Page 28 of A Widow for the Earl
“Says who?” Beatrice replied bluntly. “In which of your beloved rule books does it say that I must marry a fourth time? Have I not suffered enough for your satisfaction? Must I endure more, simply because you do not like me? Am I to face furtherembarrassment, further scorn, further pain, because I dared to befriend your sisters and have, perhaps, said a thing or two to you that you considered rude?”
He sniffed, his anger sparking. “It is not personal, Miss Johnson.”
“Is it not? It certainly feels it.” She sniffed back. “If I were someone else, would you be in such haste to get rid of me? Goodness, if I were some quiet, meek, obedient woman, I would not be surprised if you suggested marriage. Combining your assets in one fell swoop.”
He blinked, drawing his hand back from her chin. Just when he had been feeling a jot of remorse for her situation, she went and said something as foolish as that. It was almost as if she wanted him to be angry with her at all times, so that she might be angry in return. An excuse to challenge and antagonize, getting under his skin.
“That is nonsense!” he remarked. “If you were someone else, I imagine I would have a far easier transition into my viscountcy. A meek, obedient woman would not hesitate to find another husband and be out of my way without delay. A meek, obedient woman would know her place.”
“Thisismy place, Wilds!” she shot back, some of that fire returning. “It was my home until you blustered in, throwing your authority around! Indeed, if you cannot stand me, as you clearly cannot, why on earth are you still here? Go home. Go back toPrudence and pester her to marry instead. All I want is to be left alone.”
He took a step closer, the gap between them barely existent, his irritation shallowing his breaths. He did not know whether to shake some sense into her or cradle her face in his hands, his mind a tangle of confusion.
“Why must you do this?” he rasped. “Why must you incite an argument, every time?”
She did not back down or step away, her hand accidentally brushing his. “Because you will not listen.” Her throat bobbed. “Because you do not see me as anything but an obstacle to remove. Because you do not care that you will take everything if you take this house from me. It is just a building to you, but it is… paradise to me.”
There was a plea somewhere in her voice, her eyes shining so brightly that he could not look away, much less move to a more appropriate distance. She was so close he could not breathe properly, every accidental brush sending a tingle through his veins.
“Very well,” he said thickly.
“What does that mean?” she replied with suspicion, the sound of her harsh breaths robbing him of his ability to think clearly.
He cleared his throat. “This was a catastrophe,” he said. “As such, I will not bring another suitor to this house for you.”
“I can stay?” Her eyes widened, drawing him deeper into the strange magic of her.
“For now,” he replied stiffly, willing himself to step away. “And you should be thankful that I am allowing you to remain. Icouldjust give you no choice and send you back to your father, or to your cousin. I likely should, considering you have infected my reputation with your own, which will have an effect upon my business endeavors. And I do not let anyone trifle with my business.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I have done nothing of the sort.”
“You have,” he insisted, cursing Lord Mancefield, cursing himself for ever inviting that man here. “Whether you are aware of it or not, you have.”
No… I have done it to myself. If I had listened, if I had made her steward of this manor, nothing would have changed. I might even have been applauded for my generosity.
That thought closed the gap between them, his arms longing to slide around her waist and pull her close, as he had done in the ballroom. Yet, he held onto his discipline, his arms at his sides, as he searched her face with narrowed eyes. Looking for what, exactly, he did not know.
His gaze flitted to her lips, slightly parted.
Beatrice scoffed, stepping back. “If it is gratitude you want, then I shall show youjusthow grateful I am for this generosity of yours.” She backed away, a worrisome smile on her lips. “Oh yes, you will be so overwhelmed with my thanks that you will not know what to do with it.”
She turned, striding straight out of the front door, though she was not at all attired for the cooler weather. Vincent watched her depart, resisting the urge to run after her with a cloak, for he had a feeling that her scoff had had less to do with the terms of her remaining, and more to do with where his errant gaze had wandered.
I was not going to kiss you, Beatrice,he thought furiously, struggling to drown out the voice in the back of his head that whispered,But you wanted to. For a moment, you wanted to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beatrice walked all the way to the chapel, letting herself into the small churchyard through the creaking gate. Breathless, though not from the walk, she hurried to the mossy bench that sat beneath the yew tree. The sturdy, ancient trunk hid her from the manor, allowing her a moment to catch her breath.
Why did he look at my lips like that? Why did he come so close to me?
She could still feel his fingertips beneath her chin, and how gently—tender, almost—he had raised her head up.
“He feels guilty, that is all,” she whispered to no one, the wind whispering through the nearby rowan trees. “He feels guilty because of Lord Mancefield’s bad behavior. He is sorry because that beast will return to society and tell tales about him.”
Anyone passing by might have thought she was quite mad, talking to herself, but having spent so much of her life on her own, sometimes it was the only way to process her thoughts.
“I have done nothing to ruin his reputation,” she continued, holding her head in her hands. “I will not let him suggest otherwise.”
