take her hands in his. He looked down. ‘What do you have to lose?’
‘I’ve had a lie of a marriage. I see no reason for a lie of a betrothal. I made myself a promise never to wed again. The first time cured me of any notions in that regard. My husband—he didn’t improve with age, drink or distance. I was lucky he had a taste for poppies and managed to do himself in before too many years passed.’
‘I have heard that many wives do appreciate a husband who dies early on in the marriage.’
Her mouth turned up at one side, but her gaze speared him. ‘Saves on the cost of carriage repair.’
Then her shoulders drooped. ‘You tempt me, but it is only a momentary spasm and it passes.’ She sighed. ‘At the end of my time with Riverton—’ her voice lowered ‘—and we really should not call it a marriage—I only cared because Riverton couldn’t be discreet. The marriage itself was neither here nor there because I hadn’t spent time with him in several years. But I always had the feeling people knew more about him than I did and I didn’t like being... By then he wasn’t even someone I would have wanted to speak of at a soirée. So having him as a husband was rather unfortunate.’
‘I assure you, I would not disgrace my wife so.’
She gave a tilt of her head. ‘Oh, you say that now. But in five years? Ten?’
‘Lady Riverton. I do not make a habit of such.’
She shook her head with a wobble, making the movement sarcastic. She turned away, walked to a sconce and stared at it. ‘Yes. You are behind. But once you get started, what’s to stop you from making up for lost time?’
‘I would say it’s unlikely that I would be so inclined,’ he admitted. ‘At this point in my life, I realise I should take even more care than I have in the past. Tonight, for example. You can see how unrestrained behaviour led to both of us being in the wrong bedchamber at the wrong time.’ He spoke softly. ‘I do not regret holding you close. But I now see quite plainly that it is good for me to be working in the late hours of the night. In the past, when I have wished for a woman’s attentions, I have forced myself to work, either with pen in hand or hammer.’ He smiled. ‘You may note that I have quite the list of completed projects behind me—too numerous to mention. I have easily surpassed every person of my years in accomplishments.’
Without his celibacy, he would not have been able to increase his small inheritance. The town houses he had purchased and directed to be remodelled had taken vast efforts of economy to repair with so little capital. At the beginning, he’d feared he was going to lose everything with small rent coming in and so much being swallowed by delays and unexpected costs. He’d worked around the clock, planning and researching and overseeing every aspect he could. He’d hired Wilson to design more structures and, when those were completed, things changed quickly. He’d had funds to call upon and reinvest with each successive venture.
On several occasions recently he’d taken a pause from the work and had ridden by his properties, knowing they had been nothing until he imagined them. A contentment had filled him. Now they would be a part of the landscape for long after he’d left the world. How much better that was than the complications he’d found when desires raged within him and he attempted to appease them.
She examined him again. ‘You. No one has ever mentioned you with any talk but of...work. Wilson says you’re such a stick, I thought you quite, quite aged.’
He smoothed down the front of his coat. ‘I am extremely responsible. I have not had much time for soirées or frivolity in my life.’
She still smelled of baked goods, which disturbed him. He wondered if he would ever be able to eat a cake again without thinking of unrequited lust.
She looked at him. ‘I will never marry again. It doesn’t agree with my voice. Makes it rise to a shrill note. It seems to not do well for my husband, either. I do appreciate the offer of helping me. I am grateful for your consideration of my reputation.’ She ducked her chin, and smiled at him. ‘Very grateful.’
Truly, Andrew didn’t think his own reputation would be damaged to be associated with Beatrice for a short while.
A few days earlier, Andrew had overheard his valet and one of the maids muttering behind a door. He’d been described in exemplary terms, then he’d heard the last words, added almost as one might curse. ‘Dull as ditch water.’
He’d turned and left, not retrieving the drawings he’d left in the chamber—pleased. He’d worked hard to resist temptations of all sorts. He’d not let himself be idle for long periods, drink too much with Fox, or spend funds extravagantly.
He imagined they would hear of tonight’s indiscretion, but it would not be a concern. One small blot that hurt no one. He would make sure it did not tarnish Beatrice.
Helping Beatrice would be a pleasant diversion from the hours and hours of instruction he directed to his man of affairs and the restless moments which spurred him to complete his vision of his home. Whenever a room was finished, he had immediately noticed the shabbiness of another area and had begun a new renovation. The carriage house would soon be completed and his entire home and grounds would be as they should be.
Beatrice’s movements returned his thoughts to her and caused the warmth that had settled in his chest to strengthen.
Her nose crinkled and the challenge faded from her eyes. ‘I’m quite used to not being portrayed well. I am not fond of it. I don’t like it, but it’s...unpleasant only. I don’t lose any sleep over it. Tilly might not even mention...’ She waved her fingers. ‘No. I know she will mention it, but our encounter might not appear in print.’
‘I would not wager silver on that.’
She crossed her arms ‘I will survive with a smile on my face.’ Her nose wrinkled again. Sighing, she uncrossed her arms. ‘Once a beast, always a beast. Perception is everything. Perception is reality. What people believe to be the truth is their truth. I’m used to them getting the facts wrong and changing the details. Besides, Beatrice the Benevolent will not sell the papers.’
‘It could.’
Her tone lowered. Her lips turned up at one edge. ‘No.’ That snort again. ‘Read the print. I’m sure you could dig up a copy somewhere.’
‘What harm is there in trying? We can work together. One small act on your part will not change any perception of you, but if it is taken as part of a journey, the views of you can be changed. A house is not built with a single stone. Think how many years of your life you have left. Do you wish to be a beast when you truly wear the spectacles and cap?’
* * *
Beatrice paused, considering. The man stood before her in the same stance of a warrior who might have stepped from a painting and she wasn’t sure if he looked at her as a friend or foe. His eyes had narrowed a bit and she would wager he examined her more deeply than anyone else ever had.
The silence in the room oppressed her. ‘Just leave,’ she said. ‘I am used to the nonsense said of me. I have been notorious my whole life.’
That was true. Her bosom had not developed overly large, but it had matured well before the other girls her age. The stable boys had noticed and smirked. The children all acted as if she’d grown her breasts on purpose. Her mother had thought them blessings and insisted the modiste make Beatrice’s gowns show more flesh than Beatrice had preferred. Her mother had forbidden Beatrice to wear a shawl, saying the family must always keep up appearances and one could not wear such a lowly garment.
Her friends and their mothers had thought Beatrice brazen even then. She’d endured it with a smile, laughed it away, jested and pretended her figure was all a woman could wish for. And all men could wish for. On that, she didn’t think she’d been entirely wrong. Riverton had certainly been aware of her shape, wanting her to continue in the same gowns her mother had chosen. Within a month of marriage, she’d visited a modiste and ordered all new gowns in a cut she preferred.
She’d