One Night with an Earl (9 page)

Sheffield's jolly face turned as sour as if he'd just eaten a particularly strong lemon. He stroked a hand over the few strands of hair covering his balding pate. “Ah. Beatrice. You are acquainted with my daughter, then?”

“I am.”

“You were…
with
her last night?”

Drew straightened and stared at the man through narrow eyes. “I was.”

Silence.

“I intend to make things right, Sheffield,” he said quietly. “I have strong feelings for your daughter. I believe she feels the same.”

The man gave him a long, assessing look. Then he said, “Do you think so? Well, then, I am sorry for you.”

Drew's eyes narrowed further. He didn't like the condescending tone of the man's voice. At all. “What do you mean?”

“I encourage you to walk away, Weston. No, don't walk,
run
. End this association as quickly as possible. For your own sake, not mine.”

“How can you say that? I have honorable intentions when it comes to your daughter, sir.”

“My daughter is ruined. She is damaged goods, man.”

Few rational men would turn away a connection between an earl and their daughter, ruined or not. What the hell was wrong with this man? “You must know that marrying me would not only restore her honor, but would also secure your family's position in society.”

Sheffield snorted. “You don't seem to understand. It might appear to mend all our problems in the short-term. But ultimately, it won't matter. Marrying her will
ruin
you. Everything that girl touches withers away and dies.”

Drew stared at him, anger rising swiftly in his gut. How could a man speak in such a way? About his own daughter? About
Beatrice
?

He clenched his hands, forcing the fury back down. He wouldn't unleash it until he got to the bottom of this and found out where Beatrice was.

“Are you implying that what happened between her and Fenwicke was her fault?”

Sheffield leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “My wife would disagree with me warning you off like this, Weston. She'd foist the girl on you, and happily, too, in hopes of not only getting rid of her, but also redeeming the family name. But me? No, I'm not that shortsighted, nor am I that selfish.”

Drew took a deep breath as the anger threatened to burst free.

“Listen,” the viscount continued in an oily voice, “you are an earl, and while you are no marquis like her first husband, it would still be an excellent match for her—at least from an outsider's perspective. If my daughter were any other girl, I'd be demanding you marry her. However, I know her, Weston. She pushed Fenwicke's patience until he had no choice but to discipline her. She did it again and again, and then she manipulated the truth so that she'd appear the victim.”

Drew stared at the man. After a moment of silence, he found his voice. “Please,” he said, his tone flat, “tell me you are joking.”

“Oh no. I am not joking. That girl brings about the downfall of everyone she associates with. Look at what has happened to me, for example.” He blinked hard, as if on the verge of tears.

Drew tried to remember if anything significant had happened to Sheffield. The only thing Drew could recall was that Sheffield had made disparaging remarks about several of the men in the House of Lords at his club, which was frequented by those men. Word had traveled about Sheffield's offensive drunken rampage like wildfire. Now those men had spurned him and their wives probably spurned the viscountess, too, but for good reason. The claims he'd made had been unforgiveable.

None of that had anything to do with Beatrice.

The viscount sighed. “And look what happened to her poor husband.”

Yes, and thank God Wakefield had been there to stop that mad bastard from hurting her any further.

“Fenwicke hurt your daughter. He
hurt
her. Are you aware of that?” Drew's voice shook as he tried to contain his rage.

Because of course the viscount was aware of what had happened to his daughter. The whole world was aware of it.

“Come now, man. We all know that women are high-strung and commonly in need of discipline.”

Drew ground his teeth.

“She's as stubborn as a wild stallion and she's a manipulative hussy to boot. Marrying her will only lead to your downfall, as it led to Fenwicke's and as it has led to mine. She is going to Berkshire, where”—again the man's voice took on that condescending tone—“she will live in comfort and solitude for the remainder of her days. I'm saying this for your own good, man”—he slapped his hand over his chest—“from the generosity and goodness in my heart. I simply can't watch her destroy yet another upstanding member of the aristocracy. Believe me when I say she doesn't deserve you.”

And that was the crux of it, Drew realized. This bastard had needed someone to blame for his current situation among his peers, and that person was Beatrice, an easy target because the
ton
had already turned its sneer upon her.

The viscount was delusional. He was also so vindictive that he was determined to make her life miserable. He wanted her to pay for her supposed wrongs. He'd do anything, even reject a marriage offer from an earl, to see her suffer.

“Fenwicke only did what was right,” Sheffield murmured.

In two steps, Drew was in the man's face, fisting his hand in the viscount's rumpled cravat and twisting. “You are a blind, idiotic fool. And you are an ass.
You
don't deserve
her
. She was an innocent who was wrongly treated, you bastard.”

When she was his wife, he would keep her away from this place. No wonder she had been so hesitant to believe she was worthy of love. Her husband had broken her; then her father had crushed the pieces under his boot heel.

“You are her father. It was your responsibility to keep her safe, but instead you harmed her even further. I will never forgive you for that.”

He shoved the man away, and he stumbled backward, bent over and coughing, his face a bright red.

“Where is she?” Drew growled. “Is she still here?”

“No,” the viscount choked out. “Hopefully she's far from London by now.”

“You already…sent her away.” Drew was so angry it was difficult to speak.

The man looked up at him, his dark eyes round and red-rimmed and flaring with anger. “Of course I sent her away. She is an embarrass—”

He didn't finish his sentence. Because Drew strode forward again, and with all his strength, swung a punch at the man's face. He connected with a loud crack and the viscount's head whipped to the side.

He turned and was out the door before he could see the man's reaction. He left the house on his own, found his horse and mounted, and left Mayfair, still steaming with fury.

She was on her way to Berkshire, where the viscount had a country house near Lambourn. It was a long day's ride, if he rode hard and changed horses often. But Beatrice couldn't be more than a few hours ahead of him. If he was lucky, she would be in his arms again by nightfall.

B
eatrice curled on her side, closing her eyes against the harsh morning light that seeped into the guest room. She'd been awake for a while, but actually leaving the bed was so difficult. She just wanted to lie here with her eyes closed, rather than face the day ahead of her.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Beatrice?”

It was Jessica, come to coax her out of bed like she had the past two days.

Three mornings ago, her mother and father had practically pushed her into the carriage headed to the coaching inn where they'd intended for her to take the mail coach to Berkshire. Her parents wouldn't allow her to take the carriage all the way to their country home, as they needed it and their coachman to remain in Town for their own activities.

The kindly coachman, John, hadn't been too keen on taking a lady to an inn where she'd need to take the mail coach on her own without a maid or a chaperone. She'd known he'd help her. And when she asked him to take her to Jessica's instead, John was more than happy to oblige.

Jessica had taken her in with open arms. Beatrice had poured out the whole story of what had happened between her and Drew, and after Jessica had made sure she'd had a good breakfast, she insisted that Beatrice send Drew a letter right away.

She'd written Drew that very morning. Now, it was three mornings later, and she'd had no word.

Clearly he wasn't the man she'd thought he was. She felt stupid for trusting him. But, more than that, she felt like he'd trampled her heart and smashed it into a million pieces.

“Can I come in?” Jessica called.

“Yes,” Beatrice said.

She forced herself to a sitting position as Jessica entered and closed the door softly behind her. She stopped a few steps inside the room, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Did you sleep well?” She held her hand up as Beatrice opened her mouth to answer. “Never mind. Of course you didn't.” Jessica spun around and disappeared into the dressing room, emerging a few seconds later holding up Beatrice's nicest carriage dress.

“You're going to wear this today,” she announced. “And I'm going to play lady's maid and help you to dress.”

“That's not at all necessary,” Beatrice protested.

Jessica waved her hand in her well-practiced dismissive gesture. “Of course it is. Now come here.”

Beatrice slipped out of bed and walked with heavy feet toward her friend, who gave her an assessing look. “You look exhausted, Bee.” Jessica gave a hefty sigh. “All right. Here's a clean shift. Let's get you changed. Molly should be up any second with some warm water, and Janet is bringing your breakfast.”

“She's bringing breakfast up here?” Usually she and Jessica dined in the sunny morning room of the Briggs' town house.

“Yes, she is.”

Half an hour later, Beatrice had been efficiently scrubbed and clothed, and Jessica had force-fed her a few bites of breakfast.

“There.” Jessica clapped her hands. “You look lovely. Now we can go downstairs.”

As Jessica hustled her out the door, Beatrice frowned at her. “Jessica, what is going on? You aren't usually in such a hurry.”

Jessica just gave her a demure smile. “Just come downstairs. I want to show you something.”

She led Beatrice into the morning room. There was a rectangular gilt-covered box on the table beside the usual bouquet of spring flowers. Jessica fetched it and held it out to Beatrice. “For you.”

“Jessica, you didn't have to—”

“Oh, stop. It's not from me. Open it.”

Beatrice set the box back on the table and lifted its lid. What she saw inside made her gasp.

It was her pale blue silk slipper, the one she couldn't find at Drew's house that morning. It had been cleaned and looked as good as new.

But what did it mean? Why would he simply send her back her slipper? Did he want all evidence of her visit to his house eradicated?

There was a note attached, and with a great deal of trepidation, Beatrice took it out and unfolded it.

That was all. She frowned at it. Turned it over. The other side was blank.

“Well?” Jessica asked.

Beatrice handed her the card. “What does that mean?”

Jessica gave her a look of supreme patience. “Well, it probably means someone wants you in the drawing room.”

Beatrice stared at her friend for a second. Then she whispered, “You mean…he's here?”

Her blue eyes twinkling, Jessica nodded.

Oh God. Now it suddenly made sense why Jessica had been so intent upon helping her to look nice this morning. She flung herself at her friend and gave her a tight hug. She didn't know what would happen with Drew, but she knew Jessica was the best friend a woman could have.

“Thank you.”

“I love you, Bee,” Jessica said, hugging her back fiercely. But then she held her at arm's length. “I already gave him a rather extensive piece of my mind. And then I made him wait—not as long as he made you wait, but long enough, I hope.” Her tone was one of supreme satisfaction. “Now, you must go into that drawing room and demand why that man took three full days to come see you.”

Beatrice took a deep breath and nodded. Then, straightening her shoulders, she turned, went out the door, and headed down the corridor.

When she opened the door to the drawing room, Drew rose instantly. He looked so handsome, in dark, form-fitting clothes, his cravat tied impeccably at his neck. He appeared cleanly shaven and well rested, with none of the dark circles that showed under her eyes. He had looked dashing in his mask, but seeing his whole face in the light of day…he was the most handsome man in the world to her.

He blinked at her, then inclined his head. “My lady. You…” His voice trailed off. “I…am glad to see you. You were beautiful as Persephone, but in proper English clothing…I don't have any words. Except
perfection
.”

“You don't address me as Beatrice now?” she asked quietly.

“I'm not sure I've the right. But I'd like for you to give it to me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. Once again, Drew made her feel strong, even though this time it was not to his benefit. “I shall decide on that as soon as I hear why you've come here.”

“I've come to see you.”

“Well. You've seen me.”

“I've been looking for you,” he continued, then cocked a sardonic brow. “You're not an easy woman to find.”

She arched a brow. “Really? You know Jessica is my friend. If one was truly searching for me, I'd assume it would be one of the first places a person would look.”

“I was misled.”

“By me?”

“No, of course not.” His lips curled downward. “By your father.”

God only knew what horrible things her father had shoved into Drew's mind. “What did my father say to you, Drew?”

“He mentioned Berkshire, so I assumed he'd sent you to his country estate. So I went there—”

She held up a hand to cut him off. “Wait…you
went
to Lambourn? You rode there?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you…returned to London?”

“Yes.”

“In three days?”

“That's right.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. Lambourn was two days away in her family's carriage. One very long day in the stagecoach, and the early-morning mail coach from London didn't arrive until evening. It seemed impossible that a single man could ride there and back in three days and then come here looking so utterly composed and handsome.

“They told me at Lambourn that they had no idea where you were. So I rode like the devil back to London. I didn't want you to think…” He stopped, his eyes growing hard, and then he murmured darkly, “But you did, didn't you? Your father wouldn't have told you I'd come looking for you.”

“You didn't respond to my letter,” she said quietly, “so I thought you didn't want to see me. I'm sorry.” She was in awe that someone would rush to Berkshire, then rush back in the space of three days…looking for her.

“Don't be sorry.” He took two steps toward her, then seemed to hesitate. He reached out to touch her cheek, just the gentlest of touches. “And don't look so surprised. I'm not letting you go this time. I'll follow you wherever you go. I'll chase you, if that's what it takes. Distance doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter. You mean that much to me, and so much more.”

She blinked at him. “I thought—”

“I'm going to work to earn your trust. I know that's difficult for you. But if one day you trust me completely, Beatrice, then that will be my greatest reward.”

“I…want to trust you.” She felt terrible for not trusting him. After the night they'd spent together, after he'd showed her how much he cared, she should have known he wouldn't dismiss her so callously.

His fingers curved so that he cupped her cheek. “I understand why you thought I'd spurned you. But that wasn't the case, love. I want you to trust that I'm not worthy of you, not the other way around. Trust that I want you, and nobody else. Trust that I
need
you to make my life complete.”

She gazed at him, this man she'd dreamed about when she was just a child. “How are you real?” she whispered, that same sense of unreality washing over her like it had three nights ago.

He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Do you feel my heart beating?”

“Yes.”

“I'm real. I'm here. For you.”

She gazed up into his eyes. There was sincerity there. Softness.
Love.

And she smiled. She tossed away the cloak of darkness that had covered her. And that girl she'd once been was exposed, the Beatrice who could be strong and radiant and beautiful…and loved.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I thought I loved you a long time ago, but now I know I do.”

He pulled her into his arms. “You thought you loved me?”

“Yes. Remember? We danced, and we dined beside each other, and we went for walks.”

“I remember.”

“I thought I loved you then. I…daydreamed that you would ask for my hand and that one day we would be married.”

His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “I never knew that.”

“I never knew you felt the same.”

“All this time wasted,” he said.

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Too much time.”

They stood there for a long while, until they were breathing slow, calm breaths together. Then he pulled back slightly.

“Beatrice…I must warn you. I approach the world through a different lens than most others. I am stubborn and difficult and demanding. And I am deeply involved with the science of botany.”

“I know,” she said, and she smiled at him again. “If you can manage a lady who is fascinated by culinary matters, then I can manage a man who peers at plant specimens day and night.”

He gave her a soft smile. “I love that you enjoy culinary pursuits. My kitchen will always be open to you, and my palate will always be prepared for your new creations.”

She gave a low laugh. To most men of their class, a lady toiling in the kitchen would be unthinkable.

“Think about it,” he said quietly. “Are you certain?”

She considered all she knew about him. She thought about how, when she was younger, she saw him as charming and wonderful because of his intensity, those traits he called “stubborn and difficult and demanding.” And she'd been impressed by his knowledge as they'd walked through the park, fascinated by his interest in botany, calmed by his precise sense of order. To her, a man who stared through a magnifying glass at leaves, roots, and stems all day would be far preferable to a man of leisure, whose only entertainment was to be found in drink, gambling, or women.

She closed her eyes and pictured him at his desk, surrounded by plants. Her in the kitchen surrounded by food. And at the end of the day, the two of them coming together to share what they had learned.

The image jelled in her mind. It was right. It was
perfect
.

“I'm sure,” she said.

“Then…” Holding both her hands in his, he lowered himself onto bended knee and gazed up at her. “Will you marry me, Beatrice?”

She nodded, and at that moment, she truly was Persephone coming up to greet the spring after so long in darkness. Even better, she had become a Persephone forever free from the curse of having to return to the underworld.

“Yes,” she breathed. “There's nothing I've ever wanted more than to marry you, Drew.”

He smiled up at her for a moment, his eyes shining. Then he rose. And when his soft, gentle lips touched hers, she melted against him, knowing that after so much darkness, her world had come to life in a bursting shower of light.