Читать книгу The Notorious Countess - Liz Tyner, Liz Tyner - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Andrew stared at Beatrice. Mob cap gone. No henna mishap. Her hair did slip out of her bun into curls around her face, which he rather liked. Blue eyes radiant without spectacles and a— He blinked. No loopy things or hanging things. He blinked again. This was not the time to be noticing her round parts. He needed to look at the sharp parts. Lady Riverton was not a wallflower by any stretch of the imagination.

Beatrice raised her arms higher, fingers outstretched, a performance. ‘This is what I get for doing a good turn.’

‘Even I do not believe that was your motivation, Beatrice.’ Her brother’s voice bit the air.

She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. He is a—’ She looked at Andrew. ‘He’s not especially hideous looking, I admit.’ Then she squinted and regarded him. ‘I do not really understand your predicament.’

‘Deuce take it, Beatrice...’ the architect huffed ‘...he’s male. You’re not. That’s all the reason he needs for trying what he did. The situation was not proper. I cannot have this behaviour under my roof. Nor can I countenance your total disregard for the family’s reputation. Think of it, Beatrice. You cannot like to be known as Beatrice the Beast. Now it will be Beatrice the Brazen Beast. By now the tale is halfway to India. I was too shocked to silence Tilly.’

‘I do not think you could have,’ Beatrice said. ‘She is not the cousin I thought she was.’

Andrew watched. Her eyes blinked more when she spoke a dramatic word, emphasising, putting a point to it. The room was her stage at the moment.

She groaned and her head fell back. ‘If only Mother had named me something else. Honour. Patience. Prudence.’

Wilson spoke. ‘We were lucky not to be named after plagues. Once Mother hears of tonight, she will say I cannot control you and she will insist on more influence in your life. Think of it.’ He whispered his last words. ‘Mother. On a righteous tear. You must find a way to convince her you are behaving properly, Bea. Lie all you must. Cover your tracks. Keep out of the papers.’

Beatrice shut her eyes, then opened them and looked at Andrew. ‘If you’d been as I imagined, none of this would have happened. But you stood there...’ She took in a breath as if smelling a delicate rose. ‘I simply cannot blame myself.’

Andrew saw her, down to the barest freckle she had just below her eye at the outside corner. ‘Marry me.’ His words held no inflection and he didn’t turn from her gaze. ‘Wilson can draft a note for the scandal sheets, hinting a betrothal is forthcoming. He and I can discuss the details of the marriage while you pen a letter informing your mother.’

Her mouth opened. Her arms fell to the side. ‘Lord Andrew?’ she gasped. ‘You have not even waltzed with me.’ She shivered and speared him in another way. ‘Absolutely not. No. Not now. Not ever. Not even— No.’

Andrew didn’t move, but watched the muscles in her face and they could not be still.

The architect strode to the door. ‘I’ll give you some privacy to come to a respectable conclusion, Beatrice, while I...pen a letter to Mother telling her how I have things well in hand. I’ll dispatch it tonight so she will see it when she wakes.’ He touched the door. ‘I will close this. Please do not do anything to disgrace yourselves.’ He put a hand to his cheek. ‘Oh, too late.’

The door closed decidedly.

‘Thank you for the delicate reply.’ He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. ‘Since all my limbs are unharmed, I will take it that you are considering it.’

‘Oh, most certainly,’ she said. ‘I so wish to return to one circle Dante forgot to mention—the unexplored tenth level of hell.’

He realised his first marriage proposal was taking the same turn as their earlier romantic encounter. But she had no scissors.

‘Perhaps you misunderstood the question I neglected to ask properly. Lady Riverton, will you marry me?’ He had no wish to be like Foxworthy, always in a race to abandon a woman so he could find another one to desert.

‘You could not have misunderstood my answer.’

‘I understood.’

‘The only reason you ask is because Tilly discovered us and spread the news.’ She shook her head. ‘My refusal meant that I am declining.’

He moved away from the wall and stood so close he could touch her. ‘But, Beatrice, a betrothal would certainly—’

‘It would nothing.’ She turned away from him. Her tapered fingers tapped her forehead. ‘Now I will have another mark against me. What is one more?’ She lowered her hand and looked at him. ‘Cousin Tilly will have the enjoyment of disparaging me over this. I am to be the Beast for ever and I find I am quite used to it.’ She laughed, but the sound had a hollow ring to his ears.

‘You do not have to wed me. We merely need to give the idea we are betrothed.’

‘No. I do not even want to be seen as considering marriage.’

‘You could be viewed as a changed woman. My name has not once appeared in print. I am the younger brother of a duke. My brother next in line has three sons. I’m not an heir to the title, so you will not be viewed as angling to be a duchess. Not even close. We are not a family to appear in the scandal sheets, except for my cousin Foxworthy, but we are connected through our mothers—so his actions don’t reflect on the family name. My reputation can certainly weather this little mention and you can change the way the world sees you. We could manage this.’

‘Andrew.’ She spoke slowly. ‘Do you even read those papers?’

‘I prefer not to.’ He moved forward and reached to take her hands in his. He looked down. ‘What do you have to lose?’

‘I’ve had a lie of a marriage. I see no reason for a lie of a betrothal. I made myself a promise never to wed again. The first time cured me of any notions in that regard. My husband—he didn’t improve with age, drink or distance. I was lucky he had a taste for poppies and managed to do himself in before too many years passed.’

‘I have heard that many wives do appreciate a husband who dies early on in the marriage.’

Her mouth turned up at one side, but her gaze speared him. ‘Saves on the cost of carriage repair.’

Then her shoulders drooped. ‘You tempt me, but it is only a momentary spasm and it passes.’ She sighed. ‘At the end of my time with Riverton—’ her voice lowered ‘—and we really should not call it a marriage—I only cared because Riverton couldn’t be discreet. The marriage itself was neither here nor there because I hadn’t spent time with him in several years. But I always had the feeling people knew more about him than I did and I didn’t like being... By then he wasn’t even someone I would have wanted to speak of at a soirée. So having him as a husband was rather unfortunate.’

‘I assure you, I would not disgrace my wife so.’

She gave a tilt of her head. ‘Oh, you say that now. But in five years? Ten?’

‘Lady Riverton. I do not make a habit of such.’

She shook her head with a wobble, making the movement sarcastic. She turned away, walked to a sconce and stared at it. ‘Yes. You are behind. But once you get started, what’s to stop you from making up for lost time?’

‘I would say it’s unlikely that I would be so inclined,’ he admitted. ‘At this point in my life, I realise I should take even more care than I have in the past. Tonight, for example. You can see how unrestrained behaviour led to both of us being in the wrong bedchamber at the wrong time.’ He spoke softly. ‘I do not regret holding you close. But I now see quite plainly that it is good for me to be working in the late hours of the night. In the past, when I have wished for a woman’s attentions, I have forced myself to work, either with pen in hand or hammer.’ He smiled. ‘You may note that I have quite the list of completed projects behind me—too numerous to mention. I have easily surpassed every person of my years in accomplishments.’

Without his celibacy, he would not have been able to increase his small inheritance. The town houses he had purchased and directed to be remodelled had taken vast efforts of economy to repair with so little capital. At the beginning, he’d feared he was going to lose everything with small rent coming in and so much being swallowed by delays and unexpected costs. He’d worked around the clock, planning and researching and overseeing every aspect he could. He’d hired Wilson to design more structures and, when those were completed, things changed quickly. He’d had funds to call upon and reinvest with each successive venture.

On several occasions recently he’d taken a pause from the work and had ridden by his properties, knowing they had been nothing until he imagined them. A contentment had filled him. Now they would be a part of the landscape for long after he’d left the world. How much better that was than the complications he’d found when desires raged within him and he attempted to appease them.

She examined him again. ‘You. No one has ever mentioned you with any talk but of...work. Wilson says you’re such a stick, I thought you quite, quite aged.’

He smoothed down the front of his coat. ‘I am extremely responsible. I have not had much time for soirées or frivolity in my life.’

She still smelled of baked goods, which disturbed him. He wondered if he would ever be able to eat a cake again without thinking of unrequited lust.

She looked at him. ‘I will never marry again. It doesn’t agree with my voice. Makes it rise to a shrill note. It seems to not do well for my husband, either. I do appreciate the offer of helping me. I am grateful for your consideration of my reputation.’ She ducked her chin, and smiled at him. ‘Very grateful.’

Truly, Andrew didn’t think his own reputation would be damaged to be associated with Beatrice for a short while.

A few days earlier, Andrew had overheard his valet and one of the maids muttering behind a door. He’d been described in exemplary terms, then he’d heard the last words, added almost as one might curse. ‘Dull as ditch water.’

He’d turned and left, not retrieving the drawings he’d left in the chamber—pleased. He’d worked hard to resist temptations of all sorts. He’d not let himself be idle for long periods, drink too much with Fox, or spend funds extravagantly.

He imagined they would hear of tonight’s indiscretion, but it would not be a concern. One small blot that hurt no one. He would make sure it did not tarnish Beatrice.

Helping Beatrice would be a pleasant diversion from the hours and hours of instruction he directed to his man of affairs and the restless moments which spurred him to complete his vision of his home. Whenever a room was finished, he had immediately noticed the shabbiness of another area and had begun a new renovation. The carriage house would soon be completed and his entire home and grounds would be as they should be.

Beatrice’s movements returned his thoughts to her and caused the warmth that had settled in his chest to strengthen.

Her nose crinkled and the challenge faded from her eyes. ‘I’m quite used to not being portrayed well. I am not fond of it. I don’t like it, but it’s...unpleasant only. I don’t lose any sleep over it. Tilly might not even mention...’ She waved her fingers. ‘No. I know she will mention it, but our encounter might not appear in print.’

‘I would not wager silver on that.’

She crossed her arms ‘I will survive with a smile on my face.’ Her nose wrinkled again. Sighing, she uncrossed her arms. ‘Once a beast, always a beast. Perception is everything. Perception is reality. What people believe to be the truth is their truth. I’m used to them getting the facts wrong and changing the details. Besides, Beatrice the Benevolent will not sell the papers.’

‘It could.’

Her tone lowered. Her lips turned up at one edge. ‘No.’ That snort again. ‘Read the print. I’m sure you could dig up a copy somewhere.’

‘What harm is there in trying? We can work together. One small act on your part will not change any perception of you, but if it is taken as part of a journey, the views of you can be changed. A house is not built with a single stone. Think how many years of your life you have left. Do you wish to be a beast when you truly wear the spectacles and cap?’

* * *

Beatrice paused, considering. The man stood before her in the same stance of a warrior who might have stepped from a painting and she wasn’t sure if he looked at her as a friend or foe. His eyes had narrowed a bit and she would wager he examined her more deeply than anyone else ever had.

The silence in the room oppressed her. ‘Just leave,’ she said. ‘I am used to the nonsense said of me. I have been notorious my whole life.’

That was true. Her bosom had not developed overly large, but it had matured well before the other girls her age. The stable boys had noticed and smirked. The children all acted as if she’d grown her breasts on purpose. Her mother had thought them blessings and insisted the modiste make Beatrice’s gowns show more flesh than Beatrice had preferred. Her mother had forbidden Beatrice to wear a shawl, saying the family must always keep up appearances and one could not wear such a lowly garment.

Her friends and their mothers had thought Beatrice brazen even then. She’d endured it with a smile, laughed it away, jested and pretended her figure was all a woman could wish for. And all men could wish for. On that, she didn’t think she’d been entirely wrong. Riverton had certainly been aware of her shape, wanting her to continue in the same gowns her mother had chosen. Within a month of marriage, she’d visited a modiste and ordered all new gowns in a cut she preferred.

She’d thought to gain respect as a countess, but then the whispers had reached her ears. Riverton admired all shapes and sizes, except—hers.

‘I am used to having people speak of me,’ she said. ‘They must speak of someone, so why not me? I have laughed the loudest. Life is a grand jest.’ Then she reached up, pushing an escaped curl towards her bun, but feeling the wisp spring back into place.

‘Perhaps.’ He stepped forward and, with his left hand, captured the curl. His fingers brushed her skin as he slipped the errant lock behind her ear. ‘But, Lady Riverton, there is more to you than words in a scandal sheet. I believe your brother once told me that his sister took to art the way some mothers take to their children. He said you hired several men to create figures on the ceiling and you sat in the room with the workmen, entranced, at your easel and canvas, trying to reproduce the scene of the men painting.’

‘I may have.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Art is taking something from the air and putting it in front of you so others can see what you see—with a splash of your imagination added.’

‘Why do you not do that with your own image?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You draw attention and it has been turned against you. Use it to your advantage.’

She sighed. He had no idea how many times her name had been mentioned in print. No idea how many stories about her husband had been whispered. How many times she’d been about and pretended not to know when she was being discussed, even if sometimes the words had been whispered so loudly she wondered why they were not just said to her face.

Her stomach churned, remembering the marriage. The foul smell of Riverton when he would return home after weeks. She’d hated the servants seeing him. Hated the knowledge that the footmen had had to treat him almost like a child who could not be reprimanded, but had to be cajoled.

She put her hand on his sleeve. ‘You don’t understand the vipers of the world. They wish to bite, not cuddle. I cannot turn them into lambs.’

‘No.’ His voice quietened, but it didn’t lose the rumble, the masculine richness that pulled her like a vine twining towards the sun. ‘I can help you, though. We can create a new world around you. One in which you glitter as you should. This blunder tonight could be fortunate. It can be the moment you begin painting the world around you in the colours you wish.’

‘You are daft. No one has a brush that can do as you suggest.’

‘What is the harm in trying?’

She didn’t answer, with words, but her lips turned up. ‘You have lost your senses.’

‘I can help you.’

She examined his face. No laughter lurked. Brown eyes with the tiniest flecks of green studied her. In all her marriage—all her life—she’d never felt another person could see into her as deeply as he did.

She took a quick step back, breaking the connection—giving the world a chance to start moving again. ‘You really don’t know what you say.’

‘I will let you consider it, tonight,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we will take a ride in the park. We can discuss it further then. You’ll have a chance to decide if you’d like to rebuild your reputation.’

He moved closer, leaning in, lips almost against her cheek. ‘Let that be the first thing you think of when you wake tomorrow.’

After he left, she wasn’t quite certain if he’d kissed her cheek or not, but she was certain her heart was beating.