“Of course.” Sara rose, relieved and a little surprised when Beck took her in his arms and just held her.
“My thanks.”
“For?” She wanted to glance up, assess his mood, but his chin was resting on her temple, contentment in his sigh.
“Letting me take down your hair, coming here with me, letting me hold you.”
Letting him?
“It might come as a surprise to you, Beckman Sylvanus Haddonfield, but you are a comely man, full of charm and clean about your person. Spending time with you like this is no hardship. No hardship at all.” Though it was a challenge. Moment by moment, whether he was sharing his past, taking down her hair, or merely holding her, it was a challenge.
“You’re so fierce.” Beck’s smile curved against her brow. “But your bath will be here soon, and I’d best be about my errands.” He patted her backside, a curiously endearing gesture, and stepped back. As he took his leave, a troop of maids and footmen brought in Sara’s bath and washing water, leaving her to soak in peace and to wonder what errands the Haddonfield spare was about.
By the time Beckman had returned to their rooms, the tub was gone, a tea cart laden with dinner had been set up near the window, and Sara was beginning to fret a little at his absence.
“Miss me?” He set down some packages and crossed directly to wrap his arms around her. “Your fragrances are enough to drive me to distraction, Sarabande.”
“You’ve bathed as well.” Sara got a nice whiff of bergamot, citrus, and Beck. She buried her nose against his sternum and wondered when his embrace had come to feel like home and a private adventure rolled into one.
She tilted back to peer up at him. “Just how tall are you?”
“A bit shy of six and a half feet.” Beck peered right back at her. “I’m not the runt in my family—that honor belongs to George, who’s all of three or four inches shorter. Nick is taller.”
“God in heaven. The poor man, no wonder he’s somewhat crazy.”
“Why do you say that?” Beck slipped his arms from her and moved to shrug out of his jacket. Sara’s hands went to his shoulders, helping him out of his coat then turning him to unknot his cravat.
“A man that size will have little privacy,” Sara said. “He’s always visible, and people likely see only his size, like people see only my red hair. You are tall enough to know what that feels like, to be seen only as an oversized physical specimen. Even North is regarded by most as more brute than gentleman, at least until they hear him speak.”
Beck lifted his chin, suggesting to Sara that other women had assisted him out of his clothes. His cuff links came next, and then his waistcoat.
“Tell me, love,” Beck said as she started on the buttons of his shirt. “Are we to allow me any clothing during our meal?”
Sara dropped her hands and stepped back. “I beg your pardon. I wasn’t… Oh, dear…”
“Dear heart,” Beck said, pulling her into his embrace, “you may undress me any time. My dressing gown hangs on the back of the bedroom door, and then I’ll be at least as unclothed as you.”
She nodded, face flaming, and Beck sat to tug off his boots.
“Were you your husband’s valet?” Beck asked as Sara brought him his blue velvet dressing gown.
“I was not.” She took a surreptitious sniff of his fragrance from his dressing gown. “I liked sleeping in your dressing gown. It’s very warm and soft.” She sniffed again, crushing it to her nose. “And it bears your fragrance.”
Beck grinned, rose, and tugged his shirt off over his head. “Naughty, but flattering. And here I resent your dressing gown no end and can think of nothing other than getting you out of it.” His breeches, stockings, and smalls were gone, just like that, leaving him naked in the middle of the sitting room.
“Beckman…” Sara turned her face away, another blush gracing her cheeks. “You are shameless.” Also beautiful and desirable.
“So you be shameless too.” Beck padded to her side and took his dressing gown from her hands. “Enjoy a little peek, Sara. Get some ideas for how you want to spend the rest of the evening, hmm?” He shook out his dressing gown and shrugged into it, while Sara did, indeed, risk a glance at him before he belted it at his waist.
Dinner was simple but satisfying. They talked as they ate, about the book Sara had read, about their shopping itinerary for the next day, about the city of Portsmouth, which Beck seemed to know thoroughly. They also talked of sights on the Continent they’d both seen, finding on at least two occasions they’d stayed in the same inns, though not at the same time.
“Why didn’t you use London as your port of call?” Sara asked. “Portsmouth had to be a little remote, given your family lives in Kent.”
“When one wants anonymity about one’s comings and goings, London is not one’s first choice. Then too, I got in the habit of putting in at the smaller ports.”
He crossed his knife and fork on the edge of his plate. “Shall we take in a little evening air?” He rose, not waiting for her answer but holding her chair for her and wrapping her hand in his. “It’s dark enough we’ll have privacy on the balcony.”
He was right on two counts. While they had talked and eaten and talked some more, night had fallen. Then too, their inn was on the edge of town and their room at the back. From their balcony, they could see the moon rising over the fields and pastures used by the inn’s dozens of coaching horses.
“Pretty night.” Beck settled his arms around Sara, holding her back to his chest. “And lucky me, I’m in the company of a pretty lady.” His lips grazed the side of Sara’s neck, and just like that, the pleasant meal with the congenial gentleman was over.
“Beckman, we need to talk.” She pulled away from his embrace, relieved he let her go without resistance.
“I’m listening.” He came to her side, where she stood against the railing, facing out toward the moonlit countryside. He didn’t try to touch her, but Sara was abundantly aware of him nonetheless.
“You asked earlier did I valet my husband,” Sara began. “And you let it drop when I answered in the negative.”
“I am bent on seduction, Sara.” Beck’s voice held a hint of humor. “What was I doing, bringing up the man you chose for your mate, and your intimate ease with the business of helping him undress? Not well done of me, but I was curious.”
“I never…” Sara glanced at him in the moonlight and saw his expression was cool, for all the humor in his tone. “That’s what we need to talk about. You need to understand the way I was married.”
“Unhappily,” Beck said. “I wish for you it could have been different, just as I’m sure you wish the same for me.” He didn’t want to belabor the subject, which sparked Sara’s curiosity regarding Beck’s brief and ill-fated marriage.
Sara crossed her arms over her chest and prepared to be more honest than she had thus far. “My marriage was not unhappy, Beckman, it was miserable, filled with bewilderment at first, and loathing, and then—thank God —a towering indifference to anything save the ways and degrees in which Reynard’s decisions impacted my survival, Polly’s, and Allie’s. He was my intimate enemy, by most lights.”
“You did not want to be performing on stage,” Beck concluded, and in the assurance of his tone, Sara understood that he was not merely being sympathetic. Beckman had been forced to perform somehow, perhaps solving the family problems, perhaps in his marriage.
Was he still being forced?
“I did not want to be performing on his terms, certainly,” Sara agreed. “And then Allie showed up, and it became perform or starve. I did not want to learn what desperate measures starvation might inspire in my husband.”
Beck tucked her braid over her shoulder. “That sounds ominous.”
