Page 12 of Memories Made At Midnight (Chronicles of the Westbrook Brides #9)

“I

beg your pardon?” Beatrice’s eyes widened, and she paled, her freckles standing out in stark contrast against her ivory skin. “One and twenty? Not five and twenty?”

Though his news had visibly rocked her, she stood strong and confident.

So much strength and determination.

Cassius admired her all the more because of her stalwartness.

He couldn’t refrain from giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze, then stepped away before he threw caution to the wind and drew her into his arms as he longed to do. “You’ve been able to claim your inheritance all this time. The solicitors have sent multiple correspondences to you asking why you have not done so.”

“Correspondences, my uncle intercepted, no doubt.” Bitterness at her uncle’s duplicity leached into her whispered response.

“There’s more.” Despite Cassius’s common sense telling him to tread carefully, to not touch her again, he tilted her chin upward with his forefinger.

“I’m not sure my constitution can handle any more shocks today, Cassius,” she quipped, although her low tone held a note of sincerity and guardedness.

“This news will please you. You’re not inheriting twenty thousand pounds. Your trust funds were invested wisely, and you have more than fifty-five thousand pounds, Beatrice.”

Gasping, she slapped a palm over her mouth, her eyes enormous with disbelief.

“You are a wealthy woman. Furthermore, your husband does not gain control when you marry. The monies remain yours.” Father had double-checked those unusual stipulations. “Your grandmother was a clever woman, for if you died before claiming your inheritance, the funds would’ve passed to a charity to care for unfortunate women like your mother.”

The dowager had ensured her son would not get the funds, but why?

Because she’d loved her daughter, despite the scandal surrounding her?

Because she knew what a scapegrace her son was?

“I d-don’t understand.” Looking utterly dazed, Beatrice shook her head. “Why would Uncle Cedric lie to me? He could have been rid of me last year. Why hide the truth from me?”

“That is what I mean to find out.”

Cassius traced his thumb over her jaw.

Petal soft.

She stood, transfixed.

Would the rest of her be as velvety smooth ?

He couldn’t tear his focus from her plump lips. Just inches away, they beckoned to him like cool water to a parched man in the desert.

One kiss.

What could one kiss hurt?

Bollocks, man.

Cease your infernal romantic speculation.

He cleared his throat, deliberately breaking the spell. “Tell me about your uncle’s finances.”

Beatrice blinked as if awakened from a daze, then wrinkled her nose like an adorable bunny.

“I honestly don’t know anything about them. He’s stingy about some things, but not anything that has to do with keeping up appearances. Nevertheless, he makes me pay for my wardrobe and the care of my animals with a small allowance from my trust fund.”

That didn’t come as a surprise.

Cassius suspected the earl wasn’t as flush in the pockets as he pretended, and that was worth investigating. In truth, Cassius had already written to his brother Lucius, requesting he do just that. He believed the earl had been plotting to get his greedy hands on her funds, or at least a portion of them, one way or another, for some time.

Though how, given the former countess’ provisions, Cassius couldn’t imagine. Moreover, why had Highbury waited until now?

Likely, the earl had come up with the scheme to see Beatrice wed because he’d lied to her about the age she could inherit, and he’d hoped the guise of a forced marriage would keep that little detail hidden.

His lordship hadn’t counted on Beatrice’s resourcefulness or tenacity.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, her gold-tipped lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks.

When she opened them, resolution had replaced her earlier shock, though she still appeared a trifle piqued. No doubt due to the strain of worrying about her sick companion, fretting about the earl’s motives, and the discomfit of having to deal with the likes of Mr. Dungworth.

Lord, how Cassius admired her pluck.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, b-but will you take me to London to m-meet with the solicitor?” Her expression held such hope. “I can p-pay you for your trouble after I receive my inheritance.”

“I don’t want your money, Beatrice.”

In fact, her offer insulted him, though he knew she hadn’t intended for it to.

“I meant n-no offense, Cassius.” A flush stole up her face, but she persisted. “ Will you take me to London? Please?”

Cassius should refuse—not even consider helping her for half a second.

I shall regret getting involved.

Too bloody bad.

I’m already involved.

He’d become involved the minute he accepted the commission to paint her likeness.

No, he became captivated the instant he saw her running across the lawn at Highbury House.

Two entirely different things.

“I shan’t take you to London, but I shall take you to Hefferwickshire House, the ducal estate, and with my father, we can all journey to the city.” Not only would her uncle expect them to head straight for London, but Cassius wanted the protection his father could provide if they encountered Highbury in the city.

Cassius cupped her face, her soft lips mere inches away. “But we must leave now.”

“ Now ?” she choked, going pale as chalk again. “I c-cannot. What about M-Millborn? My other animals?”

“I’m positive the solicitors have written your uncle regarding Father’s inquiries.” In point of fact, that might be the reason Highbury demanded Beatrice return earlier today—to confront her. “If we don’t go now, you might not find another opportunity, and I believe you are no longer safe in your uncle’s care. I’ll have my doctor friend look in on Millborn.”

Cassius glanced out the window.

Even now, did someone watch his establishment, spying on Beatrice?

“Do you ride?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “Uncle wouldn’t permit me to learn.”

She sneezed, then sneezed again before retrieving a plain square from her reticule and, half-turning away, blew her nose.

Cassius stifled his curse.

That meant they must travel by coach, which was much slower progress and easier for Highbury to catch up, as they must take the typical routes, rather than shortcuts only a horse could manage.

Beatrice had arrived almost a half hour ago. They’d only have about two hours head start before Hampton arrived to pick her up.

Already, it might be too late. The journey would take two to three days, and that was if they had a four-horse team, changed horses every fifteen miles, and only stopped to sleep for no more than eight hours.

“Is there no one who can care for your other animals?” he asked.

“Yes.” She nodded, her face still pale as milk except for two bright pink spots on her freckled cheeks. “Hans. The cook’s grandson.”

“Can he read?”

If they stood any chance of outsmarting Highbury, they must leave post haste, but Cassius knew Beatrice well enough to know that she would not abandon her companion or pets.

“Yes.” She wadded the handkerchief in her palm, a telltale sign of her agitation.

Cassius hurried to his desk and pulled out a sheet of foolscap. He pushed an inkwell and pen toward her. “Write him a note. Only ask him to care for your animals. Don’t tell him anything else.”

“Of course.” Nodding, she took the pen.

Cassius grabbed a second pen and swiftly wrote a short message to Doctor Lawrence Lancaster.

After folding her note to Hans, she met his gaze.

He took her hand in his, and she clasped his tightly, seeming to need his strength.

“It shall not be an easy or comfortable journey, Beatrice. We might not be able to outrun your uncle if he decides to pursue us.” Cassius honestly didn’t know if the earl would or not, but if Highbury had lied to Beatrice all this time, what else was the earl capable of?

She merely pressed her lips together and gave a single curt nod.

“Your reputation will be in shreds after traveling alone with me.” He must tell her the rest—make certain there would be no misunderstandings or false assumptions. “And I shan’t be making an offer of marriage.”

She didn’t even flinch at his callous announcement, and Cassius couldn’t decide if that made him admire her even more or saddened him.

It didn’t matter that his actions would be beyond reproach. A young, unmarried woman traveling alone with a man was scandalous. Many a man had been compelled to marry a chit compromised far less than Beatrice would be after their hasty journey.

“My reputation is the least of my worries, and I wouldn’t accept a m-marriage offer from you, or any man for that matter. I have no wish to marry. Ever.” Her posture grew stiffer with each word. “So you can rest easy on that account.”

What a pair they were—both averse to marriage.

She offered him a fragile smile. “Besides, I trust you to act the gentleman.”

As long as her trust didn’t turn into something more, for Cassius had sworn an oath to himself he would not break. Which was why he’d made certain to inform her he’d not be salvaging her reputation by trotting down the aisle.

He helped her on with her cloak—entirely too identifiable, but he didn’t have another to offer her instead. Once they were on their way, he’d purchase more suitable and less noticeable clothing for her.

“We go now.” Chin held high, she snapped her fingers. At once, her faithful dogs trotted to her side. “Today, I take control of my life and future.”

“Bravo, Beatrice.”

Surely the sensation pelting Cassius’s ribs was pride and admiration—nothing more, and certainly nothing as stupid and senseless as affection.

After securing the front door, he removed his money from a locked desk drawer, tucked it inside an inner coat pocket, and bundled Beatrice out the rear entrance, the letters for Hans and Dr. Lancaster in his hand.

He sent an ironic glance heavenward.

A fine mess I’ve embroiled myself in.

Of all his siblings, he was the most sensible.

Everyone said so.

Then why was he jumping headlong into this insane escapade?

Because, dammit, despite his best intentions, and though he’d fought it from the first time he’d laid eyes upon Beatrice Fairfax, she’d managed to wiggle her way beneath his skin, and he very much feared, was well on her way to burrowing into his heart.

And that he must put a stop to it at once.