Page 54 of Project Duchess
“Then there’s naught to find.”
Sheridan crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you sure Bea’s pretty blushes and sweet smiles aren’t influencing you to ignore the obvious?”
Grey bristled. “If you’ll recall, I was skeptical of your suspicions from the beginning, when I’d barely met Miss Wolfe.”
A shadow passed over Sheridan’s face. “Sorry, old chap. I’m just . . . frustrated we haven’t discovered anything concrete.”
So was Grey. But he didn’t want to tell Sheridan what he’d noticed aboutBeatrice’sreaction to things until he had more confirmation.
The next morning, Grey was surprised when Beatrice entered the foyer alone. “Where’s your brother?”
“I could ask the same thing about yours,” she said archly. “And by the way, for a man who has supposedly been helping me improve my manners the past few days, you could use some improvement in yours. A ‘good morning’ is the usual greeting, I’ve been told. Not ‘where’s your brother?’ barked at the first person to enter your current abode.”
She’d managed a passable version of his tone when he was demanding something. It was disconcerting, to say the least. “Do forgive me, Miss Wolfe,” he said, his lips twitching. “Good morning. How are you today? Where, pray tell, is your brother?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a sufficient greeting for you?”
Biting her lip as if to keep from smiling, she said, “I suppose. And to answer your question—Joshua is outside with the foxhounds.”
“Ah, the dogs again. If you’re hoping they’ll keep me at bay, it didn’t work very well last time with the pointers.”
A blush seeped into her cheeks. “What nonsense. I merely thought they could use the exercise.” When he chuckled, she tipped up her pretty chin. “Where is the rest ofyourfamily, Your Grace?”
“So we’re back to ‘Your Grace,’ I see.” When she made no reply to that, he stifled a curse. “Sheridan won’t be joining us. He has too much work to finish before meeting with his solicitor. Gwyn is still getting ready and said to tell you she’d be down shortly. Mother wanted to join us, but forgot that she’d already scheduled a fitting for a new mourning gown.”
Today Beatrice wore the same practical bonnet she’d worn the day they’d walked together before, but this time she’d paired it with a black wool redingote that would be perfectly presentable for a woman in mourning—except for one addition—a green knit scarf wrapped about her neck.
“You look like a rose in bloom.” He had no idea where the idiotic words came from except shedidlook like that with her cheeks aflame and eyes alight. Not to mention the scarf. “It’s the green,” he said, gesturing to it. “Reminds me of . . . a stem. You know.”
When her color deepened, she looked evenmorelike a rose in bloom. “I couldn’t find my black one, I don’t have a white one, and it’s chilly today.”
Her words spilled out in a rush, as hers often did when she was nervous. He didn’t mind that as much as he ought. He was so used to society women who governed every syllable that he relished being with someone who never did.
“Trust me, I’m happy to see it. I’m growing tired of everyone wearing unrelieved black with only bits of white here and there.” He smiled. “And I doubt the dogs will care whether you follow the mourning attire rules to the letter.”
He’d hoped to make her laugh, but her curt words yesterday proved she was still unhappy with him over their intimate encounter. So he wasn’t surprised when she said nothing.
Not that he blamed her. He’d as much as told her he could never marry her, and without giving her a reason. But how could he tell her of the years he’d spent hardening himself to resist his uncle’s torments and manipulations? That giving a person power over him—even a wife—was too much to bear? That letting someone in, letting them twist his emotions, however unwittingly . . .
No, he couldn’t.
Yet he hated how nonchalant she’d been about their encounter last week:I bear you no ill will, sir. I merely think it wise we do no more dancing in private, if you take my meaning.
He took it, all right. She wasn’t about to indulge in that sort of behavior with a man who wouldn’t marry her. And though it was no more than he’d expected—and he liked to think he would never prey on her in such a way, anyway—it chafed him. Because it meant she could rid herself of her desire for him more easily than he seemed able to rid himself of his for her.
Her continued silence irritated him, prompting him to say what he shouldn’t to get a rise out of her. “I suspect that Mother’s real reason for absenting herself today is to play matchmaker by allowing Gwyn to have your brother all to herself. And me to haveyouall to myself.”
At last he got a reaction. The stare she gave him would have frozen steam. “You should have told her that wouldn’t work. As you’ve made quite clear,you’re not looking for a wife. Or at least not one like me.”
That wasnotwhat he’d intended her to think, and she knew it. “Damn it, Beatrice—”
Gwyn chose that moment to hurry down the stairs. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” She walked up to kiss Beatrice on both cheeks. “Do forgive me for being late. My maid was havingsucha time fixing my hair. Every little lock of it went whatever direction it wished, no matter how hard she worked. And she’s usually a magician. But then, ittakesa magician to control my unruly curls.”
“At least you have curls.” Beatrice smiled. “My hair lies flat and straight no matter what I do.”
Gwyn shook her head as the footman helped her on with her black pelisse. “Your hair is lovely as always.” Then she glanced about. “Where is your brother?”
“He’s outside with the dogs. We decided—”
“Now see here, Miss Wolfe,” Grey broke in, his temper finally boiling over, “why didn’t you giveGwynthe lecture about asking where your brother is?”
