Gideon’s expression shifted. And then— “Was this morning a mistake?”
Beatrice stilled.
Oh.
“I…” She drew in a breath. “I don’t know.”
He tilted his head. And then cocked one brow.
“No,” she said again, softer but firmer. “Not a mistake. But… Whatever it was, whatever this… is, if we take it to Dash now, it’ll be out of our hands.”
His jaw ticked. “Beatrice?—”
She could picture the scenario all too easily. Dash’s anger. Gideon’s honor. A discussion of duty. Responsibility. Permission. Marriage. And not because either of them had chosen it, but because the aristocracy was horrid about making a single moment into an entire future.
Even the best-case scenario could cost them the ability to make that choice for themselves.
For a long moment, Gideon only looked at her. Far too honorable for her peace of mind.
“Furthermore,” she added, quieter now, “once you have slept and shaved and no longer smell faintly of whisky and cigars, you may very well decide this morning looks different.”
“I will not.”
The answer came quickly.
But then he looked away, exhaling through his nose.
“However,” he said, through nearly gritted teeth, “I take your point.”
Beatrice waited, allowing him to come to the natural conclusion without additional assistance from her.
He leaned back against the sofa, one hand still resting atop the strategically placed cushion. “I dislike this plan.”
Her lips twitched despite herself. “But you agree?”
His hazel eyes returned to hers. “I agree to wait,” he said. “For now.”
And that was enough.
Beatrice smiled then, pleased despite herself.
Then his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered.
The pleasure shifted at once into something warmer, lower, and not nearly so innocent.
She forced her attention back to the folded note still resting in his hand.
“He said it was urgent,” she reminded him. “Your correspondence.”
Gideon glanced down at the missive, thoughtful now, before turning it slowly between his fingers.
“It likely concerns Groby.”
At the name, Beatrice sat a little straighter. “Ah,” she said.
She did not like Mr. Groby. Everything in her recoiled from the man. But she was curious. About the letter. About what Gideon would do about it.
“Were your efforts fruitful?”
