"That is still up for debate, young man." Lady Southridge replied with a dry tone.
Beatrix glanced heavenward, searching her mind for some intelligent remark that would break up the awkward moment.
"Of course…my favor could be earned." Lady Southridge studied her gloves, then glanced meaningfully to Lord Neville.
"Anything for you, my lady."
Lady Southridge snorted. "Is that so? Well, then I'll look forward to a quiet evening to myself after we dine. It would seem you have much to discuss with Bev. Much that has been…left undisclosed." She leaned forward slightly.
"I see." Lord Neville nodded. "Then I shall anticipate a few moments of privacy with Bev, by your leave of course."
Beatrix's gaze danced from Lord Neville, then back to Lady Southridge as if following a tennis ball being lobbed from one opponent to another. Taking a deep breath she stood, thankful her ankle had improved so quickly. "I'm quite certain Lord Neville will disclose all that is necessary, Lady Southridge. And," She turned her attention to Lord Neville. "I'm also positive that Lady Southridge will provide us with the necessary privacy to conduct such a necessary conversation." She folded her hands in front of herself, careful not to tap her fingers, as she was sorely tempted to do.
As if reading her thoughts Lord Neville's glance darted to her hands and then back, a knowing grin teasing his lips.
Drat the man!
"Since that is all settled, I do believe the meal is ready." Lady Southridge stood and tilting her head, extended her hand in invitation for Lord Neville's escort.
"At your service." Lord Neville led her from the room, but not before he glanced back and winked at Beatrix as she moved to follow their lead.
Shaking her head, all she could think was that she surely hoped dinner was less eventful. She'd need the peaceful moments to prepare for what would surely be an intense conversation afterward.
A conversation she was both anticipating, yet dreading.
AFTER DINNER LORD NEVILLE found himself in a cozy parlor with the most tempting woman he'd ever met. And as fate would have it, he had to lay bare all the danger that lay before them, as well as the past that haunted him still. So with a tight chest, he tried to convey as much as possible, without adding to the fear he saw haunting her gaze. "I understand that it is quite difficult to comprehend all this information at once," He finished.
Beatrix needed time to think, to process all that he had so recently laid bare. Truthfully, he didn't trust himself at the moment either. Never before had he felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Normally he couldn't care a fig what others thought of him.
But he did care what she thought.
He found that he cared quite bit.
Which was why he found himself holding his breath before forcing himself to breathe evenly as he waited for her reaction. Her face was impassive, but it was her eyes that gave away her emotions.
And heaven bless Lady Southridge for giving them some semblance of privacy. He'd have to thank her later. A door slightly ajar was not a common blessing, but he'd use it to his full advantage. Dinner had proven quite relaxing, but as it had wound to an end, he'd known the necessity of having a private conversation with Beatrix.
"I understand… most of it. Rather, I find I'm quite confused on only one aspect." Her body was slightly tilted toward the fire so that the firelight flickered across her features, causing her skin to glint with light.
He swallowed hard, tried to focus on her words.
But found he was quite incapable.
He had always prided himself on his ability to keep a cool head, to think through even the most precarious situations, yet he found himself completely unable to do so with her in the room.
"What aspect?" he asked, his tone betraying his arousal.
She flushed and glanced away. "I hardly think this is the time to—"
"Rather, I believe it is the perfect time." Neville spoke quickly and strode toward her, keeping his approach purposeful, yet still cautious. It seemed as if he had been rather boorish with her of late; the last thing he wanted her to think was that her future husband was a brute.
No, she deserved wooing, romance, and the like.
And there was no time like the present.
Holding out his hand, he waited.
She glanced from his hand to his eyes then back, a question in her gaze.
He wiggled his fingers.
"You have no gloves on." she reminded him, her tone dubious.
He gasped and placed his other hand to his mouth to hide his teasingly shocked expression. "I promise you my bare skin is quite clean."
She shot him an irritated expression.
Just to harass her further, he studied his extended hand momentarily. "Yes, free of any dirt. I promise not to ruin your lovely dress."
"It's not my dress I'm afraid of ruining," Beatrix shot back, but he could see the indecision fading from her eyes.
He was learning something fascinating. As much as he was drawn to her, unable to deny her siren call, she was drawn equally to him.
Bloody hell, that was as addictive as it was terrifying.
He swallowed and held out his hand once more, feeling as if he were doing so much more than offering her a hand.
He was presenting his heart.
Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand in his.
Her gloved hand slid across his palm till his fingers tightened around her palm, and he pulled her close, taking a step toward her as well.
"One thing…" he whispered, slipping his other hand into their embraced grasp and tenderly tugging on each finger of her white glove till it loosened from her fingers. He removed it, tossed it aside, and then held out his palm as silent petition for her other hand.
Wordlessly, she offered it…he repeated the process. It was startlingly erotic, to take off a lady's gloves.
Not just any lady.
Beatrix… his lady.
His soon-to-be wife.
He grinned simply thinking the words.
Lifting her hand, he slid his bare fingers across her palm before interlocking her fingers with his, savoring the warm skin-on-skin melting together, fusing.
"So soft," he murmured. Releasing one hand, he reached around and placed his palm on her waist. It was the perfect size, fitting his large hand. Not as dainty as the other ladies he'd danced with, whose waist size had seemed unnaturally small. It was as if she were made for him, to fit perfectly. The scent of rose water and lilac surrounded him. Her brown eyes were bottomless, searching his. The same sensation of exposure slammed into him, yet, as disconcerting as it was, there was no fear.
With no music but the rhythmic pounding of his heart in his ears, he started to lead her in a waltz. Following, she stepped with him, graceful and light on her feet. It was a tragedy that he had never danced with her before, but to be honest, he had never had the opportunity. He'd like to think that had he been given the opportunity, he would have taken shameless advantage — in the best sense. The most appropriate sense.
"I've never waltzed without music," she commented, as if feeling the need to fill the silence.
He led her about the room, the sensual swirl of give and take, ebb and flow that the waltz created through its fluid steps.
"I find that hard to believe." He spoke as he pulled her in slightly, immediately warmed by her body heat.
"And why is that?" she asked, a saucy tilt to her full lips. They were the perfect plum color, inviting and sweet.
"You have sisters. I'm quite certain you practiced waltzing with them, and I'm assuming you didn't always have music."
She arched an eyebrow. "That is where you're mistaken," she said with a twist of her mouth, a shy grin breaking through. She bit her lip and glanced away momentarily.
"Oh?" He counted the small smattering of freckles on her nose, light and playful but adding a dimension of depth to her perfect face.
"Indeed. Berty always sang."
"Ah, then I was indeed incorr
ect." He nodded slightly, grinning as she met his gaze with a welcoming expression.
And, in that moment, he discovered another attribute to Beatrix that further stole his heart. She was fun.
When spoken aloud, it might not seem romantic, but, in the moment, it was. It was perfect. Like her.
"You truly must cease your assumptions. You cannot be right as often as you'd like," she quipped, not resisting as he adjusted his hold to be slightly more near.
"Mortal wounds you inflict on my confidence, my lady," he teased. It was incredible how such an intimate moment could be so full of joy, so absent of abrasive tension, but rather thick with expectancy and hope.
It was the hope that transfixed him. How long had it been since he had sincerely felt that emotion?
"I have all confidence that you shall recover fully," she replied dryly, pulling him back into the conversation.
He slowed down their waltz and re-approached the topic they had drifted from, the topic that needed closure. As much as he hated it.
He hesitated, not wanting to break the spell that had woven so powerfully around them, but knowing he needed to find out the truth she sought. "You never answered my inquiry about what aspect of my explanation caused confusion."
"Well… I wasn't exactly given the opportunity to give voice to my thoughts. I do believe you felt the need to dance," she replied archly, her face flushing with a warming blush. He was standing close enough he could practically feel the heat.
Endearing, that.
"Indeed. And if I may be so bold—"
"When have you not been bold?" Beatrix interrupted with unrestrained laughter.
"Indeed." He chuckled darkly. "However… I was intending to compliment your grace while dancing. I had impugned the integrity of your claim earlier—"
She tilted her head in confusion.
"When you said you were the most graceful of your sisters."
"Ah, yes, well, I'm trying to forget your behavior earlier. It was not becoming of a gentleman." She straightened her shoulders and gave him a mock scowl.
"A thousand apologizes. I'm simply trying to amend my earlier assessment since it was so inaccurate. You are, indeed, very graceful."
"Thank you." She nodded, a grin breaking through. "I know."
"Humble too."
"Quite."
Unable to resist, he chuckled.
She smiled in response, then it faded, replaced by a slight frown. "I find I'm confused on the aspect of the motive. It seems the Lamont estate, or whatever inheritance we have received, is the motive for whomever it is who wishes to cause us harm. It is only my sisters and I who are the heirs. No other relatives are living. They had to do quite the stretch to connect us with the duke in the first place, because no one else shared any connection. In order for someone to contest our right to the estate, whether we be living or not, they'd have to be related. Do you see my confusion?"
"Indeed. Which is why we've been investigating your family's history. So far we've come up with little, which is why I need to ask you some questions, to see if we are missing some pertinent information concerning your family. But first, you must understand one thing, Miss Bev." He led her to the seating area beside the crackling fire.
"Must you call me that even when we are alone?" Beatrix lamented in a soft voice, even as her gaze darted around the room.
"Indeed. There is no precaution too much in order to provide you with the utmost protection. Which is the point I wish to make, Miss Bev…" Then, leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. "…my sweet Beatrix…" He straightened but not before watching her gaze soften at the sound of her name. "So long as I have breath in me, no harm will come to you. Back home, I have one of my finest colleagues watching your family as well. You are safe."
"Who is watching Berty and Bethanny?" she asked, her voice small.
"I've been told that the earl has hired several guards. However, we don't see Bethanny as much of a target. Right now, it seems that the target is you, my dear. Berty is being protected by one of my good friends, Curtis Sheppard. He's surely lamenting his station, but he's utterly trustworthy.
She nodded slightly, her expression still worried.
He waited till she sat, then, breaking the social protocol, he sat beside her.
To hell with it all.
"Did your family have any enemies? Were there any servants who seemed to be resentful?" he asked, studying her expression, full of concentration.
"Not that I'm aware. I do believe Bethanny would probably be able to offer you more information than I, since she was older when we lived there… when my parents passed." He noted the hitch in her tone, as if she still truly missed them.
His parents had passed as well, many years ago, but being like so many other of the ton, his parents had had the idea that children were to be neither seen nor heard. His memories of his mother and father were few and always tempered with mixed emotions of both hope and disappointment. When they passed, he'd indeed been sorrowful, but had not lamented their dying as deeply as Beatrix appeared to lament hers.
"I'll be sure to inquire with Bethanny. In the meantime, is there anything at all you can remember? Did your parents have any connections with others who might have interest in their remaining estate?" he asked.
She glanced upward, as if trying to recall the information they needed. "I remember my father refused to see someone… a gentleman… shortly before the carriage accident. I'm not sure of his name. The only reason I remember it is because it was during dinner, and my mother was always adamant that there would be no interruptions during mealtimes. For the footman to risk her wrath and approach my father during supper… it made an impression on me.
"I see." He shifted in his seat, facing her fully. "Do you remember what happened after the servant approached your father?"
She took a deep breath then exhaled slowly as she seemed to search her mind. "My father listened then turned quite red, apparently greatly vexed. He whispered something to the footman, and my mother coughed when she overheard, as if trying to hide her shock." She tilted her head. "My mother never could hide her emotions, that much I remember with all certainty."
"Did your father leave with the footman?"
"No. But I remember a commotion in the foyer. It was not too terribly far from the dining hall. My sisters and I glanced to each other, curious, but my father simply continued to eat his meal, as if nothing had happened at all. We took our cue from him and ignored the distraction, and soon, everything was normal again. We were sent to the nursery early that night," she finished, staring into the fire as if reliving the memories, not simply speaking of them.
"Was there any further talk of the gentleman or the circumstance?" This information was possibly the break they needed to find the person behind the threat. He tried to hide his interest, lest he distract her from any memory, any detail. Only heaven knew how important it might be.
"I don't believe so. The next day my father remained in his study, which was very common, and my mother went visiting a few of our tenants. The Millers, I believe. It was later that week that their carriage overturned, killing them both." Her tone was soft, as if speaking it too loud would make it happen again, make it more real.
"I'm… very sorry for your loss," Neville replied, feeling at odds as to how to comfort her.
"Thank you. It was years ago now… but when I speak of it … it seems much more recent, the wound fresher." She sniffled slightly then straightened, as if disgusted with her emotion.
"It must have been very comforting to have parents that you knew well." He mused as he watched a clear tear trail down her cheek and disappear under her jaw.
"It was… it truly was," she admitted, her tone thick. Taking a deep breath, she smiled bravely. "Here I am, dithering like a ninny, and I have no idea of your family history. Are your parents living?" She straightened and faced him. Her brown eyes were glassy, reflecting the firelight and utterly stunning. There was no calculating glint, no hint of falsehoo
d, nothing but innocent inquiry.
He glanced down and reached for her hand. As he laced his fingers through hers, savoring the skin-on-skin contact, he took a deep breath. "I did not know my parents as well as you, and so when they passed, while I was saddened, it was not as defining a moment as it was for you and your sisters."
"Oh." She blinked. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"I'm afraid I know nothing different, so don't let it affect you." He shrugged.
"But… wasn't that difficult as a child? I — I cannot imagine not having my mother around to comfort me when I was young… to know my father's soothing voice when I was afraid." Her expression was pained as she glanced down then met his gaze once more, her eyes full of sympathy.
Brilliant.
"If you do not have something, you cannot miss its absence," he replied.
However, that wasn't the truth. Because he did miss those things she'd listed. But as a child, he hadn't been able to define them.
Not till he was older. And he vowed should he ever have his own heirs, they'd know him.
Not just his title or his name. They'd know him… the sound of his voice and the comfort of his affection.
"I suppose… though it still saddens me," she replied, reaching up and placing a warm hand to the side of his face.
"Don't waste your tears on the past." He leaned into her palm but kept his eyes trained on her.
Her pink tongue darted out and moistened her lips.
His body tightened, wanting, no, needing to further discover her flavor. Leaning forward, he waited, hoping she'd close the final distance, that she'd kiss him.
Her eyes closed, but she didn't move toward him. Indecisive, he watched her pink lips part slightly, but again, she didn't draw nearer.
Just as he was about to back away, her eyes opened and studied him with a confused expression. Holding his breath, he waited. Her warm breath tickled his lips, enticing him. A fraction of a moment before he damned his self-control and took her kiss, she leaned in, pressing her warm, inviting lips to his. The movement was so quick he didn't have a chance to close his eyes, but rather watched with rapt attention as she moved closer. Her kiss was tentative at first, then, as he returned it, he sensed her body relaxing into the movement, swaying into him. Eyes drifting close, he lost himself to the sensation of her freely given affection. She tasted of spicy tea and honey, his new favorite addiction.
A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3) Page 7
