Chapter Fourteen
Bea found the entire thing supremely ironic.
Her father, who would have been struck speechless with outrage had he heard even half of what Nicholas had murmured into her ear last night, had insisted she accompany the man on a walk.
Alone. Through the gardens behind their town house.
Because according to her father, Nicholas was a respectable suitor.
If only Father knew how thoroughly unrespectable Nicholas’s imagination had proven itself to be.
She’d thought long and hard about it last night as she tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep.
Nicholas had been trying to rattle her. That was all.
He wanted to see how prudish she was. How easily he could affect her.
And she’d played right into his hands. Today, she had every intention of giving him no quarter.
In fact, she had a new strategy. A man like Nicholas desired power…and control. And what was the opposite of wielding power? Being mocked, of course. Which was precisely how she intended to handle him today.
Bea stepped through the garden gate, letting it fall shut behind her with a faint clink, and found Nicholas already waiting near the trellised archway at the path’s edge. The morning sunlight caught on his dark hair, but his powder-blue coat was cut as perfectly as ever.
He bowed slightly. “Lady Beatrix.”
“My lord,” she returned, sweeping past him. “Shall we walk and pretend my father didn’t just order me to be alone with a man he’d hang by his neck if he had the faintest idea what that man whispered last night?”
Nicholas chuckled as he fell into step beside her. “I already know you didn’t tell him.”
“Oh, do you?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes,” he replied with a grin. “Or he’d already have called me out. Seems I was right about you all along.”
“Right about what, precisely? My intelligence? My restraint? Or my exceedingly poor judgment in allowing you within ten paces of me last night?”
They walked along the pebbled path between neatly clipped hedges, their steps silent but for the gentle crunch of gravel and the occasional chirp of a bird overhead. The scent of lilies lingered in the air.
“You’re quiet this morning,” he said after a moment.
“I’m reflecting on how not to be seduced.”
“Ah. A worthy intellectual pursuit.”
“Indeed. So far, I’m finding it remarkably easy.” She gave him a tight smile.
He pressed a hand to his heart. “Cruel.”
She shrugged.
They reached a moss-covered bench, but she ignored it, veering down the side path that led toward the stone garden wall and the slightly overgrown area her mother and the gardener never quite managed to care about.
Nicholas followed, naturally.
“Perhaps,” she said, casting a glance over her shoulder, “you’re not very good at this seduction business.”
His smile didn’t slip. “Is that so?”
“Well.” She stopped by the low wall, turning toward him with one brow raised. “Would you prefer I simply leaned back here…like this”—she pressed herself lightly against the cool stone—“and waited for you to kiss me?”
He stopped short. His eyes locked on hers. “That’s not funny,” he said softly.
“Isn’t it?” she asked, voice bright and teasing.
“No,” he said. “Because if you keep doing that, I will kiss you.”
She laughed lightly, brushing her fingers along the edge of the wall. “You’re not terribly convincing. I still don’t feel seduced.”
“Ah,” he said, straightening. “Now that hurts.”
“Perhaps you should try harder.”
He tilted his head, his smile sly. “Or perhaps I’ll try something else.”
With no warning, he stepped closer, close enough that his body blocked the sun.
But just as quickly, he turned away.
“Do you know,” he said lightly, “I think your mother replanted that hydrangea bed near the hedge. The blue variety. They do best in shade.”
Bea blinked. “What are you—?”
But he kept walking, gesturing casually at the greenery like a man far more interested in horticulture than she guessed him to be.
She frowned and followed. “You changed the subject.”
“Did I?”
“Quite obviously.”
“Ah.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Seduction is all in the timing.”
She snorted. “That’s convenient.”
But the path curved, and before she realized it, they’d reached the back corner of the garden—the part screened by tall hedges, shaded by an ancient oak, and bordered by that same weather-worn stone wall.
Nicholas stopped, turned, and in a single unhurried motion, backed her against the wall.
The air changed.
He braced one hand beside her head, the other settling lightly at her waist, and leaned in so slowly she could feel her heartbeat stutter before he even touched her.
His mouth hovered near her ear, his voice deep and smooth. “How is this?”
Her breath caught.
He hadn’t touched her skin.
Not yet.
But she felt the promise of it like a tremor.
“How do you do that?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “How do you make everything feel so…?”
“Effortless?” he offered.
“Disorienting.”
He smiled. “It’s a gift.”
She met his gaze, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in her chest.
Because she had reached another conclusion sometime near dawn. He was bluffing. Nicholas might enjoy proximity and implication, but he would not risk his relationship with her father by doing anything truly scandalous.
Which meant this—whatever this was—had limits.
And she was about to find them.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “If I were to allow you to seduce me. What,” she said, her voice lower, rougher, “would you do next?”
Nicholas didn’t move, just looked down at her with slow-burning intent.
“Oh,” he said, mischief dancing in his dark eyes, “I would begin with your neck.”
He raised his hand, one fingertip tracing the curve of her neck in an impossibly soft, maddening line.
“Right here,” he murmured. “Where the skin is softest. Where your pulse flutters.”
Bea’s breath caught. She swallowed hard. Hmm. His touch felt quite real…for a bluff.
“And then?” she asked, her voice barely audible. It was a stand-off now. Only a matter of time to see who would blink first.
“Then,” he said, “I would touch your bottom lip.” His hand moved, slow and deliberate, until his thumb brushed the soft swell of her lip. “Ever so gently. To be certain it’s ready for my kiss.”
Her lips parted. Her pulse thundered.
Oh, he was good. She’d give him that.
“And then?” she whispered.
Nicholas smiled, no longer teasing, but heated and intense.
“And then,” he said, “I’d stop talking.”
The pause stretched, and in it, she understood her mistake. Bluffing men hesitated. Nicholas Archer did not.
He kissed her.
Hard.
Hot.
Hungry.
For one traitorous heartbeat, she kissed him back—because her body was not loyal, because his mouth was not fair, because the world narrowed to heat and pressure and the sharp, intoxicating shock of being wanted.
And then she remembered herself.
Bea made a sound that was half gasp, half curse, and shoved a hand flat against his chest.
Nicholas froze—actually froze—as if the boundary in her palm had weight.
“Don’t,” she said, voice low and shaking with fury she refused to name.
His mouth hovered a breath from hers, his eyes dark. “Bea—”
“I said don’t.” She pushed again, harder this time, forcing space between them. She could still feel the imprint of his kiss on her lips, like a brand. Like proof.
Like a victory he didn’t deserve.
“You do not get to do that,” she snapped, chin lifting. “Not because I teased you. Not because you wanted to. Not because you think you can turn my resolve into a parlor trick.”
His jaw flexed. “You asked me what I would do next.”
“I asked,” she said, breath catching, “as a test.”
“And?” His voice went rough. “Did I pass?”
Heat flashed—shameful, unwanted, undeniable. She hated him for it.
Bea stepped out from under his arm, smoothing her skirts with hands that were only slightly unsteady. “You’re insufferable.”
His mouth curved. “You kissed me back.”
“I did not.” The lie came out too quickly.
Nicholas’s gaze dropped—just once—to her mouth. “Bea.”
Her pulse skittered, but she turned sharply toward the path. “This walk is over.”
She made it three steps before she heard him behind her, unhurried.
“Running away?” he drawled.
Bea didn’t look back. “Absolutely not. I am withdrawing,” she said through her teeth. “Strategically.”
“Looks quite similar to running if you ask me,” he drawled.
Bea swung around to face him. She could feel the fire in her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” he asked, blinking at her innocently.
“Trying to seduce me,” she said in a low, harsh whisper.
Nicholas slowly grinned. “Why, so you’ll want to marry me, of course.”