lady Southridge had immediately caught on to his plan; that much was evident. At times, he didn't know how to read the woman; rather, she was oblivious in some matters, or simply wanted others to perceive her as such, so that she might uncover deeper secrets. If so, the woman would be quite the asset to the crown, not that he'd ever mention that.
Bloody hell, he could only imagine what would happen should she feel the need to serve her country!
He swiped the sealed letters from the desk and tucked them into his front coat pocket. He'd have them delivered by messenger immediately. Of course, it would cause quite the gush of gossip within the ton, but that was the point.
Draw them out…
So that the shadows could no longer hide their intentions.
And once they were exposed, he'd eliminate the threat.
It was a tried and true method. Simple yet effective.
And as long as he could keep the ruse of Bev going, Beatrix would be completely safe.
Just thinking her name made his body respon
d. It was stronger than before, the siren call she held over him. It was as if every kiss, every touch only made him crave more. He chuckled. She would keep his life interesting that was for certain. Beatrix was no simpering deb.
He settled with the inn and strode outside to his mount. It was delightful to travel so light, to be able to bypass the necessity of a carriage. Though it was rare for a man of his title to do so, he found it refreshing to simply blend in. The members of the ton usually wished to stand out, but he had never been comfortable doing so. And when his life had gone to hell, he'd found sanctuary in the solitude of isolation. Everything around him seemed to remind him of Mary, of her betrayal and of the blood on his hands.
From that choice to remain in self-imposed exile, he had been astounded at how the rumors had grown. And he had let them… encouraged them even. Because the more horrendous they'd become, the more the ton had left him alone.
Let him lick his wounds.
And he would have been quite satisfied to remain in that sorry state had he not received the missive from the war office.
A man with nothing to lose didn't fear death.
So, with reckless abandon, he'd thrown himself into the job. At first they had only requested his assistance with intelligence, but when he'd proven himself, they'd allowed him to take a smaller case. From there, his reputation had simply grown.
Till last season when they'd had a need for him to immerse himself in society once more.
He still remembered the cold chill of understanding as his superior had given him the assignment. It had been a strange awakening to not fear the most deadly of criminal, yet feel a cold sweat break out when thinking about attending a ball.
It was that realization that had made him determined to accept the assignment. Fear would not hold such power over him…
He decided to attend the come out of a debutant, one who would surely pull in all of London's elite to one event: the ward of a duke. Bethanny Lamont's come out was sure to be a smashing success, and he was attending.
But it wasn't the incomparable nature of her debut that captivated his attention.
No, it was a dark-haired beauty that seemed to be sneaking in, watching from atop a balcony overlooking the large ballroom. It was easy to deduce that it was a sister of the debutant of the evening, given their similar appearance. Later, he found out her name: Beatrix.
And from that moment, he subtly uncovered more and more about her, about her family.
Because in the ton, nothing was what it seemed.
Ever.
But just because it was deceptive, didn't mean it needed to be brought to light.
No, some secrets were meant to remain hidden.
And that was exactly what Neville had been trying to do, till the wrong person used them against the very girl who captivated him.
He was rather proud of his self-control; that was, until a secluded afternoon in the library of Greenford Waters…
But that was now history.
Delicious, decadent, and enticing history that was bound to be a very prominent part of his future.
He urged his mount into a gallop down the well-worn road toward Breckridge House. The post he'd left with the innkeeper, to be sent out immediately, would start the plan in motion. Protecting Beatrix, yet setting a trap at the same time, pulling the hidden nemesis out into the light.
With the simple task completed, he set out to apply himself to the more trying, yet infinitely more pleasurable undertaking of winning his soon-to-be-wife's heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
BEATRIX STRUGGLED TO REMAIN COMPOSED as she descended the stairs. She wasn't quite sure which emotion was creating such havoc within her: irritation or attraction.
Odd how the two emotions seemed to be in constant conflict whenever she was in the company of the reclusive Lord Neville.
Her betrothed.
Honestly, just how had she gotten herself into such a position?
She snorted indelicately as she remembered that it wasn't her own actions, rather his, that had found them in such an arrangement.
Irritation won for a moment. Yet as she walked across the foyer toward the parlor where they'd meet before heading to supper, her heart skipped while she took in the dark gaze of Lord Neville as he stood in acknowledgment of her entrance. His charcoal coat accentuated his dark features, but rather than the contrast making him appear severe, it only highlighted his strong jaw, the intelligent wit and appreciation flashing in his deep brown eyes.
"Miss Bev." He bowed.
A snort escaped her lips unchecked, and she blushed as she realized her blunder.
He met her gaze with an amused grin.
She squared her shoulders. "Must we—?"
"Certainly your lady will be down shortly?" he interrupted, his dark brows lowering as if conveying some message.
She paused. "Yes, of course." Beatrix took a deep breath and walked over to the fireplace. She watched the orange flames hungrily lick the wood.
"Surely you must understand the need for us to maintain appearances… Bev." His words were hot in her ear.
She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, not having heard his approach.
"Why?" she asked, inhaling deeply the rich scent of him.
"Because we are not certain who is friend, who is foe," he whispered, his breath tickling her neck.
"I highly doubt that—"
"I'd rather not risk this beautiful neck of yours," he murmured as he ran a finger along it. Immediately her skin burst into goose bumps, and she quite forgot whatever thought she'd been considering.
"Such lovely skin."
"Th-thank you," Beatrix replied, unable to manage more as the man was creating the most wicked desire swirling within her, all with a simple touch.
The man was either antagonizing her or seducing her.
She rather liked the seducing part.
"Lady Southridge has created quite a clever cover for you. We shall exploit it to the best of our ability. It shall give us extra aid in protecting you."
"Us?" Beatrix asked, her mind snapping alert.
"I quite imagine that we agree on the priority of keeping you safe, along with Lady Southridge. However…" He paused and placed a soft kiss to her neck just where her shoulder began. "I wouldn't hesitate to take on the task alone."
She inhaled a shaky breath. "Why?" she managed.
"Why not?" he replied as his fingers traced her jawline.
"I do believe you understood my question. After all, we haven't known each other long. I'll not enter into an arrangement with you—"
"An engagement… not arrangement," he corrected.
"Very well, an engagement with you… on so weak a foundation of the small knowledge we have of one another," she finished, turning from the fire and stepping away so that she might face him without his provocative touch assaulting her senses.
"What makes you think I know so little about you?" he asked, hitching a shoulder slightly.
Her brow furrowed, and he chuckled.
"I do know more about you than you think, sweet Bev, but even if I did not, there are many marriages of the ton that are based upon far less."
"Be that as it may…" She clasped her hands in front of her. "…I refuse to add myself to their ranks."
"Nor would I expect you to." He took a small step toward her. "I would hate to sentence myself to such a fate either."
His advance toward her continued till he was close enough for her to see the slight silk pattern in his cravat. The small swirling design captivated her — rather provided the distraction from his alluring presence that she needed in order to keep her wits about her.
"Look at me," he demanded in a seductive whisper.
"No," she replied, yet glanced up.
"Yes."
"I do believe you enjoy arguing with me." He placed a finger under her chin, holding her gaze.
"I do believe you delight in provoking me," she retorted.
Undeterred by her ba
rb, he simply chuckled. "Possibly." He studied her mouth, his gaze smoldering as he slowly leaned down.
Beatrix closed her eyes and waited, fully anticipating the kiss, knowing she should be doing anything but appearing so eager.
But she couldn't quite muster the denial of the truth.
As much as she loathed the man… she also quite liked him far too much to deny her attraction or the pleasure of his kiss.
The moment his lips touched hers, the sound of footsteps assaulted her senses as equally as his warmth.
"That is enough, you two. I will not have my lady's maid compromised in the parlor." Lady Southridge's voice spoke calmly, as if she were commenting on the weather.
Beatrix stepped back, heat flushing her face as she bumped into a chair and knocked it over.
"Don't get into such a dither, Bev. It's not the first time he's kissed you," Lady Southridge commented. "Am I not correct, Lord Neville?"
"Indeed you are correct, my lady." He bowed, the traitor.
Beatrix took a calming breath and tried to regain her composure. She glanced to the offending chair, still on its side, and then narrowed her eyes at Lord Neville.
"Well, it's not," he defended, though a smirk broke through his innocent expression. He strode to the upended piece of furniture and righted it.
"Bev, do come and sit by me," Lady Southridge all but commanded.
Beatrix glared daggers at Lord Neville but obeyed. Her skirts swished lightly as she crossed the parlor floor and took a seat beside the dowager.
"You may also sit, Lord Neville… if you wish," Lady Southridge added after patting Beatrix's shoulder.
"I'll stand, if you don't mind."
"I rather thought you'd do so," Lady Southridge replied.
The conversation stalled, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally, Lady Southridge broke the silence. "Were you able to accomplish all that was necessary this afternoon? I gather you'll be reoccupying your rooms here at Breckridge House?"
"Indeed," Lord Neville replied and took a casual step toward Lady Southridge. "Surely my presence is more…welcome than before?" He smirked then glanced to the fire as if trying to hide his amusement.
A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3) Page 6
