To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(66)

“Wonderful news.” Beatrice smiled.

“Yes.” Emeline cast a quick, curious glance between him and Beatrice. “I’m sorry, but aren’t you related to the present Earl of Blanchard?”

“The usurper,” Reynaud growled.

“I’m his niece,” Beatrice said.

“And my soon-to-be wife,” he stated.

“Hmm. About that,” Emeline murmured. “Tante said you’d only been home for less than a month.”

Beatrice stirred beside him. “I’m afraid Reynaud swept me off my feet.”

Emeline was frowning now, which irritated Reynaud. Seven years apart and his baby sister thought she could tell him how to live his life? He opened his mouth but felt a sharp elbow in his side. Surprised, he glanced down at Beatrice, who was looking quite sternly at him.

As if by some feminine cue, the talk turned to lighter matters then. Hartley explained his business dealings in Boston and London, and Emeline told the story of how they’d met and what had happened since Reynaud’s absence, her news little different than that he’d heard from Tante Cristelle, but it was wonderful to hear her voice. Reynaud let the talk flow about him, content to simply sit and listen to his sister and Beatrice. This was his family now.

Finally, Emeline declared herself weary, and Hartley leaped to help her up from her seat.

As the ladies made their farewells, Hartley turned to Reynaud and said quietly, “I’m glad you made it home.”

Reynaud nodded. He was home now, wasn’t he? “I hear you ran through the woods to bring back the rescue party for those who were captured.”

Hartley shrugged. “It was all I could do. Had I known they’d taken you alive, I would’ve searched until I’d found you.”

It was an easy vow to make, seven years after the fact, but Hartley’s face was grave, his eyes serious and intent, and Reynaud knew the other man meant it.

“You didn’t know,” he said, and held out his hand.

Hartley grasped his hand and shook it firmly. “Welcome home.”

And Reynaud could only nod again and look away, lest he lose his composure entirely.

Reynaud escorted Emeline and her family to the front door, then returned to the sitting room to find Beatrice pouring herself another cup of tea. He paced to the mantel, paused to glance at a small shepherdess—had it been his mother’s?—then went to the windows. All the while, he felt Beatrice’s gaze on him.

She set her cup down on the table beside her and eyed him. “Are you feeling well?”

He scowled out the window. “Why do you think something is wrong?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Forgive me, but you seem restless.”

He inhaled, watching a carriage rumble by below. “I don’t know. I have Emeline back, my family back, but something’s still missing.”

“Perhaps you need time to adjust,” she said quietly. “You’ve been seven years away, lived a very different lifestyle. Perhaps you simply need to settle.”

“What I need is my title,” he growled, turning to her.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “And when you have the title and all that goes with it, you’ll be content?”

“Are you suggesting otherwise?”

She glanced down at her teacup. “I’m suggesting that you might need more than a title and money to be happy.”

His head reared back as if struck. What was this? Why did she challenge him now? “You don’t know me,” he said as he strode to the door. “You don’t know what I need, so please refrain from speculating, madam.” And he left her there.

A WEEK LATER, Beatrice hid her trembling hands in the folds of her wedding dress. It was quite a smart frock. Lottie had said that just because she was having a hurried wedding didn’t mean she couldn’t have a new dress for it. So she wore a lovely shot silk that changed from green to blue as she moved. But despite the beauty of her new gown, she couldn’t control the trembling of her fingers.

Perhaps this was normal wedding-day nerves. She tried to pay attention to the bishop marrying her and Reynaud, but his words seemed to run together into a senseless stream of droning sound.

She very much hoped she wasn’t about to faint.

Was she doing the right thing? She still didn’t know even as she stood at the altar. Reynaud had promised to care for Uncle Reggie, had promised to let him live in Blanchard House no matter the outcome of the fight for the title. She’d made Uncle Reggie safe, and perhaps that was reason enough to marry this man, even if he didn’t love her.

He didn’t love her.

Beatrice frowned down at the posy of flowers in her hands. She’d wanted a man to love her for herself, but she was marrying a man out of cold calculation instead. Was that enough? She wasn’t sure. Reynaud might never soften his heart sufficiently to love her. In the last few weeks, he’d seemed harder than ever, more focused on his goal of attaining his title and the power that went with it. If he never came to love her, could she endure this marriage?

But then Reynaud turned to her and placed a simple gold ring on her finger and kissed her gently on the cheek. Suddenly the whole thing was over, and it was too late for second thoughts or regrets. Beatrice drew a deep breath and placed her hand on Reynaud’s elbow, holding more tightly than she normally might have.