by Millie Adams
She felt a strange prickle at the back of her neck, and she looked up, just in time to see Briggs walk in.
The Duke of Brigham.
When he walked in, a ripple went through the room. Briggs was the sort of man who attracted attention wherever he went. It was undeniable.
He was magnetic in a black coat, black waistcoat and white cravat. He wore buckskin breeches and black Hessians. In a room full of men dressed in similar fashion he should not be notable. But whether it was the fit of the clothing, or simply the quality of the man beneath, he was more than notable.
He was outstanding.
He was the most beautiful man Beatrice had ever seen. She was certain he was the most beautiful man anyone in this room had ever seen. And the reaction to him indicated that. But it was not just his appearance—though his dark hair, kept just long enough to carry a slight wave, and his piercing blue eyes were certainly the pinnacle of masculine attractiveness.
No. It was his bearing.
He carried an air of authority that was unquestionable. He was an entirely different man to her brother. Not one bound quite so tightly by honour. And yet. And yet there was never any doubt that he was in absolute control. Of himself.
The ton had an obsession with him, as did every marriage-minded mother. If he had a fault, it was that he was already in possession of an heir. But his marriage had been brief, and many years ago, so much so his bachelorhood was firmly re-established.
As was his reputation as a rake.
But he was also...kind. And she had always found him easy. Easy to talk to. Easy to befriend. She knew he did not think of her as a friend. She would be little more than a child to him, for as long as he’d known her. But she carried a deep well of affection inside herself for Briggs, and whether or not it was sensible or reasonable, it remained.
It was...
She felt sometimes as if the stars hung on his every word. And that the sun shone because of his every breath. She would not say that she carried a flame for him, not in the way that Eleanor did for Hugh. No. It wasn’t that. Briggs was beyond her. It was simply that she... That she could not imagine her life without him. And in that way, yet again he was like the sun or the stars. Unreachable, but it was unfathomable to imagine life without that warmth. That presence.
He did not acknowledge her. Not formally. In fact, he crossed the room and made his way to a group of ladies. Not debutantes.
Widows.
Men of his sort preferred widows. They did not have to observe the same strictures as young ladies. Beatrice could not pretend that she understood the nuance of that. She felt a strange prickling sensation though, watching him as he spoke to those women. And then he turned, only slightly, and his eyes met hers from across the room.
And he winked.
Her heart jumped in her breast, and she turned away. She did not want him to look at her for too long. She had the fear that he might be able to suss out that she was up to something, and the last thing she needed was to be caught out by Briggs.
She nearly fainted from relief when she saw James arrive. He was wearing a smart grey coat with a blue waistcoat, the effect overall much softer compared to Briggs’s much more severe attire.
He was sweet and handsome, angelically so. With blonde hair that curled at the base of his neck, and pale blue eyes.
She did not feel... What she did not feel was as if a magnet drew her to him. As if she could not look away from him. She felt comforted by him.
Friendship.
Theirs was a deep and real friendship. One that—were it known about by the ton—would see her ruined anyway as she had been alone with him without a chaperon before. Now they would simply need to court public ruin.
In the absence of her brother’s blessing, she would have to force his hand. Because he hated scandal above all else. Which meant... She would have to create one.
And he would never see it coming, because he did not believe her capable.
James came to her, a second glass of punch in his hand.
‘Are you thirsty?’ He handed it to her.
She appreciated it. The care it demonstrated. He was like that. He was kind.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Have you devised a scheme for the evening?’
‘I have to figure out where I think we might be seen and by whom. Logic indicates that it should be Hugh who catches us out.’
‘I see. And are we to simply wait in his bedchamber?’
For some reason those words made her stomach tighten. ‘His bedchamber? I do not think we need a bedchamber.’
The look on James’s face was almost...pitying. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’
‘A lady can be ruined by walking along the wrong garden path,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘I could have been ruined long ago if it was known I went calling at your residence and took tea in your drawing room without the presence of a chaperon.’
‘I rather think that for the scheme you’re devising there was going to have to be a measure more than walking involved. Or taking tea. There can be no doubt as to what is being witnessed.’ He looked down. ‘I fear your brother enough to know he must think the only option is for us to marry, lest I find myself called to account, and on the wrong end of his pistol.’
She looked up at him, feeling helpless. Because she did not know what he was alluding to.
She was... She was terribly sheltered. And she had seen pictures in some of the books left in the library that depicted nude nymphs running away from male suitors, and it always made her feel uncomfortable. For some reason, those images came back to her now, and she had a feeling... Well, she had always had a feeling that something to do with those images related to ruin. It was only she could not connect them.
‘I should like... I...’
He smiled, and it was kind. ‘I do not wish to force you into anything, Beatrice. Please, if you wish to turn back, it will never be too late.’
‘This is for you as well,’ she said. ‘You also must feel...you also must have the life you desire, James. And I care for you. If I could help you, I wish to.’
And she might never be able to understand exactly why he didn’t want a real marriage. And perhaps the two of them would be giving up certain things. But they would have friendship. And all the freedom marriage afforded.
And she... She had felt for him. Because while he was a man, he was a second son, and he did not have anywhere near the power that her brother had in his position in society. He was facing enormous pressure from his family, and it was a pressure he did not want. Beatrice didn’t have to have experienced the exact same thing to understand what it was to be presented with a life you did not want to live.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know what to do. It would be best to have the largest audience as possible, while seeming to believably seek isolation. I know where to go. We will be found, not only by my brother, but by his associates.’ Briggs would be among them. The very idea made her skin feel scorched. Shame. She felt a deep sense of shame.
‘He often retires to his library at some point during an evening such as this,’ she continued. ‘If we could contrive to be in present...and...’
‘We should only have to be locked in an embrace,’ James said. ‘That should be enough.’
She felt somewhat mollified by that. A simple embrace did not seem so ruinous. But she knew that to the broader society it would be seen as such.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe that is so.’
‘We shall meet there.’
‘Yes. And in the meantime, endeavour not to draw suspicion.’
She waited. Waited until the hour drew closer for her brother to begin to make his way from the ballroom. They would have to get there before him. With a bit of time.
James was already gone.
She swept from the room, taking care not to be
seen, and tiptoed up the stairs, towards her brother’s library.
The only light in the room was that cast by the fire in the hearth. She hoped that the staff would not precede her brother to light candles for those who would soon occupy the room. The staff might offer her discretion. She did not want discretion.
She wanted to be ruined.
She sensed movement in the corner, and she turned, her stomach tight with nerves, her entire body nearly surging with unnatural amounts of energy. And then she heard footsteps. Just at the same time. And before she could think, before she could do anything but act, she did so. She flung herself at the figure in the corner, wrapping her arms around him. But he was so much taller than she had expected him to feel.
So much more solid.
The figure...the man...moved against her, and she nearly fell backwards. And then he lowered his hand, cupping the rounded globe of her buttocks. And she knew that hand was much too large to be James’s.
Terror streaked through her, but just then, the door flung open wide, and along with the open door, came the light.
‘What in the devil is happening?’
She looked towards the open study door and felt...everything shatter. It was not merely her brother and a few colleagues; it was a house tour. Complete with some of the sharper-tongued gossips of the ton.
And then she looked up, up at the man who held her in his arms, to see familiar blue eyes. Far too familiar.
The stars. The sun.
Briggs.
His hand was still planted firmly on her buttocks, and suddenly the warmth of his body became an inferno, the strength of his hold a revelation.
She could not breathe.
You can breathe. No man is allowed to steal your breath.
Even so, the fact remained...
She had flung herself at Briggs. And her brother had walked in just in time to see it.
‘I demand an explanation now. Or I will have no choice but to call you out.’ She could see murder in her brother’s eyes, and she knew that he was not speaking in jest.
‘There is nothing untoward here.’ Briggs released his hold on her slowly, ensuring that she did not fall.
‘And yet, we have all witnessed something quite untoward, sir.’
‘It’s my fault. It’s my...’
‘There is no question. There is no question of what must be done.’
She looked back at Briggs, who was gazing at her brother with fury in his eyes. ‘Of course.’
‘What’s it to be. Pistols at dawn?’
‘No,’ Briggs said, his voice firm. Decisive. ‘It is to be marriage.’
Chapter Two
Philip Byron, the Duke of Brigham, was not a man to be trifled with. He was not a man easily bested, nor was he a man to back down from a challenge. But at the moment he felt thoroughly bested, by a chit barely out of the nursery. And were there reasonable challenge to be had in the current situation, he would gladly undertake it. But the only man in the world that he considered a true friend was currently glaring at him with clear murder in his eyes, and Briggs was well aware that when it came to the honour of his sister, Kendal would follow through with that murder.
Kendal was hardly a prude. The man took his pleasure when he wished. Briggs knew that better than most. They frequented clubs, gaming halls and brothels often enough. But that was just it. When it came to pleasures of the flesh, Kendal kept it separate from his family. And he certainly did not go about despoiling ladies. Neither did Briggs, for that matter. And he would never, ever have touched his friend’s sister. It was she who had flung herself at him. But at the current moment, there was no space to say so.
He regarded Kendal closely. ‘Might we see that your sister is safely ensconced in her chamber and continue this conversation in private?’
‘No,’ Beatrice said, scrambling even further away from him. ‘I don’t need to be ensconced. I wish to speak to you, Hugh, we must...’
‘Do not speak to me,’ Kendal said. ‘Neither shall you speak to me,’ he said to Briggs. ‘Not until I have had a chance to...’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kendal said to the group of waiting guests. ‘I must adjourn the tour. I bid you please make use of my hospitality further. But I would also ask that you refrain from speaking on the matter that you think you have witnessed here until we are able to set it to rights.’
The entire group dissipated at Kendal’s command, for he was, after all, the Duke. But Briggs knew that there would be gossip. That it was unavoidable. The damage was done. And it did not matter what had truly happened.
‘Hugh...’
‘Go,’ Kendal said. ‘Go to your bedchamber, and we will speak later.’
‘I wish to speak now.’
‘I will not hear you now.’
‘But please I...’
Kendal held up his hand, and he could see that Beatrice was weighing her options. She could persist. She could say what she had to say between his denials. Or she could wait until he was in a better frame of mind. And when she demurred to Kendal’s commands, Briggs did think it was likely the better of her options.
She left the room, and Kendal closed the door behind him.
‘Explain this to me.’
‘I was simply standing there. I do not know who your sister thought I was, but I swear to you, that I have never, and I would never...’
‘Good,’ Kendal said. ‘I know exactly what manner of man you are in your relationships. I should not like my sister exposed to any such thing.’
‘Have no worries, Your Grace. I have not exposed your sister to my appetites.’
The air seemed less deadly in the aftermath of that admission.
‘You have an heir already,’ Kendal said, looking at him closely.
Briggs felt a stab of discomfort over the mention of his son. It was true. He had already achieved the highest purpose of his life. He had sired an heir. The line would continue. It did not matter that he had been ill-suited to marriage, always and ever. That he had no idea what to do with the child, particularly not one with the difficulties his own had. But he was receiving good care and a fine education.
What else could be asked of him?
‘You must marry my sister,’ Kendal said.
‘You believe that I did not touch her.’ That was important. Briggs had very few people in his life he considered friends.
He had not been allowed at school until he was fourteen. So ashamed had his father been of his behaviour and so intent had he been on crushing Briggs, to remake him into something he could control, something he could understand.
When he finally had been allowed at school it had been after his father had died.
His mother had sent him.
‘You’re the Duke now,’ she’d said, her voice still soft from years of tiptoeing around his father. ‘You are no longer simply Philip.’
And he had not been Philip. Not once since.
He’d become the Duke of Brigham, wholly and completely. He had made a new man of himself. Briggs.
Ironically, that was what his father had wanted all along and it had taken the bastard dying for Briggs to accomplish it.
Still, he had not found school easy and the process hadn’t occurred overnight. When it came to friends...
In truth, he had precisely one.
And it was Hugh.
Hugh sighed and turned away from him, as if gathering his thoughts. Or just perhaps reining in his desire to punch Briggs in the face.
He imagined, had he been anyone else, Hugh would have attacked him on sight. It was only the strength of the connection between them that he didn’t. Hugh had been Briggs’s first friend, and in the end, he felt that Hugh was the only true friend he had even now.
While he might understand the rules to society now, while he did not require Hugh to act as a guide any
longer, he did not feel a connection to anyone else.
In truth, he knew Hugh felt the same. They’d both had the full weight of their titles thrust upon them far younger than they should have. They had navigated those dark waters where boys became men. And the rarer passages of boys becoming dukes. And they had done so together.
It was that history now which kept Briggs from certain death and he knew it.
Also what kept him back from challenging Hugh in return, a defence of his own honour justifiable under the circumstances.
It was not his fault Beatrice had thrown her body against his.
A body that was quite a bit softer than he had ever allowed himself to imagine...
‘Yes. Because I do believe that you are man of honour, and you would at least confess your sins, even if you had sinned in such a manner.’
‘If you will not believe that I would never compromise your sister, then please do believe that virgins have no interest for me. If you will recall, I have already had a lady wife who could not bear me.’ He did not speak of Serena. Ever. It was a mark of just how exceptional the situation was that he did so now.
‘What happened with Serena was not...’
‘I do not need your reassurance, Kendal, particularly not when I stand before you with the choice of marrying your sister or taking your bullet. It is rather duplicitous, do you not think?’
‘You’re my friend, even if I would like to shoot you at the moment.
‘Honour is everything,’ Kendal said.
‘I know. And you know I share your feeling. I understand why you must see the world as you do, given the way your father set about salting the earth of morality while he drew breath. But you must not think it would be a good thing for your sister to...’
‘A marriage in name only,’ Kendal said. ‘Society will never have to know of your arrangement. You have always been good to her. Protect her, as I wished to do.’
‘Do you not think your sister might have something to say about that? You consigning her to a marriage only in name?’
The alternative...well, Briggs could not see it. His father had died when Briggs was so young, he had been resolute in his need to marry and produce an heir as quickly as possible. He had married Serena when he was twenty-one. And had lost her at twenty-three.