To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(42)

She glanced up to see Jeremy’s eyes closed, his face drawn. She set down her cup to rise, but as if he knew she was looking, he opened his eyes.

He blinked and frowned. “I hadn’t thought Nate Graham such a bad sort. Has he taken a mistress and flaunted her?”

Beatrice hesitated but then decided to play along and pretend she hadn’t seen that moment of weakness. “Lottie didn’t say there was another woman. I don’t think there is one, actually. She said Mr. Graham took her for granted, that any lady would do as well as her for his wife. I confess I’m . . .”

“Disillusioned?” Jeremy asked softly.

She nodded, mute.

“Men can be very disillusioning, I’m afraid,” Jeremy said. “We’re but things of clay, bumbling about, stumbling over the feelings of those dearest to us. That is why we rely so heavily on the compassion of you ladies, for if you ever lost your pity, took offense, and abandoned us en masse, we would be quite lost, you know.”

Beatrice smiled at his play. “You’re not like that, dear Jeremy.”

“Ah, but we both know I am not much like other men, either, dear Bea,” he retorted lightly. Before she could reply, he continued. “Have you discussed the veteran’s bill with Lord Hope?”

“Well, I started to,” she said slowly.

“And?”

She shook her head. “He’s intent on regaining the title and cannot consider other matters at the moment.”

“Ah.” Jeremy looked down at his teacup, frowning.

Beatrice hurried to say, “He did speak highly of his men—the soldiers he led in battle—and that makes me a little optimistic that he might be sympathetic to our cause. The problem is convincing him to act, I think. I still haven’t figured out how exactly to do that.”

“He sounds rather selfish,” Jeremy murmured.

“I don’t think he is,” Beatrice said slowly. “Not truly. It’s just that he’s so focused on regaining what he’s lost, there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else right now.”

“Hmm. I think we all try to get back the life that we’ve left behind when we return home, we old soldiers.” Jeremy’s voice was growing weaker. “The problem is, some things can’t be regained once lost. I wonder if he’s realized that yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“In any case, you should speak to him soon. The bill will come up before parliament within the next month. Our time is growing short—so short.” Jeremy closed his eyes again as he leaned against the pillows.

She bit her lip. “You’re tired. I should go.”

“No, don’t.” He opened his eyes, so blue and clear against the white of his pillow. “I adore your company, you know.”

“Oh, Jeremy,” she said, touched enough that her throat swelled. “I—”

Something thumped loudly in the downstairs hall.

She looked at the bedroom’s shut door. “What—?”

Shouting came from below, advancing closer as a male voice bellowed, “I’ll see her, damn your eyes! Get out of my way!”

It sounded very like Lord Hope. Beatrice half rose from her chair. “I can’t believe he would—”

The voices were rapidly advancing closer. If she didn’t do something, he was going to burst into the room. Beatrice ran out into the hallway, closing Jeremy’s bedroom door firmly behind her. Coming up the stairs, looking like a charging bull, Lord Hope’s face was grim. Putley trailed him, several steps behind, his wig lost, his face frightened as he pleaded with the viscount.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Discovering your lover,” he growled as he strode toward her.

“I don’t have a lover!”

He stepped to the side to go around her to the door, and she mirrored his movement.

“Go home!” she hissed. “You’re making a frightful ass out of yourself.”

“Brought it on yourself, miss,” Putley crowed somewhere behind Lord Hope.

“Do shut up, Putley!” Beatrice cried, and then squeaked because Lord Hope had eliminated her barrier by simply picking her up and moving her to the side. “Oh, don’t!”

But it was too late. He’d opened the door, barged into the room, and then stopped dead, blocking her view.

She heard a breathless laugh from Jeremy. “Lord Hope, I presume?”

“Goddamn,” the viscount said.

“Oh, get out of the way!” Beatrice shoved hard at his great big stupid back.

He moved obligingly to the side.

She hurried past him. “Jeremy, are you all right?”

“Quite all right,” he said, his color high and hectic. “Haven’t had this much excitement in years.”

“And it isn’t good for you.” She took his hand and turned to glare at Lord Hope, still standing by the door. The man didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“I told you”—he casually kicked the door closed behind him—“discovering you in a lover’s nest. It seems I might be mistaken.”

“Might be?” She balled her free hand and set it on her hip. “You’ve been a complete and utter idiot and have insulted both me and Jeremy. Obviously we aren’t lovers—”