Page 23

E zra watched as his little mouse scurried under the street lamps. Her shoulders were hunched, and her head down, trying to blend into the background while people stepped out of carriages and into buildings.

He couldn’t help but smile as she rushed in between buildings, hiding her face under hooded cloak.

There was a small, annoying part of him that worried she wouldn’t show up tonight.

He knew the ton lived for gossip so he made sure word got out about his inviting Melinda into his box.

Even though no one was in the hallway when Beatrice left, he knew how feral people were for a scandal and he refused to cause one.

Plus, it was nice to have an old friend to watch the second act with and she was a similar build as Beatrice. A quick glance could fool anyone.

“Your Grace,” Beatrice’s flush face looked up to him. “It is good to see you again.”

Ezra quirked an eye brow feeling her statement was oddly cold.

His eyes raked over her. She held her cloak tightly against her slight frame, much like the first night they met. Back when she didn’t trust him.

A lead weight began to form in his gut. He pushed the uncomfortable feeling aside. Her stance notwithstanding her eyes seemed dull. The excited glow that radiated from her entire being when she was on the verge of getting what she wanted wasn’t there.

“The honor is all mine, mouse.” He said with a dip of his chin.

She wrinkled her nose. “I rather you not use that nickname tonight.”

Ezra clucked his tongue. Something was off with her. He nearly nodded in acknowledgement and extended his hand to help her into the carriage.

The same part of him that was worried she wouldn’t show was clawing at his mouth to ask if she was all right.

Beatrice settled into the carriage. She laid her hands in her lap, fiddling with the frayed ribbon on her dress. Her eyes flittered everywhere but to him.

He adjusted in his seat. Not having her interest was raking his insides.

“No questions about where we’re going? What we’re doing?”

Beatrice looked up, her bottom lip caught between her lips.

“Hmm? Oh. No.” She offered a tightlipped smile. “I know the rules. No questions, no talking.”

Ezra waved her off. “It’ll be hard to gamble if you don’t talk.”

Finally, some life flashed in her eyes. “Are we really going to gamble?”

Ezra chuckled softly as the carriage jolted and swayed on the bumpy road.

“Of course. I said so in my letter and I am quite loyal to my word.”

Beatrice didn’t respond, just simply nodded and looked outside. Her eyes squinted against the darkening road.

“In that case, where are we going? It seems we’re heading outside the city limits.”

Ezra let his eyes drink her in while her attention was elsewhere.

“We are indeed outside the city, far enough that no one will know who you are, nor care. Anything that happens here will be well kept.”

Beatrice turned to look at Ezra. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”

This time there was no stopping the wide smile that graced his face. “I know this place very well and have been coming here since I was inherited the duchy. They know me very well.”

Beatrice frowned. “Out here? You’ve been coming all this way for several years??”

Ezra nodded. Memories of long nights full of laughter and freedom infiltrated his mind. Whenever he needed a break from the responsibilities of Duke, he made his way to this small village far enough from prying eyes, but not far enough it took long to get to.

The carriage lurched to a stop.

Ezra got out of the carriage and offered his hand.

Tingles of electricity danced along his hand as she slipped hers into his. He tried shutting down the part of his mind, and body, that reacted to her, but he failed.

Her brown eyes looked up to him, and he saw a bit of fun and excitement return to them. He almost shifted his weight when they drifted past him to the establishment behind him.

“Is this it?”

Ezra turned to take in the old wooden door that had been kicked in too many times and now hung slightly off kilter because of it.

“It is. Trust me, mouse, er, sorry.” He offered when he remembered she didn’t want to be acknowledged by his pet name for her.

He rolled his lips.

Her sigh of relief struck him oddly. Was he feeling sadness? Over what? The fact she didn’t want him to call her a nickname? Preposterous.

Beatrice walked past him as he held the awkward door open for her.

Inside was stepping into a different world. While the outside world was dark and quiet, inside was bright and loud.

Raucous laughter echoed in the rafters, while clinking of mugs and plates could be heard over the din. Couples danced to the music of small band sitting in the corner, their tune lively and upbeat.

Beatrice’s eyes widened in delight leaving Ezra feeling quite proud of himself.

He came to stand next to her. He leaned down to whisper in ear as he took her hand in his.

“I know you’d prefer if I don’t call you ‘mouse.’ How about for this evening I call you by a different name?”

Beatrice blinked, her excitement was practically radiating from her skin. She turned to him with bright, anxious eyes. “Depends. What would you call me?”

“Wife.”

If he wasn’t holding her hand Beatrice would’ve dropped dead from shock right then and there. She couldn’t possibly have guessed what he would call her, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Wife?” She squeaked.

Ezra’s eyes danced around the room, searching for something. Her eyes were still on him, trying to convince herself what she just heard she actually, in fact, just heard.

She opened her mouth to repeat the word when Graham pulled her to an empty table by the bar. He sat in a chair and motioned for her to sit in the chair beside him.

Beatrice’s eye bounced around the room. There was so much to take in she didn’t know where to look first. When she turned back to Graham his closeness startled her. He was leaning towards her that their noses practically touched when she looked at him.

“Listen to me. I didn’t lie to you when I said that I’ve been coming here for years. When I inherited the duchy there was a lot of…” Graham shook his head, “let’s just say I needed a place where people didn’t know who I was. A friend of mine brought me here and this has been my secret to this day.”

Beatrice listened intently. One would have assumed it would be hard for her to hear the whispers of a man but nothing could tear her gaze from his lips as he spoke to her.

At the mention of a ‘friend’ her heart squeezed and she tried to hide her grimace. What did she know? Just because she just heard that the Duke and an old ‘female’ friend reconnected, did not mean the friend in question is the same person. He could be talking about an old friend.

Her womanly intuition told her otherwise.

She reminded herself that no matter what these people knew of him, Graham was a Duke and could take whomever he pleased.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

Beatrice shook the wayward thought from her mind. She returned her focus on the man in front of her.

“They think I’m a solicitor. And you, my dear, are going to be introduced as my wife.”

Beatrice swallowed hard. She felt her cheeks turn red with heat.

“I.. I’m not sure I can do that.” Her eyes fell to her lap.

Graham lifted her chin with one finger. “My rules, remember? What I say goes. And I say tonight, you’re my wife.” With each word he leaned in closer until his mouth was whispering against hers.

“What say you?” His words brushed against her lips.

Beatrice’s body reacted before her mind. She closed the minute distance between them.

When she pulled away she found his eyes still on her.

“We’ve sealed our deal with a kiss, I thought it would be appropriate to continue the tradition.” She said with a sly smile.

Graham sat back in his chair. “I think we’ll get along just fine tonight.”

Just then a rotund older man came staggering up to the table. “Thomas? Thomas Linden, is that you, boy?”

Beatrice noted his name change and reminded herself they didn’t know who he truly was.

The old man sputtered and coughed. His face red before he chugged more ale from his mug.

“Charlie, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Graham stood up, hitting the man on the back to help him breathe.

“Ha! I haven’t been a boy for some time now.” The man pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. His eyes landed on Beatrice.

“Oh ho! And who is this lovely flower? Eh?”

The man reached out and took Beatrice’s hand. She flinched, expecting the man’s hand to rough and abrasive. Much to her surprise his hand was soft and gentle.

She dipped her head demurely. “You’re too kind, sir.”

Beatrice looked up to find Graham looking odd.

“Are you all right?” Beatrice stood.

The man looked to Graham and laughed. He reached out and pulled Beatrice to his side, laying his arm around her shoulder. “He’s just worried the longer you stay around here you’ll realize you’ve hitched your horse to the wrong carriage.”

The man looked to Beatrice and winked.

She couldn’t help but smile. For as drunk as this man was, he wasn’t unseemly or uncouth, she was surprised she felt rather comfortable around him.

Graham’s eyes cleared of whatever thought transfixed him and he smiled while reaching out to grab Beatrice’s hand, guiding her back to his side.

“While I admit you are a worthy opponent, I fear you are at a loss. See, this beautiful flower, is my wife.”

Graham’s words made her heart skip. Heat rose within her, causing her feet to shift under her dress. The swishing of her skirt allowed for some air flow, cooling her off a bit.

The man barked out a laugh so loud heads turned in their direction. For as round as he was, he clambered up onto a chair quite deftly and whistled.

“Oy! Listen up! It seems our favorite solicitor Thomas Linden here has taken himself a bride!”

Cheers and hollers rang out as two men standing next to Thomas ruffled his hair and patted him on the back.

Beatrice stood in awe. Never in her wildest dreams would she think she would witness a time when the formidable Duke of Graham would be so carefree and relaxed around others.

His hair was mussed, he was wearing a plain shirt, with an open vest and unremarkable trousers. Yet he seemed more comfortable here than any time she had seen him gussied up for the ton.

The man on the chair raised his mug, which shockingly still had some ale in it. “Let’s all raise a toast to Thomas and his beautiful bride…” Charlie looked down to Beatrice.

“What’s your name, love?”

Beatrice looked at Graham who only shrugged, offering her a chance to make her own persona. Beatrice hesitated before she blurted out “Colette.”

“Ah. Colette.” Charlie raised his mug again. “To Thomas and Colette!”

The crowd cheered and clinked their mugs as they well wishers threw words of encouragement their way.

Thomas shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with the men who were next to him.

“Your drinks are on us, mate!” The one man exclaimed as he and his friend made their way to the bar.

Beatrice sat down and covered her mouth with her hands. She felt so giddy.

“Colette?” Graham leaned in.

She lifted a shoulder. “It just came to me.”

A side of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin. “It feels… exotic for you.”

Beatrice giggled. “I know.”

It felt so freeing to be out amongst a class of people who didn’t care where your dress came from, or who you wanted to marry, or who you were seen talking to. She sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. Then, unfortunately, had a coughing fit.

Graham took the drinks from the friendly man who offered them.

“You all right, Mrs. Linden?” The man asked.

At hearing the married title Beatrice started coughing again.

Beatrice covered her mouth as her coughs continued.

Graham pushed over a mug of ale. “Here, drink this.”

Beatrice picked up the mug, her wrist wavering under the weight of the glass. She brought the cool glass up to her lips and took in a small sip. She went to lower it when the mug was brought back up to her mouth.

Graham placed his hand on the bottom of the mug and tilted it up, causing more liquid to run down her throat.

“There’s a good girl.” He cooed. “Nice and steady.”

He pulled the mug away after she had a few swallows.

She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip.

Beatrice watched as Graham’s eyes followed the movement.

Being under his scrutiny used to make her uneasy, now she was finding comfort in it.

It felt as if she was being watched over, that it wasn’t just her, alone in the world.

“I should have warned you that taking a deep breath in an establishment like this not recommended. Swarthmore does his best to keep it suitable, but between the piss, ale, and smoke, this isn’t the most refreshing air to breathe.”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Swarthmore?”

Graham looked towards the back of the pub. “The owner’s family name,” he said returning his gaze to Beatrice. “Now that you’ve had something to drink, it’s time to cross of gambling.” Graham said with a wink.

Beatrice looked around the pub. She saw people drinking and dancing but she didn’t see any tables of chance or cards being played.

“Where? Here?”

Graham shook his head as he stood and extended his hand. “Come, Colette. Let’s go see how lucky we are.”

A thrill ran through Beatrice’s body as her hand slid into his. She giggled as he pulled her through dancing couples who continued to shout well wishes to the supposedly newly married couple.

When they reached the door at the back of the pub Graham gave her a cheeky wink before rapping his knuckles on the door three times.

“Do you have a secret knock everywhere you go?” Beatrice laughed.

The door opened before Graham could answer and Beatrice stared at the woman in the doorway as her heart dropped.