Chapter 17 #2
Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open, revealing the clear blue that had become unexpectedly familiar to him. A shy smile played at the corners of her mouth.
His name on her lips stirred something he had long thought buried, a tenderness that his father’s harsh lessons had tried to eradicate.
He had known desire before, yes, but it had always been about conquest and gratification, fleeting and hollow. Never before had he woken up with a sense of contentment so complete, a quiet satisfaction that had nothing to do with possession.
Last night had been different. Every touch, every kiss, had been about her, nothing else, and the memory of it lingered pleasantly, untainted by old habits or obligations.
And now, lying with her warm against him, he realized that she was the first woman he was truly glad to wake beside. Not as a trophy, not as an arrangement, but as the only presence he wanted to greet in the morning.
“How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Better than I have in weeks,” she admitted, her fingers absently tracing patterns across his chest.
The innocent caress sent a current of awareness through his body. God, she could make him hard for her with a single touch.
“Though I fear we’ve lost precious time.”
He frowned slightly, but then quickly softened his features. “Yes,” he agreed, pulling back slightly. “We should leave as soon as possible. The road to Surrey should be clear by now.”
Beatrice nodded, gathering the bed sheet around herself as she sat up. The modesty of the gesture struck Leo as oddly endearing after what had happened the night before.
“I’ll order breakfast while you dress,” he offered, reaching for his discarded clothing. “The sooner we depart, the sooner we may locate Philip and resolve this situation.”
A shadow passed over her features at his words—so briefly that he might have imagined it, had he not been watching her with such careful attention.
“Yes, of course,” she agreed, her tone carefully neutral. “After all, it’s the only reason we’re married, no?”
The phrase struck Leo with unexpected force.
“Beatrice,” he began, uncertain of what he wished to say, yet feeling the need to address the unspoken tension that had arisen. “Last night—”
“We can discuss it back home,” she interrupted, her composure reasserting itself with remarkable efficiency. “After we’ve resolved this situation, as you said.”
Leo’s chest tightened, but he nodded once. “As you wish,” he replied. “I shall see to the arrangements for our departure.”
By midday, they reached the outskirts of a modest village nestled among Surrey’s rolling hills.
The local inn, a shabby structure bearing the faded sign of The Golden Hind, drew Leo’s attention, and he noted the cautious appraisal in the innkeeper’s gaze, the kind reserved for strangers in small communities.
“A room for the night, sir?” the man asked, glancing between Leo and Beatrice.
“Information, primarily,” Leo replied, keeping his tone calm. “I’m searching for a gentleman—about five-and-twenty, fair hair, aristocratic bearing. He may have passed through here within the past fortnight.”
The innkeeper’s expression remained neutral, but a subtle shift in his posture suggested recognition, or at least thoughtfulness.
“Can’t say as I recall such a gentleman,” he rumbled, returning to the tankard he had been polishing. “Not many fine folk pass through these parts.”
Leo took several coins out of his pocket and placed them deliberately on the counter. The gleam of gold against the dim wood caught the innkeeper’s eye immediately.
“Perhaps this might refresh your memory,” he said lightly, though his gaze never wavered from the innkeeper’s face.
The innkeeper’s eyes flickered between the coins and Leo, and he paused, calculating, before giving a curt nod. “Now that you mention it, there was such a gentleman. Kept to himself, he did. Paid in advance, asked no questions, and was left to his own devices.”
“And where might I find him now?” Leo asked, deliberately adopting a relaxed posture.
He noticed Beatrice’s confused look, so he shot her a reassuring gaze back. They knew where they were going, but checking what the locals had seen wouldn’t harm.
The innkeeper hesitated, his eyes briefly flicking to the eastern window, which Leo swiftly noted.
Beatrice stepped forward, her presence calm and measured. “We mean him no harm,” she said. “He’s family, and we’ve been terribly worried. His mother is quite ill, and we’ve been trying to reach him.”
Leo watched the innkeeper’s expression soften as he regarded her. Her gentle authority worked, while gold had only secured attention.
“There’s a cottage,” the innkeeper finally admitted, lowering his voice. “About two miles east, just past the old willow grove. Been let to a gentleman matching that description. Keeps to himself but pays promptly and causes no trouble.”
Beatrice thanked him, her smile genuine, and Leo cast a brief glance at her. He noted the way her features softened when she spoke, how her presence seemed to put even the wariest villagers at ease.
“Best to approach from the northern path,” the innkeeper added. “Less visible from the main road. If you want discretion, that is.”
Leo nodded, and Beatrice quickly thanked him.
They departed with renewed purpose. Leo secured a simple trap and horse for the rutted lanes, keeping his focus split between the road ahead and the quiet presence of Beatrice beside him.
He found his eyes straying to her more often than necessary, watching her profile outlined against the lush Surrey hills, aware of the calm and steadiness she brought to every moment, even this mundane pursuit.
The cottage revealed itself gradually as they approached. It was a modest structure of weathered stone, with a thatched roof and small, curtained windows. Smoke rose from the chimney in a thin ribbon to the afternoon sky, confirming someone lived there.
Leo assisted Beatrice down from the trap, his hands lingering briefly on her waist in a gesture that evoked the intimacies of the previous night. Her breath caught audibly at the contact, though her expression remained carefully neutral as she smoothed her traveling cloak.
Together they approached the cottage door, the gravel path crunching beneath their boots with seeming loudness in the rural quiet.
Leo raised his hand and knocked firmly, the sound echoing with surprising resonance in the still countryside air.
Nothing.
Leo knocked again.
A moment passed. And another. Then, almost imperceptibly, one curtain twitched, suggesting observation from within.
Finally, the latch moved, and the door opened the merest fraction.
“Come in, quickly,” a voice whispered from the shadowed interior.