Page 52 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

Her joy was cut short when she spotted two women in the gallery staring at her and talking with their hands over their mouths. If it had been the sole incident of the day, she might have ignored it, but it got to her, and something inside her snapped.

The two women did not know where to look as Beatrice strode over to them, both of them wide-eyed as if she were about to slap them.

“Why are you talking about me?” Beatrice hissed, keeping her voice low so she would not draw attention.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” one of the women said.

“Well?” Beatrice prompted, placing her hands on her hips.

The other woman nodded toward a man reading a newspaper on the other side of the gallery. Beatrice looked back at them, hoping for more information, but they had become tongue-tied.

She left the two women behind and strode across the gallery again, returning the way she had come, until she faced the man. She did not know him, but she assumed he was following her for some reason. As soon as he sensed her presence, he lowered the newspaper.

She did not know the man, and he did not know her. But then she saw a flicker of recognition on his face.

“In the flesh,” he drawled, chuckling.

Beatrice did not understand what he meant until she saw what he was reading—the scandal sheets.

“Show me,” she ordered, anger boiling in her veins.

She had already been the topic of one story and did not need to be the topic of another.

The man turned the pages and then handed her the newspaper.

As Beatrice read the story, her face turned beetroot red. She spun on her heels and looked for the door. She could not spot it for a while in her confusion, but she finally located the exit and pushed past a few people to get there. Once she was outside, she took off down Bond Street as fast as she could, not looking back.

She had never felt more embarrassed.

ChapterTwenty

Solving Problems

Edwin felt good. Not long ago, Beatrice had commented that he was similar to his father, and he had denied it. Yet, he was following in his father’s footsteps by being generous, and it felt wonderful to do so, especially when he saw the look on her face when he offered to buy the painting.

Perhaps there was room for a little more balance.

Edwin signed the receipt, and when he looked back to find Beatrice, he saw her running out the door. He scanned the gallery to try and determine why she was fleeing from the building, but he did not spot anything suspicious.

Still, his anger rose that someone or something had done this to her. He assured the gallery owner that everything was fine, and then he rushed out after her.

When he stepped outside, he saw her run toward the coach parked up the street, but then she flew straight past it. Then, she stopped, turned around, ran back to the coach, and climbed in. Edwin felt calmer, knowing she was not going anywhere else. He ran to the coach to ensure she was well.

“Beatrice,” he said when he opened the door. “What happened?”

He found her lying on the seat, crying. He closed the door behind him and knelt on the floor, placing a hand on her back.

“My dear, what is going on?”

“I want to go home. They are all staring at me and talking about me, and I just want to leave this place and never come back,” Beatrice cried.

“Of course,” Edwin soothed. He quickly instructed the driver to take them home, then crouched down beside her again. He would have someone come back later to retrieve the painting. “You must tell me what the matter is so I can help.”

“It is all lies,” Beatrice moaned. “It is all lies, but it won’t matter, will it?”

“Beatrice,” Edwin said sternly. “Get a hold of yourself and sit up. Please.”

The words seemed to shake a bit more sense into her, and she looked up at him before she sat up. Edwin took her hand, and that calmed her some more.

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