Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Beatrice walked with Giovanni back into the ballroom, incensed by his suggestion. How dare he even suggest such a thing to her? She rounded on him as soon as they were inside.
“You cannot make me go home, or tell me what to do, I am not a child!” She hissed.
“We are going home,” Giovanni snapped, his dark eyes blazing with angry fire. “This moment!”
“Or what?” Beatrice challenged, unable to stop herself from meeting his burning gaze.
“Or I shall tell your brother that you are drunk,” Giovanni whispered in her ear. “If you think I’m irritated by it, imagine how he shall be.”
“It is perfectly normal for a lady to have a few glasses of champagne,” Beatrice spluttered, trying to think of an excuse. “I have not eaten properly, that is all?—”
“Try that on Silas, see if he cares.” Giovanni shrugged in his infuriatingly Italian manner, his hand still firmly grasping her elbow. “But do expect a long lecture on the proper amount of imbibing for ladies, which I know you shall hate. That is if I know you at all.”
Beatrice winced at his words. She had not meant to suggest Giovanni was unimportant to her, quite the opposite.
In the moment, she had hoped to remind him that she was no longer a child, that she didn’t want to be thought of by him as the little sister in need of rescuing.
Instead, she had clearly slighted him and he was insulted.
She sighed heavily. The idea of a lecture from Anna and Silas was very unappealing.
“We shall go home,” she said imperiously as if it were all her idea. Giovanni nodded as they approached Anna and Silas.
“Beatrice is unwell,” Giovanni announced to the couple, who stood happily in the corner of the room, watching the dancers with excitement on their faces. “I am taking her home.”
Both of their expressions fell at his words. Anna looked crushed, but she immediately reached for Beatrice’s arm.
“Oh dear, are you feeling faint?” She asked. “Of course, we will return with you.”
Anna looked reluctantly at Silas, who nodded sadly.
Beatrice felt terrible. Why was Giovanni forcing her to ruin their evening as well as her own?
It was hardly fair. Anna had not had an opportunity to dance since Caleb was born, and even though Silas disliked large gatherings, he had seemed to be finally enjoying himself.
Even if she was dizzy with a little too much champagne, it hardly seemed like a reason to dash their hopes for the evening.
“No,” Beatrice said, squeezing Anna gently. “It is absurd that we should all leave on my account. You both stay, enjoy yourselves?—”
“Beatrice,” Giovanni warned, clearly trying to remind her of their agreement for her to leave the party.
“Giovanni can take me home,” Beatrice glared at him deliberately. “I shall be more than safe in his company.”
Anna and Silas looked at each other, unsaid words passing between them.
Generally, since the attempt on Silas and Anna’s lives, they preferred to stay together as a family unit at functions and not split the security that Silas employed to chaperone the family safely home.
The lure of an evening out of the house was significant because Silas said slowly, “I suppose if Giovanni is accompanying her…”
“And you are completely sure?” Anna added, looking at Beatrice intensely. “You shall not need me?”
“Of course not,” Beatrice smiled sweetly. “All I require is some sleep, I am sure.”
“Well, if you are feeling faint, you must have something to drink.” Anna passed her champagne glass to Beatrice, who took it with a sugary smile.
“If you insist, sister.”
She grinned at Giovanni and set it to her lips, holding his gaze as she steadily drained the glass.
You can’t boss me around, she tried to say with her eyes. I am my own woman! I make my own decisions.
He frowned at her, showing his irritation, but Beatrice didn’t care. There was nothing he could say in front of Silas and Anna, and if he was going to accuse her of drunkenness, then she might as well play the part. Finishing up and licking her lips, she slipped her hand into his elbow.
“Let us go, Giovanni,” she smiled at Anna and Silas. “Good night, brother. Good night, sister.”
As Giovanni led her through the crush of people, she instantly regretted her choice to drain the champagne glass.
The world had a strange tilt on it that she couldn’t shake, and as Giovanni walked her down the main steps, she had to grasp his arm even tighter and concentrate hard on not slipping over her own feet.
As they waited for their carriage to come around, she tried to stand up straight, spreading her fingers wide and pressing her palms down towards the ground, as if she could subtly stop the world from spinning away from her.
Giovanni watched her with an exasperated expression.
“And, of course, you’re clearly not intoxicated,” he snorted, folding his arms grumpily. “Christ alive, we’re lucky he only looked at you.”
Beatrice bristled at the suggestion.
“Are you implying that I would play the light-skirt for him?” She hissed, unable to stop herself from stumbling slightly towards him. Giovanni’s hand instantly shot out to steady her, his dark green eyes glittering with annoyance.
“I should hardly say. I barely know you, after all,” he snapped.
“Oh, Giovanni,” Beatrice moaned, closing her eyes in frustration. Her head was starting to pound. She unconsciously leaned against him, enjoying his tangy, summery smell. Oranges and tobacco.
“Beatrice, don’t—” Giovanni was trying to push her away from him, but she felt too heavy to move. She allowed her head to rest momentarily on his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean those things,” she sighed, feeling intensely sleepy. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Get in,” Giovanni hustled her quickly towards the carriage, practically pushing her up the step so that she was flung against the leather seating.
“Don’t push me!” She complained as Giovanni jumped in opposite her and slammed the door closed.
“Well, what else should I do when you decide it is somehow appropriate to fawn over me in front of everyone?” He said, leaning back and tilting his head towards the ceiling, sighing in exasperation. “Thank God it was only me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Beatrice stared at the dark, tanned skin of his throat. His skin was the most delicious color; it always had been. Like milky coffee. Beatrice licked her lips. Perhaps she had drunk too much.
“I mean, thank God the viscount didn’t get a taste of your champagne-infused affection,” Giovanni glared at her. “Who knows what he would have done with it.”
“You have such a low opinion of him.” Beatrice rolled her eyes. “He would have done nothing about it, of course. He is… quite the gentleman.”
She lifted her rose and waved it in front of Giovanni’s face as evidence. He swatted it away in annoyance.
“Besides, I am hardly out of my wits,” she added, poking him on the nose with the bloom, giggling at his thunderous expression.
“Bea, stop it?—”
Giovanni didn’t get a chance to tell her off properly. Beatrice lurched forward as the carriage began its journey from the house, so unsettled by their argument and the brandy that she was thrown into Giovanni’s lap in a tangle of skirts and limbs.
“Oh yes,” Giovanni chuckled, his warm breath fluttering the loose curls around her face. She was suddenly very close to him. “You are entirely in your right mind.”
“I am quite myself,” Beatrice snapped primly, struggling to regain her balance.
She would have found it romantic or erotic to be suddenly so close to him, aware of his broad, muscled chest pressing against her breasts, if not for the fact that in her efforts to prove her stability, she thwacked him in the nose with her elbow.
“Ow!” Giovanni clapped his hand over his face.
“Oh, Gio, I’m sorry!” She cried, reaching for his face, but Giovanni turned away and cursed in fluent Italian. Beatrice understood every word and couldn’t help but giggle.
“Language!” She chided, elbowing him deliberately as she struggled to disentangle herself, settling for clumping down on the seat beside him, her skirts spread over his knees. “Lord Milton would hardly speak to me like that now, would he?”
“Lord Milton is still a man!” Giovanni rebuked, pinching the bridge of his nose and blinking quickly.
“Gentleman or not, if you had presented yourself to him as you are now…” His eyes lingered over her flushed appearance, her tousled hair.
Then he glared down at her white rose, now a little wilted, in her hand.
“White roses indeed,” he muttered. “Why didn’t he give you a red one and simply declare his intent before all?”
“Oh, I suppose that’s what you would have done to charm a lady this evening!” Beatrice snapped, trying to distract herself from how it felt when those engaging, delightful eyes had raked over her body. “Who, I am sure, would throw herself at you with the first word, red roses hardly needed!”
“Now, who has a low opinion of whom?” Giovanni exclaimed, glaring at her. “I do not see how whom I charm is any of your business!”
It might have been the champagne in her belly or the closeness of their bodies, but Beatrice felt her temper light. Like Silas, she desperately tried to keep her propensity for rage well in hand, but something about Giovanni infuriated her to the point of insanity.
“Says the man who spent the whole evening meddling in my business!” Beatrice shouted back, poking him roughly in the chest. “Who are you to say who I dance with, or even who takes liberties with me, as you so kindly put it?”
“I am your friend,” Giovanni yelled back, his Italian accent becoming thicker with each word. “For God’s sake, Bea, I am only trying to look out for you?—”
“I don’t need to be looked after,” Beatrice cried, feeling tears of frustration mount. What did she need to do to convince Giovanni that she was not a child? How was it that every man of her acquaintance saw her as a woman, but he still couldn’t see anything but the wild little girl he’d first met?