Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“There you are,” Mira sang, gently drying Beatrice’s freshly washed hair, “as new and fresh as an English tea rose. Do you feel better, Lady Beatrice?”
In the vanity mirror, Beatrice managed to give the other woman a small smile.
“I do indeed, Mira. Thank you for helping me out of my ensemble and with my bath,” Beatrice replied politely.
While it was true that Beatrice did feel better now that the cosmetics and hair pomade had been washed from her as was the sticky perspiration her heavy dress had caused her to suffer from the summer heat and crowd of people, she still felt remnants of discomfort swirling within her.
“It must have been quite an exciting evening for you,” Mira went, dropping the towel to pick up the hairbrush. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“At times,” Beatrice whispered softly.
Then as the maid brought the brush to the top of head, Beatrice reached back and laid a gentle hand upon it, stopping Mira from continuing.
“Apologies, Mira, but I am quite weary from the evening. Would you mind if I told you about it tomorrow? I shall give full details, I promise you, but for now, I would like to rest,” Beatrice explained.
Mira gave her a look of understanding and let the brush be taken over by Beatrice’s hand.
“Of course,” she replied readily. “Forgive my overexcitement, I have just never had the pleasure of lady who was willing to tell me of such parties before.”
“No apologies necessary,” Beatrice replied, and meant it. “I will tell you all about it tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, and thank you again for helping me with my bath.”
Mira gave her a deep curtesy then quietly took her leave.
Alone in her room, Beatrice looked back to the mirror and began brushing her hair. It was still a little damp, but she liked it that way. It made for wild curls in the morning that she could only catch glimpses of in the brief moment between waking up and getting ready.
As she brushed her hair, she studied herself in the mirror.
It was interesting, she supposed, to be gussied up like a fine porcelain doll for one evening.
Yet now as she took in her smooth complexion, her slightly blushing cheeks, and her tiny imperfections, she realized this was how she loved to look the most.
But would Henry like it?
The thought came unbidden and was instantly perturbing. So much so that Beatrice abandoned her hairbrush and began to pace along her bedroom door, her eyes focusing on the soft white linen skirt of her nightgown that fluttered around her ankles.
She had lied to Mira. Twice. She was not at all tired. In fact, her head was tangled with such a mess of thoughts, she felt as if she would vibrate out of her skin if she stood still too long.
Years of being a servant—especially a servant to a household that did not like her very much—had taught her how to subtly read other people’s expressions and tones of voices so as to avoid harsh critiques. This evening, that particular talent had revealed much to her.
For starters, Henry. He had been honest with his praise and had indeed been quite proud to show her off as his companion for the dance.
However, she also noted how quickly his stature shifted and his sage green eyes took on a glow when particular gentlemen walked by.
She shrugged it off quickly though, thinking they were merely friends of his.
However, when these moments happened, she also noticed that was around the time Henry’s touch would slip away from her.
Whether it was his arm around hers or his hand at her back, it quickly dropped when those particular gentlemen grew near.
Then, of course, there was his abrupt exit and the breaking of the promise he had made to her. Business or not, she still felt embarrassed in that moment, for surely the ton would have noticed that while she had been escorted in by one brother, she had been escorted out by the other.
The other brother. Algernon. She had noticed things about him, too.
Even when she could not see him, she had felt his presence like a looming shadow just over her shoulder.
A guardian angel… or a curious devil. She could not quite decide.
All she knew was that at every turn he was there, watching over her and Henry with quiet intensity.
Except, of course, that one moment she and Henry had been dancing, and he had disappeared into the crowd.
He had come back though, looming and brooding as ever as Henry made his announcement about his ‘business’ meeting, his presence making her skin prickle and her heart race.
Coincidentally, it was also at the same time that Beatrice had begun to notice that those who had just been smiling at her only moments before had shifted to looks of doubt and wariness as they looked over at her.
It was a strange, strange evening indeed, and in her mind the scales of good and bad were equally weighed, one not better than the other.
Except for… possibly… how little Beatrice had begun to care about Henry’s absence as Algernon swept her into a waltz.
In fact, everything about the party had started to fade away until it was just she and Algernon swaying in another’s arms.
She had missed him in his absence. Even if he had annoyed her by laughing at her ensemble at the beginning of the evening, she had missed him terribly. Their talks. Their banter. Their lessons.
Beatrice blushed at her silent confession.
She missed their lessons most of all. How he made her feel during those times had haunted her dreams and plagued her body in her sleep.
Often times, she’d wake up, panting, with nipples hard, breasts sensitive, and wetness between her legs as her dream state recreated the feel of Algernon’s mouth.
Now, it seemed Algernon was ready to move beyond such lessons.
Beatrice, however, realized that she was not.
Overcome with an air of determination, Beatrice left her pacing and walked toward the door. She let her body’s wants take control as she walked with purposeful steps to Algernon’s door and knocked loudly.
Her heart seemed to freeze as she waited for Algernon to open his door, but the moment he did, it began to beat again ferociously.
Her eyes slightly widened, and her mouth began to water as Algernon leaned into the doorframe, his muscular stature so wide he took up the entire space.
His black trousers he’d worn earlier that evening were half-unfastened, falling to the edge of his hips.
That was all he wore. Nothing else. His feet were bare, but what drew Beatrice’s attention the most was his naked chest and arms. She had felt his muscles as they’d wrapped around her, but she had never seen them before.
His powerful biceps were nearly as big as her head and tapered into forearms that were wrapped with sinew and veins that pulsed through his tanned skin.
Then there was his chest. Beatrice had seen the statues of naked men in the Royal Gardens, but none of them had looked like this.
While their muscles had been lean, Algernon’s were like armor.
Built up. Rigid. Chiseled. His barrel chest tapered down to a slightly smaller waist that was lined with slabs of smooth, firm muscle that stretched from his sternum all the way down to his pelvis.
“Beatrice?” he asked, his tone husky as if he had been asleep.
Beatrice blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Her eyes remained fastened to his naked chest for what seemed like ages. Then finally, she found the ability to raise her gaze up to his green eyes.
Yes, he’d definitely been asleep. Those forest green orbs were delightfully hazy as he reached up and rubbed the corner of one.
His dark hair was mussed too, particularly on his right side, as if he had been nuzzling into a pillow.
He was a fascinating combination of breathtaking masculinity and sleepy adorableness, and as such, Beatrice found herself forgetting how to speak.
“Beatrice.”
The drowsiness in his gaze dissolved as he all but growled her name and clutched her shoulders.
“What is it? What is wrong?”
Beatrice blinked rapidly, trying to pull herself from the sudden spell she found herself under.
“Nothing!” she exclaimed. Then she murmured, “Nothing.”
Algernon’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but his grip on her shoulders softened immediately.
“Did you have another nightmare?” he asked.
Beatrice shook her head, suddenly feeling quite foolish for ever leaving her room in the first place.
Algernon continued to look at her intensely for another long moment.
I should say something. Anything!
“I wanted to discuss our lessons,” she blurted out.
Algernon’s brows rose in surprise.
“At two in the morning?” he asked.
Beatrice blushed. She had no idea it was that late already.
“I… well… yes…” she stammered out and fisted her hands at her hips. She gave a stiff nod.
“Yes, I do.”
Algernon stared at her for another long moment, then sighed, the muscles of his chest expanding as he did so. He drew his hands away from her shoulders and brought one up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Very well then,” he grumbled then stepped back from the doorway. “Come in. There is no reason to have this conversation in the hall.”
On trembling legs, Beatrice followed him inside, and she was at once wrapped in his heady, masculine scent as he shut the door.
The room was warm and dark, but Algernon took her hand and led her to a chair, helping her sit.
Then he moved away from her, and for a moment, she felt utterly small and alone in the darkness.
Such a feeling faded quickly when barely a minute later a soft, yellow light bloomed, and she saw the outline of Algernon’s muscular back as he kneeled at the fireplace.
Soon, the small flame ebbed into a crackling fire, and light illuminated the darkened space.