Page 62 of Hazard a Guest
So she’d followed him.
Of course she had followed him.
She was only ever what she’d always been. It was everyone else’s fault if they expected something else, wasn’t it?
She frowned. But she didn’t stop herself. She followed him anyway, into the halls and around the corners, down a deep corridor with bigger rooms than the ones her company had been granted.
She saw him realize he was being trailed. She saw the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, even as she pulled herself into shadow before he could turn around.
When he did turn around, he was not satisfied by an empty corridor. He began marching back in the opposite direction, right at her, his face setting in a grim determination.
“Is that you, Woodville?” he demanded, low and menacing, making shockingly large strides with each footfall. “I’m happy to grant you a rematch if that’s what you’re after, but you need to come out and face me.”
“No! No, it’s only me,” Ember said quickly, her heart lurching at his approach as she stepped into the light. “It’s only me. I wanted to speak to you. Alone.”
Beck stopped, one foot still raised for the following step, just at the toe, the shadow of his boot streaking down the hallway toward Ember. His face relaxed, curiosity and surprise overtaking that menace, and he drew himself back to standing still. “Miss Donnelly?” he asked, as though he wasn’t quite sure he could trust his eyes and ears.
“Woodville,” she repeated, tilting her head. “That was the man you punched? The blond one?”
Beck stared at her but gave a single jerking nod.
She felt herself deflate, felt herself forget any justification she’d had for doing this. “Why did you do that, Mr. Beck? Why did you punch him?”
Beck’s brows drew together, but he didn’t balk or boggle at her. “Because he deserved it,” he said, that velvet-smooth timbre unwavering.
“Because he asked to contract Hannah Lazarus as his mistress?” Ember pressed, taking a step forward, her shoe landing wherethat shadow had been before he’d lowered his foot. “Why would you care about that?”
Beck drew in a sharp breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. “It was disrespectful,” he replied.
“To her?” Ember continued to push, knowing she should stop, knowing her heart was about to leap right out of her mouth and onto the floor. “To her father? Why does it matter to you?”
“Miss Donnelly,” he said, a hint of impatience puncturing that seamless suede of his tone, “is that why you’re following me? Truly?”
She lifted her chin. “Is there another reason I should, Mr. Beck?”
He stared at her for a second, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile tempt his sharp features, something cool and satisfied lurking beneath the visage of propriety he was holding aloft as unnaturally as those fine, tailored clothes on his scarred and calloused body.
“Miss Lazarus does not belong here,” he said rather than acknowledge her question. “She is in danger every breath of the day. I can’t remove her from your room, but I can stop men like that from trying to snare her in their seedy traps.”
“From …” Ember breathed out, something smoking in her chest like a kicked campfire. “Frommyroom?!”
“That man wanted to make her what you are,” Beck replied, rubbing his fingertips together, staring down at his hands and the scabbing on his knuckles. “I can’t have that.”
“What I am? A mistress, you mean?” she managed to say, her voice sounding deceptively even. “I am no one’s mistress anymore, sir.”
“Your husband was a good man. It is a shame you have humiliated his memory so, with your dear earl and that other fellow that the two of you seem to share.” Beck paused a moment, clicking his tongue. “He deserved better.”
“He … oh, you are an ignorant bastard,” she breathed. “Youdareto presume you knew mine own husband better than I did? You dare to think you knowanything?”
“I know that Woodville wouldn’t have gotten the idea to contract out Miss Lazarus,” Beck replied softly, “if she hadn’t been next to you so often.”
She felt it drip into her blood like ice, spiking and spreading like hoar over her veins. It was horrible, she realized, but only because it was probably true.
“But it doesn’t bother you, does it?” he continued, raising those black eyes to meet hers. “Collecting on the luck of your inheritance, the returns on your beauty and womanhood, all the while turning your back on the suffering of those younger and less lucky as they fall to ruin?”
She opened her mouth. She tried to summon her fire, but it was frozen in her, stuck to her ribs, lodged in the stuck half-beat of her heart.
“Merit will always win out over luck,” Beck whispered, something ragged in his voice. Something that sounded genuinelyhurtas he added, soft as grief,“You don’t even use his name.”
