A Scandalous Bargain Page 8

  “I have, but that was several years ago. There’s no need to go after you’re wed.”

  “But some people do.”

  “Then I suppose they must like being bored. And gossip.”

  She laughed, her dimples creasing half-moons into her cheeks. Her eyes lit with mirth. “You’ve already said you don’t like gossip, and since you stopped going once it became unnecessary, I must assume you also found it boring.”

  He cocked his head to the side and nodded slightly. “Just so.”

  She swatted at his upper arm and put her hand back on his, as if they sat in this intimate fashion all the time. How lovely that sounded. “Why didn’t you tell me it was tedious? I could have avoided it entirely.”

  Now he laughed. “You wanted to go! Who was I to dissuade you? Besides, weren’t you hoping to see your father?”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t there. Instead, I had to suffer the attentions of my half brother.” She shuddered in horror.

  Attentions? A visceral need to protect—or perhaps claim—her shot through him. “What did he do?”

  “He asked me to dance, and I think he was flirting.” She made a face. “I wanted to tell him to stop, but I didn’t. Instead, I stepped on his feet a number of times and tried to behave in a manner that would deter him from finding me interesting.”

  “How anyone couldn’t find you interesting is impossible, but how I wished I could have seen you try.”

  She beamed at him. “You truly think that?”

  “In case it isn’t obvious, Beatrix, I am captivated by you.”

  “That was the word Worth used. And that was after I all but insulted him.”

  This was the most fun Thomas had had in years. Captivated didn’t come close to how he felt right now. “How did you insult him?”

  She scrunched up her face. “I may have implied he only received a voucher because he was a good dancer. And that his merits had nothing to do with whether he was invited, that it was because one of the patronesses must like him. In truth, it’s probably because he’s the son of a duke.”

  Thomas wasn’t well enough acquainted with Worth to know if he’d been truly insulted. Nor did he care. He’d prefer the man left Beatrix alone. “Not true. I’ve known dukes who wouldn’t be invited. Take the Duke of Romsey. Or the Duke of Clare. Or even the Duke of Kilve. Or the Marquess of Axbridge.”

  “Goodness, that’s a great many untouchables who don’t pass muster.”

  “You’ve heard their nicknames?”

  She looked confused. “What’s that?”

  “You called them Untouchables—that’s how they are often described. You hadn’t heard that before?” When she shook her head, he went on, “Clare is perhaps the most infamous—he’s the Duke of Desire. Actually, Axbridge is quite notorious too. He’s the Duke of Danger.”

  “I thought you said he was a marquess.”

  “He is, but all the Untouchables have ducal nicknames. It’s rather silly.”

  “My goodness.” Her gaze locked on him. “Are you an Untouchable?”

  “I am not. I think I was already married before the nicknames became popular. They are all married now, and the novelty seems to have waned.”

  “So they are called dukes of something. How do they arrive at those names in particular?”

  “In Clare’s case, it’s because he had a rather, ah, scandalous reputation. And Axbridge had a penchant for dueling. In fact, he killed his wife’s former husband in a duel.”

  Beatrix gasped, and for a moment, her hand clasped his wrist. “You’re joking.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not. And, if you can believe it, he and the marchioness are quite thoroughly and obviously in love.”

  “How extraordinary. That’s something one would expect to read in a novel.” She shook her head in disbelief. Musing, she fixed him with a contemplative stare. “You would be the Duke of Delight, I think.”

  Another laugh burst from him. “Delight? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” She sniffed, raising her chin. “I think you’re delightful.”

  “You might be the only one.”

  “Why would you say that?” she asked with a hint of distress. “I’m sure your daughter would agree with me.”

  “Fair enough. That makes two of you.”

  She edged closer to him on the settee, and every fiber of his being came fully aware. “Just because your wife was cruel doesn’t mean others are.”

  His wife. His father. The primary people he’d looked to for care and support. For love. He had no expectation for people not to be cruel.

  “You didn’t tell me how things resolved with Worth. Did you send him screaming from the assembly rooms?”

  “I wish. He asked if he could call on me.” She made another face. “Can you imagine?”

  He could, and Thomas found he wanted to punch the man in the face. “What will you do if he does?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to tell him who I am, not until I see my father. Hopefully, that will be Friday at the masquerade ball.”

  “Right. I’d forgotten that was coming up.” He hadn’t at all, but he wouldn’t tell her. If his plans came to fruition, he would surprise her. “You’re sure he’ll be there?”

  “He’s expected.”

  “Will he recognize you, do you think?”

  “That is my hope. If not, well, I’ll have to pay him a visit, I suppose.” She lifted a shoulder.

  “I really do wish I could introduce you.”

  “That is very kind of you. Perhaps you should be the Duke of Kindness. Or Thoughtfulness.” She licked her lips, and the sight of her tongue sent a rush of blood straight to Thomas’s cock. “Does it have to be the duke of something?”

  Thomas fought to speak past the stark lust pulsing through him. “Er, no. The Duke of Kendal is the Forbidden Duke. That was his nickname long before the Untouchables.”

  “I see. He was the start of it all?” She traced her finger over his wrist. Was she even aware? Thomas was. His entire body sang with want. “You should be the Handsome Duke.”

  He felt absurdly pleased. “You think I’m handsome?”

  “Very.” The word came out on a rasp. She abruptly pulled her hand away. He nearly snatched it back. “I should probably go.” She started to rise, and Thomas wanted to stop her. He yearned to cup her neck and lean over her, to press his lips to hers and forget every disappointment he’d ever known.

  When she was on her feet, she looked down at him. “I really did just want to come and make sure you were all right—with the inquiry. If you think nothing will happen, I won’t worry.”

  “I don’t think anything will happen. It’s been several days, and I haven’t heard another word about it.”

  “I’m still going to ask Harry next time I see him. I think we’re having dinner at his parents’ house tomorrow night.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. I’d just prefer if the entire matter could…fade away.” He felt a pang of guilt for wanting that. He ought to mourn Thea, but in some ways, he already had. Years ago, when he’d realized his marriage was never going to be what he’d hoped, that she wasn’t the woman he thought. Now he was just eager to put the entire mess behind him, for that’s what their union had been—a mess.

  Beatrix looked a bit disappointed by his request. Even so, she agreed. “If you change your mind, I hope you’ll tell me. As your friend, I want to help.”

  Thomas stood. “You’ve already done so. We’re friends, then?”

  “I think so. Don’t you?”

  “I hope so.” In truth, he could imagine her being much more.

  She went to the desk and drew on her gloves. Next, she set her hat over her curls, obstructing them from his view.

  “Your hair is lovely tonight,” he said.

  She touched her face. “Thank you. You should have seen it earlier.”

  “I did, actually.” He hadn’t meant to tell her, but found he couldn’t help himself. “You looked beautiful.”


  Her mouth opened as she stared at him. “How…?”

  “I was spying on you outside Almack’s. Like how you spy on your father.” He cracked a smile.

  “How naughty of you.”

  “Then you must be too.”

  “I suppose so, and not just for spying on my father.” She grinned. “Coming here in the middle of the night qualifies as naughty.”

  “It does indeed. The only thing naughtier would be if you thought you could walk home alone. I’m coming with you.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “I disagree, and tonight you won’t talk me out of it. Let me fetch my coat.”

  She looked down at his feet. “You might need footwear.”

  He wasn’t wearing boots. Or a cravat. “Promise you won’t leave while I get dressed?”

  “No. You’d better hurry.”

  He dashed into his chamber and shoved his feet into his boots, then he grabbed a cravat and threw it around his neck. Plucking up the coat he’d taken off earlier, he hurried back into the sitting room. She had her hand on the door to the balcony.

  “You want me to climb down the trellis?”

  She arched a taunting, pale brow at him. “Are you saying you can’t?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her and went to open the door. “I’ll wager I can do it faster. After you, Miss Whitford.”

  “I told you to call me Beatrix,” she murmured.

  He leaned down and whispered next to her ear, “After you, Beatrix.” He felt the shiver that raced along her neck as she gently twitched. Her scent filled his nostrils once more, and he briefly closed his eyes, savoring the moment of closeness.

  She turned her head as he opened his eyes. Again, she licked her lips. He nearly groaned.

  Tossing him a saucy stare, she went out onto the balcony. Before he had the door closed, she was over the railing and on her way down. By the time he reached the trellis, she was staring up at him, her arms crossed with mock impatience.

  Smiling, he grabbed the trellis and swung over the side of the balcony. The iron moved in his grasp, urging him to descend quickly even if he hadn’t planned to. He took only a few steps down the trellis before letting go and dropping to the ground.

  “No fair, you’re much taller than me, which makes you able to go faster.” She made a tsking sound with her tongue. “It’s a good thing I didn’t take that bet.”

  He strode toward her. “That depends on what you would have wagered. Some bets are worth losing.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Her eyes danced in the meager light shining from the house as she turned and led him through the garden.

  Thomas kept up with her, impressed at how quickly and deftly she moved. “You’re quite familiar with my garden. Perhaps more than I am.”

  She opened the gate and slipped through it before he could hold it open. He closed it after he was through and caught up to her. “You aren’t even letting me be a gentleman.”

  “You have nothing to prove to me. I already know you’re a gentleman.” She flashed him a smile. “Keep up!”

  He chuckled. “Your legs are perhaps half the length of mine.”

  “I’m not that short! When it isn’t dark, perhaps I’ll challenge you to a footrace. And we’ll have a proper wager.”

  “I look forward to it.” He leaned close to her and whispered, “Because I’ll win.”

  She ran ahead and turned, sticking her tongue out at him. Damn, she was quite fast. He picked up his pace, but she rounded the corner of Duke Street before he could catch her.

  He reached the intersection and turned, only to nearly collide with her as she jumped into his path.

  She made a sound that startled him, which was followed by her joyous laughter.

  He clasped her elbows, and she tilted her head book to look up at him. “Don’t scare me like that. And I don’t mean jumping out, I mean leaving my sight. What if a villain grabbed you?”

  “He’d be quite sorry.” She grabbed his hand and turned with him toward Oxford Street. Unfortunately, she let go after just a moment.

  They walked in silence for several paces. He thought back over their earlier conversation. “Beatrix, what will you do after you settle things with your father?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you be content to have a relationship with him, or will you look for something…else?”

  “Such as marriage?”

  “You did go to Almack’s and you danced with several gentlemen, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  “You will be seen as desiring marriage, and I can’t imagine you’ll be on the market long.”

  She made a choking sound. “You make me sound like a cut of prime beef or produce. Or perhaps a broodmare.”

  He grimaced. “Forgive me. That was not my intent.”

  “To answer your question, I would like to marry. Eventually. The security and warmth of a family appeals to me.”

  Security and warmth. He couldn’t have chosen two more perfect words. “Yes, exactly.”

  They’d reached Oxford Street, a wide thoroughfare that was mostly quiet at this late hour. Still, there was the occasional vehicle. Thomas looked in both directions before taking her hand and guiding her across the street.

  They turned to the right, and this time, she didn’t take her hand from his. With each step, he was more and more aware of her, of his growing attraction to her, of the absolute bliss of this night.

  He was so focused on her that he didn’t see the movement to their left. The man was already on her before Thomas knew what was happening. He launched himself toward them, fearing he reacted too late.

  Chapter 6

  Beatrix had been so enthralled with Rockbourne that she’d completely missed the criminal dashing out from a narrow street until he was nearly on her. She tried to move, but there wasn’t time.

  “What have we here?” a second man said as the first, a burly fellow who stank of gin, grabbed Beatrix by the arms and dragged her back toward the shadows of the side street.

  Rockbourne collided with them, and they all tumbled to the pavement.

  The sound of a pistol hammer cocking clicked in Beatrix’s ears. She rolled away from the two men who were now grappling for the upper hand and reached into her boot. Withdrawing the small knife, she freed the blade and pivoted onto her knee so that she was close to the man with the pistol. Without pause, she sank the blade into the back of his thigh. Pulling it out, she used her advantage of surprise—and his injury—and leapt up, hitting her forearm against his wrist to knock the pistol from his hand. The weapon flew and landed a few feet away as the man shrieked.

  Standing straight, Beatrix pulled a small pistol from the slim interior pocket of her coat and pointed it in the man’s face. “Go.”

  The man didn’t hesitate. He hobbled away as quickly as his wound would allow. Beatrix found the gun she’d forced from his grip and plucked it up.

  Then she spun toward the two men who were still wrestling. No, not wrestling. Rockbourne had the upper hand and was currently pummeling the man’s face. Except it was more than that. He was attacking the miscreant viciously, mercilessly.

  “Tom!” she called, not wanting to use his title. “I’ve got the gun!”

  Rockbourne stopped and looked over at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open as he panted with exertion. The footpad seized the opportunity to shove Rockbourne off him. Scrambling to his feet, the brigand nearly stumbled as he fought to get away. Rockbourne lunged for him, but the man moved just out of reach and managed to start running.

  “Let him go,” Beatrix said, lowering both pistols. “Are you all right?”

  “Am I all right?” Rockbourne stood. “Are you? Never mind, I can see you are. How on earth do you have two pistols?”

  “One was the footpad’s and one is mine.” She tucked hers back into her coat.

  He gaped at her. “You carry a pistol?”

  She nodded. “Seems prudent given I’m out thi
s late.”

  “Prudent.” He shook his head as if he was befuddled. “It’s bloody dangerous.”

  “Not since I carry a pistol. Just look how I was able—”

  He strode toward her and took the other pistol from her hand. “See how easy it was for me to disarm you?”

  She frowned up at him. “You aren’t a threat. If you were, you wouldn’t have. I would have shot you before you got too close. I know how to use a gun.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, Beatrix. You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I scared you?”

  He exhaled and fixed his gaze on her. “Not you, but what happened. Wait, yes, you. You wandering around London in the middle of the night with a bloody pistol scares the hell out of me.”

  “It shouldn’t. As you can see, I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” She looked around. “Do you see any footpads?”

  “There were two of them and two of us. If I hadn’t accompanied you tonight—” He snapped his mouth closed and grabbed her elbow. “You can’t do this again. No more coming to my house after dark.”

  Her brows formed an angry V. “You aren’t my father. Or my husband.”

  “You don’t have a bloody father. At least not one that’s worth a damn. And you don’t have a husband. You have me, and you’ll listen to me, goddammit.”

  She drew back, surprised at the vitriol in his tone. Suddenly, she realized he was scared. And that fear made him angry. “Rockbourne,” she whispered. “Tom.” She liked the way that felt on her tongue. Reaching up, she gently touched his cheek. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be afraid, not for me. I’m stronger—and more capable—than you think.”

  He seemed to quiet, the fire in his gaze dimming. “You’re not used to anyone looking after you.”

  She realized he was right. “Not really. Just my sister. And she’s even stronger and more capable than I am.” Dropping her hand to her side, she smiled, hoping to get back to the joy they’d shared earlier.

  He tucked the pistol into the side of his waistband beneath his coat. Pivoting, he found her hat. As he handed it to her, she saw the damage to his hand. Blood smeared his knuckles. She hadn’t noticed if the footpad had been wounded, but surmised he had been. There was too much blood for it to be from the abrasions on Rockbourne’s flesh alone.