“Marry me,” he replied loudly. “Let’s just leave. You’re twenty and five. You don’t need his permission.”
Beatrix was certain the feeling of acid being poured on the heart wouldn’t hurt worse than this. “I can’t. It’s not that simple.”
“Simplify it for me.” He adjusted his hold but in no way did he let her go. His eyes changed, becoming serious. “Tell me what is wrong, and I will make it better.”
She looked away.
Benedict said, “Did you lose your hearing or your mind in the war, General?”
Hero turned to her brother. “I’ve compromised her. Let me have her.”
That last thread of hope snapped with her brother’s reply.
“It matters not, General. My sister’s fiancé will still want her, will always want her. You only make a fool of yourself right now.”
Beatrix had to lock her knees to not fall to the ground.
Hero lifted her chin and caught her gaze again. “Something is the matter. I know it. Let me help you. Trust me, Beatrix.”
She did trust him. That was the issue. How many times was he supposed to save her? “It is not supposed to be this way,” she whispered, not caring that she was likely the only person to understand her words.
Love surely couldn’t be this hard, could it?
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You must leave,” Benedict cut in. His voice was stronger. “Leave now and I’ll let the entire matter go.”
Valiant was still weeping. She stood less than a foot away with her face in her hands.
How many hearts would Beatrix break before this was all over?
“You must leave,” Beatrix begged. “Please go.”
“No,” Hero said. “I’m not leaving without you.” He shook his head. “Not until I know exactly what is going on.”
She’d never say. “Did you not hear my brother? I am… promised to another.” It was a struggle to say the words.
“That’s it!” Benedict cried. “I’m getting a footman.” He walked past them.
Beatrix panicked. She had to get Hero out of the house immediately. She had to save him.
Hero narrowed his eyes at Beatrix, completely ignoring her brother. “You love me.”
“I’m a lady. Love doesn’t matter.”
He reeled back as though she’d slapped him.
She placed her hands on his chest and pushed. “I am not telling you anything new, Aristocrat. You know this is the way things are done.”
She finally got away but then he grabbed her arms and held her until her eyes met his once more.
His gaze was full of anger. “Don’t try and play me for a fool. I know what is in your heart. This is rare, what we have, Beatrix. Surely, you understand that I will not let you go without a fight.”
How could she have thought otherwise? Hero was a warrior.
She’d have to be rid of him in another way. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Meet me tomorrow night. I’ll save a dance for you. We’ll speak then, but you must go now.”
“Who is he? Who is your intended? Lord Cartell?” Hero asked.
Beatrix rolled her eyes. “Yes. Now go.”
“I love you,” he said again, but the joyous words did nothing but bring her pain. “I’m leaving now, but I will see you tomorrow. We will dance, and we will wed.” He grabbed her chin. “I’ll not let you go.”
Beatrix said nothing. He’d agreed to leave and that was all that mattered.
His blue eyes were hard as he stole a final kiss of declaration and then left.
Beatrix turned to Valiant.
Hero’s sister looked much like Beatrix felt. Tired. Drained. Miserable.
“Take care of him,” Beatrix told her.
Valiant touched her arm. “You do this for him, don’t you?”
How Valiant knew, Beatrix didn’t know, but she said nothing.
Her silence seemed to confirm her question. Valiant nodded and left.
∫ ∫ ∫
4 2
Beatrix stared at the Duke of Cartell and took a deep breath before placing her hand in his.
Neither the fear she’d suspected nor the despair she’d felt last evening rose at their touch.
She felt distant from herself as he gently tucked her fingers into his arm and began to walk. Her feet followed down the stairs and into the garden behind her terrace.
In a few hours, her ball would begin, and Beatrix found it bittersweet that her last day in London would be so fine.
There was barely a cloud in the London sky, revealing a brilliant blue heaven. The fluttering of bird feathers and their calls to one another were heard from the tall tree limbs.
But the sound of passing horses and their conveyances could not be ignored. In London, one rarely received complete stillness as one did in the country.
She turned and smiled when Anthony began to speak.
“Have you enjoyed your time here in the city?” His gray eyes were watchful in a way they rarely were with anyone else.
What was it about her that he enjoyed so much? For a moment, she wondered what he would do or say if she told him the truth about her time in London. She knew her brother hadn’t.
Benedict had given Beatrix a long talk about putting her sorrow to the side. She was to present Anthony with a happy fiancée, one who now looked forward to the match after hearing all of the many kind acts he’d performed on behalf of her family.
Beatrix had to keep reminding herself of the debt he’d paid off and the one he was still making payments toward.
Anthony had done it all for her.
Why? What was it about her that attracted him and men like him? Dangerous and uncaring.
And out of all the women in the world he could have, he’d chosen her.
She’d make a horrible duchess, far worse than she’d have made a general’s wife.
She’d done too much. Seen too much. Even with her innocence intact, she was far more mature than most of the unmarried ladies of the ton.
Her hands were not soft but had been hardened by hard labor. She possessed a knowledge that gently bred women shouldn’t.
Was that the sort of bride Anthony wanted? She doubted it.
What would he say if she told him the truth?
He narrowed his eyes, and his lips twitched. “What are you thinking in that ingenious head of yours?”
“I was just thinking about my time in London.” Her heart raced as her thoughts battled. Should she say anything? Was it a betrayal to her brother to do so?
But didn’t her future husband deserve the truth?
“And exactly what part of your time were you thinking of?” he asked.
“I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but…” Less than two months ago I worked at a tavern by the docks.
Did she dare?
She shook her head and sighed. “I had ice from Gunter’s.” The memory forced her to recall the moment she and Hero had switched cups and spoons. It would have been quite scandalous if anyone had been paying attention.
A tear began in her heart, and she struggled for her next breath.
She had to stop thinking about Hero or she’d never make it through the evening, much less the ball.
“I have an ice house at my property,” he said. “You may have as much ice as you please.”
“Wonderful.” She made certain her smile was firmly in place as he stared at her.
His gaze further scrutinized her. Then, at last, he grunted. There was a tick in his jaw before he turned away and all but propelled her down the rest of the pathway.
A touch of fear began to gather in her bosom. Had she upset him?
They stopped at the bench she and Hero had once occupied, and she sat as Anthony loomed above her.
His visage was hard. “Wonderful?”
She remained both still and silent, unsure of what was happening.
He placed his hands on his hips. “Just a week ago, you looked ready to take me out into
the middle of the ocean and throw me overboard.”
She lowered her head so that he’d not see the truth of his words. She had been just as upset as he claimed.
“Now the thought of marriage and ice is wonderful?” he asked. H
e lifted her chin so she had to face him.
“You may lie to everyone else,” he whispered. His eyes were vacant of emotion, lacking feeling and depth. “But never lie to me.”
Cold terror ran through her veins at the warning, and Beatrix began to wonder if her brother’s plan was the right one.
She had hated him days ago. She still did, but not as much as before. He had freed her brother from most of his debts—she thought it from guilt at stabbing him in the first place.
But Benedict was asking her to pretend she was happy, that her heart hadn’t broken and died when she’d realized she’d never have Hero. He was asking her to pretend that she didn’t blame Anthony for the last five years of her life.
But she did.
And now Cartell wanted the truth from her?
He could never get it, but perhaps she could give him just enough.
“I am grateful to you for what you’ve done for my brother and me.”
He lifted a dark brow and then gently let go of her chin. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Did you know that?”
Her eyes widened. “No.” Before she could stop herself she said, “But I’m no longer the girl you knew.”
“I would imagine not.”
“I’m not like other ladies,” she said.
“You never were,” he countered, placing his hands in his pockets. “Your father basically raised you alongside Benedict, as though you were a lord.”
Was that why he found her intriguing? It was strange how differently he and Hero saw her. Hero saw her as a lady while Anthony had just compared her to a man. What was true?
He sat on the bench next to her. “Your brother told me you didn’t go to Lady Abigail after you left his house. Tell me where you went. The truth.”
She decided then that if she were going to marry him, he deserved to know, just in case Thump’s tongue was loosened once the tavern owner discovered she and Hero were no longer together. “I went to work in Smithfield Market and then at a tavern by the docks.”
Anthony’s eyes went wide. She’d truly shocked him.
His face split into a grin. It was a rare treat. He was dangerously handsome.
“What was it like?” he asked, clearly fascinated. He looked her over. “How have you managed to fool the ton from learning the truth?”
“I wore a wig.” She was still astonished that he seemed pleased by her confession.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I did.”
He shook his head. “Fascinating. Tell me everything.”
She began to tell him about the last five years of her life and only stopped when Anthony had a question. She realized that not even her brother knew the things she’d confessed.
Benedict had not asked, as though not knowing the truth would make it as though it never happened.
She found herself relaxing about Anthony. It reminded her of how they’d been as children.
Before he’d stabbed her brother.
“And through all of this,” Anthony said. “You never gave yourself to another?”
She was embarrassed by the question but knew he had the right to ask. “No.” She’d never given her body, but her heart belonged to Hero. Before he could ask anything of the sort, she asked, “Why did you stab my brother?”
He sobered.
“I need to know,” she said. “Before we… I need to know.”
Returning to the country would be hard with the memories of that fateful night still there.
She was leaving London tonight under her brother’s orders and Beatrix was fine with that. She could not endure the rest of the Season knowing it was Hero who paid her way.
She’d leave most of her gowns behind, she decided. The only reason she was taking any at all was because she had no other option. After her and Hero’s trip to Smithfield, Joanna had informed her that Hero had her old cotton dresses burned, likely from fear that she would try to return to her former life once more.
She smiled.
Feelings bubbled inside of her and rose to the top.
She’d loved and been loved. It was something that many never got and though she was still in pain, she knew that one day she’d be grateful for the opportunity she’d had.
Those wonderful memories would help her endure the rest of her life as the Duchess of Cartell.
But first, she needed answers of her own.
Anthony looked away and ran a hand across the side of his jaw. “It was not one of my finer moments, I can assure you.”
“You almost killed him.”
He looked at her. “I know.”
“Why?” she asked.
“That is between your brother and me. You need not know the details.”
She wanted to tell him his answer wasn’t good enough.
But that would be a lie, because no matter what, she would marry him.
He held her eyes. “I know how this must make you feel. You likely think me violent, but I’ve changed in the last few years. No harm will come to you.”
She didn’t believe him. She didn’t know if she’d ever believe in anyone ever again.
“Do you fear me?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Yes.”
He reached out, and she stopped herself from pulling away just as he touched her cheek.
She closed her eyes at the caress and told herself to keep breathing, to not compare his fingers to Hero, to let go of any dreams of the future she’d begun to envision for herself when Hero proposed.
“I’ll not hurt you. Do you believe me?” he asked.
He wanted the truth?
“I sleep with a blade underneath my pillow.” She opened her eyes.
He was grinning as he took his hand away. “How clever.”
Beatrix had no reply to that.
Though inside her mind, she stood, lifted her skirts, and ran to her rooms.
In her mind, she wept for her unfulfilled imaginings.
And only in her mind did she cry.
∫ ∫ ∫
4 3
Hero checked his dresser again and then crossed to the other side of the room. He knelt down. A sweep underneath his bed turned up nothing. Shining a lamp into the dark hollow proved fruitless.
Nothing made any sense. He knew the location of his pistols. No one touched them. No one dared.
He bellowed for his valet and the man tripped over his words with apologies but had no answer for why Hero’s possessions had gone missing.
But then the servant said, “Lord Laurel and Lady Beaumont are downstairs waiting for you.”
Hero reached for his cravat as he glared. “How long have they been here?” He’d just arrived home an hour ago and hadn’t been told of their presence at all. He’d bathed and made ready for the ball in that time, using the adjacent bathing room in his apartment.
His valet stepped up and did his knot. “They’ve been here for half an hour at least, sir.” When the man held out Hero’s jacket, he didn’t bother to put it on.
Instead, he ran for the drawing room, sprinting down the stairs and around the corner.
He found Valiant and Lore whispering on the couch, but the noise ceased at his entrance.
“Where are my guns?” Hero asked.
Valiant stood. She wore a deep violet gown, a shade so profound that it reminded him of blood. It made her skin and eyes more stunning than ever. “Your guns shall be returned to you in a few days or so.”
Hero stared at his siblings and said, “Keep them. It will make no difference.”
Lore, who was also on his feet, glared. “Hero, while I think it quite dashing that you wish to fight for Beatrix, don’t be a fool. Cartell is the last man you want to duel. He killed his own father, or do you
forget?”
“Do you doubt my skill?” Hero asked.
“I doubt your sanity.” Lore walked over to him and grabbed his shoulder. His eyes softened. “I know what you’re feeling…”
Hero stepped away and crossed the room to the sideboard. He leaned against it with his back to his siblings.
Hero had considered his choice all day and knew what he had to do in order to be happy. He’d already informed Lord Murray that he would accept the position as Secretary of Foreign Affairs. Now all that was left to do was marry Beatrix.
He’d steal her away if he had to. Take her to Gretna Green if necessary. He’d do anything for her. He cut his eyes back to Lore. “You have no idea what I feel.”
Lore’s gaze didn’t waver, but his voice lowered. “Trust me, brother. I know more than you think.”
“What does that mean?” Hero asked.
Valiant looked at Lore curiously as well.
Their brother waved them off. “Never mind. We’re not speaking about me. This is about you. You can’t have her, Hero. I’m sorry, but that is simply the way it is. Valiant has informed me of what has happened and what Beatrix said.”
“No.” Hero shook his head in denial. “It isn’t over until she’s wed.”
“And if Cartell announces their engagement tonight?” Lore asked. “Would you cause Beatrix to fall into scandal?”
“There won’t be a scandal, Lore,” Hero said with slow patience. “I plan to have her.”
“Hero,” Valiant whispered beseechingly. “She’s already engaged—“
“No! She is engaged to me! I asked first, and she said yes.”
This shocked his siblings. Valiant was the first to recover. “I’m so sorry, Hero.” She walked over to him and put her arms around him. She pressed her face to his shirt. “But please don’t do this.”
He was nearly crippled by her comfort. He did not return the hug, fearing he’d reach a state of unrest that would leave him in bad form through the rest of the evening.
But her words were right. He could not call Cartell into a duel while his father yet lived, but neither could he delay in his efforts to have Beatrix for himself. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Asher stepped into the room with a determined stride. He stopped not far from Lore and said, “Did you stop to think about our father and how he’ll react at the news you’ve entered a duel with Cartell? Do you wish to see him die?”
The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 21
