Chapter 13
“Your brother is not going to be pleased about you dancing with the Duke of St. James,” Nathaniel said, as their hands met in the middle of the dance floor and they began to turn around one another.
Beatrice, who was having trouble focusing on the dance after her interaction with the duke, blinked and stared up at her old friend.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. It took all of her willpower not to turn and look back at the duke, but she knew that would be a mistake.
Already, people would be gossiping about them dancing together.
She could not make it seem as if she had any reason to look at him twice.
If anyone were to find out how they actually knew one another…
She would be ruined.
“He does not like St. James,” Nathaniel said. “In fact, I think despises him might be the correct way of phrasing it.”
Beatrice frowned as her heart began to beat faster. “Why does he despise him? I would think my brother would be happy to see me dancing with a duke. Is not he obsessed with finding me an eligible husband?”
“I do not think he would include St. James in the list of eligible husbands,” Nathaniel said.
“They knew each other at Eton, you know. And your brother was younger and slighter, always very reserved and sensitive. Some of the older boys used to… well… let us just say they were not very kind to him. Eton can be like that.”
Beatrice felt her mouth go dry as anger flared in her gut. She did, indeed, know that boys at Eton could be dreadful to one another. Thoedore had told her some of the stories, although she knew he had tried to spare her.
“And the duke was one of those boys who was cruel to my brother?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” Nathaniel said, and she was surprised by the amount of relief that flooded her. “But he was friends with those boys, and I believe your brother felt he could have done more to stop them.”
“I see,” she said slowly. She was not entirely sure what to make of this. “Then again, he was young. It is possible he has changed. That he is the kind of man who would stand up for someone now.”
“Yes, it is possible,” Nathaniel said. “Although now, of course, he has another reputation. One that is not entirely desirable for a woman looking for a husband.”
Beatrice glanced out of the corner of her eye, back over at the duke. He was now standing and talking to a pretty young woman that she did not know. He seemed engaged in what the woman was saying, and she felt something dark and sick flutter through her.
“I understand,” she said softly, looking back at Nathaniel. “I have heard such things myself. Your sister told me.”
Nathaniel smiled kindly at her. “It can be a hard transition to return to London,” he said. “There are many people here who are not trustworthy. But that is why you have your brother, Vivienne, and me. We will help to steer you.”
Beatrice nodded, but she felt as if a flame that had been lit inside of her chest had been extinguished.
She had been so overjoyed to see the duke.
Yes, it had been startling to find out he was a duke and not a merchant, and she had felt slightly irritated with him for lying to her, but it had also been amusing to banter and argue with him.
And she had lied, as well. She could not entirely hold it against him for concealing his identity when she had done the same thing.
But now, to hear that her brother hated him, she felt as if all her joy had been dashed upon the rocks.
Even more concerning, was the duke really the kind of man who would let his friends bully and harass a younger boy? She would need him to clarify this, if she ever even got to speak to him again. Maybe her brother would not even allow that.
When the song ended, Beatrice excused herself to the powder room. She needed a moment alone to gather her thoughts. She had just stepped outside of the ballroom and into the hallway, however, when she felt firm hands grip her arm.
“We have more to say to another,” she heard a low, masculine voice say that she recognized at once.
Her heart hammering, she looked up. The Duke of St. James stood next to her, his hand on her arm, as he directed her through the hallway.
It was crowded, and she didn’t think anyone was paying attention to them.
They reached the end of the hallway, and then, quick as a flash, he pulled her around the bend and down another, deserted one. At the end of this, he opened a door. With a quick glance back to make sure they hadn’t been followed, he led her inside.
The room was dark, and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she saw that they were in a small library. The shelves were lined with books, and there was the musty smell of old paper filling her nose.
The duke moved to the window, pulled back the curtain, and moonlight flooded the room, shining silver off the polished parquet floors.
He turned back around to face her, grinning.
“Sorry to abduct you,” he said, “but our conversation was not complete.”
Beatrice put her hands on her hips. She felt slightly dizzy and breathless, and she couldn’t tell if it was from shock and anger or something else. Something more pleasant.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” she demanded. “You cannot drag me off into a deserted room at a ball! Someone could have seen!”
“They did not,” he said with a shrug. “I checked.”
“You do not know that. The ton has eyes everywhere!”
“Everyone here has had at least three glasses of champagne,” he said dismissively. “They are no longer paying attention to the comings and goings.”
“I would not be so sure about that,” she said darkly. “Especially with someone like you, who is known as a womanizer.”
“I am not a womanizer,” he said flatly, taking a step toward her. “I may have had my youthful dalliances, but I am not what you think of me.”
“Oh?” She raised both her eyebrows. “Then who was that woman you were speaking to earlier?”
“Miss Thornton?” He shrugged. “She is a friend, nothing more.”
“Nothing more?”
“She wished me to court her once,” he said, “but I was never interested. She lacked a certain… spark… that I am attracted to in a woman.”
Beatrice’s throat went very dry. “I do not think we should speak of such things,” she said quickly. “It is not appropriate. If people were to see us in here together, if they were to know about our past…”
“If they were to know that you spent the night by my side, watching over me?” He asked, grinning, and she flushed.
“Precisely,” she snapped. “Your reputation might be solidified, but if people were to know that about mine, I would be…”
“I know,” he said, and his voice was gentler now. “I am not trying to risk your reputation. And I will not tell anyone about our encounter on the road. I simply wanted the chance to speak to you again. I may not have another one.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“It is simply the rules of the ton,” he said, looking away. “I could come and court you, but then everyone would gossip about us. And even then, we would never be allowed to say anything real to one another. It would always be monitored by some chaperone or another.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “That is the way of things. It is hard to imagine how ladies and gentlemen ever really fall in love, when they are constantly being listened to by well-meaning but nosey mamas.”
“I think it is rare to find a true love match in the ton,” the duke said. “Although I do believe my parents were one such example.”
“As were mine,” Beatrice murmured. She looked over at the books, and when she glanced back at him, she was relieved to see that his coy smile had returned.
“Did you finish your poem?” he asked, and she went bright red.
“I cannot believe you read that,” she said, mortification making her want to bury her head in her hands. “It was not finished!”
“For an unfinished poem, I thought it was very good.”
She gave him a long, searching look. “Did you really? Or are you just saying that?”
“I really did,” he said. He took a step closer to her, and she was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how tall he was. She had noticed earlier, of course, but now, alone together in the darkened room, he seemed even larger than ever before. In comparison, she felt very small and delicate.
“So, did you finish it?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Yes, I have been working on it all week.”
“And do you often write poetry?”
He was definitely too close now. Closer than was entirely appropriate.
Of course, he was right, they had already crossed every boundary of propriety.
But that had been when her life was in danger.
This was different. This was a ball, surrounded by hundreds of people. They had to be careful. And yet…
“Yes,” she whispered. “I often write poetry. It is the only way I know how to write about my parents and my grief for them. Writing has helped me enormously to… to heal.”
His eyes flickered. “I should try that,” he said. “Whenever I miss my father, perhaps I should try to write about it.”
“You should,” she said.
He took another step toward her and began to lift his arm, but then he winced, and pain flashed across his face.
“Are you well?” she asked quickly, stepping forward. “I thought you said that you were mended!”
“Perhaps not entirely,” the duke admitted, gritting his teeth. She took hold of his other arm and helped him over to a nearby chair, then made him sit down.
“You should not be out dancing so soon after a bullet wound,” she lectured. “You will tear the stitches.”
The duke looked up at her, his dark eyes gleaming. “But then I would not have discovered your true identity,” he said. “And in that way, it was worth whatever stitches I might have torn.”
It was hard for Beatrice to keep the smile from her face, but she did it, somehow. “That is not worth it at all,” she said sternly, even as her heart beat painfully against her ribcage.
He laughed. “Do not be so modest, Miss Ashford. It does not suit you. You can admit you like that I am willing to risk injury to meet you properly.”
Her mouth twisted, and at long last, she smiled.
“Perhaps a little,” she admitted.
It was strange to admit such a thing to someone who wasn’t just a man, but a duke. It was like she had completely forgotten herself and every rule she had ever learned about deference, society, and gentlemen. But she did not look at the duke and see a man of enormous wealth, influence, and power.
She saw the man who had rescued her from the river. Whom she had lectured about his ideas on women understanding Plato. She saw the man who had protected her from a bullet, who had thrown himself on top of her body in order to shield her.
A man who had taken a bullet for her.
“I should really go,” she murmured, stepping away from him. Her heart was aching in a way she did not fully understand, but she knew that it was not a good sign. She needed to get away from him. She needed to clear her head. She needed to get back to safety.
“Yes,” he said at last, his dark eyes still boring into hers. “You should. I am sorry for sneaking you away. You were right. It was… risky.”
She didn’t speak again, merely nodded and then turned and fled from the room. Out in the hallway, she took a deep breath. Her lungs felt less tight, her throat less clenched, and as she hurried down the hallway away from the library, her heart began to slow as well.
“There you are!” her brother exclaimed, when she returned to the ballroom and his side. The corners of his eyes were slightly creased, as if in worry, and he put a protective hand on her arm. “I was wondering where you had gotten to.”
“I was in the powder room,” she said quickly, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Ah yes, I see,” Theodore said. He swallowed. “I saw you dancing with the Duke of St. James and I thought… Well, it is no matter. Lord Pembroke is hoping to dance with you again.”
“Ahh…” Of course, she could not say no, and soon, she was out on the dance floor again with Lord Pembroke.
He really was very kind, she noted, as they whirled and spun around one another.
Her brother had clearly informed him on what topics to approach with her, because he asked her about reading and poetry, but there was something so studied about it that she could not help but feel deflated.
Was Lord Pembroke actually interested in her?
Or was he simply interested in having a wife?
“And what about you?” she asked, as the dance ended, and he bowed before her. “Do you like poetry?”
“I admit I have never found it as enjoyable as others do,” he said, after a small hesitation. He took her arm and led her back across the ballroom toward her brother.
“But I am sure that I would enjoy it greatly if you were to read it to me,” he added. “And I do so very much like hearing about a young lady’s passion. I hope you shall tell me more about the authors that you like if you were to allow me to call upon you?”
They were now standing several feet from her brother, and Lord Pembroke turned to face her. The hopefulness in his face was impossible to ignore, and she felt guilt tug at her insides. The man really was a gentleman, and he was trying to show interest in her passion.
“Of course,” she murmured. “I would be honored if you were to call upon me.”
Lord Pembroke smiled, then bowed. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Ashford,” he said, and then he turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
Theodore clapped her on the shoulder as she approached. “You did very well,” he said, beaming at her. “I imagine that you shall be affianced within a fortnight!”
Beatrice could only grimace. She did not want to let her brother down, but she had absolutely no desire to be engaged within a fortnight.
At least not to Lord Pembroke.