Page 96 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
With a curt nod, the butler ushered a flabbergasted Lady Afferton out of the room.
“Goodbye, Mother,” Beatrice said.
As Prudence disappeared into the corridor, Beatrice felt the tension drain from her body, leaving her feeling strangely light.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kenneth stood facing Beatrice, his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed into her eyes.
The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air.
Then, Beatrice turned to Catherine. “I am sorry about that, Cathy. I did not mean to upset you in your home, especially in your condition?—”
“Nonsense. No harm was done to me, Bea. I am simply glad you are rid of that foul woman. I know she’s your mother and all, but she treats you abominably,” Catherine said, taking Beatrice’s hand into hers.
“Yes. I am glad she’s left too,” Beatrice admitted, “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you worry about me.” Her friend gave her a reassuring smile and then glanced to the direction where Kenneth and Thomas were standing.
Beatrice mirrored her movement, and she caught Kenneth’s gaze again.
Thomas, sensing their need for privacy, gently guided Catherine out of the room.
“Come, my love,” he murmured, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back. “Let us give them a moment alone.”
As the door closed softly behind them, Kenneth and Beatrice remained still, their eyes locked in a silent conversation. The distant sounds of servants moving about the house filtered through the walls, a reminder of the world outside the room.
Beatrice cleared her throat, breaking the spell.
“Perhaps we should find somewhere more private to talk,” she suggested, her voice soft but steady.
“Yes,” Kenneth nodded, following her lead as she guided him up the stairs and into the library.
The room was bathed in warm sunlight, the scent of leather-bound books and the faint traces of oil paint hanging in the air.
As they entered, Kenneth’s gaze fell on a canvas set up near the window, a sketch resting on the easel. Beatrice noticed his curiosity and smiled, moving to stand beside him.
“Catherine wanted to see my work,” she explained, lightly trailing her fingers over the rough texture of the canvas. “I was just beginning to show her when…” she trailed off, the events of the morning still fresh in her mind.
“Beatrice, I need to explain?—”
“Kenneth, about what happened?—”
They stopped, looking at each other.
“Please, you go ahead,” Kenneth urged.
Beatrice took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she looked up at him. “There’s something I need to tell you, Kenneth. About Lord Eastfold and… and my paintings.”
Kenneth’s jaw tightened, but before he could speak, she held up a hand, her eyes pleading.
“Please, let me finish. I need to get this out.”
He nodded, his posture stiff but attentive.
Beatrice wrung her hands, her voice quavering. “I tried to confront Eastfold, to end his blackmail. But he… he refused. He demanded even more paintings with impossible deadlines.” Her voice broke. “I’ve been painting non-stop, and I hate it, Kenneth. I hate what it’s become.”
Kenneth started to interrupt, his face darkening with anger, but Beatrice pressed on.
