relaxed considerably, and he held out a hand to her. “Good morning.”
The music of his voice so early in the day was like an unexpected present, tied with a satin bow and set in her lap. She was definitely going to like waking up to him each morning.
She went to him, a slight blush heating her cheeks and a not so slight grin on her lips. “Good morning to you as well.” Lifting onto her toes, she kissed him full on the lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your morning visit? And how can I make it happen again?”
He chuckled reluctantly, as if wanting to remain stern, but unable to do so. Good. If he was going to surprise her for a visit, she wanted it to be on good terms.
“I’d have come earlier, if I had known it was your wish. As it happens,” he said, his voice reverting to Serious Colin, “I came after my breakfast was interrupted with a certain magazine being dropped on my plate.”
Beatrice’s enthusiasm slipped, sliding backward toward caution. “Oh?”
He reached into his jacket and extracted a rather rumpled copy of
His voice was soft, not at all accusing. How best to proceed? He didn’t seem angry or censorious, but clearly he wasn’t happy. Now that he was so close, she could see the faint lines creasing the skin surrounding his eyes. She accepted the magazine, looking over her handiwork once more. “Recognize my superior drawing skills, did you?” Her words were light and teasing even as worry tightened her throat. There was no telling what he would say.
“I recognized something, to be sure.”
“Sir Godfrey?”
“Him, the background, the point of the scene.” He shook his head, running a hand at the back of his neck. “Did you not consider that he would see this? He’d know in moments that it was one of the two of us, and we all know I am not the artist of my family.”
Dread coiled within her, just like when she first realized that she had unintentionally drawn Mr. Godfrey in the last letter. She lifted her chin. “I don’t know about that. All I know is that he had tried to ruin my life—and very nearly succeeded.” The familiar fire of righteous anger sparked to life within her as she looked at the scene again. “So what if he recognizes me? If he says anything, it will only be confirming that he is a heartless fortune hunter.”
“And once he sees this, do you think he will be feeling particularly rational about it?”
She put a hand to her middle to try to soothe the building turmoil. She wasn’t wrong. Perhaps imprudent, but not wrong. “And will you be ashamed of me if he does?” Her chin hitched up a bit higher, an almost unconscious defense.
He looked down at her, frustration dulling his stony gaze. With a sigh, he reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. “Never,
The warmth of his touch soaked into her skin, calming her. “I’m making a difference for the ladies of the
“A bit of scandal? Practically naming a well-liked son of a peer as a villain in a publication distributed to half the manors, halls, and mansions in England may qualify as something more than a bit.”
He was very good at putting things in a way that made them sound much worse than they were. She hoped. “I still stand behind it. I’m proud of it, actually. I had hoped you might be as well.”
He made no effort to hide his disbelief. “You were planning on telling me, then?”
“Yes, of course.” She paused, tilting her head. “Someday, anyway.” She grinned impishly, a sly, closemouthed upturning of her lips designed to elicit at least a small smile from him.
“Someday? You mean when we’re old and gray and I haven’t the strength to chastise you?”
“Something like that.”
Offering a very slight smile, he pulled her to him, slow but steady. “I’m fairly certain there is a statute of limitations on how long after an incident a confession holds value.”
“Well, there must be some mystery between us. How else are we to keep life interesting?”
“Somehow,” he said, dropping a soft, altogether too quick kiss on her upturned lips, “I doona think that will be a problem for the two of us.”
“I—” She paused, a sound from below catching her attention. “What was that?” She pulled away from him, hating the loss of his warmth but too curious not to investigate the muffled noises arising from beyond the partially closed door.
“What—”
“Shh!” She put her finger to her lips, dashing on the toes of her slippers for the door. She could hear voices, both male and female, rising from the entry hall below. The echo on the marble was distorting the words, making it impossible to discern what anyone was saying—or who was saying it, for that matter.
Grasping the knob, she pulled it open and poked her head out. A servant dashed by, rushing toward the entry hall and all of the commotion below. Just as the footman descended the stairs, someone came up in the opposite direction. All at once, Beatrice recognized the blond woman ascending the last few steps, and she gasped in surprise.
“Evie!”
Beatrice hadn’t been exaggerating when she had warned Colin of just how overwhelming her family could be when they were all together. Within the space of ten minutes, he went from having an intimate discussion with his betrothed to being swallowed up by the chaos of introductions to her sister, brother-in-law, niece, and, most unnerving of all, her father.
For someone who had been traveling for a day and a half, the marquis looked remarkably well put together. His graying hair was combed back from his forehead, revealing slightly tanned skin and a pair of piercing blue eyes, not so very different from Raleigh’s. He exuded authority as some might wear cologne. When they had been introduced, he had eyed Colin up and down as if surmising his worth in a single glance.
Unnerving, even for someone who was studying to be subjected to exactly that sort of perusal for the rest of his career.
After five minutes of chatter, Granville had put a hand to Colin’s shoulder. “Let’s have a talk, shall we?”
As much as his mind conjured images of being taken to a dungeon and questioned under duress, the marquis led him to a spacious and comfortable billiards room, full of masculine details like claw-footed furniture and the distinctive scent of fine tobacco.
The marquis gestured to an impressive humidor. “Can I offer you a cheroot? Cigar?”
“A kind offer, but no, thank you.” He doubted it would be a credit to him if he was coughing through the interview. His sister had weak lungs when it came to smoke and soot, so it was a habit he had never picked up.
Nodding, Granville bypassed the box and settled into one of the wide chairs, the leather creaking beneath his weight. Leaning back in the chair, he regarded Colin with a slight tilt of his head. “I imagine you expected me to lead you to the dungeon and interrogate you.”
“The thought had crossed my mind. You’ll be wanting to ensure your daughter’s happiness, after all.”
“You may be relieved to know that I trust my son implicitly. If he has deemed you a good match for Beatrice, then I will defer to his judgment. However,” he said, his voice ever casual, “that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish to get to know my future son-in-law. How has it been, stepping into society for the first time?”
“Well enough. People seem to have respected my father and are extending a certain amount of courtesy to me.”
“Courtesy or curiosity?”
Colin allowed a small grin. The man was astute. “Both, I think. Then again, I think my father was always a bit of a curiosity to the
“I met him once, you know. He didn’t necessarily frequent the same events we did, but he attended the Duke of Thornton’s ball a year and a half ago.” He gave a soft snort of amusement, shaking his head. “Damned if the man didn’t turn down my attempts to hire him.”
