Beatrice held out her hand, and after staring at it for all of three seconds, he took it.
His palm was warm but his gaze was warmer.
This.
This was what had been missing all afternoon. The man who looked at her as though she was not merely Dash’s sister, not merely a student, not merely a responsibility.
For one absurd, dangerous second, she thought things were going back to how they were.
Then his expression shuttered.
He allowed her to jerk him to his feet and then dropped her hand.
“Well done,” he said, with a bow so proper it might have belonged in a drawing room.
She stared at him. But he’d already turned to the others.
“That concludes today’s lesson. Tomorrow, we shall continue with holds from behind.”
The ladies began talking at once, bright with success, already discussing breeches and the excuses they’d be using to get away from their mothers.
Beatrice smiled when spoken to.
Congratulated Persephone.
Thanked Longstaffe.
But all the while, Gideon moved about the room with maddening composure, gathering his things, accepting thanks. Not looking over at her. Not even once.
When he finally took his leave, he bowed again. As though nothing at all had passed between them.
Beatrice simply stood in the middle of the ballroom long after the door closed behind him, hands curled at her sides.
The lessons were working.
The ladies were learning.
The Vigilance Society was taking shape.
Everything, in fact, was progressing exactly as she had hoped.
Which made it all the more infuriating that Gideon Rothmore had helped give her exactly what she wanted, then made himself the one thing she couldn’t have.
A SENSIBLE DECISION
Later that same evening, Gideon sat in a private room at White’s with a cup of tea untouched at his elbow and the sour taste of success in his mouth.
By every sensible measure, the afternoon had gone well.
The ladies had learned. Longstaffe had proved useful. No one had been injured beyond a few bruised dignities, and even those had been borne with surprising good humor.
Beatrice’s Vigilance Society had taken its first proper step toward becoming something more than her own private act of defiance.
But rather than feel satisfied, he felt wound tight.
Too tight.
He had meant to put sensible distance between them. The sort of distance a gentleman put between himself and his closest friend’s sister when he found himself thinking not of her safety, but of her mouth, her waist, and other… parts he had no business thinking about.
