He snapped the book back on the table and turned on his side away from it. He would not think about what had been, what might have been.
Christ. What wouldneverbe. Even if she ever forgave him, he couldn’t pursue her. A bastard courting a rich man’s only daughter? Even if she had been entertaining a friendship with him, she never would have accepted anything else. Fairy tales were made of less impossible pairings.
Four
Beatrice hated boats. They may have secured her family’s fortune, but nothing made her stomach turn faster than the leaping boards of a boat at sea. Or a rowboat at lake, as the case may be. As the casewasthat very morning. The guests milled about the lakeshore, inspecting the watercraft and holding bonnets and beaver hats to their heads. The wind was playful, and it tore at ribbons and lifted skirts, much to the delight of gentlemen unexpectedly rewarded with glimpses of stockinged calves and knees and thighs.
They were to have a boat race or some such nonsense that would only leave Beatrice queasy and sequestered to her room for the rest of the day. She’d leave the boating to everyone else. She turned back to the house.
“Where are you going?” Evelina called behind her.
Caught.Qué mala suerte. How terribly unlucky. She forced a smile and faced her friend. “Back to the house. I forgot to work on my translation yesterday.” Not that she needed to. Her father had given the affreightment contract he’d promised her to another for translation. And he’d not told her until she’d shown up at his office asking for the documents the day before they’d left London. Somehow her father’s ability to forget she existed still pained her, even if it no longer surprised her. But work offered as good an excuse as any to avoid boats. And Mr. Clark. “I thought to work on it now.”
“No, no!” Evelina pulled her toward the shore, the gaggle of guests, and the waiting boats bobbing at the shoreline. “It’s too lovely a day to work inside. We’re pairing up. It will be quite diverting.”
“Pairing up?” Sounded rotten. Purposefully rotten. “And who have I been paired with?”Lord Peterson. Please let it be the baron.She’d caught his eye yesterday, and today she meant to test his willingness to liaisons. Subtly, of course.
“Richard.”
Blast. “You cannot do that do me, Evie!”
“I’m doing nothing to you but putting you out to sea—well, lake—with the most accomplished swimmer in residence. I wouldn’t dream of pairing you with anyone less capable. I know how you feel about water.”
Deep water. She suppressed a shiver. “Yes. It’swet.You should understand why I’d rather be inside. Translating shipping agreements.”
“Let someone else do it.”
“I’m the best at it. And I enjoy my work.”
“Your father’s agreements can wait a few hours. Look.” Evelina pointed toward a boat nearby and lowered her voice. “Lena and Mr. Fisher are going out together. They’ve been quite friendly since their reacquaintance.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Are you one of those women that insists on pairing everyone up once she’s been happily paired herself?”
Evelina shrugged. “I can try.”
Selena and Mr. Fisher stood closer than they had the day before, snatching gazes at one another, laughing softly. Lena’s cheeks were pink as posies. Beatrice sighed. “Very well. I suppose trapping myself in a boat with Mr. Clark keeps him occupied.” If Selena wanted Mr. Fisher, she could have him. This time, Mr. Clark would not intrude.
Evelina poked Beatrice’s shoulder and pointed through the crowd. “And look there. Richard is not all bad. See how excellent he is with the children?”
There, where the water lapped against the shore, a boat rocked violently to the tune of happy shrieks. Richard grasped the end of it, plunging it first one way and then the other. Water splashed over the edges, and the boat’s smallest occupants, twin toddlers, squealed with delight as the little girl, five or so years old, gripped the edges tightly, her eyes wide. Nothing so enjoyable as being terrified to death.
He was impossibly masculine. Impossibly beautiful. And impossibly dangerous.
“Pair me with Peterson, Evie. Please.” Beatrice hated begging, but for this… she would.
Evie patted Beatrice’s shoulder. “If all partners agree to swap, I suppose that’s fine.” With a too-casual shrug, she joined John beside a boat of their own.
Beatrice slipped back into the crowd, entirely focused on the boat, the man rocking it. So focused, she accidentally bumped the shoulder of a man striding in the opposite direction.
“Careful,” the man growled, hunkering into his greatcoat collar and tugging his hat lower over his eyes. They flicked toward her, then away. “Always were a shrew,” he mumbled as he darted into the crowd.
She swung around, hands on hips. Who wasthat? She didn’t suffer insults without retaliation. She took one step after him, but he had disappeared. Reluctantly, she returned her path toward Mr. Clark. No one had called her a shrew to her face since… sinceDaniel. Yes, she remembered now. The scoundrel. He made Mr. Clark appear a saint. But at least he’d always acted exactly who he was. Unlike his half brother, who pretended to be lovely and sweet but would stab you in the back when you least expected it.
There he was, bouncing the children about as if it was his sole delight.
“Mr. Clark,” she said when she stood behind him.
He froze, then straightened as the young sailors objected and faced her. “Miss Bell.”
