Page 13 of The Duke of Seduction
Gage was a father and a friend and an irreplaceable helper all in one. He was the one constant Beck allowed himself to rely on. His stepmother’s focus was on her young son, as it should be. As Beck’s parents’ had been on him when he’d been young. Until Helen had died. And then it had all fallen apart.
“I don’t know aboutthat.” Gage’s tone was light, but there was truth in what he said. Beck kept some things close to himself, and once in a while, Gage tread too close. In those few instances, Beck had told him to back away. And one time in particular, Beck may have lost his temper. He didn’t do it often, but when he did, there were usually casualties.
Beck turned his mind back to what Gage had said—that he helped others in an effort to help himself. That made sense, he supposed. And now he wanted to write about that. But first his correspondence beckoned.
A sound from outside drew them both to rush to the window facing the street. A coach was tilted, its wheel having fallen off. Without a word, Beck hurried from the study to the hall, Gage fast on his heels.
The late morning was cool, with a thick cloud cover. Beck glanced up, thinking it could rain. The sooner they cleaned up the mess on the street, the better.
He dashed to the coach as the coachman was opening the door and asking the occupant if she was all right.
“Are you injured, my lady?” The poor coachman sounded severely distraught.
Beck turned to Gage. “Fetch Cartwright.”
Gage took himself off to the mews to get the head groom.
Beck pivoted back to the coach just as the occupant emerged. “Lady Fairwell.” He didn’t bother hiding his surprise.
Her cheeks flushed a dark pink. It could have been due to the cold or the excitement of the accident, but Beck wasn’t sure it was either. “Lord Northam, what a surprise to see you here. Do you live nearby?”
Though she’d never been to his house, of course, he suspected she knew where he lived. “Yes, right there.” He turned his head and pointed to his house.
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” She smiled prettily as the coachman went to investigate what had happened with the wheel.
Beck wasn’t sure he believed her, not that it mattered. “My head groom is coming to help. Hopefully, we can get this repaired and see you on your way before it rains.”
“Perhaps you could take her ladyship home?” the coachman asked, his gaze tinged with concern. “Or keep her inside if the rain starts?”
“I’m happy to wait inside.”
Beck turned his head to see Matilda smiling, a glint of anticipation lighting her eyes.
Beck considered the situation. It wouldn’t necessarily be a scandal to invite her inside under the circumstances, but he didn’t want to. He went to her side and spoke in a near whisper. “It’s probably best if you don’t come in.”
She fluttered her lashes in open flirtation. “Why not? My coach is wrecked, and it’s going to rain. In fact, I think I just felt a drop.”
Where? The wide brim of her bonnet shielded her face, and the rest of her was covered with gloves, gown, and pelisse. Furthermore, he hadn’t felt a thing.
Beck looked into the street to see if he could see any drops falling. But what he saw were neighbors who’d come outside to investigate what had happened. Mrs. Law, a notorious gossip, lived across the street. She came toward them, and Beck knew there wouldn’t be an assignation between him and Matilda, not that he wanted one. In fact, there wouldn’t be an assignation ever again. Their affair was effectively over due to this scene.
He was surprisingly relieved. “I can’t invite you inside, Tilly,” he said quietly, eyeing Mrs. Law’s approach. “Not now, not ever.”
She sucked in a breath. “So youweretrying to end things the other night when you shoved me out of Lord Evenrude’s library. You’re a beast.”
Gage had returned with Cartwright, and Beck was fairly certain the butler had heard her comment.
Then Mrs. Law was upon them. Her gaze fell on Beck and narrowed. “My goodness, Lord Northam, couldn’t you see fit to even don acoat? Let alone a hat or gloves?”
“I was in a rush to make sure the occupants of this damaged coach were all right. I see you made sure to dress yourself for an excursion before you bothered to come outside.” He kept his tone light and cheery but knew she’d feel the sting of his words. Gossipy, obnoxious women like her deserved them.
“As it happens, I do have an excursion,” she said with considerable hauteur. She turned to Lady Fairwell. “May I offer you a ride home, Lady Fairwell?”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned a perturbed stare on Beck. “Thank you for yourassistancewith my coach.”
Beck offered a bow. “It’s our pleasure, my lady. I’ll see that your repaired vehicle is delivered home. Your husband can rest assured it will be returned to him in excellent, if slightly worn, condition.”
He hadn’t meant to make a double entendre or deliver an insult, but realized he had. As a writer, his brain sometimes made connections it shouldn’t. And as a man, sometimes those connections formed words that were perhaps better left unsaid. Ah well, it was too late now.
