Page 24 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

“And you will return to Europe and continue your debauchery, I’m sure. I will be left here to pick up the pieces when you break Beatrice’s heart. Yes, she was the architect of her own sorrow before, but don’t think I can’t see what’s happening since you arrived in London. Leave her alone, Munro. She’s been hurt enough.”

Arthur stood. “I think what Judith is saying, Munro, is that we all saw how much Beatrice suffered, and we don’t want her to be hurt again.”

“And you think I will hurt her?”

“Won’t you? I readTheRake Review. Everyone knows once you get what you want, you’re on to the next conquest.”

“I know that’s what most of Society believes, but that’s what you believe as well?” He looked at Judith then Arthur. “You think all she is to me is another notch in my proverbial bedpost.”

“Is she more than that?” Arthur asked.

“I asked her to marry me,” Munro said. “The night of Lavinia’s betrothal ball.”

“You didwhat?” Judith whispered.

“What did she say?” Arthur asked.

“I’m still waiting for her answer. She doesn’t trust me. Apparently, no one does.”

And with that, he strode out of the drawing room.

Munro supposed he might have spent the next day feeling sorry for himself. After all, not even his own brother believed he had an ounce of honor in him. His own family believed some anonymous author of salacious gossip over their blood kin.

But Munro couldn’t feel sorry for himself for long—not when he could close his eyes and remember the look of ecstasy on Beatrice’s face as he’d pleasured her. Not when he could still smell her on his hands and in his hair. He didn’t even care that he hadn’t found any release. Watching her climax had been more satisfying than he could have imagined. He wanted to touch her again, kiss her again, hear her moaning as he caressed her velvet skin.

And if his thoughts continued along that road, he would walk about with an erection the rest of the day. He splashed cold water on his face, and when he lifted his head from the basin, he caught the blue of the sky outside his window. November was usually gray and dreary. He should take advantage of the rare sunny skies. Calling for his valet, he dressed and went out for a walk through Mayfair, braving the stares of the people who passed him, ogling his trousers.

Munro realized he hadn’t eaten any breakfast—he hadn’t wanted to see Judith this morning—and started for Gunter’s. The establishment wouldn’t be serving ices this late in the year, but they would have coffee and light refreshments. As soon as he stepped into the shop with its large windows and assorted round tables, his nose was assaulted with the sweet scents of tea and sugar. Munro was immediately transported back to his childhood. He could remember running here with his brothers and sisters and buying ices on hot summer days.

When he’d been a bit older, he had escorted young ladies here and sat near the windows to watch the people strolling or picnicking in the park at Berkeley Square. The park was empty now, except for a couple of lads trying to fly a kite among the orange and yellow leaves littering the ground. Gunter’s was almost as empty. A few ladies sat near the windows, their bonnets close together as they shared stories.

One lone woman sipped from a cup in the back, and of course, that woman had to be Beatrice. She raised her brows as he spotted her, and he bowed and approached her table. She looked lovely in the late morning light, her dark hair in a shining bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a high-necked rust-colored gown that complemented her coloring perfectly. Her green eyes followed him, dancing with amusement.

“I suppose you came here to avoid breakfasting with me.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I wanted to avoid your sister.” Then something occurred to him. “Did you come to avoid breakfasting withme?”

“I thought it might be easier to drink my tea alone than blush for an hour seated across from you.”

“I didn’t know widows blushed,” he said.

She laughed. “Oh, I doubt that. You could make anyone blush. Join me?” she asked.

“Must I promise not to make you blush?”

“No. I feel much stronger than I did. I can resist your double entendre and innuendo.”

He bowed and took a seat, ordering coffee and a scone when asked. Finally, he turned back to Beatrice. “Wordplay was never my forte, especially not in the morning. You are safe for the moment.”

“I imagine you never needed to say anything. You could merely look at a woman with those eyes, and she’d fall at your feet.”

He thought about what Judith had said the night before—that Beatrice had been in love with him. “You didn’t fall at my feet,” he said.

“Of course, I did. The first time you smiled at me, I felt so lightheaded I feared I would faint.”

He accepted the coffee and set it on the table. “I suppose I always assumed that since you rejected my proposal, you didn’t feel about me as I felt about you.”

She looked down. “Then we were both at cross purposes. I didn’t believe you when you said you loved me. Your reputation was too egregious.”

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