A shadow had crossed Beatrice’s beautifully sculpted features before she’d nodded, throwing back her shoulders to face the crowd as if instructed to go to war.
Lady Blythe could be intolerable at times, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Lady Foxwood.
Ellis had made his way casually across the ballroom, careful not to reveal either his quarry or his destination. A slightly plump young lady, an awkward thing, had cast an adoring gaze at Beatrice while Ellis looked on.
Beatrice had stared down her perfect nose at the girl, lips curling in mockery.
The girl had blushed and stammered, clearly hurt by such an unwarranted attack. She’d looked down at her slippers, bottom lip trembling, while Beatrice had continued to snipe at her.
Ellis had had no idea what was being said, but it hadn’t mattered. He had a low tolerance for cruelty, though at times he practiced it himself. He’d asked for an introduction to both young ladies and received one.
Miss Elkins was the name of the graceless girl. It was she whom Ellis had asked to dance while he’d completely ignored the stunning jewel that was Lady Beatrice Howard.
Beatrice had glared at him, outraged he’d chosen Miss Elkins over her.
A lesson had needed to be taught. Certainly Lady Foxwood hadn’t been going to school Beatrice.
The discord between Ellis and Beatrice had sprung from that lone incident and only intensified over time.
The lesson Ellis served to Beatrice that night had not compelled her to modesty or even introspection. Instead, she’d begun a war, wielding insults in Ellis’s direction with amazingly good aim. Beatrice would find Ellis at a ball and murmur along the shoulder of his formal wear just howridiculousshe found him. His favorite slight from Beatrice had been that he preened like a pathetic rooster seeking the attention of hens.
In turn, Ellis would whisper loudly that every woman in London, even Miss Elkins, held some measure of appeal for him, except for Lady Beatrice Howard. He’d taken delight in toying with her. Approaching Beatrice for a dance, Ellis would pretend not to notice the refusal forming on her lips, then abruptly change direction and ask a young lady inside Beatrice’s circle instead.
It had been immensely satisfying to watch Beatrice fume and curl her hands into fists while they battled. Of course, he’d spent some of that time imagining her naked, preferably on her knees before Ellis, panting and begging for the release only he could give her.
Ellis had a vivid imagination.
But he hadn’t liked her. Not only had Beatrice accepted the part of fishing lure her parents had so adeptly cast out to any duke or marquess wandering about, but she’d seemed to enjoy, when their back was turned, torturing others with gossip and innuendo.
As she had Miss Elkins.
“Melinda,” Ellis heard Beatrice say. “You are a terrible vicar’s wife.” There was no bite in her words. No scorn. Only an abundance of affection.
A soft pulse rippled over Ellis. Beatrice had a lovely voice. Maybe that was what had caused him to intervene when Granby had rejected Beatrice and she’d begun to wage a campaign to destroy Andromeda Barrington. Ellis had told himself it was for Andromeda, but...well, it hadn’t been. The knowledge that Beatrice was hurt, justified or not, had pained him greatly. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Lady Foxwood had swatted her daughter with a fan at that long-ago ball.
I am overly sentimental.
Living in Rome had made Ellis entirely too soft. Beatrice didn’t deserve a shred of sympathy from him. Seducing her would relieve the worst of this...obsession he had for her, then Ellis could leave her in Chiddon. Return to London and the waiting arms of Lady Anabeth, someone who didn’t find him at all loathsome.
“Iamterrible, aren’t I?” Mrs. Farthing agreed before the smile froze on her lips. She leaned discreetly to the side, eyes roaming over Ellis. “This magnificent Blythe, Your Grace. Does he possess a head of tarnished gold, like an old coin? Arrogantly attractive? Looks as though he sits a horse well?”
Ellis winked at her.
All things considered, he appreciated the thoughtful assessment of his person, though Ellis didn’t completely agree witharrogantly attractive. In truth, he cared little about his appearance. It was merely a fact of his existence. Like being an earl or his inability to write a poem. Society put far too much value on his looks. He’d rather be known for his talent at fixing a watch for instance, something he did regularly but didn’t bandy about.
“Well, yes,” Beatrice answered. “Though I think magnificent is a bit of a stretch. He’s incredibly vain. I’m sure his home is covered in mirrors so he can admire himself from every angle.”
Ellis winced. He had once said the same of her.
“Wait.” Beatrice set down her teacup with a rattle. “I thought you said you hadn’t seen him.” She jerked to her feet, the line of her shoulders taut. “Bollocks.”
What a delightful vulgarity from Beatrice. He’d never known her to utter a curse until finding her in Chiddon. Castlemare must have taught her.
Beatrice spun to face Ellis, her lovely features so coldly furious, she seemed sculpted from the marble he adored. One hand immediately patted at the pile of golden hair gathered at her shoulder, smoothing the thick mass close to her cheek.
“Good day,” he greeted both women, doffing his hat as he walked toward them.
Mrs. Farthing came to her feet, a cautious gaze darting between him and Beatrice. “Good day to you, my lord.”
