Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“They are certainly not the worse. Look, they are already starting to fade. I suspect they’ll even be gone by the morning.”
Beatrice was trying to reassure him. She had just confessed to a life of sadness and pain, and yet she was trying to assure him.
“They should have never been put on you in the first place,” Algernon gritted out.
Feeling his anger start to lead him again, he pushed it down.
He could be angry later, and he intended to.
Just not right now. Not when Beatrice needed kindness and caring.
He took a moment, forcing the storm of rage deep into a mental cage.
Then he leaned down and softly caressed his lips against her bruises.
Satisfaction roiled through his blood as a soft sigh escaped Beatrice’s lips.
He kissed each bruise on her right side softly then moved to her left side, placing a tender kiss on each of those bruises as well.
Then he gathered her back into his arms as he sat down with her in his lap.
He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of lavender and chamomile from her silky-smooth skin that he could not seem to stop running his hands over.
“Snuggle,” he commanded, and heat sparked through his loins as Beatrice immediately curled into him like a kitten and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Her hot breath felt delicious against his skin, and he could not help the way his arms tightened around her much smaller body.
He had been both surprised and greatly pleased to find her in the kitchen.
It had been hours since he’d sent her to her rooms, and try as he might, he had not been able to think of anything but her.
However, seeing her in her angelic white nightgown, with her dark curls in a messy braid and her little bare feet, made him feel a particular sort of way.
A way he’d never felt before. There was lust, yes—God yes—but it was more than that.
There was satisfaction, amusement, all wrapped in the want to provide and protect.
“Is this another lesson?” she asked after a moment, her voice soft and almost childlike.
Drawing out of his thoughts, Algernon chuckled despite himself and kissed her head.
“No lessons tonight,” he whispered, “This is simply comfort. Something I have decided you greatly need.”
“Hmm,” Beatrice sighed, burrowing deeper into his embrace, “I have not felt this before.”
Algernon’s heart twinged at her confession, hating that it was true.
“It feels quite lovely,” she added.
“Yes, it does,” he murmured. He couldn’t help it. He was reveling in the feel of her embrace just as much as she was reveling in his.
“I do not believe I have had a snuggle since my mother died,” she observed.
That struck Algernon deep in the depths of his heart. His arms tightened around her as he nuzzled his chin atop her head.
“Come to think of it, I do not believe I have ever had a snuggle,” he muttered. “Am I doing it right?”
“You are doing it perfectly,” Beatrice whispered then let loose a contented sigh.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
They sat in the quiet balm of the night, letting the warm breeze flutter over them.
As he did so, though, Algernon mentally put together the puzzle that was Beatrice.
He understood now why her self-esteem was so low and why despite him being a stranger, despite her initial sense of distrust toward him, she’d come home with him after the auction and agreed to help him with his plan.
Her family had stripped away any sense of self-worth she might have had—and he hated them for that. So much, in fact, that he pondered the possibility of going to the Earl of Farhampton’s home and breaking more than just his finger.
Not right now, though. Right now, he would hold Beatrice like the precious woman she was becoming to him.
And she was, wasn’t she? Becoming precious to him.
Not because she could help him save his brother from future scandal but because her capacity for heartache was as great as his own.
Great, and yet she still had the strength to carry on, just as he did.
It was as he was doing such pondering that he realized that Beatrice had relaxed further into his lap and chest, and her breaths had become deep and even upon the crook of his neck where her head rested so very perfectly.
Realizing she was asleep, Algernon held her tighter. Not for her comfort, he realized, but for his own. He loved the feeling of her upon him like this. Loved it.
Which, he realized with chagrin, was a great problem indeed. After all, she was not his. Never going to be his. He had promised her one of two things: a marriage to her brother or freedom. Neither included him.
Tonight though, and perhaps only tonight, they would be one another’s. Acceptance of such a thing flowed through him, brushing away all other thoughts as his body grew relaxed and heavy, and as he closed his eyes, he cradled Beatrice close and fell asleep.