Beauty in Breeches(21)

‘Drink this. It will put some colour into your cheeks and give you a little courage.’

Beatrice accepted the glass and took a sip.

They heard whispers from those around them. A stout, elderly woman, wearing a red-satin turban and standing close enough for them to overhear, joyfully remarked behind a beringed hand to her companion that Miss Fanshaw was so desperate to find a husband that she’d had to do the proposing herself. Another was heard to say that she remembered her when she had come to London with her cousin Astrid. Astrid was a sweet young thing, whereas Miss Fanshaw had such a high opinion of herself.

Julius knew the instant he looked at Beatrice that she’d heard the malicious remarks; because he couldn’t offer her any comfort, he slid his arm about her waist and moved towards the dance floor where couples were whirling about to the lilting strains of a waltz. He felt anger and protectiveness begin to simmer inside him, emotions that leapt into steady flame as other venomous remarks reached his ears. He was unable to understand why women were driven to such heartless, vengeful jealousy.

‘This is worse than I imagined,’ he said, silencing one malicious female with a slicing look.

He understood why she would naturally dread being the focal point of so many fascinated gossips, but not until she actually lowered her head and bit her trembling lip did he realise that her embarrassment was going to be compounded a hundred times now she was thrust into the limelight.

He was right. Beatrice turned away from him as if she couldn’t bear to be there any longer, but Julius caught her arm in a gentle but unbreakable grip. Instinct and experience told him that a little tender persuasion could vastly further her cause and he was prepared to resort to that, only if logic and honesty weren’t enough to persuade her.

‘Don’t give them anything more to talk about and condemn you for.’

Beatrice stared at him dubiously. ‘How can I possibly do that? I’ve done all I can to ruin my reputation before I even started and heaped more embarrassment on you,’ she said, realising he was a person with feelings that could be hurt. ‘I am being ridiculed, scorned and snubbed—and even pitied by some, which is the worst thing of all. I wouldn’t blame you if you were to drag me out of here and take me back to Standish House—except that I can’t go back there. Aunt Moira would take one look at me and laugh, say I told you so and close the door in my face.’

Julius hid his amusement behind a mask of genteel imperturbability. ‘Dear me. This isn’t like the reckless, devil-may-care young lady I have come to know. Am I to assume you’ve had a change of heart, and would like to be free of me?’ he taunted gently.

She scowled up at him. ‘The idea is beginning to have a certain appeal, but don’t get your hopes up, Julius,’ she replied stonily. ‘I am fully committed.’

He laughed lightly. ‘I thought you might say that.’

On the sidelines where she was conversing with an acquaintance, Lady Merrick, seeing what was happening, excused herself and marched towards Beatrice like a protective mother hen guarding her chick. She collected Lord Caruthers and his wife on her way to add to the ranks. Her back was ramrod straight and her jaw thrust forwards in an aggressive stance that dared anyone to question her judgement in lending her enormous consequence to Beatrice.

Julius shot the three of them a grateful look. Right now Beatrice was vulnerable and he didn’t want to do or say anything that would make things worse. So, he ignored the instinct to reach up and brush back a wayward tress of shiny hair from her cheek and squelched the temptation to tell her that he had no intention of dragging her anywhere unless it was into his bed. He was not, however, morally opposed to diverting her resistance with as much alcohol as he could pour down her.

‘Drink your wine and then we’ll dance—and smile, for God’s sake. If we are to beat the critics and quell the gossip, it is imperative that we put up a united front—in public at least,’ he said in a steely voice that was in vivid contrast to the expression of bland courtesy he was wearing for the sake of their fascinated audience. His eyes shot to hers as an absolutely ridiculous thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘You can dance, I hope?’

Beatrice wondered how he would react if she were to tell him that she hadn’t danced since the dancing master Aunt Moira had employed to teach her and Astrid had left Standish House two years ago. Instead, with a sparkle in her eyes and a tilt to her head, the smile she gave him was quite sublime.

‘Like a fairy,’ she quipped.



Eventually, to Beatrice’s relief, the flurry created by their conspicuous arrival died down. But when Julius led her on to the dance floor and gathered her into his arms for a waltz, she wasn’t at all sure she could do it, but the challenge in his amber eyes made demurring unthinkable. Giddiness threatened to take hold of her.

‘Relax.’ Julius looked down at her. She almost missed her step, but his arm tightened, holding her steady. ‘Focus your eyes on me and follow my lead,’ he said, steering her into the first gliding steps as the graceful music washed over them.

Of their own volition Beatrice’s feet followed where he led and her mind opened to the sensations of the dance. She was aware of the subtle play of her skirts about her legs and the hardness of her companion’s thighs against hers. The closeness of his body lent to her nostrils a scent of his cologne, fleeting, inoffensive, a clean masculine smell. The seductive notes of the music were mirrored in their movements and the sway was a sensual delight. Julius’s hand at her waist was firm, his touch confident as he whisked her smoothly around the ballroom.

After looking at them attentively, the couples on the dance floor renewed their interest in the music. Conversations were resumed and everyone got on with enjoying themselves.

Julius stared down at the lovely young woman in the provocative green gown, her eyes as they observed the other dancers both wary and stormy. In the three weeks since he’d kissed her in the garden at Standish House, he’d made no further attempts to kiss her or embrace her. In his opinion he’d been a perfect gentleman—considerate, courteous, even casual—and the energy of a sexually aroused male, the need in him to make this woman totally his, went by her like the dancers whirling around.

Determined to have the lead in how their marriage was conducted, he said, ‘There is something you should understand, Beatrice.’

She tilted her head to his. ‘What is it?’

‘When you are my wife, I expect you to behave as if you married me because we are in accord—that you care for me more than my title and my money, that you will never discredit my name or your own. What transpires between us in private is our affair. I will conduct myself publicly as if I were the most devoted and faithful of husbands. I will not knowingly do anything to cause you even a moment of humiliation, even though there will be times when you may have cause to regret our bargain.’

Beatrice stared up at him. Bargain? What bargain? her mind warned her in a quiet voice. The silent argument was overturned by the effect of a sombre, handsome face, a deep hypnotic voice and the powerful, tall and strong male body that loomed over her. Here was a man who, to her surprise, was offering to shield her from the world and shoulder her burdens. The combination of that and his good looks was becoming dangerously appealing, particularly because he wasn’t offering love or even affection.

‘In the eyes of the world,’ he went on, ‘you will be my cherished wife.’

Cherished! Beatrice couldn’t believe what he’d said. It was a word that was sensitive and sentimental. It didn’t apply to what was between them and it was totally unlike anything she’d expected him to say.

‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘it works both ways. I shall expect the same promises from you. Is that agreeable?’

His future wife bit her lip, considered for a moment, then nodded and with a winsome smile gazed up at him. This was better and much more than she could have hoped for, although she couldn’t understand why there was a frisson of disappointment underlying her relief. ‘If you are asking me to give a convincing performance for all the world to see that we are a truly happily married couple while continuing as we are now, then I will do my best.’

He looked irritated by her reply, but said, ‘I’m glad we are in accord on that, but as my wife you will find that things will not be the same as they are now. Marriage will change everything.’

Beatrice gazed into his unfathomable eyes, seeing the cynicism lurking in the depths. ‘I don’t mean to pry—what you do has nothing to do with me—but I have learned from living in the Merrick household for the past weeks that you are disenchanted with life. I know I shall be marrying a man I don’t love—a man who doesn’t love me. That’s what makes it so perfect. Our marriage won’t be complicated by messy emotions. We’re the perfect solution for each other. You could say this was fate—if you were superstitious, that is.’

‘Which I’m not,’ Julius said with a bite in his voice. ‘I don’t believe in fate.’