Chapter 12 #2
“Yes,” he sighed, closing his eyes again. “It was. I don’t know what I shall do about it.”
“You shall do what you always do.” He felt Beatrice’s hand take hold of his. He didn’t pull away from her touch this time. He couldn’t deny himself this small comfort. “You shall take care of it. You are intelligent and strong, Gio, you will know what to do.”
Giovanni felt tears building under his eyelids.
All the emotions of his talk with the Duke of Grafton and the morning revelations were catching up with him.
If she were his wife, then this was what their lives would be like—comforting one another, sharing each other’s burdens.
How he longed for that life. He squeezed Beatrice’s hand tightly.
He heard her sharp intake of breath. He knew that if he opened his eyes and looked at her, if he looked at her for even a second, he would kiss her.
He could not allow himself to do this again.
Abruptly, he pushed her hand away and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Beatrice asked, frowning up at him. “You haven’t finished your wine.”
“There’s no time,” Giovanni said brusquely. “I shall go and make sure the carriage is being prepared. We will leave tonight.”
“Tonight? But I thought—” Beatrice looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. It was one of her telltale signs of anxiety, and Giovanni knew why. “I thought we could have dinner together tonight and… and have a discussion.”
The dreaded discussion. He knew what she wanted.
She wanted to talk about their feelings for one another—the truth of their changing relationship.
He knew that he couldn’t provide that. Lately, just starting a conversation with her ended up with his lips on hers.
Perhaps she wanted that. He saw the glittering intensity in her eyes and recognized it from the study two days prior.
There was not a chance in hell that he could survive a night in the house alone with her.
He didn’t have the strength of will for it.
“No,” he snapped. “We have nothing to discuss.”
“Good God, Gio!” Beatrice exploded, standing up and facing him with her little hands balled into fists at her side. “You cannot constantly swerve between treating me like a stranger and then treating me like someone you wish to seduce, it is not right.”
Her words struck deeply within him, but he was too worked up to show his pain.
“I am glad to see your low opinion of me persists,” he said coldly. “You should thank your stars then that you do not have to spend a night here alone with such a villain.”
Without giving Beatrice a chance to respond, he turned and fled the drawing room, his whole body shaking from head to toe.
He rushed down to the kitchen and leaned against the wall, groaning heavily.
He had been so close, even in those final moments when she was raging at him, to throwing her down on the chaise lounge and kissing her into oblivion.
What was it about Beatrice Klane that made him feel as though all of his years as an experienced charmer were completely redundant? He acted like a mooning schoolboy around her, like a callow youth lost in the temper of first love!
It’s because she is my first love, Giovanni realized bitterly. I can never get away from it.
Well, at least he no longer had to endure a long night alone with her in the Grosvenor house, with the temptation of their respective bedrooms so tantalizingly close.
At least all that was left to be endured was a bumpy and awkward carriage ride through the night to Fallenbrook, and then they would be back in the protection of company.
Giovanni sighed and looked out of the small kitchen window, spying dark clouds on the horizon.
He would only have to hope that the weather held.
The only thing potentially worse that being stuck alone in a grand house with Beatrice would be to be stranded with her in the middle of nowhere.
In that situation, he was not sure he could control himself. But he had to.
My father betrayed me when he let his father abandon me, Giovanni blinked against his tears, staring up at the hanging herbs from the ceiling. I will not betray Silas.
“It’s no good, Mr. Amante.” The coachman called in through the window, heavy raindrops bouncing off his flat cap. “The way ahead is closed off due to flooding. I’d not like to risk it, not in the dark.”
Giovanni leaned back in his seat, huffing and cursing in Italian and refusing to meet Beatrice’s eye. Finally, he glanced at her.
“We could go back?” Beatrice suggested quietly, trying to be helpful, but Giovanni only scowled darkly at her.
“I am not spending a night alone with you in that house, Bea, don’t even suggest it,” he growled quietly in Italian so the coachman could not make out his words.
“I am not trying to seduce you. I am trying to save us from drowning.” Beatrice snapped back, switching easily into Italian, too.
Generally, she and Giovanni didn’t converse in it, as Giovanni preferred to speak English around English company, but when it came to keeping things from the servants, it could certainly be helpful.
“Let me come and look at it,” Giovanni said to the coachman, flinging open the door. “It can’t be all that bad.”
Beatrice shrunk away from the gust of howling wind and heavy, splattering rain that came in through the open carriage door.
She pulled her cape tighter around her shoulders and put up the hood, but she still shivered.
She had dressed for summer travel like an idiot and was now suffering the consequences.
According to the footman, a summer storm was making its way inland from the south coast, bringing with it a couple of inches of flood water.
Beatrice wondered suddenly if that was what had motivated Silas to return the family to Fallenbrook.
He was very involved with his tenants, and many farmers would struggle with the floods in Fallenbrook Valley.
He would likely have anticipated this and wanted to be there to offer assistance and guidance.
Perhaps leaving London had nothing to do with her courtship with the viscount at all.
It might even delay it. Beatrice was ashamed of how relieved she felt at that thought.
Anna was going through so much trouble, yet here Beatrice was, wishing it was different and mooning over Giovanni like a girl barely out of her leading strings.
Beatrice sighed and peered out through the window at Giovanni.
Like her, he was not at all dressed for the weather.
He was getting soaked, standing in the downpour as he and the coachman gesticulated at one another wildly.
It seemed Giovanni was determined to continue and the coachman was making it clear it was impossible to do so.
He’d rather drown in a storm than spend time alone with me, Beatrice thought dismally.
Giovanni ran back to the coach and flung open the door, tumbling back inside with a gust of rain and wind. He slammed the door and wiped his face, revealing a story expression that was the picture of thorough dissatisfaction.
“We are going back,” he snapped, folding his arms angrily.
“Good,” Beatrice said, glad he had seen sense.
“Not to London—it is too far,” Giovanni continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “There’s an inn a mile back. We’ll get rooms there.”
“Fine,” Beatrice said dully.
They felt the carriage sink a little further into the mud as the coachman jumped back up, and then they jolted forward as the coach was turned around, bouncing on the uneven ground, the wheels slipping in the puddles.