But then—after the woods… after the way he had looked at her as though she were… precious.
Delicate.
Well, he had transformed into precisely the sort of overbearing man she despised.
Her jaw clenched.
As though he possessed the authority to decide such things for her. As though being unusually startled one time meant she wasn’t capable of continuing her work.
The memory rose before she could stop it, causing her steps to slow just slightly on the staircase.
She remembered fragments only. The terror. The violent certainty that it was not going to happen again. The memory was vague until the sound of Gideon’s voice had cut through her panic.
Afterwards, well… she could not forget the marks her fingernails and her fists had left on his face.
Her pulse skipped unpleasantly.
He was not entirely wrong. Which was infuriating!
And yet…
“You will stop.”
“You will no longer place yourself directly in danger.”
Her fingers tightened against the banister.
How dare he?
If he imagined that sharing a few kisses, a few… well, bouts of lovemaking, gave him authority over her, then he had better think again.
She would not meekly obey his ridiculous edict.
In fact, the event she was to attend that very evening would be an excellent opportunity to continue precisely as she pleased.
No one was going to stop her from protecting innocent young women from the arrogance and entitlement of men.
Not even Gideon.
VEXED
Later that evening, standing uselessly near the refreshment table at yet another of the ton’s ubiquitous balls, Beatrice was forced to acknowledge one deeply aggravating truth.
While Gideon apparently could not force her to cease her activities with only a simple order, he was able to effectively block her efforts in other ways.
Her eyes narrowed across the ballroom.
There he stood at the entrance to the terrace like some broad-shouldered, maddeningly handsome sentry, ordered by the king himself.
Watching.
Not her, of course. Nothing so overt.
Conversing with two other gentlemen, he somehow managed to block every conceivable route toward the shadowed terrace beyond. Any young lady who drifted too near found herself gently redirected—toward the lemonade, a waiting dance partner, an acquaintance who had suddenly remembered something of pressing importance.
A word here. A bow there.
None of it was new.
