“Ah, a few men wanted to relieve me of a few coins,” he said, as if it was nothing more dramatic than a walk in the park.
“In broad daylight? Where were you?” She was appalled.
“Ah…” He didn’t meet her eyes and he shifted on the seat.
“I knew it.” She poked a finger at his arm, and he winced. She was immediately contrite. “Oh, I’m so sorry. But how dare you work on the investigation without me?”
He knew he was caught. “I was with your brother.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Lucas.”
He smirked at her annoyance, clearly relieved to at least split the blame.
“Let us pretend I don’t want to brain both of you for keeping me—and I can only assume Gemma as well—out of these plans, and you’ll tell me if you found anything out.”
He grimaced at that. “Well, I only have this to show for my day,” he said with a gesture to his injury. Any lingering irritation fled at that. She looked down at the bandage.
“You could have been killed,” she whispered. She didn’t want to picture it. Thugs lurking in dark alleyways, waiting for unsuspecting victims. She was only thankful that he was sitting in front of her, mostly whole. If she had simply heard the tale from her brother, she would not have been able to stop herself from rushing to find if he was well. Even now, she wanted to touch him to make sure his solidness was still there.
He studied her for a long time. “Would you have cared?”
She jumped to her feet. “Of course I would have cared, you stupid, stupid man,” she said, incensed.
Quick as lightning, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down next to him once more. “Why would you have cared?” he asked, forcing the point. His eyes were intense on hers. Her stomach dipped as her anger and fear faded and she realized what she’d said. What she’d given away. Her palms went clammy, and she tried to tug her hand out of his. He squeezed it tighter, keeping her trapped where she was. He was not going to let her ignore it, or pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Why would you have cared?” he asked again, his voice like velvet.
There was no answer she could give him that would make sense. Why did she care? Why did seeing him hurt affect her? She had nothing she could say. She simply lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug.
They sat in tense silence until his eyes dropped to her mouth. His lips followed suit.
The world stilled around her at the first touch. It was gentle, undemanding. Just a press.
“Beatrice,” he whispered, and the warmth tickled her skin. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he pushed inside. And then it was no longer gentle. It was a fierce siege on her mouth, but she returned the passion with equal fervor. She wound her fingers up around the nape of his neck, making sure she didn’t bump his injury. She tugged him closer. Ever closer. One of his hands cupped her cheek while the other dug into the soft flesh at her hips.
It was only when she let out a little whimper that he pulled back. Their broken and ragged breathing filled the quiet space between them.
She tried to regain control of herself, as her thoughts bumped and cascaded into each other, a wild riot in her mind. Was she just a wanton when it came to men? This was different though than it had been with Ralph. It felt different. Yes, there had been passion. But there hadn’t been that underlying tenderness she felt when George held her in his arms. She hadn’t noticed the lack of it at the time, but the difference was stark. Ralph had charmed her. Had offered her a glimpse of something she’d never experienced before. But it hadn’t been like this.
This. This was not sordid. This was love.
Despair followed quickly on the heels of euphoria. It might be love, but it could not be. She had ruined all her chances at happiness with one foolish decision. She would pay for it the rest of her life. She just hoped eventually those around her would stop having to pay for it, too. She dropped her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears in them. She had to hold herself together long enough to get out of the room.
But again, he did not let her escape. She had no fear of him physically—she knew he would never hurt her—but he would not let her run away from this.
He tucked a finger under her chin, forcing her to tilt her face up and meet his eyes.
“What is this?” he asked, catching a tear with this thumb as it escaped to roll down one of her cheeks.
She took a breath. There was no turning back now. But just as she was about to respond, the door slammed open, and Lucas swept into the room.
He halted when he saw them seated on the chaise. “Harrington! What happened to your arm?”
Beatrice knew she had to flee. She leaped for the door. She brushed past Lucas, her head down, hiding the evidence of her tears. He exclaimed something, but she didn’t stop to answer. She didn’t stop until she reached her room. She threw herself on her bed, her heart in her throat. She touched shaking fingers to her lips again, and let herself dream that love was possible.
Chapter Sixteen
The bride wore her favorite blue dress to her wedding. It was to be a small affair in the early morning light. Gemma had her maid dress her hair simply, slicked back into a silky chignon with a few curls escaping to frame her face. She stood in front of the glass, bent slightly at the waist, peering critically at herself. She stuck out her tongue at the reflection, wishing a more classically beautiful one stared back at her.
Uncle Artie had not put a premium on telling her she was beautiful. Any praise had been limited to whatever he’d been teaching her. There was a confidence in that. She trusted that she was reasonably intelligent and could hold her own with a blade. But no one had told her she was pretty. Not that she would expect her crusty old uncle to have lavished her with compliments on her looks. But it had made her doubt that there was anything there to compliment.
When Lucas had started paying attention to her, part of her always wondered why such a handsome gentleman would cast his gaze her way. Slowly he’d built her confidence up, though. Without her even realizing it. Now, there was warmth there. He made her feel pretty. Desirable, even.
It made her wonder what Uncle Artie would have thought of Lucas. Though, she guessed they would get on famously once they started comparing all the places they’d traveled to. Artie would be enamored from the first story.
Nigel would have been harder to impress. Protective to a fault, that one had been. He would interrogate Lucas on how he would be able to take care of Gemma, even though it was well known he was wealthy beyond any concern. Lucas’s straightforward and honest answers would have relaxed her cousin, though. They both would have liked him, she decided in the end.
Her heart ached at the memory of them, wishing they were there. She sniffled a bit into a hankie and allowed herself a moment of grief before she gathered herself. It wouldn’t do to have her look like she’d had a good cry right before walking down the aisle. Lucas deserved better than that.
Nerves fluttered like butterflies in the pit of her belly.
Will this be the biggest mistake of my life?
Part of her wished she had never met him, that she still had her simple life in the country. There had been no fear or uncertainty there. But there had also not been this love and friendship and excitement, either. Were the highs worth the lows? To have the full range of life’s emotions? Or was it better to sail along through life, happy and content, a burden to no one?
She pressed a flat hand to her stomach, closed her eyes, and let herself picture her groom, all brooding and mysterious. But she had been allowed to see the warmth underneath that hard exterior. He had let her in. And it hadn’t been easy for him, either. She wrapped that knowledge around her shoulders like a cloak, to protect her against her own insecurities that battered against her, wanting to chill her bones.
Now was not the time to think about what would happen when the case ended. Or the time to wonder if all of it would wither into resentment and disappointment once he realized they were tied for life.
No, now
was the time to be happy. She was marrying the love of her life. All she could do was move forward. And hope.
She took a deep breath, smoothing a gloved hand over a slight wrinkle in the blue muslin, and then turned for the door.
…
The little church was bathed in light. It streamed in through the rose and yellow and green stained glass windows throwing a riot of colors onto the simple floors all around Lucas. Missing was that weighty hush that usually made him tug at his cravat and check his pocket watch wondering if imminent escape was possible.
He had no desire to escape, now though. There was no place he’d rather be. No one for whom he’d rather be waiting.
The rush meant it was a simple affair—close family and friends only. They were scattered and mingled in the first few pews as they all waited for the bride.
If he was honest with himself, he had been expecting nerves. A tinge of panic. Nothing that would make him change his mind, of course, but maybe a passing thought to wild oats unsown, or the fact that his life was no longer just about him. It would never be again.
But he’d never been surer of anything.
He’d heard other men bemoan their wives. Turn to mistresses and brothels to overcome their boredom within their own marriage. They were the ones who slapped newly engaged young bucks on their shoulders and told them to run when they could.
He couldn’t imagine ever being bored of Gemma. She was an endless treasure to explore. He wanted to learn and memorize every expression, every smile, every laugh, every frown. To savor every part of her and let it become a familiar taste against his tongue. To know her secrets, know why she smiled and laughed and frowned. It would take more than the lifetime they would have together to accomplish that. No, he wouldn’t be bored.
The only doubts that shadowed the day came from her reluctance. He’d had to all but beg her to agree to marry him. He’d been so scared she would say no, that she would reject him outright. When she’d finally agreed, something had loosened in his chest and he’d been able to breathe again. But he couldn’t forget the uncertainty that had lingered in the corners of her lips and the fear that had lurked in her eyes.
He knew she was independent. Was she thinking of the freedom she was giving up by tying herself to him? Marriage did not exactly favor the woman if she had enough resources to survive without it. But surely she knew marriage to him would be different. He had no desire to stifle her or dampen her spirit, even if that were possible. It was what gave him life—to see her shine.
Everything would be easier once they caught their villain. Then there wouldn’t be anything between them. And he would be able to concentrate on making sure she was the happiest of married ladies. He bit back a grin as one idea of how to accomplish that flitted across his mind.
He was quickly pulled back to reality, though, by a commotion in the back.
This is it.
Everything went quiet when he saw her. The low hum of appreciation as the guests shifted in their seats, the noise from the streets, the clergyman clearing his throat beside Lucas. It all went quiet.
There was only her. She was all he could see.
The ceremony was a blur until his vows. He knew he’d said all the right things in the right places, but his mind was still trying to figure out how he’d ever managed to convince her to take a chance on him in the first place.
But now she was looking at him. Everyone was looking at him. He cleared his throat and repeated the words the priest gave him. Her small hands were cradled in his, and his thumb found the impossibly soft spot right beneath hers.
“To love and to cherish,” he promised, his eyes on hers, his fingers pressing against hers. He hoped she understood. These weren’t just empty words. “To love and to cherish,” he said again, interrupting the clergyman. A few nervous titters erupted from the crowd, but he didn’t take his eyes off Gemma. She searched his face. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she got it. Then a slow smile crept in. She tucked her fingers into his palms, and he relaxed.
He lifted a brow to the clergyman as if asking him what the hold up was. Gemma stifled a giggle at the man’s affronted expression as he carried on with the ceremony.
The light caught on her ring as he slid it onto her finger. It looked so right there, and he couldn’t help but linger over the smooth metal. She was his. He was hers. He swallowed hard against the tight ball of emotion that lodged right beneath his breastbone. A romantic would say it was in the region of his heart.
He cleared his throat and leaned down. “Something tells me we’re going to have to work really hard on that ‘obey’ part.”
She pulled back slightly, eyes wide. Then she tipped her head back, laughing. It sounded like delicate chimes.
He couldn’t resist. Lips met smiling lips. And he did not give even a little damn that his guests must think him a fool in love.
…
Following the ceremony, Roz hosted a breakfast for the couple. They gathered in Lucas’s house, which was now Gemma’s house. She was a countess. It would take a while to get used to the position. She knew she was capable of running a household; she had been Uncle Artie’s hostess as soon as she had made her debut. But was she capable of the rest of the social responsibilities that came with the title? She thought of her promise to herself to not let her insecurities creep in. And then thought of the way Lucas had watched her during the ceremony. He certainly thought she was fit to be his countess.
A nudge at her elbow brought her back to the present, and she turned to find Beatrice with a cup of tea.
“I am so glad we are sisters now, Gemma,” her new sister-in-law said, with her usual bright smile. “But you look troubled. You can tell me what is wrong.”
Gemma laughed off the concern. “What could be wrong? It’s my wedding day, the happiest day of my life.”
Beatrice studied her. “Forgive me for prying, but you don’t look like a woman on the happiest day of her life.”
Gemma grimaced. She had always been an expert at hiding her emotions, but she was raw from the past few hours. Her practiced facade seemed to have been stripped. “Oh, please believe me, I am overjoyed to be married to your brother. I care for him deeply.”
Beatrice’s entire face brightened, looking like the sun on a beautiful summer day. “He cares deeply for you.” She paused. “But you are still worried.”
“It’s not that simple,” Gemma admitted.
“It is. You love each other. Anyone can see that,” Beatrice said, and Gemma wished she could believe her. There had been that moment in the church. The one in which he’d seemed to pour his soul into his vows of love. But mayhap she had just wanted to see that.
“It all just happened so fast,” was all she said. It was the easiest way to put her doubts into words that made any sense. “I don’t want him to regret it.”
Beatrice tilted her head as she considered Gemma’s words. “My brother doesn’t make quick decisions. You must know that about him. He’s so rational and logical. Almost to a fault.”
It was true—Gemma did know that about him. That didn’t reassure her. He was also fiercely protective, with a strong sense of responsibility.
“I was actually growing worried for him before he met you, you know,” Beatrice continued. “I didn’t know if was capable of letting his guard down enough to find someone to love, and be loved in return. I thought he was going to become a grumpy old curmudgeon, if I may tell you the truth.”
Gemma laughed to cover her racing heart. “I don’t think it would have come to that.”
Beatrice reached out to squeeze her arm. “Lucky for us we don’t have to find that out.”
Instead of feeling comforted by the exchange, she simply felt more confused. It would be much easier if Lucas would just tell her how he felt about her. But she didn’t know if she was strong enough to hear that he simply cared about her wellbeing. Her mind flicked back to his warm, steady fingers pressing into hers.
Maybe he had meant it.
/> The intensity with which she wanted that to be true scared her. So she changed the topic.
“You and Mr. Harrington have worked quite well together,” she said. She bit back a grin as a telltale blush stained her sister-in-law’s cheeks.
Beatrice cleared her throat and cast a furtive glance back toward the gentleman in question, who was standing next to the pianoforte. Lucas had asked him to join them for the celebration, and after only a slight hesitation, the man had agreed to come. Gemma was glad of it, and wondered when he and Beatrice would realize they were meant for each other.
“He is so kind and intelligent,” Beatrice gushed. “I like him ever so much, but…”
“But?” Gemma asked.
She bit her lip. “I have not told him about…” Beatrice finally confessed, her eyes dismayed.
Gemma was relieved to be able to comfort someone else, and for the first time all day take her mind off her own troubles. She took Beatrice’s hand and squeezed it. “Oh, my dear. If you are meant to be, he will not care a whit about something that happened in the past. I am sure he will actually be furious at the man for how he treated you, but nothing more. He seems like a very level-headed gentleman.”
“Do you really think so?” Beatrice asked.
“I do,” she answered. “It may be hard to tell him, but I believe it will be worth it.”
“Oh, thank you, Gemma,” Beatrice said, throwing her arms around her. “I may never gather the courage to do so, but I will have your words in my head if I do.”
Gemma actually laughed at the show of gratitude. “You are stronger than you think, Beatrice.”
“And so are you,” Beatrice whispered in her ear. “Don’t give up on him. Or yourself.”
Gemma was left standing alone with those cryptic words repeating in her head while Beatrice took herself off to chat with an acquaintance. Gemma noticed her deliberately not noticing Mr. Harrington, who was deliberately not noticing her in return.
“Do not fret, dear heart,” Roz said, sweeping in and replacing Beatrice at her arm.
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