Richard whistled. “I’m not the one who disparaged bluestockings.” He turned to Beatrice. “Did you know he wasdoing wellwith you? What do you think that means? Sounds like he was trying to tame a horse.”
“Well, it’s a bit like that, isn’t?” Peterson ran a frustrated hand through his hair, forgetting he wore a hat. It toppled backward off his head, and he stopped, bent to pick it up.
Richard rushed Beatrice forward, abandoning the other man and relishing her gasp.
“A bit like taming a horse?” Pink flushed high in her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss those outrageous spots of color.
“Did you know he was such a prat?” Richard whispered near her ear.
She shivered but said, “I’m concerned you’ve manufactured this entire conversation. None of this is real.”
He shrugged.
And Peterson caught up with them. “I did not intend to offend, Miss Bell. I’ve been having a lovely time with you.”
And just how lovely did the man mean? Lovely in an entirely proper social sense? Lovely in terms of courtship? Lovely as in,I know the taste of your cunny and cannot live without it?
Richard’s hands became fists.
“Yes,” Beatrice said, rounding Richard and hooking her arm through Peterson’s. “I have had an excellent time, as well. We should continue our walk. Alone.”
Richard strode after them, walked as close behind them as he could, ears wide open.
Beatrice peeked at him, then sighed. “Go away, Mr. Clark.”
“Can’t. I’m chaperoning.”
She froze, threw him an incredulous look as Peterson roared a laugh.
“Go find a bonnet or turban, then,” Peterson rumbled.
“Or some smelling salts,” Beatrice added. “Some accoutrements that will identify you as the aged chaperone you clearly are.”
Peterson chuckled. “He cannot be a day younger than fifty.”
“Oh, you’re too kind. I was thinking five and sixty.”
Richard narrowed his eyes, wavered a finger between them. “Stop that, Bea. Bantering is whatwedo together.”
“Wedo not do anything together.”
He pushed between them again. “You break my heart, Bea.”
Beatrice pulled Peterson more tightly to her side. “Go visit the cows. You prefer their company anyway. And it’sMiss Bell.”
“We’ve been friends for so long, surely we no longer let formalities chain us.”
“You can call me Ivan, Miss Bell,” Peterson said.
“No, she cannot.” Richard broke them apart, stuffing his entire body between them and keeping them at bay with his elbows.
“You may call me Beatrice,” she said.
Richard growled. “This entirely—shit!” He said the last bit face down in the gravel. Where the hell had that rock come from? What damn twig had jumped up to throw him face-first into humiliation?
Soft hands fluttered at his back as he pushed to his feet. “Are you hurt?” Beatrice asked, her voice softer than before.
“My pride is bruised beyond compare,” he grumbled.
