Page 18 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“ Y our new garments become you well,” Beatrice said from the opposite squabs, as the carriage swayed toward the country estate of Lord and Lady Huxtable.

Vincent did not shift his gaze from the sunset countryside, the fields and forests bathed in molten bronze.

It was a beautiful evening for a not-so-beautiful event.

Indeed, he would infinitely have preferred to be in the Sun Room—a place he had taken a liking to—to watch the sun disappear, and to perhaps take a walk in the cool dusk. Anything but a ball.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he said gruffly.

“Not at all. Merely an observation.”

He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, searching her expression for any hint of deceit or sarcasm.

He saw none: her head bowed, her hands clasped elegantly in her lap, as subdued now as she had been over the past few days.

They had not encountered one another much, Vincent had made sure of it, but when they had crossed paths, she had been so very quiet. A ghost of herself.

I should be glad of it. Why am I not?

He chewed his lower lip in consternation, for it was not the only thing that had been vexing him.

Over the past few days, with Beatrice staying out of his way, he should have been able to dedicate all of his time to his work.

Yet, he had not been able to concentrate at all.

He had paused at every sound, wondering if it was her.

He had found himself thinking of venturing out of his study to see where she was.

He had considered inviting her to look over the estate accounts, and to subtly see how she was faring.

Of course, he had done none of those things, stuck at his desk, getting nothing done at all.

“If I may, I think I did you a great favor,” she said, tossing a spark toward his quick temper. “These clothes are more befitting of an earl. Your other clothes were not terrible, but they were not nearly so fashionable. I imagine you will draw plenty of attention tonight.”

He finally looked at her. “Is this a joke at my expense? Do you think I look ridiculous?”

“I would say that if I thought it,” she replied, her chin still dipped to her chest. “Your valet chose well. In truth, I think he was waiting for an opportunity to refresh your wardrobe.”

Vincent made a grunt of disapproval. “Yes, well, I would have preferred to be told I was in need of new clothes, instead of finding them all destroyed.”

“I am sorry for that,” she said quietly. “Old habits are the hardest to break.”

He gazed at her a while longer, curious as to why she was wearing a thick cloak when it was not so very cold outside.

This version of her troubled him, for he could not tell if she was truly repentant, or just sorry that he had withdrawn his promise to let her stay.

Perhaps, she was not used to consequences.

I could not have been lenient. If I had, she would have done it again. Done worse, perhaps.

But what if her antics had been in response to something else?

The way he had looked at her lips, maybe?

What if that had been her way of warning him off, without the embarrassment of saying it?

After Lord Mancefield’s behavior, she could not be blamed for behaving rashly in the face of a man’s misconduct.

And I did linger too long, and too close…

“Miss Johnson, I?—”

The carriage ground to a halt on the gravel, the grand archway of Huxtable House somehow appearing outside the window. They had arrived without him realizing, his time for brokering a new truce cut short.

“Yes, Lord Grayling?” she prompted, the sound of that formality almost like an insult from her mouth.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Come, we are already twenty minutes late.”

“It is a ball,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “There is no such thing as late.”

Ignoring her, he opened the carriage door and stepped out, ready to proceed into the house. But courtesy made him pivot, his throat tight as he held out his hand to receive Beatrice.

In the doorway of the carriage, she stared at his proffered hand for a moment. Then, with a shrug, she placed her own hand delicately in his, the brush of her silk glove tingling his skin.

“Stay by my side,” he said thickly, suddenly hit with a punch of sweet lavender that made his head spin.

She peered up at him, the ghost of a smile upon her lips. “If you insist.”

“I… um… have many eligible lords in mind, to introduce to you,” he explained, unable to rid his senses of that intoxicating scent. “They have all been investigated thoroughly, this time. Of course, there will be plenty of gossip about you this evening, but just ignore it and stay close to me.”

She nodded slowly. “What if the gossip is about us?”

“Pardon?”

“The Bride of Death and her bewitched protector,” Beatrice replied, rolling her eyes. “Society relishes a juicy tale, and you know Lord Mancefield will have wrung every drop from our meeting the other day.”

Vincent’s lip curled. “I will simply tell the truth—that Lord Mancefield is a mannerless beast, and I do not tolerate such behavior in my residence. I daresay society respects me more than him, so they will soon find there is nothing to gossip about.”

“Spoken like someone who has never been on the receiving end of society’s lashing tongue,” Beatrice said with a weary sigh, as she began to move toward the entrance, and he walked at her side.

The moment the pair set foot inside the entrance hall, the chatter of loitering guests came to a whispering halt.

Eyes widened and jaws dropped, a few of the ladies nudging one another, while the gentlemen took a noticeable step back, as if Beatrice’s curse could infect them simply by being in her presence.

A footman approached. “May I take your cloak, Madame?”

“Thank you,” Beatrice replied.

She flashed a smile at a gentleman who looked particularly terrified, as the footman carefully removed her cloak… revealing a gown of such haunting beauty that Vincent felt his own face transform into an expression of shock.

The gown was of the darkest blue, appearing almost black until the light hit it.

In place of lace to hem the capped sleeves and neckline, there was a woven design that resembled chainmail.

Meanwhile, an actual band of chainmail served as a ribbon beneath her bust, embellished with glass teardrops that hung down in varying lengths.

And all across the midnight blue silk were the tiniest spangles, glittering like stars across a clear summer night.

“I hope that was not expensive,” Vincent murmured, finding his voice.

Beatrice smiled at him. “A small fortune, but do not worry; I will pay it back when I find myself a willing sacrifice.”

“That is not funny,” he chided.

“No, it is not,” she replied. “So, who will you introduce me to first? Which Lord do you like the least?”

He held out his hand for her to take, wondering if everyone else had been right after all. Perhaps, getting Beatrice married really was an impossible task.