Page 18 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

“I can’t,” he said, giving her a mournful look as he opened the door to her chamber. “I haven’t earned it yet.”

And then he was gone, leaving her to curse him and then herself. After all, she was the one who had invented the Nefarious Scheme, and now the blasted rake had turned it against her.

She was torturing him on purpose. No woman wore a gown like the one she wore now without knowing exactly the effect it would have on the men she encountered. He glanced at the other men seated at the Duke of Ramsbury’s table and clenched his jaw when he saw how many were ogling her.

Not her exactly, but her chest.

Beatrice’s mulberry gown had a waist close to her natural waist and not much material in-between. The golden swells of her breasts were on full display. He could not see the back of her gown at present, as he was seated on the other side of the table, but he’d seen a good deal of the slender line of her backbone.

He was an arrogant arse, but was it assuming too much to speculate she’d worn the dress to torment him specifically? They’d not had a chance to speak privately in the few days since the kiss they’d shared in her bedchamber, but they’d exchanged glances that proved to Munro that, like him, she hadn’t forgotten one second of that heated encounter. At night, he half-wished he might forget because memories of the scorching kiss kept him awake. He had to force himself to stay in his bed and not go to her chamber. Why had he allowed Arthur to talk him into leaving the Clarendon?

There had been no more tests, which relieved and concerned Munro. The wedding was only little more than a week away, and he’d only been tested twice. Munro was more determined than ever to prove to Beatrice that he was no longer a rake, that he could be faithful, and that he deserved her—body and soul.

The meal, which had felt interminable, was almost over. Soon the women would retire to the drawing room and the men would be left to enjoy port and cigars. Anticipating that moment,the duke rose now and lifted his wine glass. Munro smothered a groan. If he had to listen to one more speech about love, he’d retch.

The duke cleared his throat. “Shakespeare once wrote,Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. I have been fortunate in that there have been no obstacles to the union of Miss Notley and myself, but that does not mean I do not anticipate such an easy course always. After all, the poet goes on, loveis an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.” He lifted his glass higher, and the assembled company followed. “May we never be shaken by the tempests, dear Lavinia.”

“Hear, hear!”

Munro echoed the approval and sipped from his glass, meeting Beatrice’s gaze as he did so. Was it coincidence that the poet had chosen the wordtempests, which meant storms but was also perilously close in spelling totemptation? Munro thought not.

As predicted, the ladies rose to adjourn to the drawing room to take tea. Munro joined the other men, standing as the ladies exited, and Arthur, who had more than his share of wine tonight, said loudly, “Soon you will be the only bachelor among us, Munro.”

Munro saw Beatrice’s head turn slightly and knew she was listening. She was at the back of the procession of ladies and still very much in the room.

“It does seem to be my lot in life,” Munro said, which was his rote response whenever someone made an idiotic comment about his unmarried state. He used to remark that he wassorry not to suffer from wedded bliss, but that was before Solomon had married Beatrice. Because after that, Munro had very much wanted to suffer all the wedded bliss imaginable if it meant having Beatrice by his side and in his bed.

“You don’t plan to ever marry?” the duke asked. “Surely you can’t think to wander about the Continent the rest of your life.”

That was precisely what Munro had thought he would do before he’d returned to England for the wedding.

Before he’d regained a flicker of hope that Beatrice might one day be his. He couldn’t imagine ever committing himself to any other woman. And he’d tried to imagine it many times. He’d tried to want a life with other women. But he’d come to realize that he loved Beatrice, and for some men, there was only ever one great love.

“I’m not at all opposed to matrimony,” Munro said. “If it’s with the right woman.”

Arthur’s brows rose so high they all but disappeared into his hairline. “The right woman! And have you met this woman?”

“I have,” he said. “But it remains to be seen whether she deems me worthy.”

Beatrice cast one last look at him as she moved through the door. He was an expert at reading her expressions, but even someone who didn’t know her at all would have recognized the look of skepticism in her eyes just then.

“That’s good news then,” Arthur said, clapping Munro on the shoulder. “Perhaps we shall soon have another engagement and wedding to celebrate.”

“With any luck,” Munro said. The men drank their port and lit cigars. Munro disliked port almost as much as cigars, so he only made a show of doing both. Finally, the men joined the ladies in the drawing room. Munro didn’t hesitate to make his way to Beatrice’s side. She was seated on a couch on the far side of the room, alone. He took the cushion beside her. “Why are you all the way over here on your own?”

She set her teacup aside. “I couldn’t stand to listen to any more discussion of the wedding,” she admitted. “I suppose that makes me a terrible aunt.”

“It makes you human. I barely leave my room at Notley House for fear I will be pulled into some argument over floral arrangements or lace.”

She smiled. He loved her smiles, the way they crinkled her eyes and lit up her face.

“But I thought you enjoyed discussing weddings. Wasn’t that the topic you men embarked on as the ladies departed?”

“It wasn’t the topic for long, I assure you.” He looked about to ensure no one was approaching. They had a few more moments before they would certainly be interrupted. “I could reopen it, if you wish.”

“And say what?” she asked. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe you want to marry.”

Munro scowled at her. “Considering I once asked you to marry me, that is exactly what I want you to believe.”

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