Colin gave a perfunctory nod, accepting the praise. “Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some very important business to attend to.” With one last look at the portrait of his father, he turned and strode from the room.
Colin was out of breath and thoroughly disheveled by the time he arrived in front of the black lacquered door of Granville House. He bent over, sucking in a lungful of frigid air just as the front door opened. The butler looked down at him, showing no reaction whatsoever to seeing a doubled-over gentleman on his front stoop. Extending a folded white piece of paper, he said, “For you, sir.”
And then he shut the door.
What the hell? Standing up straight, he turned the paper over in his hand. There were no markings of any kind, just a small dollop of red sealing wax holding it closed. Wasting no time, he ripped open the paper. His brow furrowed in surprise. There were no words, merely a sketch of a wide arching window with indistinct rooftops beyond.
Nothing more, but it was enough.
Colin’s feet were moving before he even stuffed the drawing in his pocket. For whatever reason, Beatrice wished for him to go to his father’s studio, and he didn’t wish to waste even a single moment.
He hurried down the street, dodging pedestrians and darting across the street between carriages and carts. The studio was only a few blocks away, but with anticipation powering through his veins like a drug, it had never seemed farther.
It wasn’t until he reached the building and headed up the stairs that it occurred to him that she could just want to officially end the betrothal. Well, today he was a free man, no longer a fortune hunter, and he planned to fight for what he wanted.
He didn’t even pause at the landing. The knob turned easily in his hand and he strode inside, his gaze seeking nothing but Beatrice’s face.
She stood beside the window, her eyes sparkling in the late-afternoon sun. Her gaze was made all the more brilliant by the gorgeous Eton blue of her gown, the perfect marriage for the blues and greens of her eyes. She stood straight and as tall as her petite frame would allow, her blond curls piled on her head for an extra bit of height.
He didn’t say a word, just slammed the door behind him and walked straight toward her. She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn’t about to let her words get in the way of things now. He didn’t stop until his body was pressed firmly against hers and his hands were cupping either side of her jaw. Not allowing even a second for her to protest, he captured her mouth with his, taking full advantage of her open mouth.
He poured every ounce of him into his kiss, pulling her against him as his tongue delved into her mouth. He had expected her to fight, or resist, or even remain stock-still, but she didn’t do any of these. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with just as much passion as he did her.
Heat shot through his body at her response, and he half groaned, half growled as he backed her up against the wall. She gave a breathy little moan, unleashing whatever restraint existed within him. There was no gentleness between them, just raw passion that sent waves of sensation to every nerve ending in his body. He pressed hard against her, cursing the winter clothes that hid her skin from him.
The kiss was more all consuming than he ever imagined a kiss could be, connecting them in a way that went beyond the physical. She was his, damn it. She was meant for him and he for her.
At last he pulled away, but he didn’t give up control. His gaze burned into hers as he jerked the buttons of his greatcoat open. “I love you, Beatrice Moore.” He was still panting from the kiss as he tugged off the coat and tossed it to the floor. “You can keep your blasted money, every last penny.” He wrenched off his gloves, letting them fall to the ground without notice. “I want you to be my wife.
Her eyes were wide, her pupils huge as she watched him, her chest heaving just as much as his. He put a bare hand to the exposed skin of her chest and nearly closed his eyes at the explosion of sensation the touch caused. “Do you feel that? That is passion, pure and simple.”
With his other hand, he lifted her gloved fingers to his own chest, pressing hard. “And do you feel that? My heart beats for you, Beatrice, just as yours pounds for me. You canna hide that, or deny the truth of it.”
He drew in a deep breath, making his chest rise with her hand still upon it. “Do you feel that? I breathe for you. I can live without you, Bea, but I doona
He gathered both her hands in his, twining their fingers together. “Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Beatrice Eloise Moore, will you—”
“No, don’t say it.”
His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. Damn it all. After all of this—
“Not yet, anyway.”
He jerked his gaze up to meet hers. She didn’t look away, didn’t flinch at all. Instead, she gave his fingers a little squeeze.
“First, I have something I need to say.”
“All right,” he said, his voice gruff. Hope was the cruelest of all torture devices. He hoped to God Beatrice wasn’t stringing him along.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I think it’s best if I just be as honest as possible.” She drew in a breath and licked her lips. “I, Beatrice Moore, am a complete and total imbecile.”
His mouth dropped open in a caricature of himself. “I beg your pardon?”
“No,” she said fiercely, fire coming to her eyes. “I beg
Forgive her? The relief was so acute, it was almost painful, like a limb that had gone to sleep and was roaring back to life with pins and needles. He looked down at her, hardly able to contain the joy that seemed to inhabit every part of him. “Are you finished?”
For the first time, she looked truly uncertain. With her brow coming together in a little vee, she nodded.
“In that case, Beatrice Eloise Moore, will you still marry me?”
She laughed, squeezing his hands tightly. “For heaven’s sake, don’t do that to me!”
“Is that a yes?”
“Aye,” she said in a teasing Scottish accent. She wrapped their joined hands around his back and tugged him flat against her. “And now that I’ve found my
“They love you.”
“I definitely wouldn’t go that far.” Beatrice peered over Colin’s shoulder to where his grandmother was conversing with Mama over a cup of tea. The older woman looked up, catching Beatrice’s stolen glimpse. Inwardly cringing, she smiled serenely before ducking back behind him. “I think your gran is still suspicious as to why I didn’t love you unconditionally instead of sending you on a fool’s errand.”
“Good question, actually,” he murmured, seeming to enjoy her discomfort a bit too much. “Why was that?”
She smacked his arm lightly, rounding her eyes at him. “Oh no, I forbid you to mention that little lapse in judgment ever again.” She didn’t know why he thought it was so adorable—his word—that she was so discomfited around his family. Attempting to make a good impression on people that were predisposed to dislike a person was more than a little daunting.
