eyes focused on Andrew and his voice burned into the air. ‘I dare say Beatrice would have little reason to dismember you. You keep your cards well hidden.’
Andrew nodded. He preferred to live his own life and not let others live it vicariously through the scandal sheets. He’d seen enough suffering because of their sharp-edged ink.
The architect shrugged. ‘You can’t be as bad as Riverton, or whatever else she might pull out from under a dustbin. I admit, Riverton presented well and I thought he would make a better husband than he did.’
The door crashed back and Beatrice swayed in, perched on slippers which would topple a lesser woman.
She waved an arm, ‘I hope you two have settled your differences. I must get a letter written to Mother so when she reads of this, she’ll not feel the need to interfere.’
She had a dazzling smile, chin out, and just the whisper of what might have been tears at her eyes.
‘Your brother and I have discussed this, Lady Riverton, and I would like to talk with you alone.’
Andrew knew he’d lost control in the bedchamber and she would not suffer for it. He would not repeat his father’s mistakes. Although he harboured no animosity towards his father, he retained the rage of how innocents could be hurt because someone else traipsed through mud and sloshed it in all directions. He would not cause anyone pain or embarrassment because of his actions.
‘No need.’ She raised her hand, fingers splayed, and rotated her wrist. ‘The scandal sheets need to fill their papers. People must have something to talk about. Better me than their neighbours.’ She moved her head, then stilled a moment as if posing for a drawing. ‘And I do make for a good tale.’
Andrew stared at Beatrice. Mob cap gone. No henna mishap. Her hair did slip out of her bun into curls around her face, which he rather liked. Blue eyes radiant without spectacles and a— He blinked. No loopy things or hanging things. He blinked again. This was not the time to be noticing her round parts. He needed to look at the sharp parts. Lady Riverton was not a wallflower by any stretch of the imagination.
Beatrice raised her arms higher, fingers outstretched, a performance. ‘This is what I get for doing a good turn.’
‘Even I do not believe that was your motivation, Beatrice.’ Her brother’s voice bit the air.
She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. He is a—’ She looked at Andrew. ‘He’s not especially hideous looking, I admit.’ Then she squinted and regarded him. ‘I do not really understand your predicament.’
‘Deuce take it, Beatrice...’ the architect huffed ‘...he’s male. You’re not. That’s all the reason he needs for trying what he did. The situation was not proper. I cannot have this behaviour under my roof. Nor can I countenance your total disregard for the family’s reputation. Think of it, Beatrice. You cannot like to be known as Beatrice the Beast. Now it will be Beatrice the Brazen Beast. By now the tale is halfway to India. I was too shocked to silence Tilly.’
‘I do not think you could have,’ Beatrice said. ‘She is not the cousin I thought she was.’
Andrew watched. Her eyes blinked more when she spoke a dramatic word, emphasising, putting a point to it. The room was her stage at the moment.
She groaned and her head fell back. ‘If only Mother had named me something else. Honour. Patience. Prudence.’
Wilson spoke. ‘We were lucky not to be named after plagues. Once Mother hears of tonight, she will say I cannot control you and she will insist on more influence in your life. Think of it.’ He whispered his last words. ‘Mother. On a righteous tear. You must find a way to convince her you are behaving properly, Bea. Lie all you must. Cover your tracks. Keep out of the papers.’
Beatrice shut her eyes, then opened them and looked at Andrew. ‘If you’d been as I imagined, none of this would have happened. But you stood there...’ She took in a breath as if smelling a delicate rose. ‘I simply cannot blame myself.’
Andrew saw her, down to the barest freckle she had just below her eye at the outside corner. ‘Marry me.’ His words held no inflection and he didn’t turn from her gaze. ‘Wilson can draft a note for the scandal sheets, hinting a betrothal is forthcoming. He and I can discuss the details of the marriage while you pen a letter informing your mother.’
Her mouth opened. Her arms fell to the side. ‘Lord Andrew?’ she gasped. ‘You have not even waltzed with me.’ She shivered and speared him in another way. ‘Absolutely not. No. Not now. Not ever. Not even— No.’
Andrew didn’t move, but watched the muscles in her face and they could not be still.
The architect strode to the door. ‘I’ll give you some privacy to come to a respectable conclusion, Beatrice, while I...pen a letter to Mother telling her how I have things well in hand. I’ll dispatch it tonight so she will see it when she wakes.’ He touched the door. ‘I will close this. Please do not do anything to disgrace yourselves.’ He put a hand to his cheek. ‘Oh, too late.’
The door closed decidedly.
‘Thank you for the delicate reply.’ He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. ‘Since all my limbs are unharmed, I will take it that you are considering it.’
‘Oh, most certainly,’ she said. ‘I so wish to return to one circle Dante forgot to mention—the unexplored tenth level of hell.’
He realised his first marriage proposal was taking the same turn as their earlier romantic encounter. But she had no scissors.
‘Perhaps you misunderstood the question I neglected to ask properly. Lady Riverton, will you marry me?’ He had no wish to be like Foxworthy, always in a race to abandon a woman so he could find another one to desert.
‘You could not have misunderstood my answer.’
‘I understood.’
‘The only reason you ask is because Tilly discovered us and spread the news.’ She shook her head. ‘My refusal meant that I am declining.’
He moved away from the wall and stood so close he could touch her. ‘But, Beatrice, a betrothal would certainly—’
‘It would nothing.’ She turned away from him. Her tapered fingers tapped her forehead. ‘Now I will have another mark against me. What is one more?’ She lowered her hand and looked at him. ‘Cousin Tilly will have the enjoyment of disparaging me over this. I am to be the Beast for ever and I find I am quite used to it.’ She laughed, but the sound had a hollow ring to his ears.
‘You do not have to wed me. We merely need to give the idea we are betrothed.’
‘No. I do not even want to be seen as considering marriage.’
‘You could be viewed as a changed woman. My name has not once appeared in print. I am the younger brother of a duke. My brother next in line has three sons. I’m not an heir to the title, so you will not be viewed as angling to be a duchess. Not even close. We are not a family to appear in the scandal sheets, except for my cousin Foxworthy, but we are connected through
