Page 25 of A Widow for the Earl
Vincent scoffed. “If you say you believe in curses, I shall disown you as a friend.”
“I believe in good and evil,” Edmund replied firmly. “If one can believe in the power of the Lord, as I do and as I know you do, then why should you scoff at the idea of… less heavenly powers?”
“Because it is ludicrous,” Vincent replied vehemently, his mind drifting to Beatrice with her long, dark hair, fire in her honey eyes, looking every bit the enchantress in her pale nightgown. The kind of sorceress that could easily lure a man to his death, or to his eternal doom, with just one intense look. Or a single bite of her naturally reddened lips.
Is it so ludicrous? Is there witchcraft in her veins? Is she descended from… such women?
Edmund shrugged. “Maybe it is, but it still defies explanation. No one can be so unlucky without reason.” He tilted his head to one side. “Perhaps, she is the bearer of her family’s celestial punishment. It is well known that her mother and father are not exactly moral people. The sins of the parents, etcetera.”
“Well, whether it defies explanation or not, or she is cursed, or… whatever,” Vincent said, losing his grip on his temper, “Ihavefound someone who is willing to consider marrying her.”
“Who?” Edmund asked, leaning in as his mood shifted to one of curiosity.
“Yes, who?” a different voice asked, the two men whirling around in surprise.
Standing in the doorway with a face like thunder, her hand resting on her hip, Beatrice glared at Vincent. How long she had been there and how much she had heard, he did not know. Indeed, he had thought she was out walking the grounds, for that was what Mr. Bolam had told him.
Is he still loyal to her, after all?Vincent cursed that he had not checked for himself, wondering if there wasanyonein this household who was loyal tohiminstead. Being the heir and all.
“Let me guess,” Beatrice said sourly. “Is it the gentleman who has just charged down the driveway, almost breaking the back of a lovely stallion that he clearly does not know how to ride?”
Vincent had hoped to ease Beatrice into the meeting with her new suitor, but it seemedthathorse had bolted. But maybe all was not lost, for she was still standing there, making no attempt to run.
“This is fortunate timing,” he said, rising from his chair. “Come, Miss Johnson, let us welcome our guest. Lord Mancefield has arrived.”
Beatrice would have let the full brunt of her temper fly if it had not been for Edmund’s presence. She liked the man well enough, but she adored Isolde. The last thing she wanted was for Edmund to return to his wife, telling unkind stories about her, when she had only secured Isolde’s true friendship in the past couple of years.
As such, she was doing her best to be polite, putting on a performance that she hoped would give Edmund cause to doubt his friend’s misgivings.
Even your own friends will think you are quite mad for disliking me so much, when they see how courteous and ladylike I can be.
“I was just admiring your stallion from the window,” she said, daintily sipping the tea that had been brought in by the suspicious staff. “What a magnificent creature he is.”
Lord Mancefield gave a throaty chuckle, preferring to sip from a glass of brandy instead of tea. “I bet you enjoy a stallion, Miss Johnson, do you not?”
“Lady Wycliffe,” Beatrice corrected, feigning shyness. “I have not been ‘Miss Johnson’ for quite some time. And, yes, I appreciate the wild majesty of a stallion, though I am more partial to a gelding. I find them to be less dangerous.”
Lord Mancefield snorted, clearly thinking her oblivious to the lewdness he was attempting to slip into conversation. “Less fun, rather. One needs a little danger in one’s life. It took me weeks to break that stallion out there, yet I find him far less entertaining than when he was bucking about, refusing to be controlled.”
You see, Vincent, only lunatics and degenerates are interested in me now.
She cast him a discreet glance, to see what he was doing. He watched the exchange with a rather pleased smile upon his face, entirely ignorant of the discourtesy Lord Mancefield wasactuallydisplaying.
“I would be happy to take him from you, if you are bored of him already,” she said, resuming the conversation.
If nothing else came of this meeting, she at least wanted to attempt to save that poor creature.
“A dark mount for a dark-hearted woman,” Lord Mancefield purred. “I should like to see that. I could make a gift of him, perhaps, for the right reward.”
Beatrice’s cheeks ached from forcing the polite smile on her face. “One should never give a gift if one has expectation of a reward, Lord Mancefield. That goes against the very nature of a gift.”
“A deal, then.” He shuffled his bulk closer to her, his brandy breath filling the air between them, stinging her nostrils.
“A deal?” She laughed. “Oh no, Lord Mancefield, I do not make deals with strangers. One never should, for that is how souls are stolen. You may think you are making a deal with an ordinary person when, in truth, you are making a deal with the Devil.”
Lord Mancefield smirked, his ginger whiskers twitching. “And you are rather devilish, are you not?” He chuckled to himself. “Quite the tease.”
“I am afraid I do not know what you mean,” she replied evenly, conscious of his wide thigh getting closer to her own.
