Chapter Six
Beatrice gaped at the man whom she had spoken to on precisely three occasions, whose full face she had yet to see, and whose last name she did not know. The man who had just asked her to marry him.
Was it bad that she was tempted to say yes?
“You cannot mean that.” The words escaped Beatrice before she had time to properly think them through.
“And yet, I do.” John sounded thoroughly…what was the opposite of nonplussed? Plussed? Was that a word?…by her apparent refusal.
Beatrice shook herself. Was this truly happening? “But you hardly know me!”
“I know everything about you that I need to know,” he countered.
“The second you stopped me on the road in the dead of night, willing to face any horror in order to save your sister, I had all the information I needed.” He rose and took her hands.
“That is the level of devotion I want for myself, and for my children.”
Beatrice tried, and failed, to extract her hands. “Well, I don’t know you!”
John’s voice was steady. “You do. You learned everything you needed to know about me when I helped you fetch the midwife, and when I arranged for your sister to marry her suitor so their child would not have to be born beneath the stain of bastardry.”
Beatrice blinked. That was a surprisingly good argument.
And yet…
“This is absurd! I don’t even know who you are!”
He tilted his head. “Perhaps, like your father, you object to the notion of marrying the duke’s master of horse.”
Beatrice paused. Did she object to marrying a servant?
She answered slowly as the words came to her.
“I do not. Judging by your speech, you are clearly an educated man. We would not lack for intelligent conversation. I would want reassurances that you could afford to support me, and any children we might have, in reasonable comfort. But I would consider myself fortunate if I could marry a man I respect and care for, and who respects and cares for me. Unlike my father, I care little about rank and riches.”
“Excellent.” His voice was jovial, as if he were holding in a laugh. “Allow me to reassure you that I can support you, and our future children, in a surprisingly comfortable style. If you have no other objections, I will take that as a yes.”
“I do have other objections!” Beatrice snapped. “I don’t even know your last name. What if it’s Dungworth?”
“It’s not,” John reassured her. “Nor is it Bogtrotter, or Cockburn. It is a perfectly boring, respectable surname.”
Beatrice yanked her hands from his. “Quit prevaricating. I will not marry a man I do not know and have never seen.”
Heaving a heavy sigh, he crossed to a desk in the corner. He pulled out paper and quill and began to write. “Know…last…name. See…face.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Go on. List any other requirements you have before you’ll accept me.”
“I will not marry a man I’ve only known for six weeks,” Beatrice shot back.
She would have thought that one would discourage him, but he merely muttered, “Acquaintance…longer…than…six…weeks,” as he made a note. “Anything else?”
“I should like to know what sort of skullduggery you’re getting up to, wandering the roads in a hood in the dead of night.”
“Explain…headless…driver,” he said as he wrote. “Is that all?”
She crossed her arms. “And if I am to bind myself to a man ’til death do we part, I should like to know whether bedding him will be a noxious chore.”
She could see nothing of his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice as he wrote, “Capable…of…pleasuring…wife. Anything more to add?”
Beatrice’s cheeks flamed. What on earth had possessed her to add that last condition? “That will suffice. For now,” she added hastily. “I reserve the right to add additional objections to the list as they arise.”
“Fair enough.”
He straightened and crossed the room. When he stood four feet in front of her, he reached up a hand and peeled off his cowl.
Beatrice gasped. She hadn’t beheld this particular face in ten years, but she recognized him at once.
“John!” she whispered.
The Duke of Penrose regarded her steadily. “Good evening, Beatrice. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”