Page 17 of A Scandalous Bargain
“For so many reasons,” he murmured. “I could just introduce you to Ramsgate.”
“How would that go? You and I aren’t formally acquainted.”
“That is unfortunately true.”
“Anyway, I have a good plan. I now have a voucher to Almack’s in my possession.” She grinned at him.
“Do you? That’s wonderful.” He lifted his glass. “To you conquering London.”
She raised hers in response, and they both drank. “It’s rather extraordinary, really. I didn’t even meet one of the patronesses.” They typically met everyone before offering a voucher.
“Your sister is marrying the son of an earl. I’m sure that was helpful. I assume the voucher includes her?”
“It does.” She narrowed one eye at him. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
He shrugged.
“Well, if you did, thank you.”
“I take it Lady Gresham isn’t also the duke’s daughter?” The question seemed innocuous, but it was one of the tenuous threads holding Beatrix’s lies together.
“No. Our mother was wed to her father, who died shortly after she was born.” She quickly made up the fabrication and silently repeated it so she would remember what she’d said. If her father decided to publicly claim her, she and Selina would explain to Harry’s family that they’d lied about being sisters to protect Beatrix. They wouldn’t want Harry’s family thinking Selina’s mother was a former courtesan and the mistress of a duke. The reality was that Selina’s mother could be just about anyone.
What a tangle. So much depended on what the duke decided to do once he and Beatrix were reunited. Because of that, she hadn’t planned on what to say in this instance because she’d never revealed her parentage to anyone. She was playing a dangerous game with Rockbourne.
A child’s head poked in through the opening of the third door—the one that didn’t lead to either bedchamber. Blonde curls rioted around a cherubic face. She slipped into the sitting room, a doll clutched in one arm.
Beatrix smiled at her, which drew Rockbourne to turn his head.
He set his wineglass down on a table beside the settee and shot to his feet. “Regan.”
The girl’s gaze was fixed on Beatrix. “Papa, who’s that?”
“Ah, she’s…a friend.”
Regan came toward Beatrix. “I’m Regan. Can I be your friend too?”
“Please,” Beatrix said. She put her glass on a table between the two chairs and leaned forward toward the girl. “Who is your friend?” She inclined her head toward the doll.
“This is Alice. But shh, she’s sleeping. I brought her ’cause she doesn’t like to be alone.”
“You are most kind,” Beatrix said with a soft smile. “I don’t particularly like being alone either.”
Regan tipped her head to the side, her green eyes fixed on Beatrix. “Who keeps you company? Is it my Papa?” She glanced over her shoulder at Rockbourne, who stood in front of the other chair.
Beatrix’s gaze met his for a swift, heated moment. “Sometimes,” she said. “When I come for a visit. Mostly my sister keeps me company.”
“I want a sister.”
“You have Alice,” Beatrix said. “Can you pretend she’s your sister?” The girl nodded. “How old are you, Regan?”
“Three.”
“She’ll be four this summer,” Rockbourne said.
“How old are you?” Regan asked.
Beatrix hated lying to a child, but she always lied about her age. At twenty-six, she was old enough to be on the shelf. “Twenty-two.”
