Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Morning came too soon, sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across Leo’s sleeping form.
Beatrice propped herself on one elbow to study him—the sharp line of his jaw softened in sleep, the tiny scar above his eyebrow she had only discovered after their wedding night, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.
How had this happened? This shift from a mere arrangement to… something else entirely?
Her contemplation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Leo stirred, his arm tightening around her waist.
“Your Grace?” Peters’ voice called. “The Duke and Duchess of Windermere have sent an invitation for tonight’s musicale. They request an immediate response.”
Leo groaned, burying his face in her neck. “Tell them we’ve fled the country,” he mumbled against her skin.
Beatrice laughed, the sound vibrating through their bodies. “We can’t avoid Society forever, Leo.”
“Watch me.”
“It might be enjoyable,” she coaxed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. “Georgina mentioned that several interesting guests would be attending.”
“More interesting than this?” His hand slid down her side, settling on her hip with possessive warmth.
“Well—” Her breath caught as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Perhaps not.”
“Mmm. Though I suppose we should make an appearance.” His voice had that gruff morning quality that made her toes curl. “If only to quell the rumors we’ve succumbed to some tropical disease.”
“Is that what they’re saying?”
“According to Adrian’s last note, the current speculation involves consumption, exotic fever, or my having locked you in a tower like some fairytale villain.”
“You’d make a terrible villain,” she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re too honorable.”
Something flickered in his eyes—doubt, perhaps, or old shadows—but he masked it quickly with a smile. “Don’t let that get around. I’ve cultivated my rakish reputation for years.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” She sat up, regretfully aware of the day’s responsibilities. “We should accept the invitation. It’s been too long since I’ve seen Georgina.”
Leo sighed dramatically but nodded. “As my Duchess commands.”
Beatrice’s lips curled into a smile.
Windermere House blazed with light, every window glowing against the night. Beatrice adjusted her sapphire earrings—a wedding gift from Leo that matched her gown—as their carriage joined the queue of elegant conveyances depositing guests at the entrance.
“Ready?” Leo asked, his voice low and intimate in the carriage’s darkness.
“As I’ll ever be.” She smoothed her skirts, suddenly nervous. “It’s our first real social engagement since—”
“Since I carried you out of that ball like a man possessed?” His lips quirked in that half-smile that never failed to quicken her pulse. “I believe that’s the story Lady Jersey’s been circulating.”
“Well, she’s not entirely wrong,” Beatrice admitted, thinking of the heated kisses they had shared in this very carriage afterward. “Though her version likely includes swooning and dramatic declarations.”
“I’m perfectly capable of dramatic declarations,” Leo said, feigning offense. “I simply save them for more… private moments.”
Heat bloomed in Beatrice’s cheeks. “Leo!” she gasped. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You love it.”
His words hung between them, charged with unspoken meaning. Because she knew it was true. She did love it.
The carriage door soon opened, and they were swept into the glittering whirl of London Society once again.
Georgina greeted them warmly, kissing Beatrice’s cheek before turning to Leo with a knowing smile.
“Duke, how delightful to see you looking so… rejuvenated,” she teased.
Leo bowed over her hand, unruffled by the subtle dig at his previously notorious habits, especially where his new bride was concerned. “Marriage agrees with me, Duchess. As does the company I keep.”
His gaze flicked to Beatrice as he spoke, filled with such adoration that she nearly forgot they had an audience.
Beatrice, overcome with embarrassment, looked away quickly enough to catch the way Georgina’s eyes widened before her smile grew.
“Hm, I can see that.” Georgina reached for Beatrice’s hand. “Come, let me introduce you to our guests of honor—though I should warn you, Lady Pennington has been dying to interrogate you about your rushed nuptials. She’s convinced there’s a novel’s worth of romance behind it.”
“If only she knew,” Leo murmured for Beatrice’s ears only, his hand warm on the small of her back.
The Windermeres’ music room was already crowded with London’s elite, voices rising and falling in the familiar cadence of gossip. Beatrice spotted Isabella across the room, engaged in what appeared to be a spirited debate with Lord Westham’s eldest son.
“Your sister seems to be enjoying herself,” Leo observed, following her gaze.
Beatrice smiled. “Isabella thrives on confrontation. Poor Lord William doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Shall we rescue him?”
“Absolutely not. She told me that he called her views on women’s education ‘charmingly naive’ at Lady Jersey’s last dinner. He deserves whatever verbal lashing she’s delivering.”
Leo laughed, the sound drawing curious glances from nearby guests. “Remind me never to cross a Hunton woman.”
“Wise decision, Your Grace.”
They wandered through the room, pausing to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances. Beatrice felt the curious gazes following them, the whispered speculations.
Rather than the anxiety such scrutiny would have provoked months ago, she found herself oddly immune, anchored by Leo’s steady presence beside her.
Lord and Lady Haverford descended upon them next, Lady Haverford’s elaborate turban bobbing precariously as she embraced Beatrice.
“Such a delight to see you both!” she exclaimed. “We missed you terribly at the Pembrookes’ garden party last week.”
“An unavoidable engagement in the country,” Leo explained smoothly.
“Ah, the early days of marriage.” Lord Haverford winked conspiratorially. “I understand perfectly, Stagmore. Newlyweds require privacy.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks warm, but Leo merely smiled. “Your understanding does you credit, Haverford.”
Lady Haverford leaned closer to Beatrice. “You must tell me your secret, my dear. I’ve never seen His Grace so… domesticated. Half the matrons in London are in despair that you’ve managed to do what their daughters couldn’t.”
“No secret,” Beatrice replied, surprised by her own boldness. “Perhaps he simply wasn’t ready until now.”
Lady Haverford’s eyes widened at the implication, and Leo’s hand tightened slightly on Beatrice’s waist—whether in warning or appreciation, she couldn’t tell.
“How refreshingly candid,” Lady Haverford declared, clearly delighted by this hint of scandal. “You must sit with me at dinner next week. I insist.”
Before Beatrice could respond, Lord Tillfield appeared at Leo’s elbow, a glass of champagne in each hand.
“Forgive the interruption,” he said, bowing to the Haverfords. “I’ve been instructed to deliver these to our lovebirds before Lady Jersey steals them for the remainder of the evening.”
Lord Haverford laughed. “Lady Jersey does have a reputation for extracting confidences. Come, my dear, let’s greet the Countess of Whitley before she notices our absence.”
As the Haverfords drifted away, Adrian handed the champagne to Leo and Beatrice with an exaggerated flourish.
“You’re looking positively radiant, Your Grace,” he said to Beatrice. “Marriage clearly suits you.”
“Thank you, Lord Tillfield. Your approval means the world to me.”
He chuckled. “She’s developed quite the sting, Leo. I approve wholeheartedly.”
Leo’s eyes never left Beatrice’s face. “She’s always had it. You’re simply seeing it now because she deems you worthy of the effort.”
Something warm unfurled in Beatrice’s chest at his defense.
The Leo she had first met would never have acknowledged her quiet strength so openly.
He would have maintained the polite fiction that ladies were delicate creatures in need of protection from harsh realities.
Yet here he stood, proudly recognizing the steel beneath her soft exterior.
“A fair assessment,” Adrian conceded. He glanced over his shoulder. “I should warn you, Lady Jersey is approaching, and she’s bringing reinforcements. Brace yourselves.”
Sure enough, Lady Jersey appeared moments later, accompanied by the formidable Countess of Barlow, both women bearing the determined expressions of gossip-hunters who had sighted rare prey.
“Your Grace!” Lady Jersey trilled, taking Leo’s free hand. “We were beginning to think you’d retired permanently to the country. Such a relief to see you’ve merely been… occupied.”
Her suggestive tone left little doubt as to what she imagined had occupied them.
Beatrice felt her cheeks warm, but lifted her chin, refusing to be embarrassed by the happiness she had found.
“London has its charms,” Leo replied, smoothly freeing his hand. “But sometimes one requires more… intimate surroundings.”
Lady Barlow’s eyes widened at his directness. “Indeed. Though one mustn’t forget one’s social obligations. People talk, you know.”
“I don’t care a whit,” Leo said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “I find myself increasingly indifferent to gossip these days.”
“How novel,” Lady Jersey remarked. “A duke, unconcerned about his reputation? Marriage can change a gentleman, indeed.”
“For the better, I hope,” Beatrice interjected, surprising herself with her boldness.
Lady Jersey’s gaze flickered between them, assessing. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, for her expression softened fractionally.
“It appears so,” she agreed. “Though I must say, the ton misses your scandalous exploits, Your Grace. You’ve deprived us of our favorite source of entertainment.”
“I’m certain someone else will fill the void,” Leo replied dryly. “The ton never lacks for scandal.”
“True enough.” Lady Jersey turned her attention to Beatrice. “And how are you finding ducal life, my dear? Is it everything you anticipated?”
“Better,” Beatrice answered honestly. “Still, I admit that I had few expectations when we wed.”
“The best marriages often begin that way,” the Countess observed, unexpectedly supportive. “My own husband was practically a stranger when we married. Now, I can’t imagine life without the old curmudgeon.”
The conversation shifted to more general matters, and Beatrice found herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of polite chitchat. Leo remained at her side, his hand warm on the small of her back, his occasional glances checking her comfort in a way that made her heart swell.
“The Duchess of Stagmore!” Lady Pennington’s voice cut through the ambient chatter. The elderly dowager beckoned imperiously from her seat near the fireplace. “Come, my dear. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Not intentionally, Lady Pennington,” Beatrice assured her, approaching with Leo at her side. “The Season has been rather quiet for us.”
“Newlyweds,” Lady Pennington said with a knowing smirk. “One hardly expects to see you before the honeymoon glow has faded.” Her shrewd gaze shifted to Leo. “Though in your case, Your Grace, the glow seems to have intensified rather than diminished.”
Leo inclined his head, neither confirming nor denying the observation. “You’re looking well, Lady Pennington. The new color in your drawing room must agree with you.”
“Changing the subject won’t save you,” she replied, tapping his arm with her fan. “I want details. How does London’s most notorious bachelor become the most devoted husband overnight? The ton is positively aflutter with theories.”
“Perhaps the right woman simply appeared at the right moment,” Leo suggested, his hand finding Beatrice’s.
Lady Pennington snorted inelegantly. “Pretty words, but I’ve known you since you were in short-coats, Stagmore. Your transformation requires more explanation than romantic platitudes.”
“And yet it’s the only explanation you’ll receive,” Leo countered smoothly. “Some things are best kept between a husband and wife, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lady Pennington studied them both, her expression shifting from skepticism to something softer. “Well, I must say, the betting books at White’s have never seen such activity. Half the ton made wagers on how quickly you’d return to your rakish ways.”
“And the other half?” Beatrice couldn’t resist asking.
“On when you’d present them with an heir, my dear.” Lady Pennington laughed at Beatrice’s blush. “Society is nothing if not predictable in its curiosities.”
A footman approached with a tray of champagne. Beatrice accepted a glass gratefully, eager for a distraction from Lady Pennington’s increasingly personal inquiries.
“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a sip.
The champagne was excellent—crisp and light, with just the right amount of sweetness. She took another sip, letting the bubbles dance on her tongue.
“I hear Lord Westbury has caused quite the scandal,” Lady Pennington continued, turning her attention back to Leo. “Something about sudden financial difficulties? Most unexpected for a man of his means.”
Leo’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Indeed? I hadn’t heard.”
“Oh yes. Creditors calling, properties being sold. Very mysterious, especially given his previous success.” Lady Pennington leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Some say he’s fled the country altogether, though no one seems to know why. You were acquainted, were you not?”
“Only slightly,” Leo replied, his tone carefully neutral. “London Society makes for many casual acquaintances.”
Beatrice caught sight of Isabella making her way toward them, having apparently concluded her verbal sparring match with Lord Westham. Her twin looked flushed with victory, her eyes bright with the thrill of intellectual combat.
“Bea!” Isabella called, ignoring protocol to embrace her sister warmly. “You finally emerged from your love nest. I was beginning to think Leo had imprisoned you.”
Oh, damnation.