His Fear
Beatrice stood motionless until the door closed behind him. When she finally glanced down, she realized her hands were shaking.
Had he really just asked her to marry him?
The words echoed in her mind.
No, he had not asked at all. He had told her… once they married, then he would have every right to be fully involved in her business.
There had been no proposal. Definitely no declaration of undying love and affection.
Not that she expected any of that. Marriage to Gideon Rothmore, in fact, couldn’t have been further from her mind.
She wiped her arm across her eyes and then all but collapsed back onto the loveseat.
Why couldn’t he just understand? Was Gideon really like every other man in London? She hadn’t thought so.
She’d told him all she ever wanted was his support. And that’s exactly what he’d provided for her, initially. He’d been protective, yes, but he’d also treated her like she was smart, capable, and perfectly able to make choices and decisions regarding her own person.
If only she hadn’t panicked under the theater!
She’d been perfectly fine for the entire length of the Season up until then, redirecting and confronting pushy gentlemen in the dark corners around ballrooms and other less savory places.
Even when she’d gotten in over her head with Hatherleigh, she’d kept her composure.
What had happened with Gideon in that narrow corridor was something Beatrice had not experienced since the first days after the assault.
Something she had believed she had left behind.
And, for the most part, she had.
Unfortunately, her unraveling had been witnessed by the last person she would have chosen to see it. And it had shaken him. More than she had realized at the time.
When he met her in the park the next morning, he had been sweet. Forgiving. He had not looked at her as though she were fragile, or foolish, or somehow less herself for what had happened.
At least, not until after they’d been together in the forest.
Then he had begun issuing orders. As though by surrendering her body, she’d also surrendered her mind!
He would have to be out of his mind to think ordering her about would work. He had known her too long for that.
Beatrice exhaled through her nose.
She’d been right that he was frightened.
And even though he denied it, she’d seen it in his eyes.
He was afraid. For her.
The more her thoughts settled, the harder it became to believe that for even a single moment he’d want to hurt her.
Gideon could be arrogant, overbearing, and maddeningly convinced that his judgment ought to prevail. But he was not cruel.
He had stood between her and Hatherleigh. He had helped her teach the ladies. He had listened when she could barely speak. Even in that basement, when she’d fought him as though he was the devil himself, he’d never, not once, even come close to hurting her.
No. His intentions had not been cruel.
That, unfortunately, Beatrice thought bitterly, did not make them any less infuriating.
And that was the truly awful part.
She trusted him. Always would.
But he did not trust her. Not in the way she needed him to.
He trusted her mind when it amused him. Her courage when it did not frighten him. Her independence so long as it didn’t extend beyond his protection. But the moment her choices terrified him, he took them out of her hands.
He did not understand.
He understood danger. He understood vengeance. He understood the savage need to punish whoever had harmed what he loved.
Loved?
Beatrice’s breath caught.
He hadn’t mentioned anything about love.
She’d nearly said the word. She’d stopped herself just in time.
But the truth was… Even before those kisses, before their scandalous intimacy, there had been something about Gideon that made her feel… seen. He’d made her feel interesting. As though there was more to her than anyone else ever imagined there might be.
She had hoped Gideon saw her independence as strength.
That he understood what it cost her to rise each day and refuse to let the worst thing that had happened make her hide.
The past had not won.
She had believed he knew that. Or, at the very least, that he was capable of knowing it.
Capable of standing at her side instead of trying to place her behind him.
None of it had been reckless, not those earlier confrontations, not the Vigilance Society, not even when she’d mistakenly intervened when she thought Lord Longstaffe was attacking Lady Calliope.
None of that had been defiance for defiance’s sake.
And Gideon, of all people, should have known that.
Moments from the past few weeks flashed through her memory. Infuriating moments. Exciting ones. Dangerous ones. And some that had been so tender, so heated, so impossibly good that remembering them now felt like pressing a bruise.
Because she had sent him away.
She’d had no choice but to send him away.
And now, it seemed, she was on her own once more.
“My lady.”
Beatrice started.
Mr. Drake stood in the doorway, his expression faintly apologetic. She had not heard him knock. Perhaps he had not wished to disturb her. Perhaps the entire household had become accustomed to moving carefully around broken people.
“Miss Montague is here to see you,” he said. And then, after a brief hesitation, “I can tell her you are indisposed, if you prefer.”
But Beatrice was already standing, fingers brushing at her face to check for tears—finding none, thankfully. “No. Please send her in.”
“Tea, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Talking with Lark almost always made Beatrice feel better. Moping alone would change nothing. It certainly had not helped Dash.
So when Lark swept inside, Beatrice made every effort to greet her with her usual warmth.
Lark was not fooled for an instant.
“Your eyes are red,” she said the moment they had sat. Her gaze sharpened with concern. “What has happened? You’ve been crying.”
“I am perfectly well,” Beatrice said, which was such an obvious lie that Lark’s expression softened.
“Oh, Beatrice.” Lark leaned forward. “You’ve heard, haven’t you?”
Beatrice stilled.
Heard what?
But before she could ask, Lark hurried on. “I wanted to come myself. I knew you would be disappointed, especially after Lady Persephone and Lady Calliope had to bow out, and now with us returning to the country so abruptly…”
“Of course,” Beatrice said quickly.
The lie slipped out before she fully understood what she was lying about.
But she saw Lark’s pale face then. The anxious pinch around her mouth. The way her gaze flicked toward the mantel clock, as though she had already stayed too long.
Whatever this was, Lark did not need Beatrice’s distress added to it.
“That is why…” Beatrice lifted one hand vaguely toward her face. Her red eyes. Her earlier tears. “I was simply… disheartened.”
Lark’s expression softened further. “I knew you would be.”
“Lord Barrington?” Beatrice asked carefully. “His health?”
The old marquess had taken ill earlier this year, and last Beatrice had heard, he’d yet to fully recover. It was the most likely thing she could think of that would take Lark away from London early.
Lark nodded, worry overtaking sympathy. “An apoplexy, they think. Or something very near it. Theodosia is trying to be brave, but she is dreadfully frightened. We’re to leave for the country at once.”
“At once,” Beatrice repeated.
The words settled heavily.
First Persephone. Then Calliope. Now Theodosia and Lark.
“Perhaps we’ll have better luck with the Vigilance Society next year,” Lark suggested.
Beatrice swallowed and forced herself to sit straighter. “Perhaps it is for the best. You were kind to come.”
“I could barely get away.” Lark glanced again toward the clock. “Theodosia told her mother there was some last-minute shopping she required me to do, but I must hurry.”
The ache in Beatrice’s chest sharpened.
She understood, of course. Lark had no choice but to go, her duties had always come first. It was simply the nature of her situation. But… a small, hurting, selfish part of Beatrice didn’t want her to leave. Not now.
“I am so sorry,” Beatrice said, and hated how little the words could do.
“So am I.” Lark rose reluctantly. “For Lord Barrington, of course. For Theodosia. And for this.” Her voice gentled. “We’ll try again next year, I promise. I know how much it means to you.”
Beatrice stood too. “It meant something to all of us.”
Lark crossed the space between them and drew her into a warm embrace.
For a moment, Beatrice let herself hold on.
Then Lark drew back, squeezed her hands, and was gone almost as quickly as she had arrived.
A few minutes later, Beatrice stood alone in the drawing room once more.
Only now, the silence was different.
Heavier.
Gideon would keep out of her life. Dash was lost. Lark was leaving. The Vigilance Society was essentially finished before it had ever begun.
And Beatrice, who had spent all Season insisting women must not depend upon rescue, found herself standing in the middle of the room with no plan, no partner, and no one to save.