Chapter Thirty-One
Bea woke slowly.
For a long moment, she didn’t know where she was, only that she was warm, cocooned in linen, surrounded by heat not entirely her own, and her body felt…different. Languid. Satisfied. Intertwined with something that hummed beneath her skin like an echo of thunder.
Her eyes opened.
She was in Nicholas’s bedchamber.
She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but she needed to get home before her parents began to worry.
The curtains were drawn, but light slipped between them to strike the foot of the bed. Thank God. It was still daylight. Afternoon. The fire in the grate had burned low, embers glowing faintly.
And on the pillow beside her—
Him.
Nicholas lay on his side, propped on one elbow, bare-chested, watching her with a look that made her breath catch.
He’d done it again. Twice more. Taken her in ways that made her gasp his name and wonder how she’d ever lived without him. But the look he gave her now wasn’t hungry, not anymore.
Something worse.
Something better.
Something that terrified her to the bone.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
Her face flushed so hot she was surprised the sheets didn’t smolder.
She pulled the blanket higher, not because it covered anything he hadn’t already seen, but because she needed something between herself and the intensity of his gaze.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He reached out and brushed a strand of mussed hair from her cheek. “How do you feel?”
How did she feel?
Ruined. Melted. Reassembled. Terrified. Weightless. Anchored. Adored. Seen. Worshipped.
“Fine,” she said, which was possibly the most ridiculous understatement ever spoken.
His mouth quirked. “You look…better than fine.”
Heat spread down her throat. “How do you feel?” she countered.
“Wonderful,” he murmured, leaning closer, kissing her shoulder. Making her want him all over again.
“Nicholas,” she said, half-smothering a smile that shouldn’t have been there, because reality was waiting, heavy, sharp, and unavoidable.
He kissed her shoulder, slow and devastating.
A tremor went through her.
Focus, Beatrix.
Today’s pleasure flickered in the back of her mind like a candle, and with it came a jolt of guilt so abrupt she sucked in a breath. She’d allowed him to make love to her, begged him for it even, without telling him the truth. She was lower than low.
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What is it?”
“I…” She pulled the sheet up again, clutching it like armor. “We must talk.”
He gave a soft huff of amusement. “We’ve already established that that’s the most alarming phrase in the English language.”
“This is serious,” she said.
“I gathered.” He slid his hand under her hair, rubbing his thumb behind her ear in a way that made her stomach flip. “But must we have it now? This conversation? Can’t I have five more minutes of relishing your absolutely perfect body?”
His voice was so low, so gentle, so unbearably tender, that she almost broke.
Almost.
“No,” she whispered.
“Are you certain?” he asked, brushing her collarbone with the backs of his fingers and moving closer to nuzzle her neck.
“Nicholas.”
He stilled.
She pushed herself upright, gathering the sheet around her. “We have to talk about what this means. About us.”
He sat up beside her, the mattress shifting. His expression was suddenly sober, all humor gone. “I think it’s obvious. Because of what we just did…we have no choice. We must marry.”
He watched her, expression unreadable.
She took a deep breath. “I know I should have been more cautious. I should have thought…should have stopped, but I didn’t. I…”
She broke off.
A muscle moved in his jaw. “Bea,” he said softly, “did you think I would seduce you and then leave you to bear the consequences alone? Of course I will marry you.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” he asked, voice quiet but edged.
“I don’t want to trap you.”
His eyes flared. “Trap me?”
She nodded, throat tight. “My father will demand it. Society will demand it. But I don’t want… I don’t want you forced. If you don’t want me after what I tell you—”
“Beatrix,” he said, and the way he said her full name turned her bones to water, “I would marry you if no one in the world demanded it. Including you.”
Her breath hitched.
He took her hand gently, thumb tracing her knuckles. “I should have asked before I took you to bed. I should have said the words first.”
“You didn’t take me to bed,” she whispered. “I walked.”
He gave a faint, pained smile. “Then we both should have said the words.”
She stared at him, chest aching.
“Do you want to marry me?” he asked quietly.
Yes. No. Yes. Perhaps. Too late.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t know anything right now.”
“You…” His brow furrowed. “You aren’t serious.” His thumb kept stroking her hand. Comforting. Steadying. Making it harder and harder to do what she must.
“There is something else,” she said.
He went still. “Yes?”
“I was trying to tell you earlier,” she said, voice trembling. “I was trying before we… Before all this. I needed to tell you something important. Something that may change everything.”
His hand tightened around hers. “I can confidently say there is nothing you can tell me that would change my—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips to stop him from saying more. “No. You don’t know that. Let me say it.”
“Fine. Then tell me now.”
She opened her mouth.
And the words stuck in her throat, because desire, honesty, fear, guilt—all of them were crashing together inside her in a way she couldn’t untangle.
Nicholas’s brows knit. “Bea, what is it?”
“I—”
A knock shattered the moment.
Sharp. Sudden. Too loud.
She jolted. Nicholas cursed softly under his breath.
“That will be Godwin,” he said, already swinging his legs off the bed. “The butler. No one else would dare knock at a time like this.”
“Don’t let him in,” Bea pleaded.
“I won’t invite him for tea. But I do need to answer.
I won’t let him see you, I promise.” Nicholas had already crossed to the wardrobe, pulled a dressing robe from a hook, and shrugged it over his shoulders.
He tied the belt tightly, though it covered almost none of the evidence that he had just spent hours behaving in ways decidedly not appropriate for a gentleman.
She scrambled, clutching the sheet to her chest. “No, Nicholas, wait!”
Another knock.
“My lord?” the butler’s voice came, muffled.
Nicholas raked a hand through his hair and looked back at Bea.
“Stay there,” he said gently. “You’re safe.”
She pressed herself deeper into the covers, heart roaring in her ears. “Nicholas—”
He cracked the door just enough to slip through, leaving only the faintest sliver of hallway visible.
The conversation was murmured, impossible to hear. Bea clutched the sheet tighter around herself, cold despite the residual warmth of the bed. Her stomach twisted with dread.
A moment later, the door shut again. Nicholas leaned his back against it, eyes closed briefly.
Her breath stopped. “What is it?”
He opened his eyes.
Regret. Resolve. A shadow she couldn’t name.
“I’m afraid,” he said quietly, “I need to get dressed.”
Her heart plunged. “Why?”
He crossed to the bed, cupped her face gently in his hands, and kissed her forehead.
Not hungry this time. Not seductive. Something far worse.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, throat closing, “what’s happened?”
He exhaled slowly, thumb brushing her cheek. “The Bow Street Runner I hired,” he said.
Every drop of blood drained from her face.
Nicholas held her gaze. “He’s downstairs,” he said quietly, “and he claims to have the identity of B. Adroit.”
The world dropped out from beneath her.
She stared at him, unable to breathe, speak, move. It’s me. It’s me. Two words that should be so easy to say, and yet she could not force them past her trembling lips.
He pressed one last kiss to her brow. “Wait here,” he said softly. “I’ll be back soon.”
He straightened, tossed off his dressing robe, and pulled on his breeches, shirt, and waistcoat before moving toward the door.
He looked back at her once more. “I promise,” he said.
Then he was gone.
Bea was left staring at the closed door, heart pounding in terror, fearing that the truth she had failed to tell him…was about to be revealed in his study, on someone else’s tongue.