“You don’t even know that then, do you? You assume it to be true, despite what I have told you myself of the event. Yet in your obvious superiority…” Beatrix gestured to his fine garments and the cut of his hair, “…it must be so.”
The man was taken aback by her insinuation, and for a moment Beatrix thought he might storm away. Instead, he surprised her by smiling ruefully.
“However do you manage to keep doing that?” he asked.
It was Beatrix’s turn to look wary. “Doing what?”
“Speaking to me so politely while pretending as though you despise me!” he answered, laughing lightly.
“Make no mistake, I am not pretending,” Beatrix answered, baiting the trap she’d set for him with her words. “But I could never despise you as that word doesn’t come close to how much I loathe you. I absolutely detest you.”
“I will not insult your obvious intelligence by asking what would prompt you to hate me so,” he explained patiently, “but I do wish that you would allow me to explain. I would much prefer if we could work out a bargain that provides both of us the thing we desire.”
Beatrix waited, certain that this was some sort of trap. In truth, though, he’d already held out her freedom as an offer several times. Perhaps he truly did only wish to see his property again… but what could she do about that?
Once he discovered that she neither possessed it nor had knowledge of it, Beatrix feared he might do something vile. So long as he was willing to discuss its location at length, it would buy her the time to wait for her father’s men to rescue her.
“I see. Then, all loathing and ill-will aside, I will meet with you,” she replied stiffly, attempting to sound magnanimous in her acceptance. “When is the appointed time?”
“As I requested, will you dine with me this evening?” he asked.
“I will,” she said firmly after a few moments’ thought, “though I do not see why there’s a need to wait so long.”
The man came closer until he nearly filled the doorway, standing only inches from Beatrix. She dared not move back a pace, refusing to give him the upper hand in thinking she was moved by his proximity.
“Tell me,” he said softly, “why did you say you were a lady?”
“Because I am,” she answered haughtily, looking up into his warm, brown eyes. “I control my own property, I stand to inherit the greatest wealth any daughter could desire, and I am far more worthy of the title than any of your ilk. I stand for no one appointing titles upon others solely based on the nothingness of birth and breeding.”
“That answer tells me both nothing and so much about you,” the man replied, but there was humor to his words.
“Then you’ll simply have to go to your grave still pining for the truth,” she teased, eliciting a surprised laugh from the man.
“I bid you good day, until we meet this evening,” he said, then he bowed politely and walked away. He stopped short, then said, “And what was it you called me just now? Duke of Snooty, I believe?”
“Was I mistaken?” Beatrix asked, feigning innocence and putting on an apologetic expression. “Was it the Earl of Snootworth instead? Pray, tell me you are not royal! Are you the Prince of Snootshire?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and said, “I am Callum Ahern, the Marquess of Bellton. It is a pleasure to formally meet you.”
“A pleasure? Either you do not know what that word means, or you have strange tastes in pleasant pastimes!” Beatrix said, laughing again. At that he smiled and resumed his long strides, leaving the corridor while she watched him disappear.
It took only seconds for Beatrix to realize the door to her room remained unlocked.
Chapter 13
Peter rapped his knuckles against the door of his father’s quarters, then waited to be permitted to enter. His father, still wearing his formal attire from the evening before, nodded grimly when his son appeared.
“You wished to see me, Father?” Peter asked, nodding politely to the servant who left the room when he entered.
“Yes, yes. Have a seat. I’ve only just returned from Lord Northam’s within the past few hours, having discussed at length several gravely important matters.” The Earl lowered himself to a chair across from Peter’s and, for a moment, looked rapturously relieved to be sitting down.
“Whenever you’re ready, Father,” Peter said kindly. “I see that you’ve not even gone to bed last evening, so take all the time you need.”
“That’s a good lad,” his father said. “Ah, what was it I was thinking of? Yes, an offer of marriage.”
“Really? I’m rather intrigued! However did you manage to find a wife willing to wed you when you’re already married?” Peter laughed at his own joke, but his father glowered at him darkly.
“This is no laughing matter!” He closed his eyes briefly while his son coughed to cover his embarrassment.
