One Unashamed Night (13 page)

‘Oh my goodness, Beatrice, your golden gown is beautiful and the colour lifts your hair into all the shades of darkness. And the pearls around your neck…look very pretty.’

Emerald’s monologue was probably for Taris’s benefit, Bea thought, an inventory of the things she wore and the colours explained and as her hand reached for the blanket Taris’s did the same. When she felt his warmth she pulled back and hoped that Emerald was not looking too closely, for the beat of her heart thrummed strong in her throat as the carriage started moving.

‘Taris said that he enjoyed your discussion group yesterday evening, Mrs Bassingstoke.’ The Duke of Carisbrook’s compliment was measured.

‘Then I am glad for it, your Grace,’ she answered.

‘Were my brother’s opinions a help to you? The property rights of women after marriage are not something he has had any personal knowledge of, so to speak.’

Bea saw Emerald pushing her thigh against her husband’s in a warning, but was not deterred.

‘On the contrary, your Grace, he was most helpful in providing the balance to an argument that was largely one-sided. I would be most happy to have him back again.’

Taris began to laugh. ‘From your reasoning, Ashe, it might be deduced that nobody can hold an opinion unless they have personally experienced the argument. Piracy was the last topic.’

Emerald squashed down a giggle and as her ducal husband turned towards the window, Beatrice got the distinct impression that she had missed out on some part of Taris’s counter-claim. Leaning back into the comfort of her seat, she waited as Taris spoke again.

‘If anyone should have the poor manners to make reference to Lucinda’s reckless gossip tonight, Beatrice, I would suggest you shake your head and plead ignorance. Your appearance here should have set them thinking, as a guilty party generally slides off to lick their wounds.’

‘Guilty party?’ Emerald sounded outraged. ‘You make it sound as though the whole thing is her fault.’

The Duke of Carisbrook’s teeth showed white in the dimness. ‘A poor choice of phrase, brother.’

‘And a poor choice on Lucy’s part as well,’ Emerald continued and sighed loudly. ‘I get less and less enamoured with society in London, Ashe. If we are not released from our duties here soon, I swear I shall take our children and go on home without you.’

‘You do not live in London, then?’ Bea asked, glad not to be the topic of conversation any more.

‘We live here as little as we are able. Our home is near Fleetness Point at Falder Castle. From my bedroom I can hear the sounds of the sea where it runs aground on the cliffs of Return Home Bay.’ She looked outside at the city all around them and sighed again. ‘Perhaps you might like to come and visit us, Beatrice.’

She felt Taris stiffen beside her.

‘Perhaps, one day.’ Uncommitted. Distant. Two nights together and already Taris Wellingham seemed to be tiring of her company, his lack of interest when she had first entered the carriage telling and the Cannon town house almost reached.

She was merely a woman whose path had run across his for a time and in circumstances that were unusual, a woman to be protected against the errant gossip of his sister and one to whom he had unwisely given the secret of his poor eyesight. Already she could see that he regretted that, so when he took her hand as they alighted she was surprised.

‘Could we walk in together, Beatrice?’ he asked, the steps in front of them many and all around people jostling for entrance. A nightmare if you had difficulty seeing. She understood why he had asked to take her arm as someone bumped against them in their haste to be inside.

Lord, how he must hate this, she thought, for even as his fingers closed over her own his face was an implacable mask of indifference. A man who would never show the world his true feelings! Bea wished that he would say something that would have allowed her some memory of last night, but he did not. Once inside people called to him on all fronts.

Taris Wellingham knew most of the names without any formal introduction and the ones that he didn’t had him tilting his head in a gesture that prompted those on the end of it to supply their identities and thus solving the problem altogether. Standing with him, Bea realised his expertise at managing in his world, and also the exertion that it must take to get it right. He always faced full on to the speaker, she noticed, as though sound needed to have some sort of perspective, the tone enhanced perhaps by an equal volume?

He also made it a point to introduce her to everyone. A man who would shelter her and guard her against a careless remark or a wayward observation, and indeed by halfway through the night she thought that the plan of protection was working very well.

Until Lady Arabella Fisher approached them with a number of her friends.

Close up the girl exuded an arrogance that was less observable from further away; a beauty who would take umbrage at not being the most lauded or most visible female in the room because so many people had told her of her charms.

‘Lord Wellingham,’ she said, her tone honey silken and sensual. ‘I did not see you at the Charltons’ place last evening?’

Beatrice was amazed at the way Lady Arabella used her body as a weapon to gain his attention, but with the expected social distance of a foot or so she was also aware as to how much of what Lady Arabella did was lost on him. Still, her voice was lethal in its own right and it was directed straight at Taris Wellingham.

‘That is because I was at Mrs Bassingstoke’s discussion group, mulling over the problems of the world.’

Lady Arabella frowned and the other young woman near her did the same. ‘I cannot believe you would miss the fun at the Charltons’ in the pursuit of that bluestocking’s dusty old group.’

‘That bluestocking, as you call her, is right here beside me. Mrs Beatrice Bassingstoke, might I present Lady Arabella Fisher, the Countess of Griffin’s daughter. Though perhaps there is no necessity for the introduction—it seems she knows you already.’

To give her her due, the girl looked highly embarrassed.

‘I do beg your pardon, Mrs Bassingstoke. My manners were most rude. It is just that worrying endlessly about the cares of the world are such a burden and you can never change them anyway.’

The others around her looked every bit in agreement. Carefree and jaunty, they were all that Beatrice at eighteen had not been and for a second she was…envious. No other word for it. Envious of the years they had been allowed to just grow up. Slowly. Their rough edges polished by love rather than by anger, their mistakes sniggered over in each other’s company at night and all the choices of the world before them.

Not stupid, really, but just young. Not mean, either, but arrogant in a way that young girls perhaps should be arrogant, a buttress against hardships that would come later. Something to look back upon with fondness!

‘Will you dance, my lord?’ Lady Arabella’s question was hopeful. ‘The orchestra here is very skilled.’ Feeling the fingers beneath hers tense in alarm, Bea leapt in unbidden.

‘Lord Wellingham is recuperating from a tumble he had from a horse,’ she heard her voice saying. My God, she never lied like this, but the force of protection was stronger than the need for truth and she was glad when Taris nodded.

The irritated glance from Lady Arabella was directed straight at her as she continued. ‘I have always been extremely afraid of horses for the exact same reason. Why, when I was a child, many years ago, of course, I remember my mother saying to me that it was most important to stay in a place where a steed may see you and…’

Lady Arabella listened to the pointless monologue for all of five minutes before breaking in when Bea deliberately took an overlong breath.

‘I think that we really must go and find some supper now, Mrs Bassingstoke. I do hope that you will excuse us.’

Smiling sweetly, Bea watched as the young girls left. Vacuous chatter was such an effective tool to use!

‘You are as formidable here as you are in your own salon, Bea. Do I now have to limp all night?’

‘I am sorry, I should not have—’

He stopped her simply by holding up his hand.

‘How close is the person nearest to us?’

‘A few yards away.’

‘If we were alone, I would kiss you.’

‘And I would kiss you back.’ Two could play at this game and she saw the pulse in his throat quicken.

‘Hard?’ His word was hoarse and an explosion of lust blossomed deep in her stomach. ‘So hard that I would have to beg you to stop…’

‘Beg her to stop what?’ Asher Wellingham came to stand next to them and Bea bit back horror. How much had he heard?

‘Beg her to stop worrying about the repercussions of Lucinda’s gossip.’ She had to give it to Taris Wellingham, he thought quickly on his feet.

Asher swore quietly. ‘Our sister has no idea of the hurt she can cause and one day—’

‘I am certain that your brother is overstating my concern, your Grace.’

‘And understating my own,’ Taris added, a wicked smile on his face.

The
double entendre
was deliberate and Bea was glad that she had dropped her arm in the surprise of having the Duke overhear them.

Because at that moment in a ballroom overflowing with people and under a ceiling alight with hundreds of candles she was bathed in a feeling she had never felt before.

Exhilarated.

Powerful.

Exalted.

Not herself. Not plain and ordinary Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke, but a woman who might attract a man such as Taris Wellingham. And keep him!

Now, clothed in gold she felt like a beautiful butterfly released from a drab and never-ending cocoon, a woman who could spar with words and be admired for it instead of hit, and one whose opinions were listened to instead of being shouted down.

When Emerald came and claimed her company she could only watch as Taris Wellingham walked with his brother towards the supper room, the pressing crowd swallowing them up before they were even ten yards away.

All Taris wanted to do was to go home and make love to Beatrice. But he had promised himself distance and honour and all of the noble attributes of a man who might care about the future of a woman who intrigued him.

The sound of gossip made him maudlin, and he longed to be in the country again. He had stayed in London this time longer than he had for all of the past eight years. Seven days tomorrow and still he had not instructed his valet to pack.

Asher guided him towards the top of the room, where the smell of supper was stronger. ‘Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke is the most original woman here, apart from Emerald, and even then I should say they are about equal in novelty.’ His voice was measured as he carried on. ‘And the fact that you have been reduced to begging for a kiss in a crowded ballroom suggests a relationship different from the one you have implied…’

‘You are an inveterate spy, Ashe.’

‘With good reason to be so. My sources say that the Henshaw carriage was dispatched at five this morning to pick you up when you failed to return home.’

‘Jack told you that?’

‘He didn’t have to. The Henshaw driver is my valet’s brother.’

‘I see.’

‘Emerald too has been pestering me to ask you what your intentions are as far as Mrs Bassingstoke is concerned.’

‘She knows about the conveyance?’

‘No. It was the waltz the other night I think that piqued her curiosity.’

‘Such a simple mistake,’ Taris returned, irony in his words.

‘Of course, if others find out about your midnight rambles…’

‘They won’t. There will be no more risks.’

‘This from a man who made love with words not less than two moments ago?’

‘Your penchant for nuance is legendary, Asher, as is your proclivity to exaggerate.’

‘You would say it is all a lie, then?’

Taris was careful in his reply. ‘I would say that I am nearing thirty-two, Ashe, and have no need to answer to anyone but myself.’

His brother laughed. ‘Ahh, that is what they all say, Taris, before they fall.’

‘Implying…?’

‘It would take a braver fellow than myself to explain it to you.’

‘Then don’t.’

Silence ruled for a moment until Asher spoke again.

‘Your lady has been conversing with the Duchess of Castleton for a significant time, and if Anna Bellhaven deigns to give anyone an audience for more than a minute it is generally a highly regarded stamp of approval.’

‘The plan is a success, then?’

‘Exactly.’

‘In that case I shall leave for Kent in the next day or two.’

‘Perhaps you might take her with you?’

‘The Duchess of Castleton? Why on earth would I wish to do that?’ His deliberate misconception had his brother slapping him across the shoulder.

‘One day soon, Taris, you will wake up with a ring on your finger and a brood of children and the knowledge that you are in the only place that you want to be.’

‘Mrs Bassingstoke is a barren widow. Hard to raise a brood given that fact.’

The peal of deep laughter was distinctly unsettling and he just wished that Bea might return to stand beside him and make everything simple.

Beatrice watched Taris Wellingham from her place beside the Duchess of Castleton and the Duchess of Carisbrook.

His left hand splayed across the smooth marble on the pillar and his right held the cane. Tonight he did not wear his glasses and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, highlighting the amber in his eyes.

Rakish. Dashing. A man who had absolutely no idea of how appealing he looked! But it wasn’t only his body that she found attractive. No, she loved the depth and breadth of his mind, with his wide-ranging opinions on anything and everything.

She wondered what his library looked like. What books he read? What had formed his ideas when he was young? She also wondered how a man raised as an aristocrat could consider other less popular ideas that encompassed a change in the perception of how society would be moulded over the next hundred years.

When the dancing began she hoped that he might ask her again. But of course he could not, given the excuse she had dredged up for Lady Arabella Fisher only a few minutes prior. She smiled, thinking it ironic that by helping him she had denied herself the chance to be once again in Taris Wellingham’s arms.