Page 79 of His Unwanted Duchess

Beatrice eyed him, her insides fizzling. She considered asking him whether he had chosen a permanent room for himself, but the words simply wouldn’t come to her lips.

A more scenic route. What does that mean? Is it a euphemism, or is he implying that he has errands to run on the way home?

The thought of spending time alone in a carriage with Stephen—perhaps even in the same carriage where they had kissed and touched each other—made her shiver and swallow reflexively.

But that was not how Beatrice had intended to spend her day. She had plans. She was going to unearth secrets, once and for all, and the opportunity might not come again.

“I can’t,” she heard herself say.

Something flickered across Stephen’s face. Disappointment? Annoyance? She couldn’t place it.

“I see,” he responded neutrally. “Can I assume that you are spending time with my dear mother?”

“Not I,” Theodosia spoke up crisply, helping herself to another generous spoonful of scrambled eggs. “I am promenading this morning.”

Stephen’s eyes bored into the side of Beatrice’s face, clearly willing her to tell him what her mysteriousplanswere. For a moment, she was afraid he would decide to stay home, instead.

On cue, Mouse appeared in the doorway. “Your bath is ready, Your Grace.”

“Very well,” Stephen said, after a pause. “Enjoy your day, my dear wife.”

CHAPTER 23

Stephen sat in the carriage and brooded. He didn’t often allow himself the opportunity tosit and reflect. Looking to the past seldom did anyone any good. The past could not beignored, of course, but neither should it preoccupy one’s thoughts. The future depended on the present, and too muchreflectiondistracted a person from thenow.

It seemed truly ridiculous that he was sitting angrily in a carriage, thinking about such rubbish, with no idea who—or what—he was angry at beyond himself.

I should leave her alone. I should pack up my things and go back to France, or Scotland, or Ireland, or Spain, or anywhere. She deserves peace of mind, does she not? She’ll never get that from me.

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the carriage window. As expected, after such a poor night’s sleep, he had a pounding headache. He felt vaguely sick, as well asboth wide awake and sleepy at the same time—a fairly upsetting conundrum.

What had possessed him to crawl into bed with Beatrice? He kept replaying the moment in his mind—the wide-eyed expression on her face, the way her body shifted warmly against his as he pressed her down.

I had no right to do such a thing.

Had she been afraid? No, he didn’t think so. Beatrice was not the sort of woman who would ever beafraidof him, or anyone. But he was pushing his luck. There wererules. They’d struck a bargain, made an agreement.

And here he was, pushing the boundaries. It was not going to end well.

The carriage bounced over a rut in the road, jostling Stephen a little too much. His eyes snapped open, and he barely suppressed a growl. It wasn’t the coachman’s fault, of course—the streets of London were bad at the best of times, and it was impossible to avoid ruts and potholes.

The jolt had woken him up, though, in more ways than one.

He should have stayed out of the breakfast room that morning.

Stephen was well aware of what he had done, leaning so close to Beatrice. He’d seen the effect it had on her—her heaving chest,her flushed cheeks, her averted eyes. Stephen was comfortably aware of what the signs of desire were, and it was fairly clear that Beatrice desired him.

For most husbands, it would be wonderful news to know that their wives desired them so very much. But in my case, it means disaster. What if she wants to start whittling away at the rules? What if she expects more than I can give?

In his mind’s eye, Stephen could see Beatrice’s blank, disappointed face. He saw her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes not quite meeting his. He could see the hurt in them, and it hurthim.

It was an odd sort of pain, a dull sensation shooting through his chest, as if something heavy was resting on him. He swallowed hard.

I won’t hurt her. I can’t. It’s not fair. Even if… even if she doesn’t understand, I won’t let her suffer.

His mind drifted back to Cornelia’s expression, tight and angry and full of determination. He’d warned her off, but would she listen? Cornelia always had been stubborn to a fault, and vengefully angry whenever she considered herself wronged.

It wasn’t fair to put Beatrice in harm’s way.

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