Chapter 23 #2
By the time they retired to the drawing room for tea, Henry had become Leo’s devoted shadow, while Eleanor had extracted promises of riding lessons and tours of the manor’s most interesting rooms. Even her father seemed grudgingly impressed, though his protective gaze still followed her with lingering concern.
“He’ll be pestering him for a chess match before the night’s through,” Christine murmured as she joined Beatrice near the fireplace. “Your father never could resist testing a man’s strategic thinking.”
“Leo plays brilliantly,” Beatrice replied, watching as her husband demonstrated a particularly complex move to an enthralled Henry. “Though he may let Papa win for diplomatic reasons.”
Christine laughed softly. “I doubt that would earn him any favors. Edwin detests being patronized.”
“As does Leo.”
“Then we will have an interesting evening, indeed.” Christine’s gaze turned searching. “You seem happy, Bea. Truly happy, not merely making the best of circumstances.”
Heat crawled up Beatrice’s neck. “I am.”
“Your marriage was so sudden. We worried…” Christine hesitated, her composure briefly faltering. “Is he good to you? Not just courteous or proper, but genuinely kind?”
The question caught Beatrice off guard. She had expected an interrogation about their hasty union, a probe for cracks in their story, not this simple concern for her happiness.
“Yes,” she said finally, the word carrying the weight of everything she couldn’t quite articulate. “He is.”
Christine squeezed her hand. “Then that’s all that matters.”
But her sister was not easily convinced.
Later, when the gentlemen retired to the library for brandy and the children were taken to bed, Isabella cornered Beatrice in a window alcove, away from Christine’s moderating influence.
“All right, out with it,” she demanded without preamble. “What’s happened?”
Beatrice kept her expression neutral. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play the innocent with me, Bea. We shared a womb, remember?
” Isabella leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“The last time I saw you, you were trapped in a marriage of convenience with a notorious rake who could barely look at you. Now, you’re mooning over each other like characters in those ridiculous novels you read. ”
“I do not moon—”
“You absolutely do. And so does he, which is infinitely more shocking.” Isabella eyed her narrowly. “You’ve fallen in love with him, haven’t you?”
The blunt question hit her hard. Beatrice had been circling the truth for weeks, unwilling to name the emotion that had taken root in her heart. Hearing it spoken aloud, and by Isabella of all people, left her momentarily speechless.
“That’s absurd,” she forced out, though the denial sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“Is it?” Isabella challenged. “Because you used to be a terrible liar, and you haven’t improved much.”
Beatrice turned toward the window, unable to meet her twin’s penetrating gaze. Outside, night had settled over the estate, leaving only the moonlight to silver the formal gardens.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said quietly, the admission slipping out before she could stop it. “Our arrangement was clear from the beginning. Mutual benefit, nothing more.”
“And yet?” Isabella prompted.
“And yet…” Beatrice sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders. “He’s totally different from all the rumors about him, Bella. He’s… He makes me feel…”
“Seen,” Isabella finished softly, surprising Beatrice with her perception. “Like he actually sees you, beyond the ton’s whispers, beyond our father’s title.”
Beatrice nodded, her throat suddenly tight. “Yes.”
“And does he love you in return?”
Love? When had she said anything about love?
Of course, Beatrice knew she was being pedantic, but she couldn’t claim something that neither of them had discussed.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s never said the words. But then neither have I.”
At that, Isabella rolled her eyes. “Men rarely do until they’re forced,” she said with surprising wisdom. “But his actions speak clearly enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Isabella rolled her eyes again. “For heaven’s sake, Bea.
I’ve had the misfortune of sitting across from you both all evening.
The man looks at you like you hung the moon and stars.
When Henry knocked over that vase at dinner, his first instinct was to check if you were upset, not the priceless porcelain.
And have you noticed how he’s positioned himself all evening to keep you in his sight? ”
“He has?” Beatrice blinked.
“Constantly. It’s rather sweet in a possessive, brooding way.”
Beatrice felt warmth spread through her chest at her sister’s observations. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Because you were too busy staring at him,” Isabella teased, though her expression quickly sobered. “Just… be careful, Bea. I want to believe he’s worthy of you, but his reputation—”
“Doesn’t do him justice,” Beatrice interrupted gently. “Just as my reputation doesn’t do me justice.”
Isabella considered this, then nodded reluctantly. “Fair enough,” she said, then a twinkle entered her eyes that made Beatrice immediately suspicious. “So…”
“What?” Beatrice asked warily.
“Does that mean you’ve… made love?”
Beatrice’s eyes went wide. “Isabella!”
“You have!” Isabella giggled. “Your blush tells me that you’ve done it! Tell me, then!”
Oh God.
“Tell you what?”
“Is it as good as the novels say it is?”
“Good God, Bella,” Beatrice groaned, but her sister was undeterred.
“Oh, just tell me!”
They were interrupted by the return of the gentlemen, and she had never been so grateful to see a group of men in her life.
Leo’s gaze immediately found hers across the room, and her heart stuttered at the blatant longing in his eyes, visible for a fleeting moment before propriety reasserted itself.
“See what I mean?” Isabella whispered. “Utterly besotted.”
Beatrice couldn’t suppress her smile. “Perhaps.”
“Your husband challenged me to a game of chess,” her father announced as he approached, an odd note in his voice that she couldn’t quite decipher. “Most illuminating.”
“Did he win?” Isabella asked bluntly.
Their father’s mouth twitched. “We agreed to call it a draw.”
“Translation: neither would concede defeat,” Christine murmured, joining the conversation with practiced ease. “How diplomatic of you both.”
Leo came to stand beside Beatrice, his hand brushing hers briefly before propriety dictated that he step back. The fleeting contact sent sparks dancing along her skin.
“Your family is delightful,” he said quietly.
“Even Isabella?”
“Especially Isabella. Her protective instincts remind me of a mother wolf defending her cubs.”
Beatrice laughed softly. “Don’t let her hear that comparison. She fancies herself more panther than wolf.”
Leo’s smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way that made her heart swell. “Duly noted.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a footman, who was bearing a sealed letter on a silver salver.
“For you, Your Grace,” he said, presenting it to Leo. “The messenger said it was urgent.”
Leo broke the seal, his expression darkening as he read the contents. Beatrice felt a chill of foreboding.
“What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Leo glanced at her, his eyes hard with sudden determination. “Westbury has been spotted. Not fleeing to France as we thought, but heading north.” He folded the letter with precise movements. “Toward us.”
Fear seized Beatrice’s heart. “Philip—”
“Is still safe,” Leo assured her, his hand finding hers without concern for who might notice. “But it seems our enemy has decided to change the game.”
“What will we do?”
Leo’s jaw tightened in a way she had come to recognize—the Duke replacing the man, duty overriding desire. “I need time to plan. But we’ll find a way to end this, I promise you.”