Page 65 of A Widow for the Earl
She managed a faint nod.
“I… should leave,” he said, holding his hands up in a gesture of apology. “Yes, do excuse me.”
He departed without another word, his broken code of chivalry calling him away from the theater. After she heard the door close, she turned to look at the stage, wondering if this place might be a little enchanted after all.
What if this was a sign that heisthe exception?
Despite the lingering thrash of panic in her veins, a few stray butterflies fluttered free in her stomach. Perhaps, the curse had just been waiting for the right man to break it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
You idiot! You prized bloody idiot!
Vincent shook with the magnitude of what he had just done as he marched through the manor and swept straight out into the evening air. The power of Beatrice’s kiss still tingled on his lips, taunting him, and though she was gone from his arms, he could somehow still feel her there. His chest missed the touch of her palms, his hand missed the curve of her waist and the soft skin of her cheek, his entire being howling at him to return to the theater to kiss her again.
His entire being, minus his staunch mind.
That kiss had confirmed to his heart what he had already suspected: that he was hopelessly, fruitlessly in love with her. At the same time, the realization had sent his mind into defensive maneuvers, putting up walls and mental artillery to keep her out.
If she had not pulled away, his heart might have won, but the moment he had seen her wide-eyed, worried expression, his mind had swooped in, locking up his heart for traitorous behavior.
You cannot be in love with her, you fool. You do not know how, and you will only disappoint her with your meager attempt.
He had made a vow, long ago, that he would not tend to his own future until each of his sisters was taken care of. That vow was older than any affection he felt for Beatrice. If he was to be the man he had promised to be, he could not neglect his duties now or break his vow.
I dare not risk being the fourth, when Prudence is still unwed.
It was a solid enough excuse, and one he clung onto as he veered left sharply, a decision forming with each determined step.
Crunching across the gravel, he only had one destination in mind: the coach house. The carriage would need to be ready first thing, for he and Prudence would be leaving tomorrow. And until his sister was married, he would not be coming back. The risk, he had decided, was just too great.
The following morning, bright and early, Beatrice breezed down the staircase to the breakfast room. She had slept well, dreaming of secret kisses in darkened theaters, and had awoken in goodspirits. Indeed, she was more certain than ever that their kiss had been a sign, and she meant to pursue it.
I will tell him why I stopped the kiss, and I will tell him my theory.
She smiled nervously to herself, realizing that what she was about to say to Vincent was tantamount to a confession. Absurd, really, considering how they had begun with such animosity. But her heart no longer felt shattered, that kiss putting every tiny piece back together, and if that was not agoodomen, then she did not know what was.
She was in love with him, and she had the most wonderful feeling that he loved her in return.Thatwas something to be trusted.Thatwas something she had never sought but realized she wanted with him.Thatwas a divine gift, and those were not to be rejected because of fear and old beliefs.
At the door to the breakfast room, she paused to take a steadying breath. This could well be the biggest day of her life, and she did not want to begin with jitters and inelegance.
He loves me; I am sure of it.
Repeating the sentiment in her head for courage, remembering every glorious moment of their kiss, she pushed through the door.
Vincent sat in his usual spot, his face hidden by the morning papers. His plate of eggs was untouched, his cup of weak coffee no longer steaming, as if it had been there for some time. Peculiar for a man who let nothing go to waste, but Beatrice reasoned that he might be as nervous as she was, an anxious stomach denying him his appetite.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, settling down in the chair across from him.
With care, he folded up the papers and set them beside his untouched plate of food. But if she had expected fond smiles and bashful looks across the breakfast table, she was to be sorely disappointed.
Vincent appeared as if he had not slept, his dark blue eyes as cold as the deep ocean they took their color from. “Yes, good morning. I had hoped to catch you before we left.” He gestured to the door. “Prudence has already had her breakfast and is packing the last of her belongings.”
“Pardon?” Beatrice croaked, wondering if the glaring light through the windows behind him had somehow affected her hearing.
“She will be spending the final bit of summer and then the autumn with her aunt in the north,” Vincent continued. “It is a compromise, for I hear there isquitea social calendar up there. And I trust her aunt to watch over her far more than I trust my mother.”
Beatrice could do nothing but stare at him, her throat strangled by an invisible hand of crushing devastation. She had been so certain that yesterday evening meant something. He had not answered her question about whether he liked having her around or not, not with words, but hehadanswered with his lips. A magical kiss, now somehow cursed.
