Page 5 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

“My Lord, I—” Beatrice started.

“I did not ask you a question,” the Baron interrupted. “That is the first thing you must learn, now that we’re getting married soon. I have been informed you like to talk a little too much, and that is unbecoming of a woman. You can leave the talking to me, and that will benefit both of us.”

When she got going, Beatrice knew she could talk a lot, and she had a million things she wished to say, but she was so gobsmacked by the Baron’s comment that she lost the use of her tongue. It gave her the precious seconds to remember why she was doing all of this.

“We will be wed within the month, and you will find me to be a traditional man with traditional values. If you act suitably, I shall take care of you. I don’t ask for much in life—a chunk of meat for supper, a cup of ale before bed, and peace and quiet at night to read. I was assured you would be capable of this.”

Beatrice thought of his first command, and she remained silent, nodding politely.

“Good,” the Baron uttered. “You will do as I ask in the manor, and I don’t see the need for formal engagements and events—they are often the Devil’s work. I only came here tonight to meet you, but I find when men and women drink and dance together, they get funny ideas in their heads, and women are quite unable to control themselves at the best of times. They so often need strong men to guide them.”

Beatrice breathed evenly through her nose as she listened to the Baron. She had feared this moment ever since her father had informed her of a match, but it was so much worse than she could have possibly imagined.

“We will have three children,” the Baron continued. “If the first child is not a boy, we will have another child until I have an heir. I am not getting any younger, and I shall need someone to inherit my title. I hope you will be able to give me that?”

He stared at her expectantly.

“I am not barren,” Beatrice muttered, hoping a small joke would break the tension.

It did not.

“Good.” The Baron nodded. “Now that the official business is out of the way, we can move on to pleasantries. Give me your hand.”

Beatrice did not want to, but she found herself reaching out her hand for the Baron to take. Lord Mutton’s hands shook in gleeful expectation as he took her hand in his. She expected his hands to be warm and clammy, but they were cold. His entire body trembled happily as he held her hand, and she imagined he had not touched a woman in some time—if ever.

She knew she could not lie in the same bed as this man, or kiss his dry lips, or let his hands touch her body, or engage in the act that would create children. She knew she could not marry him, and from her mother’s expression, Letitia felt the same. Beatrice knew all of this, but at the same time, she knew she was bound to this arrangement.

That drove her to be compliant, but more than that was the thought of Hannah taking her place if she did escape the marriage. Not that escape was possible. She could not run again. If there were another way out, she would take it, but it was a dream.

“You are a fine woman,” the Baron said. “You will do very nicely for what I have in mind. Go and fetch me a drink, and we shall stand together for a time before I have to leave.”

Beatrice nodded. Perhaps she could become talkative or make a fuss and show just how much trouble she would be, but she did not know if that would make a difference. She did not know Lord Mutton very well, but she imagined he would ensure her compliance if he did not immediately get it, and that was a far worse fate.

She left the Baron, happy to have a few minutes to herself, and went to get him a drink. She took the longest possible route to get to the refreshments table and realized when she got there that she had not asked what he would like. Cognac would be a safe choice.

“Beatrice.”

Her name didn’t register for a moment, but when she finally turned around, she found Hannah standing before her. Beatrice smiled, happy to see a familiar face, even though it had only been minutes since her father had left her with the Baron.

“You are miserable,” Hannah noted.

“What?” Beatrice muttered.

“No one else can see it, but I can,” Hannah commented. “You try to hide it, but I can see it in your eyes. You are miserable—no wonder, seeing the man Father has chosen for you to marry. I did not expect him to be so old or horrible. He has an air about him.” She shivered.

“He is far worse when you speak to him,” Beatrice said. “I can’t marry him.”

“Then don’t,” Hannah suggested.

“That’s easy to say but much harder to do. I already feel guilt for what I let Charlotte endure, and I made a promise to Father—I can’t risk the same happening to you.”

“It won’t happen to me,” Hannah assured her. “Father has spoken at length about potential matches and taking time to consider the right one, and he won’t rush me into marriage for any reason. He has spoken a lot about you, too, Beatrice. You are not promised to the Baron as you were to the Duke of Hayward. He is merely the first gentleman that Father could find who was looking for a wife and had some wealth and business prospects. He does not care about the Baron, only about you getting married as soon as possible.”

“You can’t be suggesting that I run away again. I shall not do that to Father. And have you heard what they are calling me? If I run again, I will forever be known asThe Runaway Bride,and no one will marry me. I can’t dothatto Father.”

“You shan’t have to,” Hannah said.

Beatrice picked up the glass of cognac from the tray and glanced over at the Baron, who was watching her from far across the room. She could not see the direction he was looking, but she felt his eyes raking over her body. It was her turn to shiver.

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