paper in her haste. The handwriting was crisp and clean, exactly as she would have expected. As angry at the situation as she was, she hadn’t expected the sudden welling of emotion as she held his words in her hands.
“Well? Yes, I know, it is dreadfully rude to ask, but is it a romantic letter?” Sophie put her hands to her heart, clearly already expecting it to be so.
Beatrice looked back down at the letter, reading his brief missive once more. What had happened on his journey? He seemed anxious to see her. After what the blackguard Godfrey had said, Beatrice was determined to shield her heart, but it seemed to defy her wishes. Her wildly fluttering pulse was proof enough of that.
“Not romantic, really—just matter-of-fact.”
Sophie’s face fell. “Oh. Well, I suppose he doesn’t wish to put such sentiments in writing—I imagine many men wouldn’t. But now that he’s back, he wishes to see you, doesn’t he? I’ll bet he’s thought of little else since he’s been gone.”
It was likely true—but what were his real intentions? For a person who prided herself on being able to read others, there could be no more frustrating or infuriating question. She refolded the paper and turned her attention to Sophie. “In fact, he does wish to see me. Today, actually.”
That was all the encouragement Sophie’s romantic mind needed. “See? I knew it. Of course you probably already knew it as well, knowing you. Are you going to see him?”
“That depends. Would you mind terribly if we cut short our visit?”
Grinning broadly, she gave a little wink. “Would you look at the time? I simply must be on my way. Enjoy your evening, Beatrice.”
Easily said, impossible to do. Two hours later, she and her maid stood on the landing outside the studio, Bea’s heart pounding so loudly, she could scarcely hear the traffic on the street below. “Rose,” she said, her voice a bit unsteady, “you do realize that Sir Colin and I are betrothed?”
Her maid flushed at once, from her neck all the way to her hairline. “Yes, my lady.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m not going to say or do anything untoward. I was merely going to say that we were hoping for a private conversation. That is why I said we were going out for art supplies. I don’t wish for everyone to be privy to our conversation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You wish for me to . . . give the pair of you some privacy?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. If you wouldn’t mind reading in the back room, I would very much appreciate it.” She might as well use the betrothal card while she still had it. Heaven knew where things would stand after this conversation.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she said, offering the best smile she could muster. Turning toward the door, she drew a deep, bracing breath, lifted her hand, and knocked.
Colin exhaled the breath he had been holding since he heard quiet footsteps on the stairs, waiting for Beatrice to knock. Counting to three, he whisked open the door. God, but she was beautiful. In her own special Beatrice way, but absolutely beautiful nonetheless.
“Beatrice.” He should have probably said something much more eloquent, but for the life of him he could barely breathe, let alone make a proper sentence. He wanted to snag an arm around her waist, pull her to him, and kiss her until they were both gasping for air.
“Colin,” she returned, her eyes giving away nothing as to what exactly she was thinking. She turned and nodded to her maid, and the girl scurried past her, headed for the back room.
Well, that worked out rather better than he had hoped. The moment she was out of view, he turned to Beatrice, ready to do exactly what he had just imagined.
As if sensing his intention, she held up both hands. “I’m here only to talk.” Even as she said the words, her gaze traveled over him, burning a path everywhere it touched. Her lips were parted, her pupils so large as to make her eyes seem fathomless. But he knew the significance of her words. She hadn’t softened in his absence.
He pressed his lips together and nodded, inviting her in. She walked past him, maintaining an arm’s distance between them. The air stirred around him, chilled from outside and flavored with the faintest hint of lilac. It didn’t last nearly long enough as it carried past him and mixed with the warmth from the fire he’d lit when he arrived almost an hour earlier.
Her eyes flitted around the room, tripping past the easel that held the primed, blank canvas from his father’s cabin—another gift for her. His gaze lingered for a second on the object hidden beneath an inconspicuous white sheet, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it with all the pomp and circumstance due the painting that would save a marriage.
Closing the door, he turned to face her, not even trying to hide the emotion from his eyes. “I missed you.” The words were quiet. Sincere.
She swallowed, accepting them without comment. She met his gaze, but with the wariness of a woman meeting a strange man on the street. Reluctance was one thing, but why the hell did she look so blasted wary? All he could think about was wrapping his arms around her and kissing her senseless, and she looked like judge and jury at a case he knew nothing about.
“Is something amiss? More than the obvious, I mean?” Damn it, now
Her eyes flared with the spark he knew so well, but she held the rest of herself in icy, rigid control. His stomach dropped as if he’d walked off an unexpected step. “That depends,” she said, her voice too tight to be called neutral.
“On?”
She tilted her head, watching him through slightly narrowed eyes, as if trying to peer into his soul. He left himself as open as possible to her scrutiny—he had nothing to hide.
“On how well you know Mr. Godfrey, for starters.”
“Mr. Godfrey?” What the hell did that jackass have to do with anything? “You’ve been with me both times I have encountered the man. I’d say I know him not at all, other than his status as a wastrel.”
“You know he’s a gambler?”
“Vaguely.”
She started pacing, slowly, but with pent-up energy that bespoke agitation. “Could ‘vaguely’ be used to encompass something as quickly done as, say, making a wager?”
“I beg your pardon?” His impatience with this line of questioning made his voice sharper than he intended, but what the bloody hell was she getting at?
She stopped abruptly, turning to face him straight-on. “A wager. As in, did you make a wager with Mr. Godfrey?”
“Of course not! Why would you think such a fool thing?”
She was not happy with his wording, but he wasn’t happy with the insinuation he was somehow colluding with Godfrey. “Because he said as much.”
“And you believed
Her spine went as stiff as mortar. “I didn’t
