“Well, Miss Rider did and didn’t make a sound for nearly a year after that. She didn’t speak. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t cry. She said nothing. Her mother and doctors thought her mind broken by the incident.”
Hero wondered where this tale was going and was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. “Well, she is clearly not broken.”
“Yes,” Lore agreed. “And do you know how they discovered it? One day, Lady Beatrix displayed what you would call a vulgar trick and got the girl to laugh. Beatrix’s uncivilized, gauche display of trickery made a little girl who’d seen something quite terrible smile.”
Hero’s consternation had been proven right. He’d been a villain to Beatrix, and he knew why.
He was indeed jealous and not just of his brother but of Carey and every man who’d have the opportunity to one day ask for her hand.
Because Hero could never do so. He’d given her the dowry. He planned to leave for another war soon. He and Beatrix could never be more than friends, but thanks to his harsh manner, he’d likely lost that as well.
He’d never wanted anyone so badly and never had he spoken to a woman in such a way. “I need to go.”
“I hope she gives you a black eye,” Lore called.
Hero just hoped she opened the door.
∫ ∫ ∫
2 0
Beatrix allowed the butler to show Hero into the drawing room. Valiant was no longer there. She’d left at Beatrix’s urging and her claim of needing to be alone.
Under other circumstances, Hero’s presence would be improper, but that no longer mattered. She was leaving the moment after he departed. She’d find work somewhere else. She still had the original coin he’d given her and the allowance he’d claimed she’d need if she planned to go to places like Gunter’s. She’d take it with her and find a way to pay him back every shilling.
Hero looked as regal as he had this morning, but his expression was different. When he’d come to teach her the waltz, he’d been grinning.
Now, he glared as he looked her over. “What are you wearing?”
Beatrix had changed into the clothing she’d worn before he’d come into her life. She was only glad she hadn’t allowed Joanna to donate them. Both had been sure that Beatrix would make a match by Season’s end, but Beatrix had known to be prepared for the worst. She’d kept her cotton dresses just in case her time ran out.
And apparently, it had.
“You will be glad to know that I’m leaving. I planned to leave a note, but since you are here, there is no reason to do so anymore. I’m leaving. Tell Valiant that I thank her for everything she’s done for me. I can only hope I’ve not embarrassed your family too greatly.”
He’d been walking toward her as she spoke. When he was nearly upon her, he reached for her hands.
She stepped back. “Don’t touch me.” She never wanted to feel his touch again.
She’d trusted him. She’d trusted him with the truth about the men who’d proposed to her and the truth of her work at the markets. She’d never trust him again.
His hands fell to his sides. His expression was pained. “Beatrix, don’t leave. I’ve come to apologize.”
“Don’t bother.” She straightened her spine. “You are under the mistaken notion that I need you. I don’t. I was fine before we met, before you stumbled into the tavern and ruined everything.”
His eyes widened. “You thought it better to sleep with a blade underneath your pillow?”
Beatrix shut her mouth.
“Yes,” he went on. “I found it. I nearly lost half my face with how sharp it was.” Then his expression softened. “The way I spoke to you was inexcusable.”
“Yes, it was,” she agreed. “I was by no means vulgar.”
“You’re right,” he said readily. “I was a fool to have ever said it. Lore told me about what you did for Miss Rider. Can you ever forgive me?”
She was surprised how this great lord had managed to humble himself enough to ask for the forgiveness of a woman who had nothing.
Still, she’d not forgive him. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, I can no longer depend on your charity. I must go.”
He moved and blocked her retreat. “Beatrix, please. Let me explain.”
“You’ve said far more than I wish to hear, Aristocrat. Now, please, move.”
He searched her eyes and frowned. “How can I make this right between us? I already plan to apologize to Valiant and Lore, though they already know it was I who was in the wrong. It is not you who has been embarrassed but me.”
She doubted that. He was their brother. She was an outsider. Barely a lady. She didn’t belong.
“Beatrix.” He lowered his voice beseechingly. “I beg you. Tell me what can be done to fix this rancor.”
She wanted to throttle him. She wanted to hurt him just as much as he’d hurt her but knew it was impossible. This general had shown her just how little he thought about her. It was only some inconvenient sense of honor that had likely brought him to her door.
“You can’t fix this,” she told him. “I don’t pardon you. I’ll never pardon you. I don’t wish to be around you anymore.”
He became ashen at her words, and Beatrix nearly felt sympathy for him, but then she recalled his uncalled-for behavior just a few hours before.
He actually seemed hurt, but he’d have had to care about her in order for that to happen.
He took a step back and straightened. “Then I shall make it so you are never around me again. I shall keep my distance and allow you to enjoy the Season without me. But please, do not leave. This is where you belong. You are a lady and the woman who saved my life.” He took another step back. “I will stay out of your way and only come if you need me. Will you accept this arrangement?”
She’d never need him again; she was sure of it.
But he was willing to keep his distance so she could have a chance at happiness. She’d be a fool to throw it back in his face. She nodded. “Very well. I accept.”
He went to the door and then paused. “I am grieved by my earlier actions. The consequences will be my burden to bear. I shall mourn what I have lost with you, but I am glad you’ve managed to see past my asperity toward your own happiness. I pray... you find it.” Then he left.
Something inside Beatrix’s chest shattered.
∫ ∫ ∫
2 1
Hero stormed into his sister’s home and found her in Lord Beaumont’s library. She rested on a red chaise that had been positioned by the writing desk and chair, a symbol that Beaumont enjoyed having his wife close.
A handwoven red and blue Persian rug circled the center of the room with geometric shapes of dizzying effect.
The walls were covered in books. Many of them were for design more than use, Hero was certain. A man like Beaumont didn’t have time to read every book in his library.
But his wife did. She had time. She had a vast selection.
And yet she’d stolen books from his home.
Valiant looked up from the book—his book—in her hand and smiled. “Oh, hello, brother. Whatever are you doing here?”
He marched across the room and snatched the book from her hand. Waving the novel in the air, he said, “This is not for you.”
Valiant had the nerve to color, which brightened her eyes. “Hero, I didn’t know you read libertine books. Imagine my surprise when your footman showed me to your study and I found works from Pierre Choderlos de Laclos and Claude Prosper Jolyot de Crébillon. Very scandalous of you. Beaumont never lets me buy them. I’m glad to know you have a flaw.”
That made him recall the moment Beatrix had asked him if he had any flaws. He’d been embarrassed to know his sister had found his secret collection of books, but the word ‘flaw’ only brought pain.
It had been four days since he’d last spoken directly to Beatrix. Since then, they’d both attended two routs and the weekly ball at Almack’s. He’d been forced to watch her dance and entertain nearly every gentleman i
n the room and had been forced to fight the urge to punch a hole into the wall.
She was driving him mad, and he’d done everything to distract himself. He even avoided dinners with his family where he thought she’d be present and they’d be forced to speak. He’d made a promise and intended to keep it.
She’d been out for nearly a month, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before one of her many admirers asked to court her. He’d decided he would wait for the announcement of her engagement before departing for India. He decided he’d leave early.
He looked out the bay window and said, “It’s a beautiful day. I’m surprised you’re indoors.”
Valiant sighed and leaned farther into her seat. “Yes, I thought a walk a lovely idea, but I’m playing chaperone this evening.”
“Chaperone? To who?”
“Beatrix. My presence keeps her reputation intact.”
The effect her name had on his body was astounding. His heart felt as though large hands reached out to crush it.
He glanced around the room. “I do not see her.”
“That’s because she’s upstairs,” Valiant said.
Hero used the lull in the conversation to calm himself, but the buzzing in his head warned him that a storm of anger approached. “Who is she with?”
“She’s perfectly fine,” Valiant said. “I’ve everything under control.”
His anger spiked. “You’re a horrible chaperone. Who is she with?”
“That’s no way to speak to your sister, Hero.” Now she was just teasing him. “She’s with Mr. Carey in the drawing room. I thought a few minutes alone would do little harm.”
Hero was climbing the stairs two at a time before his sister even finished her thought.
Beatrix was alone with Mr. Carey? The man was a rake and with the way Valiant had been comfortably positioned downstairs, he was sure the ‘few minutes’ she’d claimed to have given Beatrix and her admirer was more like an hour.
He was only partly glad to find the door open, but when he noticed Mr. Carey sitting across the room from Beatrix, he cooled significantly.
But then he looked closer, and his anger returned.
Beatrix was drawing the man.
Carey sat by the window. The light from outside highlighted his angelic visage perfectly.
Beatrix had her back to him but turned at his approaching footsteps. Her eyes registered surprise right before she cooled her features. She stood and curtsied. Only from her, it was insulting. “My lord.”
“General!” Carey shouted from his position on the couch. “So good to see you. I would rise, but the artist has forbidden me to move.”
“Then do not anger her for my sake.” Hero looked at the canvas behind Beatrix but didn’t move forward to get a better look.
He wanted to rip it apart. She wasn’t supposed to be drawing another man. Only him. He was once again filled with remorse. It was clear now that he’d never regain what he’d lost. He took a step back. Valiant had been right. There was nothing truly amiss here. No one present would say a word about the situation. He was not needed. “I shall leave you to your session.”
Beatrix met his eyes and then pointed to her work. “Don’t you wish to have a better look?”
* * *
Beatrix didn’t know what prompted her to delay Hero’s departure, but it felt like years since she’d seen him this close, and she wasn’t ready to part again.
The last four days had been harder than she’d thought it would be. While she’d tried to smile and play the part of a merry lady, inside she was breaking apart. Anytime she saw Hero speak to another lady, she had to close her eyes or risk someone seeing her shoot daggers across the room.
And he’d kept to his word so diligently. Not once had he approached her or come near her at all.
Until now.
Now he stood at the door to Beaumont’s drawing room looking splendid in a black coat and trousers with a white shirt. The waistcoat was red today. Purposefully. With dye and not with blood.
He stared at her silently for a moment and then averted his gaze to her drawing as he approached.
He stopped when he was a foot away and came no closer.
Beatrix took a step away, and he closed the distance to the canvas.
Is this truly what we’ve become?
She’d set the rules. He was following them. He wouldn’t get close enough to touch her.
His gaze remained locked on the image of Mr. Carey as he said, “It’s very good.”
“Is it?” Carey was oblivious to the tension in the room. “I can’t wait to see it, though I must confess that I can no longer remain perfectly still. Nature calls.” He stood and grinned. “I’ll be but a moment.”
“We’ll reposition you when you return,” Beatrix said to his back.
“It’s not proper for you to be alone with Carey,” Hero said when they were alone.
She cut her eyes to him. “Yes, I suppose I’m being vulgar again.” She moved around the frame.
“That’s not what I meant.” He followed, and his shoulder bumped against the canvas.
Beatrix went for the pencils.
He went for the canvas.
She tripped over his foot. “Oh!” Her nose almost hit the floor, but then his arm was around her and she was quickly flung back up. Her back hit the solid wall of his chest. She spun around and pressed her hands to his shoulders, ready to back away, but instead stilled and looked up.
His eyes were on her. His arm was a strong barrier at her back. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” For reasons unknown, she was breathless.
“You’re not hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
He tightened his hold, crushing her front to him, forcing her arms to bend, her body to yield. She had to lean her head back to meet his eyes. They’d been full of worry and concern before, but slowly they changed, darkened.
Beatrix tightened her fingers on his jacket, and her toes curled within her slippers. Awareness pricked at her skin. Heat flooded her face.
His eyes roamed her face. “You’re blushing,” he whispered.
“Am I?” She pulled in a breath that only managed to press herself more fully into him. She wondered if he could feel her racing heart. With another breath, she took in the scent of his cologne. it held traces of earth tones that fit him well.
“You do it often.”
“No, I don’t. Let me go.”
He held her eyes again. “You do.” He ignored her instructions. His hand was all but branding her through her clothes. “You blush all the time when I’m around.”
Humiliation made her speak before she thought. “Well, I can assure you that it almost never happens when you are not near.”
∫ ∫ ∫
2 2
Hero narrowed his eyes. “I am the cause for your high coloring?” He seemed surprised by it.
Did he not know the effect he had on her?
His gaze settled on her mouth. “I cause this reaction in you?” The words were gentle as though he were speaking to himself.
Her heart raced.
He spread his fingers on her back and held her firm.
A shiver ripped through her and nearly knocked her off her feet. She swallowed, both in fear and anticipation.
His eyes moved to her throat, and he tilted his head. “Your pulse is racing. Did I do that to you as well?”
Beatrix couldn’t speak and stilled as he leaned forward.
His head descended to her throat. He ran his nose against her skin.
She shuddered. Shutting her eyes, she released a sound. A whimper perhaps.
“Beatrix,” he whispered against her skin. His lips brushed her pulse. “I… I miss you terribly.”
She missed him as well. So much.
She clung to him. It was all the invitation he needed.
His mouth closed over her throat, and she felt the swirl of his tongue.
“Oh!” Her body clenched, and her mind grew
dizzy.
His hands went to her waist and hauled her body against his.
There was no mistaking the yearning in his hard body. It matched her own.
Her arms went around him and, shamefully, she rubbed herself against him.
He groaned.
She heard the canvas crash and more pencils shatter as he walked her into a wall.
He lifted his gaze, and she gasped at the intensity of his eyes. His pupils had enlarged, the blue nearly gone. She saw hunger in that gaze and trembled in both fear and longing.
“I’ve missed you so…” He lowered his gaze.
His sadness reminded her where she was and what she’d been doing there. It also reminded her of her feelings for this man. She loathed him, she reminded herself.
She suddenly began to fight, pushing him away. He let her go, and she stumbled away and touched her throat. She was warm where his mouth had been. “You agreed you’d not touch me. I thought you a man of your word.”
He glared. “You nearly fell.”
“And so, you used your mouth to pick me up from my throat? Is that it?”
He relaxed his face. “Beatrix, I made a mistake. Can you not forgive me?”
“No, I cannot.” She needed to hate him, or she’d risk losing her heart. “I should go.”
“Don’t.” He took a step back. “You were here. I’m intruding.” He bowed. “Good evening.” He left just as quickly as he’d come.
Beatrix wasn’t sure how long she’d stood as she did, but when Carey returned moments later, she was still touching her throat and forbidding herself from wanting any more to do with Hero.
* * *
Lady Rider’s party was held at her cousin’s rented apartments and, unlike Lord Reddington’s home, which held a room especially for dancing, Lord Pellton was forced to open doors to allow guests to move between two sitting rooms, a salon, and a dining room.
The house was not as grand, but the atmosphere was pleasant and intimate.
This was the second party Beatrix and Valiant had attended that evening. The first had been for Valiant and out of obligation to another one of Lord Ayers’ friends, but this was an opportunity for Beatrix to celebrate her friend Miss Rider.
The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 11
