“Only in so far as knowing what he hasn’t done, otherwise…” He frowned. “A rather pathetic waste of time.”
Indeed. Especially since part of his intentions had been to keep Beatrice at a distance.
Look how well that turned out.
Beatrice refrained from reminding him. Instead, she glanced down at the letter again.
“I do not like him,” she said quietly.
Lady Hannah was reason enough. So were the rumors, and his manner with Gideon outside the gunsmith’s shop.
But even without any of that, Beatrice suspected she would have disliked him. Some instinct in her recoiled.
Gideon’s expression gentled unexpectedly.
“That,” he said, leaning slightly toward her, “is because you are a wise woman.”
And then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do…
He kissed her again. Not hungrily this time. But slowly. As though he meant to savor it.
As though they had all the time in the world.
When their lips parted, Beatrice’s heart was behaving most irregularly once again.
All of this—these feelings, and the terrifying ease with which Gideon seemed capable of unsettling her entirely… it was too much.
Flustered, she rose abruptly to her feet. And this time, she escaped his reach before he could pull her back.
Though, judging by the look in his eyes, he considered attempting it anyway.
“You have business to attend to,” she said, smoothing her skirts once more. “I ought to leave you to it.”
Gideon rose more slowly.
The pillow remained behind.
Beatrice turned toward the door, then stopped and glanced back.
“And you will not speak to Dash about…?” She made a small, useless gesture between them. “About this?”
Something warmed briefly in Gideon’s eyes.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“Good.” She drew a breath. “But you will see him?”
His expression changed at once, settling into something steadier.
“Yes.”
Of course.
Of course he would.
THE OPERA
That evening, on the way to the opera, Beatrice climbed into Lady Barrington’s carriage and took the empty place beside Lark on the backward-facing seat.
