soft lips parted in a mixture of astonishment and indignation. She’d never realised he’d thought her fat.
‘Well, I’m happy with my appetite!’ she breathed. ‘I never eat too much, and I think it impertinent of you to make such a comment.’
‘Am I to pretend I know nothing of your body when I can recall it quite clearly within my embrace and pressed to mine?’
‘Please say no more!’ Bea hissed. ‘I find that remark even more unmannerly,’ she spluttered, blushing scarlet.
‘I apologise, then; I merely intended a passing observation that your figure appeared more curvaceous when you were younger.’
He was quelling his humour with a frown, and she guessed he was deliberately riling her because of their prickly parting at the chapel earlier. ‘Please do not explain and add insult to injury. Your opinion of my looks is of no consequence to me in any case.’
Beatrice turned to the pastries and began loading a plate with them while her cheeks continued to burn.
‘If you are about to accuse me of being a glutton, this food is for my papa.’ In her agitation, it had slipped her mind that Walter desired just one fruit tart. Swishing about with a laden plate she moved on.
‘Did you want to speak to me on a matter?’
Beatrice halted, moistening her lips. She’d also forgotten she’d drawn him to her side with a come-hither glance.
‘I...I did want to have a word with you. My father would like you to join him for a chat before you go.’
‘Of course I’ll speak to him.’ Hugh glanced back towards the drawing room, locating the sofa on which Walter was ensconced. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘Thank you,’ Bea replied stiltedly.
‘Shall I accompany you now?’ Hugh suggested mildly.
‘If you wish to, sir.’
Hugh’s heavy sigh brought Bea’s eyes darting to his bronzed face.
‘I beg you will not put yourself out for us, though,’ she said acidly. ‘My father would not want that.
‘It is you putting me out, my dear. Have you forgotten my name that you continue calling me sir?’
‘Indeed I have not, Mr Kendrick,’ Bea returned sweetly on passing him.
‘Will you let me know what Mr Dewey wants to talk about so I might prepare my defence?’ Hugh asked wryly, falling into step with Bea as they wound a path around knots of people.
‘You are not about to be ticked off, I assure you.’ Bea was unable to repress a smile at his ironic tone. ‘I believe Papa wishes to apologise to you.’
‘And how have I redeemed myself in his eyes?’ Hugh politely led the way past a long sofa encircled by chattering ladies. A few yards on, at a quieter spot, he turned back to Bea. His hand was idly planted against the wall, completing her casual entrapment by his powerful body.
‘Papa was most grateful to you for coming to Hertfordshire to convey the news about the dowager’s ill health. I expect he wants to impress that on you.’
‘I recall he said something similar to me at the time,’ Hugh murmured, his eyes lingering on Bea’s mouth as her pearly teeth attacked her lower lip. ‘I doubt he’d make an issue of repeating it. So what else is on his mind?’
‘If we carry on to him I’m sure he will tell you,’ Bea returned.
Barely were the words out when a sudden clap of thunder made her gasp and stumble. She would have dropped her pastries but for Hugh’s steadying hand on her shoulder. Beatrice felt her heart thudding unevenly and the silk of her sleeve seemed to grow unbearably hot beneath his palm. She gave an embarrassed laugh.
‘Heavens! That frightened the life out of me.’ She glanced about to see that she hadn’t been the only lady startled by the storm. Fans were whizzing and a few smelling salts bottles were being wafted amidst nervous giggling. A small crowd had gathered at the windows to watch lightning zigzagging across the heavens.
Bea’s gaze was captured by eyes that had lost their golden tint and now burned like coal embers. His fingers began moving in a slow caress, increasing pressure, as though he would feel her skin beneath the barrier of fabric. Her eyelids became weighty, slowly falling beneath the narcotic effect of his secret seduction.
‘Please don’t... I...’ She finally listened to the inner voice protesting wildly at her behaviour. She sensed he might dip his head and kiss her while she acted like a mindless idiot enthralled by his touch. And at such a time and place as a wake! Despite her chagrin she felt unable to physically move away from him and raised her eyes to beseech him for leniency.
As Hugh withdrew his fingers in a slow stroking movement Bea expelled a breath, darting glances hither and thither, relieved that people were still too preoccupied with the storm to have noticed their indecent intimacy.
Hugh took the plate from Bea’s shaking hand. ‘I’m glad I wasn’t responsible this time for giving you the jitters...or was I?’ he challenged.
In a moment he was resuming their conversation as though nothing had happened, although Bea felt strangely light-headed.
‘As you seem reluctant to help me prepare for a chastisement, let me stab a guess at the bee in your father’s bonnet.’ He paused before asking abruptly, ‘Did you tell him what was in Fiona’s letter?’
‘Of course...’ Bea replied after a second spent wondering how he could change so quickly from charmer to interrogator.
‘Ah...so I imagine I’m about to be told to mind my own business where Colin Burnett is concerned.’ Hugh’s moulded mouth slanted sardonically.
‘Actually, you are wrong,’ Bea answered, flustered, because just as she’d been recovering her equilibrium he had again upset it. He had a knack of being too forthright for comfort. It was something else he’d acquired along with his money, she was sure, but she wouldn’t be intimidated by it any more than she’d allow his practised philandering to steal her composure. ‘It is I who would ask...insist...you do that. My father, on the other hand, seemed pleased to hear about your uninvited interference in my affairs.’
Bea stared pointedly at his imprisoning arm until lazily he removed it from where it had been propped against the wall. She took immediate advantage of her liberation and carried on towards her father, forcing herself to a leisurely pace so it would not seem she was cravenly taking flight.
* * *
‘Papa seems in good spirits.’ Elise sipped tea following this observation.
‘I think he has sunk rather too far into good spirits.’ Bea put down her bone china cup.
The sisters were side by side on a window seat and had been watching fat clouds travelling over the insipid sky through the square-paned glass. They had turned their attention to their father, still huddled on the sofa by the fire, now with a group of male companions. By his side on the velvet upholstery was the Duke of Rodley. His grace had been topping up Walter’s glass with his fine cognac for at least
