She led him to the garden, which was not nearly as grand as the one they walked through at Lord Beaumont’s.
It was small with a short stone pathway that led to a circular area with a single stone bench. The rest of the garden circled the bench. There was nowhere for either of them to hide from the prying eyes of the servants and perhaps that was good.
The night was also dark, but the lamps from the terrace porch brightened the area enough to see one another.
He settled her on the bench but didn’t seat himself. Instead, he paced for a moment, his every step spiking her nerves. His golden locks caught the light a few times and in the shadows, she could make out the hard profile of his nose.
It was masculine, strong, and quite attractive.
Handsome even. She wondered when she’d begun to see him that way. She’d always been attracted to him, yes, but at the moment she’d never seen a more beautiful man.
He stopped suddenly—stealing her next breath—and turned to her. “I need you to be frank with me, Beatrix. Can you do that?” His tone had changed. There was a sharpness to it. She readily decided she had no ambition to be on the receiving end of an interrogation. She pitied England’s enemies if they were to cross this man.
“I’ll speak the truth,” she told him.
He stepped closer and then finally sat at her side. His nearness bought his face into focus.
Yes, she thought him quite handsome.
“If we were not bound by our positions as benefactor and beneficiary and we’d met under different circumstances, would you have considered me as a suitor?”
Beatrix had feared the question as much as she’d hoped for it. Yet now that it was out, she had no clue as to what she should say.
He’d phrased the words as hypothetical, and he’d mention the fact that he was her benefactor. What did he mean?
“I… don’t understand what you find to be so disagreeable about the way we met except for the fact that I could have hardly considered myself a lady at the tavern.”
He touched her arm gently. “You were always a lady, Beatrix. I knew it from the moment I looked at you. You have a way of commanding a room that speaks of your blood.”
She hadn’t known he’d felt that way. She wasn’t sure she believed him. “They were less than ideal circumstances.”
“I know. I was bleeding.” A teasing note had entered his voice. It was the one she’d heard at the tavern, the one he’d used when she’d decided that if she ever imagined her pretend husband again, he would look like Hero.
Even then, she’d wanted him. She’d never have imagined how deeply those feelings would go.
“If you’d been a lord, and I’d been the usual lady, and we’d met at a ball…” She took a breath, remembered that he’d wanted her to be frank, and said, “I’d have prayed you’d ask me to dance and perhaps saw something special in me.”
* * *
Hero’s hold on Beatrix’s arm tightened.
He’d been unprepared for her response or how her voice became full of emotion.
He thought her special. She was different from so many others. He’d never thought to feel such a pressing need for one woman.
But could he have her?
“And if I were not a general…” he began.
“I’d have wanted you.” She covered his hand with her own. “Your rank or title have little to do with the man I know, the man who saw a woman in a tavern and gave her a chance for a better life.”
“I’d only returned to the tavern to ask you to become my mistress.” He thought it right to confess his truths if she were going to confess her own to him.
Her hand loosened, and she pulled away.
His body went cold, yet he couldn’t seem to close his mouth long enough to think. “I’d have asked you if you hadn’t been a lady.”
“But because I was, you offered me something else.”
“Yes.” He couldn’t have offered her a Season otherwise, even if he’d thought of it. An heiress would have had more trouble finding a spouse who didn’t solely want her for her dowry. As a lady—a daughter of an earl—she had a better chance of finding a good husband.
“And the money?” she asked. “If I’d have said no to your offer, would you have taken it back?”
“Absolutely not. That money was yours as payment for a kindness, nothing more.” He prayed she saw the truth of his words.
“I believe you. You’re far too honorable to lie to me, aren’t you?” Her voice was light again. A warmth had returned to her eyes.
If he were honest, he’d admit that he’d been lying to her for quite some time. “I hate to see you with other men. It is the reason I shouted at you that day you displayed your card tricks.”
Her eyes widened. “You were jealous.”
“Of my own brother, no less, and I’ve not envied Lore his looks or charm since...” He couldn’t recall.
She stared at him. “You’ve no need to envy him.”
“I know. I am a general and more established—”
“And handsome,” she said.
He scoffed. “There’s no need to lie to me, Beatrix. I can see my nose without the aid of a mirror.”
She chuckled.
He turned away.
She reached up and placed her hands against both of his cheeks. They were suddenly bare as she turned him to face her. “I did not think handsome the right word at first, but there was always something about you, Hero. Even that first night when I was tending to your wounds, I took one look at you and decided I would begin describing you as my imaginary husband, nose and all.”
She leaned forward and pressed her lips against that very nose.
It was a kiss of endearment and one he’d always cherish.
He was surprised by her. She hadn’t known his name or rank when she’d helped him, yet it had been him she’d wanted as a pretend husband.
But what about a real one?
It was likely too soon to bring up marriage. She’d only been out for a month. It was unfair, given his generosity. He didn’t want her to feel indebted to him.
But perhaps…
∫ ∫ ∫
2 9
Beatrix still held Hero’s face between her hands, unable to let him go and fearing the last few minutes amounting to nothing more than theories on a situation that neither could change.
He’d not responded since she’d revealed her fondness for his face. He only stared at her with his brows lowered.
Then he took her hands and pressed them to his heart. “Beatrix, I am going to ask you a question, but I need you to understand that your answer has no bearing on my funding your Season. Also, you are in no way obliged to say yes.”
She smiled, already knowing her answer.
“If you are able to see past our strange arrangement, I would very much like to be considered for your hand. Would you allow me to throw my hat in?”
He’d not offered for her hand, but he clearly intended to.
Hero frowned, clearly taking her silence to mean no. “You’ve no need to consider my feelings on the matter. Just speak plainly. I will accept whatever you say.”
“Yes.”
He leaned away though didn’t drop her hands. “Yes?”
“I see past our arrangement. I see past your rank. I only see you, Hero.” He was all she wanted.
Hero leaned in and Beatrix closed her eyes as his mouth pressed against hers.
She opened her lips to catch a taste of him and with a simple touch, a spark was ignited in her blood. He was like chocolate. The wonderful sensation of him traveled through her limbs and made her yearn for more.
He tilted his head and captured her mouth with a dark moan, effectively dominating her body and mind. He was an expert. He used the swirl of his tongue and bite of his teeth to nearly send her over the edge.
Nothing had ever felt so exquisite.
Beatrix wanted this. She’d wanted this since that first night in the tavern.
S
he was constrained by his hands, but instead of fighting, she pressed closer. But when that wasn’t enough, she tried desperately to take her hands back.
He tightened his hold on them. “Beatrix, my darling.” He ran his lips over her chin and cheeks and captured her mouth again. “If I let go of your hands and allow you to touch me in any way, it will break the last thread of control I have over myself at the moment.”
A crazed part of her— the part that had just been introduced to the best taste in the world— wanted to see what Hero would do if she snapped his thread.
She opened her eyes.
He leaned away and looked at her. His nostrils flared. “Darling, please don’t look at me that way. I want you so much that my bones ache with the need.”
She looked down, fearing what her eyes reflected. She liked being his darling. She licked her lips where his flavor still lingered.
He suddenly let her go and stood. “I’ll take my leave before...”
She stood as well but didn’t reach for him, especially when he took a step away from her.
* * *
For the first time since the hour Hero had met Beatrix, he felt free. He’d no longer be forced to keep his feelings for her silent… though he would have to control his ravenous longing for her. He felt like a man who’d been lost in a land of famine for years only to get his first taste of the purest water.
He would woo her and marry her, he decided. Though he was allowing her to continue in the game of the marriage market, Hero would no longer be a bystander. He would take part as well and focus all his attention on her.
I only see you, Hero.
She could not begin to fathom how those words had affected him. Even now, he was almost desperate enough to take her down on the grassy area on the side of the yard and have his way with her.
She finally stepped forward. “I’ll see you to the door.”
They walked in silence and without touching. They both kept their hands behind their backs, their fingers locked in an effort to not reach out for the other.
He stepped out the front door and turned to her.
Beatrix now held the doorpost, her head tilted in a whimsical and pleasured way. He’d done that to her. He was sure of it now, sure of his effect on her. “I won’t seriously consider another gentleman.”
He almost proposed to her right then and there. “I want you to be sure.”
“I am sure,” she said with a warm grin.
He opened his mouth.
She spoke over him. “But I’ll let you do what you feel to be honorable. There are so many men who would not.”
His heart burst to say the words he held back. They needed to slow down, and he still needed time to figure out what he would do with his future. “Good night, my lady.”
“Good night, Hero,” she whispered.
He bowed and then quickly ran to his carriage and hoped that no one noticed him when he left. From this moment forward, he’d have to do things properly with her. He’d have to keep the distance that Society demanded and adhere to their rules.
It was only slightly irritating, but when he thought of the gift of having her for a wife, he knew it would be worth it.
∫ ∫ ∫
3 0
“There should be a pond there,” Beatrix suggested.
“A pond will throw off the balance of the portrait.” Hero lifted his pencil and shaded in the grass on the canvas. They were drawing a cottage in the woods together. The joint venture had been his idea.
Beatrix thought it terrible and absurd but also quite romantic. She enjoyed his nearness and watching his hand work. “What about a stream?”
“You’re cluttering the canvas,” he said.
She turned to him. “I’m not. Let me show you.”
“All right. You’ll direct the next drawing.” He sat at her side but slightly behind her, just close enough for her to feel the heat from his body. Close enough for her to feel protected, nearly embarrassed though he didn’t touch her. His gaze moved from the canvas to her. “But this one is mine.”
She sighed. Their styles were entirely different. Beatrix’s drawings were usually quite busy. Even peaceful scenes drew the eyes all over her canvas while Hero’s were cleaner. The eyes were drawn to the center or off to the side and there they remained.
She thought their styles spoke of who they were as people. He seemed so sure of his life while she was not. Or at least, he hadn’t been until she’d met him. Now, all she could think about was what the rest of their lives would be like.
It had been two days since their kiss. He’d accompanied her and Valiant to the British Museum yesterday. The paintings had made them decide to draw the next day.
And now here they were, working on the same canvas together. She’d never have been able to come up with a more quixotic moment. It was a moment she’d never forget.
She turned to the canvas. “I’m adding a pond.” She picked up her pencil as he began to chuckle.
“All right, a stream.”
“You’re too late. The stream was a peace offering. You didn’t want peace. You wanted war. Now, we shall have a pond.”
His bark of laughter was startling. He was forced to lower his pencil or risk ripping the page. “There is no room for a pond.”
Beatrix worked as he laughed. A smile rested on her lips. “Oh, I think there is and perhaps a drawbridge and gate!”
He snatched her pencil away and kept it out of reach while he laughed again. She was tantalized by the sight of his throat. Finally, he calmed and looked at her again. He was beautiful. She’d never seen richer eyes than his. “No bridge. No gate.”
She leaned toward him.
He remained still, but his eyes moved to her mouth before meeting her eyes again.
Warmth settled in her belly. “Please,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Don’t tempt me, Beatrix.”
She lifted a brow and tried to assume an innocent expression. “Tempt you? How so?”
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “You’re not playing fair.”
She loved that her nearness had any effect on him. “This is war, didn’t you know?”
“I swore to my sister that you were safe with me.” They were at Ayers’ residence since Hero and Valiant had wished to spend some time with their father.
Beatrix had also found herself spending time with the man. Ayers possessed a wealth of stories and was always willing to share them with her. To his great joy, she’d even drawn a few pictures of what came to mind when she envisioned his mighty tales, presenting them to him as gifts.
Currently, Valiant was downstairs reading a book that belonged to Hero. It was in French, which was a language Beatrix could speak better than she could read, to his great joy. “I told her I’d not compromise you.” Though he’d done that very thing when he’d kissed her in the garden the other night.
She smiled and touched his cheek. “Yes, but I didn’t say that I’d not compromise you.”
His eyes darkened. He placed a pencil in her other hand. “Have your pond, your bridge, your gate. You win.”
She squealed and turned back to the canvas then gasped and shivered when he pressed his mouth to her throat.
The kiss was fleeting. He was there and then gone. Then he whispered in her ear, “You tempt me like no other.”
She felt the same about him. Her fingers trembled so terribly that she was forced to lower her hands.
She met his eyes again and wondered if he’d believe her if she told him that she loved him. She was sure she wanted to be with him, yet he’d not proposed to her or spoken about marriage since that the night they’d kissed.
She told herself that only two days had passed, yet other couples often courted for less time than that. In fact, parents often arranged marriages before the couple had met. She was certain of her feelings.
He caressed her chin. “When I thought I’d lost you forever, I began to draw you. I’ve more than a few sketches of you in my
room, though nothing compares to seeing you as you are now. Pencil and paper could never hold your essence.”
She was pained to think about what could have been had she not forgiven him. She’d been scared but not anymore. “I drew you as well.” She stood and moved to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Hero watched her go and smiled when she returned. She held out a roll of paper to him and when he unraveled the parchment, it revealed himself, though he wasn’t sure the drawing truly looked like him.
Somehow, Beatrix had managed to catch his best features without blurring the truth, and he admitted that he nearly looked handsome on paper. Was this how she saw him?
He’d been about to show his gratitude in a very physical way when they heard hurried footsteps approaching.
Valiant swept into the room and without a word, positioned herself in a chair by the empty hearth. Then, with book in hand, she took up a position that gave the illusion she’d been there the entire time. The only thing that proved she’d run was her visibly labored breathing.
Hero was about to ask her what was wrong but then more footsteps were heard.
Hero’s father appeared at the door and alongside him was the Duke of Reddington.
Ayers lifted a brow. “Where’s Valiant?”
“I’m right here!” Valiant waved her book. Her face was bright with perspiration from her run, yet she looked quite relaxed, the little actress.
Beatrix, he noted, had fallen into a curtsey with her head down, the perfect posture for one to take when they didn’t wish someone to read their face. “Your Graces.”
Hero walked over to his father and offered him a hand, but the duke refused him and used his cane to get to a chair.
Ayers spoke as he moved. “Reddington and I are just reminiscing on the past. As you know, our families have been friends for quite some time.”
“Everyone knows,” Valiant said as she made her way toward the couch.
Reddington sat by Hero’s father and smiled at Beatrix. “Not everyone. I suspect Lady Gillingham doesn’t.”
The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 15