Chapter 13 #3
The smile vanished from Beatrice’s face. Giovanni could have kicked himself for his jealousy. He looked down, shamefaced, so he didn’t have to see her disappointment.
“I think I shall retire.” Beatrice pushed back her chair. “Good night, husband.”
She didn’t ask him to join her, and Giovanni didn’t presume. Instead, he just nodded and let her leave the table, settling himself to finish his glass of wine alone with his thoughts.
With every sip, he berated himself for his lack of tact. They had just been talking about how he would always be there for her, how their friendship would withstand anything, and then he had let his jealousy get in the way.
“You utter fool,” Giovanni mumbled with a sigh, setting his wine down and leaning back in his chair.
The movement rustled something in his inside jacket pocket.
He pulled out the packet of letters Grafton had given him.
Seeing his mother’s handwriting at that moment was enough to overwhelm him emotionally.
He felt tears pricking his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths.
I could be the Marquess of Bath. I could be the Duke of Grafton, in time. I could be all these things and more, and I still would not be good enough for her.
A title wouldn’t change the fact that he had grown up on the streets, sometimes begging for scraps for food and stealing from others.
A title wouldn’t wash away the sins of his past—all the people he had hurt in the line of his duty to Silas, all the crimes he had committed.
A title wouldn’t stop him from being what he would always be at heart: Giovanni Amante, the man Lucifer of London relied upon to do his dirty work.
Giovanni pushed the letters back into his jacket, drained his glass, and stood up.
If he couldn’t have her, if he could never be good enough for her, then the least he could do was protect her.
She should not be alone in a room at a strange inn without a chaperone.
With a heart heavy from the weight of his troubles, he walked back to the room.
“Beatrice?” He opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she had gone straight to bed.
“Yes?”
He saw with shock that she was still up and relatively dressed.
She was still wearing her gown, but she had removed her shoes to reveal her blue stockings, and she had undone her hair again, letting it fall in dark curls over her shoulders.
She was seated on the bed, her legs stretched in front of her, reading a book.
She looked up from it when he entered but then looked back down, a slight flush in her cheeks.
“Are you ready to retire now?” She asked, turning the page of her book.
“You did not need to wait for me,” Giovanni said awkwardly, unable to get rid of the sharpness in his tone.
“But I did,” Beatrice set her book aside and tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “Will you come to bed?”
Giovanni stared at her as if she had spoken a different language. Her words instantly aroused part of him, but another part wanted to scream at her for being so naive.
“No, I will not,” he said. “Are you utterly insane?”
“Well, then, where will you sleep?” Beatrice asked, puzzled.
Giovanni grabbed the cushion and blanket from one of the chairs and dropped them emphatically on the floor. He stared at her significantly, gesturing between the bed and the cushions.
“You’re going to sleep on the floor rather than in bed with me?” Beatrice asked slowly.
“I’d rather sleep in the barn,” Giovanni said curtly, shucking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves.
“God, Gio!” Beatrice exclaimed. “We’ve slept in the same space before, remember? We’ve shared small rooms traveling around Europe and?—“
“When Silas was there too,” Giovanni cut over her. “And we were younger, you were little more than a child and we had never?—”
“We had never what?” Beatrice interrupted, folding her arms and staring at him with angry expectation.
At that point, Giovanni lost his words. How could he explain to her that now that he had touched her, he ached for her with every part of his body?
That now that he had kissed her, he could barely trust himself to be in the same room with her alone, let alone the same bed?
He couldn’t say these things. Instead, he scowled at her and dropped himself onto the floor, thankful for the cold wood under his back to cool down the arousal he felt just looking at her.
“Go to sleep, Beatrice,” he commanded, closing his eyes stubbornly.
He just needed to get through the night without touching her. That was all he needed to do.
“Ingrate,” he heard Beatrice mutter from the bed and heard her rolling over, hopefully, to go to sleep.
He let a breath out slowly. He was just beginning to calm his thoughts when he heard a rustling above him.
Suddenly there was the feeling of a warm body lying on the floor beside him and soft breath on his face.
He opened his eyes to see Beatrice lying on the floor beside him, staring at him quietly.
“What on earth are you doing?” He exclaimed.
“Sleeping on the floor with you,” she said simply. “Husband.”