He’d found nothing but frustration and a rising unease. Perhaps she had imagined it. Could be that her return to Slopevale had caused an avalanche of memories that were superimposing themselves over the here and now. Only Daniel was not here and now, and searching for him was a useless pursuit.
Especially since he could be pushing Peterson off a roof (how to get him up there, though…) and taking Beatrice to a nice warm bed.
Her scent lingered in his memory, the feel of her breast still warmed his palm.
She hated him.
But not when he kissed her.
The corner of his lips tipped up.
Hell, his mere birth made him an outsider to good society, and he’d always tried to fit in anyway, never taking more than those around him were willing to give him. Beatrice’s father would likely have an apoplexy if he thought his only child was about to marry a bastard. Society would turn up their noses, and she’d have to endure gossip she did not deserve.
Marriage. To Beatrice. It would never happen.
But lovers… Maybe he’d convinced her to give it a try.
If he could get rid of Peterson first.
“Can someone please tell me where Miss Bell is?” He was whining, that much clear from the titters rippling down the breakfast table.
Miss Selena Bell—sitting right next to Martin, it must be noted—said, “In the garden. She promised a walk to Lord Peterson this morning.”
Baron Bloody Peterson. Hell.
He bowed to Miss Bell. “You have my eternal gratitude.” He swept out of the room. Yes, they were all whispering about him now. No doubt he’d given rise to myriad rumors and speculations. He’d have to be more careful, not let frustration ride him so hard. But matters of Beatrice seemed to spiral out of his control before he could do anything about it. Always had. To meet her had been to admire her, and admiration had run a quick path to coveting. First her body, then her brain. Now he seemed to need them both as air and something else as well.
That he punched back, locked away. No use in inspecting what he couldn’t have.
So he stepped into the garden, inhaling determination with the fresh morning air and yelled, “Beatrice bloody Bell! Where are you?”
Cursing from beyond the rose bushes. There was a little walk there in a bower. He strode for it, found at its far end, two bodies, walking quickly, side by side on a path big enough only for two. Beatrice and Peterson. Their shoulders brushed. Her skirts flirted with his legs. Such intimacy in the composition, in how he walked slightly twisted toward her, hands clasped behind his back and neck bent to hear her better.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw Richard, cursed again, grabbed Peterson’s arm, and tugged him forward, clearly anxious to put space between them and Richard.
Absolutely not.
He quickened his pace to catch up. That pox-arsed baboon could not have her. When he reached them, he sliced into the small space between them and patted them both on the back before crossing his arms over his chest and jutting out his elbows. Distance. He must create distance.
“Good morning, Miss Bell,” he said. “Peterson.”
“Good morning,” Peterson drawled. “Is there something amiss at the house?”
“Not at all!”
“Then what brings you here?” Beatrice asked, each word a poison dart meant, clearly, to maim him.
“Exercise, naturally. Companionship. I thought you might like a little variety in company.” Richard elbowed Peterson in the ribs. Perhaps a bit too hard. “One such as you, Peterson, shouldn’t have to carry the weight of entertaining an intellectual such as Miss Bell.”
“The lady and I have spent many rousing hours in one another’s company,” Peterson said. “I am more than capable of keeping a bluestocking entertained.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Richard said at the same time Beatrice growled.
“Bluestocking? I am one I suppose, but your tone gives it an insulting sound I take offense to.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Richard said. Impossible to keep the cheer from his voice.
“I meant no insult.” Peterson looked properly bewildered. “I don’t think I’ve done a thing. It’s all you, Clark. Before you showed up, I was doing rather well with the lady.”
