“The committee for the memorial exhibit in honor of my father’s work asked that I return for the event. Since I relinquished my place in the Inn for the rest of the year following my father’s death, I had the time and inclination to finally ‘take the plunge,’ as you say.” It was none of Raleigh’s business that Colin’s break from the Inns was indefinite, pending his ability to actually finance his final year.
“Ah. That explains why you’re staying with your aunt.” Setting aside his empty glass, Raleigh templed his fingers and regarded Colin, his gaze sharp. “So you’ve been taking your meals at the Inns these past two years, have you?”
“I have.”
“The law is such an interesting animal, is it not? All those little tidbits and caveats written in over time. So much to learn.”
He was getting at something—of that, Colin had no doubt. “I daresay a barrister is always learning, since the law is ever changing.”
“So you are aware, then, for example, of all the interesting things I can get away with thanks to the privilege of peerage? Such a
fascinating
subject, don’t you think?”
“I am aware that it does not extend to courtesy titles, which I’m assuming yours is since your father is still alive,” Colin replied mildly. “And I’m also aware that the privilege extends to civil offenses, not criminal.”
Raleigh smiled affably, shrugging a shoulder. “So they say. Although it is rather remarkable how one never hears of peers—or those with
courtesy
titles—finding their way to gaol.”
“Should I be envious, then, since my title falls just short of peerage? So convenient to be able to set laws, then exempt oneself from them.”
For the second time since they had sat down, genuine amusement crossed the earl’s face. “Yes, though not so different from arguing the word of law until it bends to suit your purposes. Perhaps we have something in common, after all. Which, incidentally, brings me back to my sister.”
“Oh?” The next words from Raleigh’s mouth would undoubtedly be the ones he came here for in the first place.
“Your attention and your
gifts
,” he said, adding special emphasis, “have made her quite happy. I simply wanted to thank you. My sister’s happiness is my absolute priority in life. Anyone who hurts her will have me to answer to.”
“As it should be,” Colin responded, thinking of his own little sister.
“And as we’ve established, I have no one to answer to but me, and I tend to be
very
understanding with myself.”
“Good to know.”
“Well, then, lovely to meet you,” he said, coming to his feet and offering a perfunctory nod. “If you’re ever in the mood for sports, do seek me out at Gentleman Jackson’s. As one of his longest-standing and most proficient patrons, I’m there every week, without fail.”
Colin nodded, and the earl took his leave, striding from the room without a backward glance. Well, that had quite possibly been the most singular conversation of his life. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to be warning him away from Beatrice, only from hurting her. It was like asking his intentions without coming right out and actually doing so.
Finishing off the contents of his tumbler, Colin set it on the wide arm of the leather chair and leaned back. The question was, what were his intentions?
His original intentions—which, truly, were none at all—had changed in the space of a single kiss. All along he had rejected Beatrice as a wife candidate because he had absolutely nothing to offer someone of her wealth and status. But much had changed since then. In almost every instance, she had been the one to show her preference for him, not the other way around. Learning about his father, becoming part of his world through her association with Colin seemed to be of higher currency than even the loftiest title or the wealthiest coffers to her.
But all that aside, she seemed to want him. To be attracted to him almost as much as he was to her. She had kissed him, well and truly kissed him of her own volition. The desire he felt for her—and not just physically—seemed to be wholly requited.
Therefore . . . why not have intentions toward her? Why not consider her as a possible bride? Heaven knew she would bring more than enough to the table monetarily speaking. But more important than that, he could actually envision having her by his side . . . and in his bed.
He swallowed, letting the pleasure of that thought linger.
His search for a wife went from distasteful to delectable just that fast. He came to his feet, discarding the glass on a side table on his way to the escritoire. It was time he took the reins in their relationship.
M
usic was most assuredly not Beatrice’s forte. In fact, it probably went hand in hand with her lack of dancing prowess. She could appreciate fine quality and exceptional playing, but it just didn’t speak to her the way it did others. She did, however, have a well-developed sense of loyalty, which was why she was seated beside her mother at her friend’s second recital in six months.
Situated in a middle row close to the outside edge, she refrained from nodding her head or tapping her foot as some of the others were doing, lest she betray her terrible lack of rhythm. Instead, she smiled at Sophie and her sister as they did a lovely if slightly incongruous duet. Sophie had a true talent with her oboe, hitting soft, pure notes time and again. Her older sister was as accomplished on the bassoon as Beatrice imagined anyone could be. But when the two totally opposite range instruments were pitted against each other, well, it did rather make one question the wisdom of the pairing.
At least the performance was as memorable as their mother hoped it would be, if not quite for the same reason as she had envisioned. She famously believed that the more unique the instruments, the more memorable the musician.
Poor Sophie. She had asked to have the opportunity to perform a solo, but her mother felt it would be unjustly stealing attention from her older sister. Perhaps Sarah would marry before the next musicale, and Sophie would have her chance.
Movement out of the corner of Beatrice’s eye made her glance right just as a man slipped into the empty seat beside her. In the half second before she actually saw his face, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up at his presence, and she just knew who it would be.
Colin.
When their gazes collided, he flashed her his beautiful smile, all white teeth and masculine perfection. He lingered for the space of a breath before he nodded to Mama, then turned his attention toward the front of the room.
It was all Beatrice could do to turn her gaze back to the musicians. Even with her eyes trained steadfastly forward, she could positively
feel
him beside her. All the pent-up emotions that had been bouncing around inside of her for days came roaring back to life. The last time she had seen him, she had been wrapped in his arms, his lips pressed to hers. . . . She shifted in her seat, trying to distract herself from the direction of her thoughts.
Which, of course, was impossible.
The music seemed oddly distant as every part of her focused in on Colin. Was he as aware of her as she was of him? Did he think of their kiss as often as she did, or remember her touch as keenly as she did his? And that wasn’t all she was curious about. She was dying to know what had happened when her nosy brother had called on Colin two days earlier, but Richard had remained annoyingly closemouthed, saying only that they “understood each other.” What the devil was that supposed to mean?
Now, at least, she knew that whatever the understanding, Richard had not scared poor Colin away. He could have sat in any one of the available seats around the room, but he had chosen to join her. To be near to her.
That had to be a positive sign.
She held perfectly still, looking straight ahead as if she actually saw the Wembleys and wasn’t trying to master the art of peripheral vision. He’d worn another dark jacket this evening, with what appeared to be an emerald waistcoat and efficiently tied white cravat. Simple, unfussy, and attractive, just like him.
She had ascertained from Sophie yesterday that he would be here, but when the music started and he still hadn’t arrived, she had stopped watching the doorway and had resigned herself to a night without him. She really should not be so giddy to have him here now.
The first hints of his fresh and clean yet perfectly masculine scent teased her senses, and she drew a long, slow, utterly indulgent breath. She was instantly put to mind of the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, of the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, of his lips tasting hers. . . .
She drew another breath, this one trying to quiet her pounding heart. It was a wonder no one could hear it over the music. For heaven’s sake, she couldn’t very well go to pieces just because a man sat beside her.
Bowing her head, she focused on her clasped hands on her lap. Her heart seemed to rise with the notes of the oboe, reaching higher with each beat. Cutting a glance toward Colin, she realized that his hand was only inches away from her skirts, settled close enough that if she adjusted her position at all, she could easily close the space between them.
Not that she would do such a thing in the middle of a musicale. Even with the lamps turned down and everyone’s attention on the musicians, she’d be a fool to indulge the impulse. With a simple glance around, anyone could see if his fingers brushed against her skirts, or if her hand settled beside his, or if their fingers should somehow become entwined with one another’s.
Beatrice snapped her head up, diverting her gaze from his closeness and focusing on Sophie as if her life depended on it. The next fifteen minutes were the longest of her life. Knowing that he was so close, yet being unable to speak with him, or even look at him, was a new kind of oddly sweet torment.
When Sophie’s last note finally rang out, the gathering politely clapped and the girls made their curtsies. The lamps were turned up, and with anticipation burning like a torch within her belly, Beatrice stood and met Colin’s smoke-colored gaze.
His expression was all that was proper, but somehow she still felt the tug of attraction between them as he offered a slight bow. “Good evening, Lady Granville, Lady Beatrice. I hope you are both as well as you look.”
Mama’s smile was bright and welcoming as she linked arms with Beatrice. “Yes, thank you. It’s so lovely to see you here, Sir Colin. Are you a lover of music?”
“I am a lover of all forms of beauty, my lady.”
If it had been Richard, the same comment would have been flirtatious and teasing and would probably have been followed up with something about how that’s why he chose to sit beside them. Not Colin. As usual, his words were simple and unembellished. Becoming a barrister was a good choice for him. He had a way of speaking that invited one to trust him.
“You must have inherited that trait from your father,” Beatrice said. “He could find beauty in so much, transcribing it onto the canvas for the rest of us to enjoy.”
“Actually, I like to think my mother had a hand in that. She died when I was very young, but I can still remember her walking through the meadow with me, marveling at the birdsong, the warm breeze, even the shapes of the clouds. I think she would have pointed out every petal of every flower if she could have.”
“What a wonderful memory to have,” Mama said, her eyes full of sympathy even as she smiled softly. Looking to Beatrice, she squeezed her hand before pulling away. “Well, I do believe I’m feeling quite parched.”
Colin gestured toward the refreshment table in the back. “I’d be happy to fetch you some lemonade.”
“Oh, no, thank you. It will be nice to move around a bit after sitting for so long.”
Well, Colin couldn’t have appealed to Mama more if he tried. Bringing up a much-cherished memory of his mother and then politely offering to tend to Mama? It was little wonder she gave Beatrice an almost imperceptible wink as she walked away. Was that a good or a bad thing? On the one hand, he clearly had Mama’s approval. On the other, Beatrice dreaded the thought of Mama pushing the issue between the two of them. As if Richard’s involvement wasn’t bad enough—she didn’t need a meddling mother added to the situation.
Speaking of Richard . . . Beatrice glanced around them as casually as she could. For the most part, people had cleared out of the seating area fairly quickly, leaving them in as private a setting as they could hope for in this sort of gathering. “So, I hear you met yet another member of my family this week.”
He didn’t even blink an eye. “I did.”
“And?”
“I appreciated the opportunity to meet another of your siblings.”
Blast. He was going to make her pry, wasn’t he? “Whatever did you find to talk about? I can’t think of a thing that the two of you might have in common.”
“Not a thing?” he responded, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yes,
one
thing, but surely you didn’t talk about me the whole time.” Or did they? She really didn’t like the thought of the pair of them discussing her over tea. Or, more likely, scotch.
“I was referring to the fact that we are both titled gentlemen with noteworthy fathers and an appreciation for fine spirits, but, yes, there is you, as well.” His expression was completely straightforward, but she knew from the glint in his eyes that he was teasing—the cad.
“You two are about as alike as a horseshoe and a fish. I seriously doubt you sat around debating the merits of your titles.”
His raven brows rose just enough to impart earnestness. “We did, actually. I was even able to use some of my fancy legal terms. I’ve so missed a good debate since my father died and I had to take leave of the Inn to return to Scotland to visit my family.”
She sighed in resignation. He would tell her nothing about the stupid meeting, she could already tell. She’d have to make sure the next meeting was at Granville House, so she could properly eavesdrop. “Fine, fine, have your manly secrets. I’ve got some of my own, anyway.”
“You have manly secrets?”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Not quite. But I do have one secret that
involves
a man. Does that count?”
He leaned toward her the slightest amount, but it was enough to make her breath catch. “Only if I’m the man.” His voice was so low, it felt almost like a caress, making her shiver.
“I see,” she said, her voice as light as her head just then. “Well, then, perhaps you would like to join—”
“No, no,” he said, interrupting her with a raise of his hand. “Doona say another word until I’ve said what I came here to say.”
Curiosity duly piqued, she pressed her lips together and lifted a brow, encouraging him to go on.
“Lady Beatrice, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on an excursion tomorrow?”
How charmingly formal. It all sounded so official when he said it like that. “I’d be delighted. What sort of excursion did you have in mind?”
“The sort that would allow us to continue what we started.”
She blinked, shocked that he would be so bold about the embrace they had shared at the studio. She was usually the one who came right out and said things, not the other way around. Something in her expression amused him, and he made a visible effort to contain the laugh she felt sure was lurking behind his studiously closed lips.
“The portrait, Lady Beatrice. I thought perhaps we could carry on with it.”
The
portrait
— Yes, of course! She grinned up at him, not at all embarrassed to have mistaken his meaning. “I’d like that very much. I’m not certain, however, that I can escape to the studio again.”
“Which is why I made special arrangements.”
“Special arrangements?” He’d done special planning, just for her? Oh, but she liked the thought of that.
His lips turned up in pleasure, his expression somehow more intimate than a full smile. “Indeed. You may tell your family that I’ve invited you to the gallery to view the newly arrived portraits before the exhibit opening on Saturday. Let’s say two o’clock?”
“Very well. What about my supplies?”
“Bring your drawing if you need it, but I shall take care of anything else.”
She smiled, pressing her lips together as she always did. He would take care of everything, would he? Clearly he had put much thought into the outing. “Perfect. I shall see you at two o’clock.”
“Excellent,” he said, his eyes bright with satisfaction. “And I’m sorry to have interrupted you, but I was determined to invite you on the outing before you beat me to it.”
“Under the circumstances, Sir Colin, I forgive you.”
He bowed and left her then, making his way to the small group surrounding Sophie and her sister. She smoothed a calming hand down her front before heading to the refreshment table for something to drink. What exactly was in store for her tomorrow? A thousand hazy possibilities flitted through her mind, making the anticipation all that much greater.
“Good evening, Lady Beatrice. You are looking very well indeed, if I may say so.”
Drat it all, she’d dropped her guard and somehow allowed Mr. Godfrey to sneak up on her. Colin was proving to be detrimental to her normal awareness, it would seem. Irritation mingled with an uncomfortable twinge of guilt as she turned and gave Mr. Godfrey a shallow bob of her head. “I hope you have enjoyed the music, Mr. Godfrey.”
“Not nearly as much as the company. In the absence of dancing this evening, I was wondering if you might like to take the night air out on the terrace with me. The evening is wonderfully mild for this time of year.”
Which up until that moment had been a
good
thing. But the lingering guilt of her unintentional slight in the cartoon weighed heavy on her conscience. It was just a few minutes of her time—a minor penance to assuage her guilt. Dipping her head in agreement, she said, “Certainly. Lead the way.”
He extended his arm, and she rested the very tips of her fingers on the superfine wool of his jacket. He’d applied his cologne water with a heavy hand, and she turned her head away from him in an attempt to breathe unperfumed air.
“I was so glad to see you in attendance this evening, my lady. After my necessary yet regrettable early departure from the Westmoreland ball, I’ve quite been looking forward to stealing you away for a bit.”
“I see.” She didn’t want to affirm or encourage him in any way.
“Especially since that Tate fellow interrupted our time together at Granville House. He does seem to hover about you like the commoner he was born to be.”
She ground her teeth to keep from making any snide remarks. She really wished to survive the encounter with as little engagement between them as possible. They reached the double glass doors at the back of the room, and he ushered her through them with a bit more “assistance” than necessary over the low threshold.