by Anna Bennett
“Desire,” he said with a grin. And if there had been another force working to push them together … well, he’d be a fool to dwell on it. Nothing lasting could develop between them. Even if someone wasn’t trying to kill him.
Beth deserved someone as generous and thoughtful as she was. She needed someone to take care of her the way she took care of everyone else. But that someone couldn’t be him.
His heart had turned to ash years ago.
Smiling sheepishly, she said, “Help me stand—without hurting you.”
“Wait, there’s something I want to tell you.” He should confess that it was he who’d carelessly labeled her with the cruel Wilting Wallflower name that had, unfortunately, stuck. Even though anyone with eyes could see she was far too lovely to be a wallflower. It would be best to admit the truth now, before things between them progressed any further.
“What is it?” She tilted her head and gazed at him, her eyes shining with affection and her lips swollen from their kiss. The tenderness in her expression leveled him like a punch to the gut. Damn it, he couldn’t tell her. He’d hurt her last night … and he couldn’t hurt her again. At least not so soon.
“I overreacted last night. Look, my scars aren’t pretty, and I didn’t want you to see. But I should have explained.”
“And what would you have said?” she challenged. “That a girl like me shouldn’t have to witness something so revolting?”
“You shouldn’t.” It was true.
She laced her fingers through his and laid her head on his shoulder again. “You think that I haven’t seen truly ugly things? Because I have. I’ve seen grown men jeer at my uncle. I’ve seen a debutante spit on my younger sister. I’ve seen a mother abandon her twin daughters—who now happen to be my nieces. Scars don’t bother me, Alex.”
“You say that now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the puckered, twisted skin there.
She sat up and arched a brow. “I never would have guessed you to be so vain.”
It wasn’t about vanity so much as privacy—there was no need for everyone to know what he’d endured, how he’d almost been broken. No one had a right to see that—except, perhaps, his grandmother. But he shrugged nonchalantly. “I am also notoriously shallow.”
“That is good to know,” she said smoothly. “Now help me up.”
Alex lifted her over the arm of his chair, and she landed lightly on her feet.
“Your wine is over there”—he nodded at the sideboard—“if you’d still like it.”
“I think I should refrain,” she said primly. “But I am glad we made some progress today.”
“I agree.” Something like hope blossomed in his chest. They were making progress. Who knew? Maybe soon they’d be able to converse for more than a few minutes without arguing.
“Your grandmother is pleased with her second wish,” she said, “and I will do my best to make sure that your study retains its uniquely manly, messy charm.”
Damn. She’d meant that they’d made progress on the duchess’s wishes—not with each other. “Maybe we should meet after dinner this evening,” he ventured, “to discuss the particulars of this project.” It was a transparent attempt to spend more time alone with her, but he couldn’t resist.
“As you may recall, I have plans with your grandmother this evening—Lady Claville’s ball.”
Bloody hell, he’d forgotten. “Of course I remember.” He’d have to send word to Darby to keep a watchful, protective eye on both his grandmother and Beth. So far, Alex had been the only target, but if his assailant grew frustrated, there was no telling who else he might attack.
Beth paced slowly, the sway of her hips entrancing him. “The duchess had hoped you’d escort her,” she said, “but you now have an excuse not to attend. I must say, your injury was a clever—if extreme—way to avoid accompanying us. I am amazed at the lengths you’ll go to in order to shun your duties.” The twinkle in her eyes said she was jesting. Mostly.
“I daresay, my grandmother will enjoy recounting the tale of how I bravely limped into the house despite wounds that would have finished off a lesser man.”
“Your humility abounds,” she countered. Then, turning sincere, she said, “Is there anything you need before I go? A drink or perhaps a pillow beneath your leg?”
He needed all sorts of things. Most of them too wicked to name. “No, thank you. But please take care tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Keep your distance from anyone who looks suspicious,” he said soberly.
The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement. “I don’t anticipate many shady characters will be on the Clavilles’s guest list.”
“You never know. They invited me.”
“Your point is well taken,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she left.
Chapter SIXTEEN
“Well, here we are once again,” Beth mused. “The Wilting Wallflowers, reunited.”
She had fetched champagne for the duchess and Uncle Alistair and found them comfortable chairs where they could converse with their friends. Now, she and her sisters stood adjacent to the refreshment table, watching a sea of couples surge and swirl in time to the music on the crowded dance floor.
“It reminds me of old times,” Meg said wistfully—almost as though she’d forgotten how humiliating it was to be mocked, overlooked, and dismissed. But then, being married to a handsome earl could change one’s perspective. Beth’s circumstances hadn’t changed nearly as much, and yet, there had been a shift in her thinking of late.
All because of Alex.
During the past few days, she’d gone toe to toe with him on several occasions. They’d argued, bargained, and kissed … and somehow, she’d emerged relatively unscathed. If she could survive sparring with a duke—and not just any duke, but the notorious Duke of Blackshire—she could face anyone in this ballroom with confidence.
Which was not to say that she had a slew of dance partners or admirers. But Meg’s handsome husband, Will, had gallantly asked her for a dance, as had Lord Darberville. True, both of them likely asked her out of a sense of obligation, but at least she wasn’t standing about the potted palms all evening. She wondered whether her night would have been different had Alex been there. Would he have asked her to dance in front of London’s elite? Or was she simply an amusing diversion—someone to entertain him on the rare evening he spent at home?
As though she’d read Beth’s mind, Meg asked, “Why didn’t the duke accompany the dowager and you tonight?”
Julie wagged her eyebrows suggestively. “Perhaps he is with his paramour.”
Meg narrowed her eyes. “What do you know of paramours?”
“Not nearly enough.” Julie sighed.
“He’s not with a lover,” Beth said curtly. And maybe a bit too loudly. At Meg’s questioning expression, she lowered her voice, adding, “I only meant that the reason for his absence is not nearly as scandalous as our younger sister would like to believe. He injured his leg while sparring today.”
“Maybe he and his opponent were fighting over a woman?” Julie asked hopefully.
“Or maybe they were merely engaged in a friendly boxing match,” Beth corrected.
“Friendly boxing match sounds like an oxymoron to me,” Meg said. “I shall never understand men.”
“The duke seemed pleasant enough at Vauxhall,” Julie said. “But I’ve since lowered my opinion of him. I cannot condone his decision to move his grandmother to the country.”
“Shh!” Beth glanced around. “The dowager doesn’t know yet, and when the time comes to inform her, I’ll need to do so gently.” Goodness, if her sisters guessed that the duke had kissed her, they’d hold him in even lower esteem. Actually, they’d call for the guillotine.
“He said that the move was for her own sake,” Beth said in his defense. Because while she didn’t pretend to understand his logic, she wanted to believe him.
“Hmm,” Meg said, skeptical. Beth couldn’t blame her.
>
“Don’t look now, but Lord Darberville is heading toward us.” Julie jabbed Beth with a pointy elbow. “He must want to ask you to dance again.”
Beth rubbed her arm. “Maybe he intends to ask you.”
“Good evening, Lady Castleton, Miss Lacey, and Miss Juliette.” Lord Darberville bowed politely and stepped aside to make room for his companion. “Please permit me to introduce Mr. Richard Coulsen. He’s the steward of Lord Claville’s Kent estate, and we met at the marquess’s house party last year, where he almost beat me at fencing.”
“I did beat him.” Mr. Coulsen winked as he bowed over Meg’s hand, then Beth’s and Julie’s.
“Wonderful,” Meg murmured under her breath. “Another devotee of blood sports.”
Ignoring her sister, Beth smiled at the gentleman. “It’s a pleasure.” In a room brimming with titled lords and ladies, it was nice to meet someone who was on approximately the same rung of the social ladder as she. Not that anyone would guess Mr. Coulsen was of lower social status than most. Tall and fair-haired, he moved and spoke with the confidence of a man who was accustomed to being in charge.
“I have a confession.” He lowered his voice and leaned in, as though he really were about to share something intimate. “I asked Lord Darberville for an introduction so that I might properly ask you to dance. Would you do me the honor, Miss Lacey?”
Beth glanced at her younger sister, standing on her right. Surely, Mr. Coulsen wanted to dance with Julie … and yet, he seemed to be looking directly at Beth.
Julie’s elbow jabbed her again. “He’s asking you.”
Beth blinked, attempting to hide her surprise. She supposed there was no harm in dancing with Mr. Coulsen, even if she’d only just met him. Besides, Meg and Julie would be watching the dance floor like hawks. “Certainly,” she said.
Before she knew it, he was leading her away from her familiar, out-of-the-way spot by the refreshment table and twirling her into the center of the action.
“Forgive me if I’m not as polished as your usual dance partners,” he said. “I don’t attend many balls—at least not ones like this.” He gestured at the massive crystal chandelier sparkling overhead.
“From the way you dance, I would have guessed that you’d been born in a ballroom,” Beth teased.
“Hardly.” He flashed a self-deprecating smile and maneuvered her expertly around another swirling couple. “Not that I’m complaining. It was most generous of my employer, Lord Claville, to invite me this evening.”
“I’m acting as companion to the Dowager Duchess of Blackshire,” Beth said.
He raised a dark blond brow. “I knew we’d have something in common.”
“Why did you ask me to dance?” Her question bordered on impolite, but she was too curious not to ask.
Shrugging, he said, “You were standing with your sisters—I knew they had to be your sisters—and you were in the middle.”
“You asked me to dance because I was standing between my sisters?”
“The middle is sometimes a difficult place to be.”
She looked at his face to see if he was jesting, but he seemed most sincere. “Spoken like a middle child,” she guessed.
“I have no siblings,” he said. “But I do know what it’s like to be caught between two worlds.”
Beth’s heart squeezed in her chest—it was the pang she routinely experienced when she learned of an injustice or slight. And it made her want to right matters, even though she barely knew Mr. Coulsen.
“It seems we have another thing in common,” she said.
They danced the rest of the set in companionable silence, but Beth did feel a connection to the gentleman. Nothing like the headiness she felt with Alex, but rather, a sense of ease.
Her dance partner smiled as they circled one another, and Beth realized she must take care not to mislead him.
At the conclusion of the dance, Mr. Coulsen escorted Beth back to her sisters, conversing along the way. “Thank you for indulging me,” he said, “even though I’m certain your feet must be sore from dancing all evening.”
“Oh, I haven’t danced much,” Beth said. “In fact, my sisters and I are known as the Wilting Wallflowers.”
Blast. She couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to admit that. He was, perhaps, the sole person in all of London who hadn’t been aware of her humiliating reputation, and she managed to work it into the conversation only minutes after they’d been introduced. Perfect.
He frowned, confused. “The Wilting Wallflowers?”
“My uncle, our guardian, is Lord Wiltmore. I suppose the name was a natural extension.”
Scratching his head, Mr. Coulsen opened his mouth as though he’d say something … and then he laughed.
Beth’s shields went up. She’d thought he’d be a friend—someone who understood her. She should have known better than to trust someone she’d just met.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m not laughing at you. The name is beyond ridiculous—it’s absurd. No one who’s ever seen you or your sisters could refer to you as wallflowers. Not while keeping a straight face.”
Beth relaxed slightly. “Only a year ago, we were poor as church mice and wearing gowns several seasons out of fashion. We may have new clothes, but the name has stuck with us—not unlike the stench from a skunk.”
Mr. Coulsen stopped walking and turned to face her. “I don’t care what you were wearing or how poor you were—you’re no wallflower.”
With that, he bowed and left her.
Chapter SEVENTEEN
When he’d awoken the next morning, Alex discovered his knee had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe and turned several nasty shades of black and green. It was stiff and hurt like the devil when he moved, but damned if he’d spend the day lying around. He’d wrapped the knee, gritted his teeth, and stuffed his foot into his boot. Remaining in bed all day wasn’t an option—not while someone plotted to kill him.
And while he still limped, he found that at least he could put some weight on his leg. Unfortunately for Darby, Alex’s dining partner, the pain in his leg made him crankier than normal.
“Why in God’s name would you introduce Richard Coulsen to Miss Lacey?” Alex demanded, loud enough that several members of his club put down their newspapers and ceased their conversations. Alex glared in response. He sat across a table from Darby in the darkly paneled dining room, questioning his own judgment in having allowed his grandmother and Beth to attend the Claville ball without him.
Darby swiped his napkin across his mouth, attempting to hide a wry grin. “You said yourself he’s a decent sort. I only introduced them. It’s not as though I ushered them out onto a moonlit terrace and left them alone.”
Alex’s hackles rose even more. “I asked you to keep a watchful eye on her—not fill her bloody dance card.”
“If you want to know the truth, the dance floor was the safest place for her.” Darby speared a chunk of roast beef with his fork and popped it in his mouth. “There were too many people around for anyone to attempt criminal activity.”
“How comforting.” His appetite gone, Alex threw his napkin on the table.
“No harm came to either Miss Lacey or your grandmother. They seemed to have an enjoyable evening.”
Darby’s patronizing tone grated on Alex’s last nerve. He gripped the arms of his chair. “How enjoyable?”
Darby’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, and his eyes flashed with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the wallflower.”
Bloody hell. His head pounding, Alex lunged across the table and grabbed a fistful of Darby’s jacket. A glass tipped and china clattered. Heads turned. “Don’t call her that.”
Darby looked down at his jacket like he couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
Alex cursed. What the hell was he doing, picking a fight with his best friend? He unclenched his fist and sat back, ashamed but still steaming.
Darby’s nostrils flared as he spoke through gritt
ed teeth. “Have you lost your mind?”
Maybe he had. “I don’t care for the way you talked about Miss Lacey.”
“The way I talked about her?” Darby snorted. “That’s rich—pretending to defend her honor when you gave her the name in the first place. Bloody hypocrite.” His chair legs screeched against the floor as he pushed away from the table. “Find someone else to play guard next time.”
Shit. Alex dragged a hand down his face. “Look, I’m an ass and I know it.”
Darby called over his shoulder. “The whole world knows it.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I banged the hell out of my knee when I went to grab you?”
“It does, actually.”
“Good, then sit down and let me buy you another drink.”
“That’s a pathetic excuse for an apology.” Darby stalked back to the table and slumped into his chair. “You’re buying dinner too.”
“Fair enough.” Alex took a deep breath. “I regret giving Miss Lacey and her sisters the name. It was a stupid, offhand comment that should have been forgotten the moment I said it. But for some godforsaken reason, it spread like bloody dandelion seeds in a windstorm. No matter how much I might wish to retract the words, I can’t.”
“I see. So instead, you’ve decided you’ll throttle anyone who utters the word wallflower? An excellent plan,” Darby said drolly.
“What would you do?” Alex countered.
Darby shrugged. “You might start by apologizing to them.”
He wished to hell he could. It would ease his conscience … but now that they’d kissed, the truth would hurt her. “I can’t.”
Staring into his glass as he swirled his brandy, Darby nodded. “Because you care for her—Miss Lacey?”
Alex shot his friend a look that warned he should tread lightly. “I like her.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble charming her into your bed.” Darby tipped his glass back to drink, as though he had no idea that Alex was alarmingly close to knocking his teeth out.
“I didn’t say I wanted her in my bed. I said I like her.”
Darby raised a brow. “So you don’t want her in your bed?”