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

by Deborah Wilson

  They did.

  But instead, they moved closer, but not close enough to touch. “I’ve looked into Pellton.”

  She turned to him again and seemed startled by his nearness. “You have?”

  “I looked into any gentleman I thought you’d get close to. I’ve heard nothing but good about him. He would be a fine match for you, I believe.”

  “I suppose.” She turned to look out at the garden by the white banister. She rested her fingers on top and said, “He’s not old.”

  He moved to stand by her, admitting that he hated the topic, but was simply glad to hear her address him at all. “No, he’s not old.”

  “And Lily says good things about him,” she went on. “And he lives close to where I grew up.”

  “Have you truly been considering him?” Hero asked.

  She shrugged. “He’s kind.” And then she added, “And he likes card tricks.”

  His heart raced. She was the most stubborn woman he knew. “Beatrix...”

  “I wish to see the garden.” She moved around him toward the stairs.

  He tightened his hands around the banister to keep himself from following her.

  It was time he let her go, he told himself maybe for the hundredth time.

  But he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her.

  She stopped at the bottom and looked over her shoulder. The lantern lights washed her skin in an orange glow, made her hair seem darker, and her eyes more intense. “The gardens are open to everyone. I can’t forbid you from them.”

  They stood that way for a long while, their entwined gazes seeming to close in the distance between them.

  Then she turned to leave.

  Hero took a step from the banister and told himself not to follow her. What good would it do?

  Yet as the debate warred on in his mind, his legs took him down the stairs.

  They said nothing to one another for the first few minutes, and Hero was content to simply be allowed in her presence. They admired the stillness and beauty of their surroundings. Nothing more than a few hidden glances passed between them.

  Had anyone been watching, they’d have thought both of them wondering the gardens separately, but Hero knew them to be together. At that moment, he felt closer to her than he had in days.

  He’d messed up terribly and wanted nothing more than to make it right. He’d beg on his knees if he had to.

  Beatrix’s next words surprised him. They’d reached a part of the garden that was empty and nearly hidden in lantern lights. “Do you kiss every woman you wish forgiveness from?” She reached up and caressed her throat.

  Did she also think about that morning in the drawing room? Did she find it embarrassing?

  “Yes,” he said. “Though neither woman received the sort of kiss I gave you. I confess, I’ve not had much practice with apologies. As a child, I upset my sister and my mother more than once. They usually work.”

  She turned away. and he thought he saw her mouth twitch. “I want to forgive you.”

  “Then do.” He touched her cheek and lifted her gaze to him. “Tell me what it is you would have me do, and I’ll do it.”

  She took a short breath, a sensual sound that hardened him.

  Beatrix placed her hands on his shoulders. “Hero, I don’t know.”

  He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against her lips. “Would a kiss work?”

  In answer, she turned her head.

  He began to retreat, but her fingers were still firmly on his shoulders, preventing his movement.

  He touched his mouth to her cheek and jaw.

  She squeezed him in response.

  “I’ll do anything to amend my ways,” he whispered.

  A fragrance drifted up from her body, a floral substance that made him hunger for her.

  He slid his hands down her arms. “Let me know when I’ve earned your forgiveness.”

  She turned to face him again, and he dropped his mouth to hers.

  He felt her inexperience and kept the contact light, feathered, holding back the deep need he had to take her more firmly.

  He felt her tremble and thought nothing could be lovelier.

  “Hero,” she whispered between gasps. “I’ve never...”

  “I know.” He knew her to be innocent. No matter how strong and worldly she liked to think herself, Hero knew the sort of woman he was dealing with. He wrapped his arms around her and let his mouth shower her face and hair with his kisses. Then he simply held her.

  Holding her felt just as good as anything else they’d done.

  And she allowed it. Her hands remained on his shoulders for long breaths.

  The sound of approaching footsteps made them separate far too soon for Hero’s liking.

  “Let’s get to you to my sister,” he said a moment later.

  They walked back to the house without exchanging any further words, but the air was different this time.

  He could feel the wall she’d built between them crumbling, the foundation shaken by their kisses. There was peace.

  And he’d never enjoyed silence as much as he did with her.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 5

  Joanna came to Beatrix at breakfast two mornings later with a note from John. He claimed to have seen a man collecting dogs to be taken to the pits in Smithfield.

  Beatrix shivered. The pits were where dog fighting was held and if Hatcher had not already died, he would soon if Hero’s estimation on his age was correct.

  She quickly thought of her time in Smithfield and who she could ask for directions to the pit once she got there.

  And then she thought of something else.

  She stood from the table, her meal forgotten. “Joanna, I need to write a note.”

  Hero arrived less than an hour after Beatrix sent off her missive. He walked into her home and stopped at the door. “What are you wearing?”

  Beatrix had once again donned her dark clothes and her blond wig. “I’m leaving—”

  “No.” He walked over to her and came close enough to force her chin up if she wished to keep eye contact with him. “Beatrix, we’ve discussed this. You belong here. You are a lady. You’ll not return to the tavern. You can’t leave. I won’t let you.”

  You can’t leave.

  I won’t let you.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  She remembered the strength of his arms as he’d kissed her in the Pelltons’ garden. Her first real kiss. “I didn’t mean I planned to return to the tavern. I meant I was leaving for Smithfield and thought you’d like to come.” She told him what she’d learned. ”I’m going to Smithfield with you. It is why I’m dressed this way. I figure there may be people from my past more inclined to speak to me than someone dressed as you are.”

  Hero was dressed as any son of a duke should with a jacket, waistcoat, and trousers that all fit him impeccably.

  He lifted a brow. “I can’t allow you to go there. It’s not a place for a lady.”

  Beatrix lifted a brow. “Hero, our friendship will work better once you realize that it is best you don’t try to control me in either action or words.”

  He stilled, still hovering over her. His face relaxed a fraction and then another. “Are we friends again?”

  She took a steadying breath. “Well, I couldn’t very well hate you forever considering all you’ve done for me. It would be quite ungrateful of me, wouldn’t it, Aristocrat?”

  He smiled knowingly.

  Had he not apologized, she’d have likely kept on loathing him until the end of time.

  He held out his hand to her.

  She stared at it and then slowly placed her fingers into his.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and the pressure of his mouth set off a series of tremors through her body. She bit her lip to the point of pain to control them.

  “Thank you, Beatrix,” he whispered. His eyes were warm and soft. “I’ll not let you down again. Not in that way at least, but I do have fla
ws.”

  “I know…” She wanted to know why he’d done it in the first place, but now was not the time to ask, especially with Joanna at her side.

  Recalling the other woman’s presence, she took her hand back.

  “The market is large,” she said. “We better leave now if you wish to find your dog before nightfall.”

  He held out his arm.

  She walked right past it to the door. “I’m not a lady at the moment, Hero. Treat me as you would a lower-class woman.”

  * * *

  If Beatrix believed that her clothing made her blend in with the other women in Smithfield, she was wrong. He’d watched from a quiet distance as she spoke to one cattleman after another and wondered how she’d ever fooled anyone.

  She was a lady in every way.

  She’d not brought up the kiss and he wouldn’t either. He had no intentions of making her feel trapped by him. She was free to make her own decisions.

  She looked proudly at her surroundings and jutted her noble chin whenever necessary. She’d met with a few people she’d known from the past, and they’d all remembered her immediately. She was not a woman easily forgotten.

  Joanna remained close to her, yet also pretended to be looking elsewhere.

  The air was pungent and moist. The sky was cloudy and had painted the day gray. Blood, both fresh and old, tangled with the scent of rot and worse things. It made his nostrils burn and his eyes water. A fog lifted from the ground, making it nearly impossible to see where one was stepping. Hero had stepped in more than a few soft spots and knew that Beatrix had as well.

  Hero wanted her as far away from Smithfield Market as he could get her, but he’d decided to take her sound advice and not try to control her. She was not one of his soldiers and though he’d given her the means to return to Society, she’d proven that she’d not accept his domination when she’d presented her plan to leave over a week ago.

  And honestly, he didn’t wish to force his will upon her. He liked the woman that she was and was simply glad to be back in her good graces.

  He spent a few minutes examining the pens and staff who tended the animals while listening for the sounds of dogs.

  There were many.

  Dogs were much like humans. There were those that were treated like family amongst the upper-crust and those that were treated like scum. One’s blood often guaranteed some safety, but in a place known for slaughter and the selling of meat, Hero admitted that he hadn’t much hope of finding Hatcher alive.

  From the corner of his eye, he kept Beatrix in sight and saw the moment where she’d gained insight. She started in his direction and said, “This way.”

  She led him through the wild maze that was the Smithfield Market, and he was glad he’d allowed her to come, but then again, he used the word ‘allowed’ very loosely.

  There were more than a dozen pens filled with sheep and cattle, and Hero found it hard to tell any one from one another.

  But then they moved down a narrow lane that was close to an apartment building.

  “I lived here once,” she whispered.

  Hero didn’t like hearing that. “How did you manage to survive?”

  She glanced at him. “My brother. He taught me to defend myself.”

  He was starting to question if her brother had any sense at all. “How old is your brother?”

  “Twenty and five.” She glanced at him before turning away. “He was born only minutes before me.”

  “You are twins.”

  She nodded. “We only had one another for years until Anthony.”

  “Anthony?” he asked.

  “My brother’s friend.” She turned down an alley that took them a short distance from the markets.

  He wondered if this Anthony were the friend her brother had tried to get her to marry. Beatrix said no more on the matter and he didn’t ask, shocked to know she was a twin.

  It explained her closeness with her brother, but it didn’t explain the events that led to them falling apart. She’d said it had been a matter of love that stopped her from marrying her brother’s friend, but Hero suspected there was more.

  They stopped at a door, and Hero could hear barking, whining, and whimpering.

  His heart pumped wildly, and he moved in front of Beatrix just as the door opened.

  He was surprised to find a young boy at the door.

  He was dirty and stared up at Hero with large brown eyes.

  Hero asked, “Are your parents home?”

  “Pa told me to watch and feed the dogs.” That meant no.

  “Is anyone else here but you?” Hero asked.

  The boy didn’t answer.

  Hero dug into his pocket and gave the boy a coin. “You look hungry. There’s a shop not far from here. Why don’t you go buy yourself a meal? I’ll watch the dogs for you.”

  The boy snatched the coin and ran down the alley. He was clearly not being fed properly.

  “Poor dear,” Joanna whispered.

  Hero moved into the building and found both the smell and the lighting terrible, but there was enough to see deep into the belly of the room.

  What had once been a kitchen and living space now held a series of cages.

  Hero moved past the cages and searched them all but didn’t see Hatcher. He checked the rest of the apartment as well but found nothing. “He’s not here,” he said with great disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” Beatrix said.

  Hero breathed past his sense of failure and contained his emotions before he spoke. “Thank you for your help, Beatrix. I was not requesting it when I told you about my father’s dog.”

  “I know.” She walked over to him. In the dimness of the room, he could see her sadness and her determination. “I want to help you and your father, and I will.” That noble chin rose again. “We’ll find him.”

  She could have led her own regiment into war, because Hero found himself believing her every word.

  The door opened, and Hero grabbed both Beatrix and Joanna and placed them behind him before he turned to face the man who’d entered.

  The man was large and wore an apron covered in blood. He’d clearly come from the markets. “Who’re you? Where’s Pete?” The man was dark where the boy had been fair. Still, their faces were similar and told Hero that they were father and son.

  “I gave him some coin to go eat,” Hero said.

  The man grunted. “That boy would leave his own mother for food.” He jutted his chin. “What are you doing in my home?” He remained by the door and didn’t bother to venture farther inside.

  “I’m in search of a dog. He’s a pure white spaniel with brown eyes. He’s old. He’d have been no use to you and your fights.”

  “No, you’re right. An animal like that would have been better served on a plate.” The man crossed his arms. “Did he have a limp?”

  Beatrix gasped.

  Hero’s heart fell to his belly. “Yes.” He’d hurt this man if Hatcher had died. He knew he would. The dog was the reason his father still clung to life. The duke would not take it well if he knew that Hatcher had been eaten, and Hero would not lie to him. “Did you kill him?”

  “No, but it’ll cost ya ta know where he is,” the man sneered.

  Hero went into his pocket and tossed the man what he had. It was more than he’d ever paid for information outside of war.

  “I gave the creature to Mr. Landseer. He lives in Paddington.”

  “Thank you.” Hero ushered the women past the dog fighter and back into the mass of Smithfield.

  “Do you think he was lying?” Beatrix asked.

  “I’ll soon find out.” He looked down at her. “Thank you for helping me.” He was closer to the mystery of the dog than he’d been without her. The darker parts of London often worked like their own societies. People trusted those who were similar to themselves.

  He had no idea what she’d done to get the information, but he was thankful nonetheless.

  “You are forbidden from
thanking me again, Hero,” she said with a smile.

  He laughed and felt a load lifted from his shoulders with the sound. He felt like a champion to have earned her friendship once more. He’d not take her trust for granted again.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 6

  Beatrix stepped outside her house and noticed the man watching her, but he quickly turned away at her glance. She’d seen him before in the last few days, but didn’t know if he were a servant employed to the home where he stood guard or if…

  She was being paranoid. Who would hire someone to watch her?

  One name came to mind, but she dashed the thought away. Her brother didn’t have the funds to hire a servant, much less one to watch her.

  Putting aside her worries, she climbed into the carriage with the help of Joanna and then sat.

  “You look lovely, my lady,” Joanna said.

  Beatrix ran her fingers over her dark skirt. “Thank you.”

  Since she and Hero were no longer avoiding each other, Beatrix had accepted a dinner invitation at Lord Ayers’ residence. It happened to be the duke’s birthday. Hero, through Valiant, had seen to her invitation.

  She’d dressed in a beautiful navy-blue gown, expecting a grand occasion with a large number of guests, yet when she arrived, she discovered the only people present were the duke, his children, Lord Beaumont, Ayers’ friends Lord and Lady Reddington, Lord Murray, who was Prime Minister, and herself.

  There were a few moments through the evening where Beatrix wondered why she’d been invited to such an intimate dinner, and she saw the same question reflected in Lord Redgrave’s gaze as well.

  She was neither a friend of the duke’s nor closer to Valiant than any of the countess’ other friends. And Valiant hadn’t been the one to write her invitation either way.

  Why was she here?

  She was not family, though she was coming to wish she was. The Curbains seemed close, and she liked that the duke’s birthright didn’t make him a disagreeable man. He was pleasant and had clearly taught that lesson to his children—to a lesser degree Redgrave.

  She’d learned over the last few weeks that Redgrave was at least six years older than Hero and in his late thirties, which made him far older than both Lore and Valiant. He’d been born a year after the brother who’d died, but if anyone met him, they’d think he’d been born to be a duke.