Page 63

“I am frankly shaking in my boots,” she snarled. “What fearsome threats have you for me now?”

In a flash, Stephen was on her, his face inches away from hers. He did not raise a hand, not so much as a finger, but Cornelia flinched back automatically.

He spoke quietly, his voice low and harsh. “No threats, only promises. Leave Beatrice alone.”

Cornelia scoffed and made to turn away.

“I should listen to me if I were you. I cannot give you what you want, and I won’t allow you to destroy me. You may think you have power, that you can scare me, but you don’t.”

She rounded on him, her hand flying through the air, ready to deliver a slap. His hand came up at once, catching her wrist, his fingers tightening to prevent her from pulling away.

“Leave me alone,” Stephen growled. “I believe this is something I’ve requested more than once. Leave me alone, leave my family alone. I wish you had stayed in Paris.”

Cornelia only stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. It was almost ludicrous to him now that her lack of expression, her coldness and haughtiness were what had once attracted him to her.

She was beautiful, of course—nobody could ever deny that—but there was a coldness to her beauty, and that coldness repulsed him. He found himself looking at her much-complimented flaxen hair and imagining torrents of red, differently shaped eyes, a round figure, and an easy smile and wry expression.

In short, he imagined Beatrice.

Stephen allowed his eyes to flutter shut as realization dawned on him.

I’m a fool. I have allowed myself to get too close. Why oh why did I not simply stay away?

When he opened his eyes, Cornelia was still staring at him, her eyes narrowed.

“Does she know you at all? Your little wife, that is? Does she harbor dreams of romance and domestic bliss? Ofchildren?”

He clenched his jaw. “That is nothing to concern yourself with. You’re to stay away from her, Cornelia. Do you understand me?”

“Or what?” Cornelia snapped. “You’ll have me thrown into the Thames?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Will you investigate me and expose all of my sins and vices in broad daylight, like you did with the Marquess?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In his peripheral vision, Stephen could see Beatrice disappearing into the distance. If he let her go now, she might run into luck and find the coachman with the carriage, and that would be that. She’d go home, and they might never discuss the matter.

No.

“Our conversation is over, Cornelia,” he said shortly. “You’ve said often enough how much you hate London. Perhaps youshould leave. In fact, Iencourageyou to leave. Any relationship between us is over, irrevocably over, and nothing will change that.”

Her eyes hardened even more than before.

He pointedly turned his back on her, his eyes fixed on Beatrice. As he watched, she lifted the champagne bottle to her lips and took a long gulp.

“You should not have come back, Stephen,” Cornelia said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

He glanced back at her. “Nor should you, Cornelia.”

He didn’t wait to hear her response. Frankly, he was too tired. He’d had enough arguments. At the moment, all he could think about was Beatrice.

Keeping his back turned, he strode off, leaving Cornelia behind.

“Oh, do leave me alone,” Beatrice snapped as soon as she realized that the Duke was following her. “I’ll send the carriage back for you if your lady-love won’t drive you home. I don’t want to see you at the moment, Stephen. I’m not going to be a good conversationalist. Frankly, I’m tired and would like to rest.”

“Beatrice, you are mistaken.”