Page 20 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
“That sounds dreadfully boring,” Freddy muttered. She couldn’t believe it had taken only a single night to lose her ally in Blythe.
Beckford gave her an uneasy look, almost as if something she’d said worried him. “She doesn’t require your assistance any longer, so you have no other reason to come to Covent Garden.”
“But—”
“No buts, Frederica. I told you Covent Garden is not for you. Let me reiterate that I will never hire you, nor will I allow you to be hired by anyone in my territory.”
The good feelings she had toward him disappeared so fast it made her head ache. Anger replaced the desire, and her temples pounded. “Why are you doing this?” she asked in a low, hushed tone, though she really wanted to bellow at him. She had, after all, promised Vivian she’d behave until Vivian secured her match, and Freddy intended to uphold that promise.
“To ensure your safety, since you apparently have no care to do so yourself.”
“It’s not your job to keep me safe, Beckford. You are not my brother, father, or husband.”
“Thank God for that,” he returned so quickly that hurt spread through her chest and the familiar feeling of not being accepted gripped her.
She stiffened and tried to tug away from him, but he pulled her closer, almost improperly so. “I’m sorry.” His eyes showed that he meant what he said, but her pride had been good and chipped.
“Whatever for?” she replied, refusing to let him see that his words had hurt her. It was ridiculous to allow herself to be injured by a man she barely knew. There were plenty of men she’d known all her life that already had that job. As her eyes fell from his to his lips, she thought for one more brief moment how she’d wanted him to kiss her again. That had been a foolish notion, at best.
“I’m sorry if what I said seemed harsh,” he said.
“Which part?” She arched her eyebrows at him as they moved to the left and right, both automatically following the steps to the dance. “The part where you told me you’d never allow me to live in Covent Garden or the part where you said, ‘thank God’ you were not my husband, brother, or father?”
“Why Covent Garden?” he questioned instead of answering her. Normally, it would have irritated her, as she despised when people evaded questions, but the genuine interest in his voice and on his face was undeniable.
“I don’t know for certain,” she said, which wasn’t the complete truth.
“Come now,” he said, circling her to the right. “You don’t seem the sort of woman who would make such a momentous decision without truly thinking it through.”
“I’m not.” Her lips pulled into a smirk that he’d state such a thing after suggesting she could not take care of herself well enough to survive in his territory.
He scowled. “Just because you think you’ve thought something through thoroughly doesn’t mean you’ve come to the correct conclusion. You’ve chosen Covent Garden for a reason, and you think you could survive there, but I’m telling you that you could not. What I want to know, though, is why Covent Garden?”
“Because I do not fit here.”
“And what makes you think you’d fit there?”
Could she trust him with her most private thoughts? For some reason, she felt she could. “Because being different seems to be accepted there.”
“It is to an extent,” he acknowledged, “but Covent Garden is still not the place for the likes of you. You should open a nice dressmaker shop in Mayfair.”
“I don’t want a nice dressmaker shop in Mayfair!” she said, feeling frustrated as the dance started drawing to an end. “I don’t fit in here. I have tried for one and twenty years, and I have never belonged. The only time I came even close was when SLAR was more active. Now that SLAR is hardly doing any work, I have nothing to talk to the others about, not even my own sisters. They want to talk of babies, and balls, and teas, and I’d rather gouge my eyes out.”
“That’s a bit extreme,” he said, chuckling.
“Perhaps,” she relented. “But I want excitement, and I’m certain the sort of excitement I want will not be found in Mayfair, nor will it be found with a titled husband who demands I act a certain way, talk a certain way, be a certain way.”
“You think a husband from Covent Garden would be so different?”
“I never said I even wanted a husband.” A feeling of boldness swept through her. “Perhaps I simply want a lover.”
Something flared on his face and made her body tingle. “That’s not the sort of thing you should go around saying to men, Frederica.”
She nearly grinned at the desire that vibrated in his tone. It was a heady feeling to know she’d caused it. “It’s not the sort of thing I’d say to any man, Beckford.” And then a perfect idea came to her. “It’s the sort of thing I’d only say to a man I thought might fit a position I need filled.”
“And what position is that?” His hungry gaze bore into her.
She had to seize this moment. She simply had to. “Reliever of innocence,” she said, her tone low and her cheeks flaming, despite her resolve.
