Page 5 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

She whirled back around, her green eyes wide. Devil take him,whathad he done now? Why could he not shut the hell up?

And yet, a flicker of hope burned in his black heart.

And just as she had before, Beatrice Haddington blew it out. “You’re right,” she said. “I made the mistake of marrying one rake. I won’t do it again.”

Chapter Two

Beatrice loved the quiet of a Sunday morning at St. George’s in Hanover Square. The church was a perfect example of neo-classical architecture with gorgeous columns and a magnificent portico facing St. George Street. The church was a hundred years old but felt older to her. She thought about all the distinguished people who had passed through its doors. The sixth son of George the III, the Duke of Sussex, had married here, as had the renowned poet Shelley. George Frederick Handel had worshipped here and played that beautiful organ.

The organ sounded now, covering the sounds of the assembled crowd in attendance to hear the banns called for Miss Lavinia Notley and His Grace, the Duke of Ramsbury. Even Munro Notley had managed to stagger through the hallowed doors this morning, looking undeniably handsome yet somewhat worse for wear after too much drink last night. He sat behind her, beside his brother Dudley and Dudley’s wife and two young children. Beatrice herself sat beside her sister Judith. The viscount was on Judith’s other side, and beside him were Lavinia and Ramsbury.

With considerable concentration, Beatrice stared at the colors in the Flemish glass window and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder at Munro. Had he really asked her to marry him last night? He’d asked her once before, the night before her marriage to Solomon Barnet. She’d thought he was jesting then, but now she saw the night differently. She saw everything differently. Munro hadn’t been jesting. He’d been serious when he’d asked her, and he hadn’t done so because he wanted a leg up on Solomon. He’d been in love with her, had given up his rakish ways for her.

Munro had told her as much that night, but she hadn’t believed him. She’d agreed to marry Solomon, and she’d been set on that course. Solomon had sworn he would always be true to her, and she’d believed him. He was such a convincing liar. She saw that now, but she hadn’t seen it then. She’d thought Munro the devil and Solomon the angel; Munro the unreformable rake and Solomon the unimpeachable saint. How wrong she had been.

But what if she was wrong now, and both men were devils? She’d trusted once and been burned. She dared not trust again. Munro said everything in the Brazen Belle’s column was a fabrication, but she had read other reports of him, enough of those reports over the years, to believe at least some of what was said inTheRake Reporthad the ring of truth. She wouldn’t ever admit it, but she had looked for mentions of him over the years. On occasion, she spotted them.

She remembered the story about the fire in Munich, the riot in a Venice brothel, the fireworks mishap in Paris. He was tied to all of those stories and more. Was she to believe he didn’t frequent the beds of prostitutes? And what about the rumor of the piercing? Wasn’t it possible he’d drunk one too many glasses of wine one evening, been issued a dare, and woke up the nextmorning with a silver ring through his…she probably shouldn’t think about such things in church.

She shouldn’t think abouthimin church. Too many scandalous thoughts crossed her mind. She was no longer a virgin of twenty dreaming about smiling at her husband across the breakfast table as they listened to the patter of little feet in the nursery. Those ideas of marriage had been shattered weeks after she’d wed when her husband hadn’t come home at night. When he did come home, he smelled of other women’s perfume. Solomon’s infidelity disgusted her, and she’d locked him out of her bedchamber. He might have easily gained access. She was his property under the law, but to add insult to injury, Solomon hadn’t bothered. And so she’d spent her days and nights alone, a wife who had experienced all the pleasures of the marriage bed and then voluntarily relinquished them.

She didn’t regret the decision, especially a couple years later when she saw the doctor leaving Solomon’s bedchamber and confronted him. He had the pox, of course. The courtesan he’d fallen in love with three years into their marriage had gifted it to him. If Beatrice hadn’t locked Solomon out, she would have acquired it as well. Perhaps the illness had made him reckless, had made him bold, because it was only a year later he’d died in a duel over that same courtesan.

And now Munro Notley sat behind her. She could all but feel those tawny eyes of his lazily roaming over her shoulders and neck. He would be an exquisite lover. She had no doubt his reputation for bed sport was well-earned. And it had been so long since a man had touched her…

Judith reached over and touched Beatrice’s hand, and she realized the banns were being called. She closed her hand over Judith’s, grasping her tightly. She knew her sister had agonized over the Duke of Ramsbury’s offer of marriage for Lavinia. The offer had been more than generous, but, like any mother, Judithworried about her daughter’s happiness, especially with such an age difference between the parties. Still, Lavinia seemed happy and to genuinely like the duke.

“If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it,” the parish priest intoned. “This is the first time of asking.”

The church was silent except for a bit of shuffling and coughing, and then the priest moved on. Beatrice squeezed Judith’s hand and smiled at Arthur.

The service finally concluded, and it was an easy matter to find herself walking beside Munro as the parishioners exited into Hanover Square. The duke and the viscount had carriages waiting, although the walk to Berkeley Square was not long. The sun shone in the cloudless sky, and though the air was cold, the day felt pleasant.

“Mama, may His Grace and I walk back to Notley House?” Lavinia asked.

Judith glanced at Arthur, who frowned. Beatrice knew him well enough to know he didn’t like the idea of his daughter spending any time with the duke unchaperoned. Not until the vows had been exchanged and the license signed. But Lavinia deserved a chance to have some private time with her betrothed before the wedding.

“Mr. Notley and I will walk back as well,” Beatrice said.

Munro’s head jerked and he gave her a sharp look. She raised her brows, daring him to challenge her.

“Munro?” Arthur asked.

“Fine,” he said, waving a hand.

“Very well, Bunny,” Arthur told his daughter. “But straight home, yes?”

“Yes, Papa.” Lavinia smiled.

“Go on ahead,” Beatrice told her niece. “We’ll follow.”

Lavinia took the duke’s arm, and Beatrice watched the couple walk on.

“Did it occur to you that perhaps I don’t wish to walk?” Munro asked.

“Neither do I,” Beatrice said. “But it’s nice to give the couple some time alone, and I want to speak with you.” She took his arm, though he hadn’t offered it, and he began to walk.

“What would you like to discuss?”

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