Words and sentiments are useless to you now. But I cannot leave without telling you that I love you, Beatrice. Worthless as it is, I love you with every single piece of my heart and I will continue to love you until I take my last breath.
My dearest wish is that you heal from this. And though I know you never will, if you ever need me or just want me, I will come. From wherever I am in the world, for however long you want me. I will come.
With all my love,
Ewan.
Beatrice swiped at useless tears, afraid that she’d blot the page.
No, she didn’t need him. Ben had seen to that. But Lord, she wanted him here.
She missed him so much that it felt like a physical ache that wouldn’t go away. Perhaps it would never go away.
Perhaps her life now would be spent floating around, feeling as though half of her were missing, for all eternity.
“There you are.”
She looked up to see Talia and Ben gazing down at her, matching looks of concern on their faces.
A lone tear ran unchecked down her cheek, and Natalia rushed into action, sitting on the bench and pulling Beatrice into her arms.
“That’s the letter?” she asked gently.
Beatrice couldn’t speak, so she nodded before handing over the missive.
It seemed almost an act of betrayal to allow anyone else to read Ewan’s private thoughts. But Beatrice needed Natalia to talk some sense into her. She needed her to rubbish Ewan’s words and call him a black-hearted knave and tell Beatrice to forget about him for good.
She sat in excruciating silence as Talia unwrapped her arms, took the letter, and immediately began reading it.
Bea glanced up at Ben, but his focus was on Natalia and the letter. No doubt he would want to read it, but Bea wasn’t going to let him. It seemed even less appropriate to allow her cousin to read it than Talia. Even though Ben had been the one to ensure Sir Edmund’s silence, by measures he hadn’t disclosed but which he assured her were highly effective.
Beatrice could only assume that whatever Ben had done or threatened had worked because contrary to her fears, their home hadn’t been besieged by gossipmongers or scandalised neighbours.
Her reputation wasn’t ruined, then, just her heart.
Natalia finally finished reading the letter. Heaving a sigh, she folded it carefully and wordlessly handed it back to Bea.
She stared intently into Beatrice’s eyes as though searching for something.
Then she turned to look up at her husband.
“I think you should tell her about your conversation with Sir Edmund,” she finally said.
Chapter Twelve
He was an idiot.
He knew he was an idiot.
He told himself repeatedly that he was an idiot.
Yet, here he stood.
Ewan couldn’t account for the madness that seemed to have taken him in its grip.
All he knew was that one moment he’d been sitting in Scotland, drowning in sorrow and whiskey, and the next he was demanding that his mother and father pack for a trip.
He’d left instructions for both Father’s valet and Mother’s maid, then thrown a few possessions into a valise and taken off like a man possessed. Which he was.
Once again, his poor horse had been driven to breaking while getting him back here in less time than it had taken him to get to Scotland.
Even as he reached out to pat Ares, he knew it would take more than a few words to have the stallion forgive him for the exercise.
Ewan hoped that his mother and father would arrive at the inn he’d hastily paid for soon. He hadn’t wanted to leave them in Scotland waiting for Edmund to turn them out of their home.
But he couldn’t stay away.
He’d tried to. He’d told Beatrice he would. But he couldn’t.
“I just need to see her one more time,” he told Ares, who he suspected wasn’t really listening. “Even if she slaps me and sends me away, I need to see that she is well.”
He’d been standing here like a dolt all morning.
He hadn’t eaten; he’d barely slept. He’d just needed to get to her.
Ewan had no idea what Beatrice’s life was like now. But he swore that if Edmund had succeeded in damaging her reputation then he would do more than damage his snivelling little cousin.
The sound of a twig snapping brought his attention back to the path on which he stood.
His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to race.
And then –
There she was.
Ewan’s gut twisted with myriad emotions as he watched Beatrice come into view.
Elation, misery, desire, and guilt all warred within him.
She hadn’t seen him yet. Or his horse.
Her head was down, her chestnut hair covered by one of her oversized bonnets, and he had a mad urge to march over and pull it from her head. He hated that she hid herself away. He wanted to feast his eyes on her face. Especially if this would be the last time he could do so.
Like their first meeting, Ares was standing between them.
If she didn’t look up soon, she’d bump into the beast again.
Just as Ewan was about to call out a warning, her head snapped up, and he watched as those heart-wrenching eyes widened as she stopped mere inches from the horse.
“Ares?” she whispered, and Ewan was taken aback by the burst of longing at just the sound of her voice.
Steeling himself for her inevitable hatred, he stepped out from behind the oblivious horse.
“Beatrice.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.
She stood frozen in place, and Ewan had to stop himself from reaching for her. He had no right to put his hands on her, no right to be standing here thinking of their last kiss and how her lips had felt pressed against his, how her body had felt
