The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  All week, he’d been trying to think of all the many things he could do to enhance her life. He’d liked the smile she’d given him when she’d learned she’d be sleeping in a hotel that evening.

  He’d loathed her room and bed. She needed more. Better. She deserved it.

  John straightened. “She’s not here.”

  “When will she return?”

  “She… isn’t returning.”

  Hero lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Mr. Thump.

  “General Curbain.” The man bowed and then shot up to his full height. He wore a grin that showed a row of teeth that had seen better days. “I am surprised you are here. Tell me, how is the wound?”

  Hero didn’t like that his business was being discussed so openly. “I am well.”

  Mr. Thump chuckled in a way that claimed them to be old friends. “I bet you are. Tell me, has Betty been seeing to you herself? That wicked girl.”

  Hero frowned. He didn’t like what Mr. Thump was implying about his angel, but then again, he didn’t know Betty well himself. Was she indeed a strumpet?

  He doubted it. In fact, he was sure that wasn’t so. She’d not offered herself at all to him, not even after she’d felt his purse. She’d refused to even lay beside him with their clothes on.

  Instantly, he knew something was wrong.

  Thankfully, the noise in the tavern had returned to a level that made the rest of their conversation somewhat private. The young boy remained close, however, pretending to clean a table while clearly listening.

  “I’ve not seen Mrs. Gillett since the evening we met.” Hero said to Mr. Thump. “Where is she?”

  “Gone,” Mr. Thump said, his expression grave. “And there’s no need to call her Mrs. Gillett. I know she’s not actually wed to you or anyone else. I had to let her go for the dishonesty. A man such as yourself surely understands.”

  All Hero understood was that Thump had let a woman go for a lie many women made when wading into a man’s domain. It gave them a sense of protection. ‘Mrs.’ became their shield against attacks and unwanted charms.

  Who had Betty been trying to protect herself from?

  Thump was called by a man across the room.

  “If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” Thump said. “I won’t be but a moment.” He dashed off to the back, and the lad immediately took his place.

  “This is my fault.” The boy looked troubled.

  “What happened?” Hero asked.

  “I saw you at Covent Garden. I stood by the curtain and let you into Lord Redgrave’s box. I was so surprised to see you, I happened to tell a few people that you were Betty’s husband. I didn’t know you weren’t actually Betty’s husband.”

  Hero lifted his hand to silence the boy. “Where is she?”

  * * *

  Beatrix opened the door at the persistent knocking, believing it to be the boy she’d sent to purchase her a kettle.

  Her guest proved to not be a boy at all.

  Instead, he was a man.

  Brilliant blue eyes held hers through the crack in the door.

  Her stomach flipped.

  Then she took the rest of him in.

  Hero had dressed in his uniform with all the bells and whistles. The golden tassels on his epaulets made his shoulders seem all the broader. Ribbons and metals glittered on his sash.

  She watched in fascination as he took the shako from his head, the large hat that was more for show than practicality. It had long while plumes flowing from the top of it. He settled it on his side underneath an arm while his other hand was busy fixing that thick blond hair of his.

  He was breathtaking in the most exhilarating way.

  He had to know the commotion he stirred in a woman while dressed in that uniform.

  Whatever was the aristocrat doing at her door?

  “Hello.” His voice was different without the pain, still deep and lovely.

  She had to clear her throat to speak. “Did you just finish tea with the queen?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

  “The king then?” She looked at his clothes again.

  He looked mildly irritated. “I’ve not had tea with anyone in the royal family.”

  “Quite a shame.”

  He tilted his head and studied her as though he were trying to figure her out. “May I come in?”

  “Oh, yes!” She stepped back and opened the door. “My apologies for not being able to serve tea. I’ve yet to purchase a kettle.” She had two rooms. The receiving room also held a cooking stove and dining table. A bedchamber sat through the other door. The space was at least four times larger than the cramped closet she’d slept in at The Swinging Door Inn and even as spartan as it was, she was glad to no longer have to smell fried meat in the morning.

  The rooms had come furnished with an old couch, dining table, two chairs, and a bed that Beatrix had spent the better part of yesterday beating and shining until more than a decade of misuse came off the piece.

  The only thing she’d added was a writing desk she’d bought herself. It was presently covered with books she planned to read that she’d rented from the library. She’d bought a library subscription before she’d thought to buy a kettle. Now she thought better of that.

  It was not proper for him to be here, but she’d technically bought it with his money, so she wouldn’t complain too loudly. Her plan was simple enough. She’d thank him for his gift and then send him away. The less she saw of his kind, the better.

  He was more appealing than she recalled. Standing in her empty receiving room in his uniform with his wavy locks brushed back, he was very handsome, even though he was scowling.

  “How are you feeling?” She wondered if his expression came from pain.

  “You’re a brunette,” he replied.

  She touched her head. “Oh. Yes. I wore a wig when I was Betty Gillett.”

  He moved toward her and lifted his hand as though to touch her, but then at the last second withdrew.

  Her breath left her with great relief.

  His fingers curled into a fist before he placed his hand at his side.

  Then he met her eyes. “If not Betty Gillett, then who are you?” He was frowning at her again. It was slightly unsettling, especially while he wore that uniform.

  This was a man who’d led men into war. He’d been all grand smiles the night she helped him, but now she saw who he truly was.

  “I’m Beatrix Gillingham.”

  “Beatrix.” He nodded. “Yes, all right.” He exhaled and turned to look around the rooms again. “You purchased this with the coin I gave you?”

  Panic set in. Did he expect her to pay him back? She’d never be able to afford it. She prayed he’d not ask for anything else as compensation. She was dreadfully tired of that. “Yes.”

  He looked at her again. “What I gave you could have fetched you better.”

  She calmed a little. “I thought it best to spend it wisely. I’m unemployed at the moment.”

  He nodded slowly and then walked over to the bookcase and reached for the many rolls of paper that leaned against it. All of them were her drawings. He opened one as he spoke. “I just spent the better part of the day looking for you. No one had heard of a Betty Gillett outside of the tavern.”

  “How did you find me?” she asked. London was vast.

  Drawing in hand, he moved to the window and looked down onto the street. She knew what he would find out there. She was close to one of the worst parts of London, just two roads away from Devil’s Acre.

  She didn’t usually like to draw people, but once again, she found herself wishing to capture him just as he was.

  He was entirely out of place in her apartment. She was sure his boots cost more than the room.

  His voice distracted her musing. “John told me you were in Westminster. Once I realized your name may have been as false as your wig, I simply described you to every landlord until I found you. This one
didn’t even bother to gather my name before showing me to your rooms.”

  She wondered how he’d described her if he knew her to be wearing a wig when they’d met. But he was a general and had likely not gained such a position without a precise mind. “Not many generals come to this place, I imagine. I’m sure he’d not have allowed you up otherwise.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw and that was enough for Beatrix to know her words had given little comfort, if at all.

  “You’re moving well,” she said. She couldn't help but notice how well he walked. His height was striking enough. His every step announced his power.

  She needed him gone. “Thank you for the money. Now, if you’ll—”

  He turned to her then. “You can’t live here. It’s not safe.”

  She stuttered over her words. “I’ve little choice.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and she cut him off. “And I’ll not take any more of your money. You’ve already given me enough.” She didn’t trust him. She trusted no one. And she did have some pride. For saving his life and allowing him into her rooms at the tavern, she would take some money from him, especially when it got her dismissed from her job. However, no more.

  He spoke low but with equal authority, in a voice that demanded obedience. “Anything could happen to you here. Allow me to help.”

  “No. I will be fine here and if anything does happen to me, it will be none of your concern.” She had no clue why she didn’t fear this man. While everything about him seemed utterly formidable, she was not all worried he’d hurt her.

  Not physically, at least.

  Hero was before her in a blink. “Who are you?”

  She paused to think. “I’ve already told you.”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly as he looked her over. “I don’t think you have.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 7

  Hero had thought her quite attractive with the wig, but Betty— no, Beatrix— was stunning with her dark locks. They matched the brows and thick lashes that made her eyes quite irresistible. Her hair was the beauty of burnt umber, red tinted with swirls of blond in the curls. They made her flawless skin seem more translucent. She glowed even in the dreary chamber she’d secured for herself.

  He felt that pull again, as though the room were closing in on them and forcing them together.

  He took a step from her and looked around once more.

  Beatrix had refused his help. She was as stubborn as a lady.

  It attracted him even more.

  “Where are you from?” he asked.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You were clearly educated.” He turned to glance at her books before looking at her again. “And you don’t speak like someone from the docks.”

  She looked down. Her lashes shielded her eyes. “I grew up in the country.”

  “Was your father a gentleman? I’ve heard the last name Gillingham before. There is an earl who holds it, I believe. Are you a distant cousin, perhaps? Was your father clergy?”

  She chuckled and looked at him again. “My father was no saint. He was a lord.”

  He didn’t know why that information surprised him, but it did. He lifted a brow. “A lord.”

  “An earl, actually.”

  He shook his head and nearly stated his disbelief aloud. Gillingham. He knew that name. Her father was the Earl of Dalewell?

  Hero had met the man once, he believed. It had been a long time ago.

  But what was Dalewell’s daughter doing in the worst part of Westminster? She’d said her parents were dead. She’d said she wasn’t close to her siblings. There were few reasons a lord would abandon his female relations and subject himself to the ridicule of his peers. “Did you do something to offend your father’s heir?”

  She nodded but didn’t share further. “Why are you here, General?” Her eyes settled at his breast where his medals and ribbons lay.

  Usually, when a woman saw him in uniform, she fell over herself with fluttering lashes and great amounts of blushing. Not Lady Gillingham. If anything, she looked repulsed by it.

  Hero shook his head. “When I learned that you were no longer employed at the tavern, I wanted to see that you were well.”

  She caught his eyes again. “And why did you go to the tavern?”

  Why? It was a wonderful question.

  It didn’t feel right to confess his need to see her again or the fact that his mind had begun to make fantastical conclusions about her. He often allowed his thoughts to drift back to that night when they’d been together in her room. What would have happened if she’d allowed him to kiss her?

  Would she have allowed more? Would she have accepted his hands? Allowed his mouth to touch her in other places?

  Even now he could barely look at her and not stop himself from wanting her.

  In his thoughts, he’d been a lord without military ambitions. One who would pluck her from the darkness and bring her into the light of luxury.

  Yet if she were actually the Earl of Dalewell’s daughter, then Society was where she belonged. Not here in these rooms that were little better than where she’d been before.

  “You helped me. Allow me to help you.”

  “You already have.” She gave him a slight smile. A fake smile. “I cannot accept any more from you. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “My honor will not let me walk away from you,” he told her.

  And the words were true. His mother had named her children the way she had for a reason. Honor and integrity had always been the foundations of the Curbain family.

  “You are a lady,” he told her. “I don’t think it a coincidence that you and I met that night.” An idea began to work in his mind.

  * * *

  Beatrix felt her blood rushing through her veins. Hero’s words made her anxious. What did he mean that they’d not meant by coincidence? What else could it be? Fate? She didn’t allow herself to read further into his words than what he’d presented.

  “What are you saying?” Her voice was different than she’d expected. Breathless. “That you planned to get hurt? That you planned to run into the tavern afterward?”

  “No, but I plan to help return you to your rightful place. You’ll be a member of the upper-crust once more.”

  “No.” Then a moment later, she said, “How?” It was impossible. She was only curious about his answer.

  “By finding you a husband,” he said. “A lord.”

  She stared at him and then laughed before moving away. In the center of the room, she turned to him and placed her hands on her cheeks. Another giggle slipped past her lips. “Me? Marry a lord? Well, now, why didn’t I think of that? You’re right. I’ll simply walk up to the first lord I see and demand he marry me.”

  “Do you wish to marry? To have a family?” he asked.

  She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop laughing. The situation was not funny at all. In fact, her situation was entirely dire. That was why she laughed. To block the pain.

  The conversation was absurd. “My lord, look around. No gentleman will wish to marry me. I’ve nothing to offer him.”

  He’d been watching her with careful eyes, but at her last words, he straightened. His gaze became firm. “That is not true. You’re smart, beautiful, elegant, and kind-hearted. Any man would have you.”

  Beautiful. Not pretty. Beautiful. He thought her beautiful.

  She turned away as her cheeks flamed. “My lord…”

  “Let’s be less formal, Beatrix. Otherwise, if I recall, you’ll be bound to curtsey to me every time I enter a room and that is not something you wish to do.”

  She turned to him with a small smile. A real one. She’d not curtseyed since he’d entered the room. How rude of her!

  She didn’t dare let her knees bend.

  Why did she challenge this aristocrat? Why couldn’t she help herself?

  He wore the same expression, his having the power to make him appear more personal, reachable, with the ability to calm
her.

  At that moment, she was reminded of the night they’d met.

  It would not be wise to call him anything besides ‘General’ or ‘My Lord’. She hadn’t wanted to know his name or to know who he was.

  But now she did, and she’d allowed him into her home. “Aristocrat.”

  His lips twitched. “Let me help you.”

  She shook her head. “It could take years to find a husband. I’m twenty-five. I cannot allow you take me in for so long, especially since there is no guarantee this plan will work and I’ve no way to pay you back.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “Would you cease speaking of money?”

  “No, I cannot. It is what we common folk think of all the time. It is the reason we get up in the morning. It is the reason we breathe and survive.”

  “You are not a commoner.” He pointed a finger at her and then his broad chest. “You are as much an aristocrat as I.”

  “Not true.”

  “Are you certain?” He lifted a brow. “Because, I’ve not had a woman debate me over such a silly topic since my mother passed, and she was a duchess.”

  She blushed and suddenly did feel silly, though she didn’t know why.

  “A Season.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Since you are determined to take the very least from me that you can, we shall set the limit to a Season. I’m to leave for India in a few months anyway and will not be here to personally assist you after that.” He moved toward her. “It’s still early. Many of the members of Parliament travel here first without their families. The women join later.”

  He picked up his hat from the table. “Though there are a few parties going on now, the rest of the ton won’t be here for at least another month. We’ve time to secure you gowns, slippers, and whatever else a lady would need.”

  He looked around. “And you won’t be living here anymore. It’s not safe and no one wishes a bride with lice. My sister Lady Beaumont has a property that I’m sure her husband will allow you to use.”

  She pursed her lips but said nothing about the lice comment… There was certainly a chance the apartment had them.

  He looked at her again. “You’ll be invited everywhere once they know my sister is sponsoring you. We’ll say you were old friends and have recently met again. Have you had a Season before?”