by Regina Darcy
“Angelica,” she whispered, urgently. “Go to the nursery, dear. I will be with you in a moment.” She smiled, her eyes urging her charge to do as she asked. Fortunately, Angelica nodded and took heed.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Beatrice turned back to the man, who still had a hold of her arm. “Remove your arm from me at once,” she commanded, her voice strong and firm. “How dare you?”
The man lifted his eyebrows but did nothing. “Feisty, are we?” His eyes lidded a little as he tried to pull her closer. “I like that in a woman.”
“I shall scream,” Beatrice warned, fighting against him. “The Duke shall hear of this.”
“The Duke shall not care!” the man laughed. “After all, you are only a servant.”
Fighting desperately against the strong hands that now held both her arms, Beatrice kicked the man hard, before lifting her knee to make contact with his lower body. It was a trick she’d learned in childhood, when one of the village boys had become a little too amorous, and, thankfully, it worked for her again. The man doubled over with a howl of pain, his hands dropping from her arms. Taking her chance, Beatrice fled – only to run straight into the Duke.
“Miss Lakeheart?” he asked, his face filled with confusion. “Whatever is the matter?” His eyes grew wide as he saw the terror on her face and, drawing her into his arms, he rubbed her back in small circles until her breath came a little more evenly.
Beatrice clung to the Duke, completely uncaring about any sense of propriety. She felt his hand drop completely, as the man who had been chasing her staggered into their view. Attempting to pull herself from the Duke’s grasp, she slid behind him, but he caught one of her hands in his.
“Whatever’s going on?” she heard him mutter. Unable to speak, Beatrice tried in vain to stop herself from shaking, but, now that shock was filling her being, she found this almost impossible.
“She’s not yours, is she?” the man slurred, walking closer.
Beatrice felt the Duke’s hand tighten around her own. “What are you doing up here, Lancaster?”
“Nothing,” Lord Lancaster muttered, his eyes finding Beatrice. “Just interested in what you’ve been keeping up here, all to yourself.” He glanced at the Duke for a moment, before grinning widely at Beatrice. Shuddering, she tried to tug herself away, but the Duke held fast.
“Did he touch you?”
Beatrice shuddered again, her eyes closing as she remembered how she’d almost been held captive by Lord Lancaster.
“I see,” the Duke continued, not needing to hear her explanations. “Stay here,” he murmured, dropping her hand and walking towards his so-called friend.
Anger infused every part of his being. He had never imagined that one of his guests would attempt to not only explore private quarters of his home without an invitation, but also lay a hand on the governess. Thank goodness Angelica was nowhere to be seen, for then, Jonathan was quite sure he’d have knocked the man down where he stood.
“Lancaster,” he growled, his hand shooting out and grabbing the man by the collar. “If you’ve laid a finger on my governess, I’ll have your head.”
Lancaster paled immediately, all laughter gone from his face. “I didn’t mean anything by it, old boy,” he bluffed, his voice choked from the Duke’s iron grip. “It was just a misunderstanding!”
“My staff are not your playthings, Lancaster,” Jonathan continued, giving the man a good shake. “How dare you come up here and assault my daughter’s governess?” His voice grew louder, to the point that the music and chatter from the group assembled below began to fade. “You will not touch her again! In fact, you will see me at dawn.”
Beatrice gasped, rushing forward. “No, Your Grace,” she whispered urgently. “That is not necessary.” It was also far too excessive a measure for the sake of a mere governess! Had she been a lady and perhaps a relative of the Duke’s, then swords would have been expected, but she was no longer any kind of lady.
“Please,” she begged, desperate that he not bring ridicule and rumour upon himself.
At the sound of Miss Lakeheart’s voice, the Duke slowly began to loosen his grip. Anger still pinched the corners of his mouth, his eyes narrowed and dark.
“Remove yourself from my home this instant,” he hissed, as Lancaster fell to the floor. “You are no longer welcome here.”
“My humblest apologies,” the man stuttered, before picking himself up in the most ungracious manner possible and exiting down the stairs.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Lakeheart?”
Beatrice swayed a little, clinging to the nearby rail for support. “I shall be fine in a moment,” she replied, desperately hoping that Angelica was safe. “I must go and find Angelica.”
The Duke’s frown deepened. “What happened to her?”
“I sent her to the nursery,” Beatrice whispered, hoping he was not going to become angry with her, too. “I wanted her to be safe.”
“Then I’m sure that’s exactly where she is,” the Duke replied, relief filling his face. There was no doubt in either of their minds that Angelica would have done exactly what Beatrice had asked. Without warning, the Duke drew her against him again, resting his chin on the top of her head.
Beatrice began to tremble once more, but what exactly was causing this, she was not altogether sure.
The Duke was behaving entirely inappropriately with her, but here, in the darkened corridor and away from prying eyes, Beatrice found she did not care. Instead, she allowed herself to relax in his arms, closing her eyes as her trembling slowly began to subside.
“I hope this has not put you off working here,” the Duke murmured, lifting his head to look down into her eyes. “I promise you, such a thing shall never happen again.”
“I could not bear to leave you – I mean to say, leave Angelica,” she corrected, blushing hotly. “Besides, Lord Lancaster’s actions were not of your doing. Each person is responsible for his own behaviour, is he not?”
“I could not agree more,” the Duke murmured. His blue eyes grew dark, as though he were suddenly aware of just how close they were. Beatrice’s breath caught in her chest, and she looked up at him, unblinking. His breath fanned her cheek as his head lowered, his lips catching hers in a soft, but urgent, kiss.
Beatrice did not know what to do and certainly could not think straight as a wave of pleasure overcame her. His hands, which spanned her waist, softened, running over the curves that were so well-hidden by her dull governess gown. His lips were gentle, moving across hers with an agonising slowness that made Beatrice moan, for what she knew not. Against her better judgment she lifted her hands to cup them around his neck. Tendrils of hair caught her fingers, brushing across her skin like silk.
The sounds of the waltz struck up, and the Duke slowly pulled his lips from hers. Their eyes met, and, thank goodness, Beatrice did not see anything like regret on his face. Instead, a slow smile crossed his lips, and, reaching for her hand, he began to waltz with her in the darkened corridor, moving noiselessly across the marble floor. Beatrice could do nothing but let him lead her, unable to so much as look away. Everything about this situation was wrong, but in this heady moment, it felt right. Refusing to allow herself even a single thought about her position and what this might to do her relationship with Angelica, Beatrice gave herself up to the Duke’s leading, melting into his arms as they danced.
Neither of them were aware of a slim figure watching them, her eyes narrowed and hands curled into fists.
EIGHT
“Where did you disappear to last evening?” Abigail asked, her eyes fixed on Jonathan’s face.
“Yes, and why did Lord Lancaster depart so early?” his mother demanded. “I was told his carriage was called before the ball was even mid-way through!”
Jonathan gritted his teeth. “Lancaster was no longer welcome,” he growled. “And, as to where I disappeared, my dear Miss Martins, I had some matters to attend to.”
“What matters?”
> “Private matters,” he bit out, turning away from them both and filling up his glass with brandy. It was late enough in the afternoon to allow himself a tipple. Besides, his headache was steadily growing, due to the constant inane chatter of his mother and his betrothed. Abigail’s questions were pointed, as though she somehow knew exactly what he’d been up to with Miss Lakeheart.
Heat rose in his chest. He had very little regret over what he’d done. Finally, everything seemed to be falling into place. Miss Lakeheart was both warm and loving. She would make Angelica a wonderful mother. He would enjoy her intelligent discourse, her refreshing honesty, and her soft curves.
In truth, Jonathan was beginning to suspect he was in love with Miss Lakeheart, although, having never felt such a thing as love before, it was a little unnerving. The largest problem he now faced was how to free himself of his current engagement to Miss Abigail Martins. Due to his absence last evening, their betrothal had not been announced as planned, leaving him with two sour-faced women this morning. He himself felt a slight rush of relief that the engagement was not yet public knowledge. Now all he had to do was find a quiet moment with Abigail in which he could break the news.
A knock at the door alerted him to the butler.
“Yes?”
“There is a gentleman here to see you, Your Grace. He says he is the governess’ stepbrother. I believe he is here to speak to her also.”
“He wishes to speak to Miss Lakeheart?” Jonathan repeated, surprised. From what he understood, Miss Lakeheart was quite glad to have rid herself of that family. “How odd. I shall see him in my study. Please fetch Miss Lakeheart at once.”
“Why don’t you go to fetch her?” Abigail asked, getting to her feet. “She might not be that amiable to the prospect of seeing her stepbrother. Persuasion may be required. I shall accompany the stepbrother to your study, Jonathan. After all, I am going to be your wife, and, as such, shall need to make a good impression.”
Having no time to argue, or wonder over her bizarre change of disposition, Jonathan nodded and marched from the room through another door.
The butler held the door open for Abigail, and quickly made the introductions.
“I shall take it from here,” Abigail stated, waiting for the butler to leave. “I am quite sure I can find the study all on my own.”
***
“My stepbrother is here?” Beatrice gasped, her face draining of colour. “Steven?”
“Yes, I believe so,” Jonathan replied, reaching out an arm for her. “Sit, my dear. You look quite pale.” For a moment, he wondered whether Miss Lakeheart had some kind of understanding with her stepbrother, which might explain her desire to hide from him, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Beatrice was not that kind of person.
“You do not wish to see him?”
Beatrice shook her head fervently, as the Duke clasped her icy fingers.
“No, I do not.”
She remembered how he used to look at her, in that odd, leering way. His arrival here did not signal the start of a new, positive relationship. “In truth, I have very little idea why he is here.”
Jonathan caressed the back of her hand, his concern rising. Her reaction to hearing that Steven had arrived was a loud warning bell in his ears. This was not welcome news.
“Then I shall get rid of him for you at once,” he promised, bending down so that his face was almost level with hers. “I mean to speak to you myself again soon, Miss Lakeheart…Beatrice. There are some other issues I need to take care of first, of course, but soon, I will return.”
He used her given name deliberately, seeing the slight flash of surprise in her eyes, which was followed by a bright smile. Finally seeing some colour back in her face, he leaned forwards and kissed her cheek gently.
“You need have no fear, my dear girl. I shall make sure he is gone from this place within the hour.”
“Thank you,” Beatrice whispered, gratefully. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Call me Jonathan,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, wanting to hear his name on her lips.
“Jonathan,” she murmured breathlessly, her cheeks now blooming with colour.
He smiled at her response, happiness settling itself in his heart. He was, by now, quite sure that Beatrice was the one with whom he could have a happy life. It was simply a matter of getting everyone else out of the way.
It was with a little surprise that Beatrice found herself summoned to the Duke’s study less than an hour later. Perhaps he is going to do more than just kiss my cheek, she thought to herself, bending down to speak to Angelica. After leaving the child in the care of the old nurse, Beatrice made her way happily to the study, knocking quietly before entering.
To her consternation, it was not the Duke who stood there, but his intended, Miss Martins. A slight noise from behind her shoulder made her glance over, but a word from Miss Martins stopped her at once.
“How sad I am to be losing your company so soon,” Miss Martins smiled, her voice low and delicate.
“Losing my company, ma’am?” Beatrice asked, confused. “Whatever can you mean?”
“What I mean,” Miss Martins began, walking towards her, “is that I am keenly aware of my betrothed’s interest in you, and I fully intend to put a stop to it.” Her eyes became narrowed slits, as her mouth drew into a thin line. “The Duke is mine.”
Beatrice kept her breath even, with considerable effort, clasping her hands in front of her. “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Martins. I have no interest in His Grace.” The lie fell easily from her lips, but, given her current situation, Beatrice thought it was for the best. Miss Martins had clearly taken a dislike to her, and Beatrice began to fear that her retribution would be both swift and terrifying.
“I do not believe you in the least,” the other woman hissed. “So, I have decided to remove you from your current situation. In fact, I have found you a willing escort, who will marry you immediately.”
“Marriage?” Beatrice gasped. “I have no wish to marry, Miss Martins, and I cannot think who —”
“Beatrice, my dear stepsister,” said a voice in her ear. “How good to see you again.”
Beatrice tried to call out, tried to push away from the strong arms that held her. But her mouth was then covered by a rag, forcing her to inhale whatever substance in which it had been soaked, and, in a matter of moments, she fell unconscious.
NINE
Jonathan sat quietly at the dinner table, watching his betrothed with an uneasy eye. She had gone from quiet shrew to loud, young lady who was, suddenly, all-smiles. He could not quite work out what it was that had occurred to make her this way, but he fully intended to wipe that smile from her face the first opportunity he had.
Jonathan had already decided that he would break his engagement to Miss Martins, and then declare his intentions to Beatrice. He was quite sure it was love he held in his heart for her. He would not allow himself to enter into a union with anyone else. He would, by marrying Beatrice, elevate her to the highest rank of peerage, short of the royal family. No-one would ever look down on her again. He would ensure her family received no benefits whatsoever from their marriage, after having treated Beatrice so despicably.
As the butler made his way towards him, Jonathan allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to have Beatrice as mistress of his household. She would be kind, warm, and loving to all, he was quite sure, just as she was to Angelica. He could hardly wait to tell his little girl that she would soon have a new mother.
“You have a caller, Your Grace” the butler murmured, leaning over just a little. “A Lord Shropton. He begs for an audience with his daughter.”
“Good heavens!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Has he any idea what time it is?”
“He does,” the butler replied. “He said something about needing to make amends, and prays that you will forgive his rude interruption.”
Sighing, Jonathan pushed himself away from the table. “Very well,�
�� he muttered. “But it shall be Miss Lakeheart’s decision as to whether she wants to receive him or not.”
***
Lord Shropton was nothing like Jonathan had expected. He was short and quite round, with a bald head and sweaty hands that he rubbed together anxiously.
“Your Grace,” he whispered, giving an ostentatious bow. “Please, forgive my intrusion. I must speak to my daughter. I have made so many mistakes, have been so weak.” He looked away, lost in thought for a moment. “I must seek her forgiveness, and take her home, should she wish it.”
Jonathan’s brows rose. He would not allow Beatrice to leave his household, and certainly not before he made his intentions clear. Not that he had any concern over her acceptance, since he had noticed how she responded to him. There had been a light in her eyes that told him she felt something for him, too.
“I will go and enquire if your daughter wishes to speak to you, sir,” he bit out. “After how you have treated her, I would not be in the least surprised if she does not wish to do so.”
“I am more than aware of my failings,” the man replied. “And I thank you for your generosity.”
Holding back a snort, Jonathan walked away, climbing the stairs towards the nursery and Beatrice’s rooms. It did not take him long to reach her door, and, knocking gently, he called her name.
There was no response.
Knocking again, he called her name once more - only to spot the dinner tray lying to one side of the door. The food upon it was already stone-cold. To leave it there was not like Beatrice.
Terrified that something had happened to her - that she had been taken ill and was lying, fevered, on her bed - he burst through the door, only to be met by complete darkness.
“Miss Lakeheart?” he called, stumbling towards the outline of the bed. “Beatrice? Are you ill?”
Calling for the butler, Jonathan held a candle high, searching the room – only to find it empty. Panic grasped his heart with a cold hand. Where had she gone? She would not have simply left him without a single word of explanation, he knew that for sure. So, where was she?