“I am trying to do right by you.”
“I did not ask you to do right by me. I asked for your support.”
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
Beatrice froze.
Gideon heard himself then.
Heard the fear beneath the anger. His own desperation…
But he could not call it back. Not when the thought of her hurt again turned something inside him savage.
“I know you never asked for my protection,” he said. “I have reminded myself of it a hundred times. But I cannot stand aside while you…”
Her expression wavered for one second, as though some part of her understood.
Then she hardened herself again.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “Every time I help one of those women, the pain dulls a little. That is what helps me. Not someone coming to my rescue or swearing vengeance upon my enemies for me. I need to prove to myself that… I am not that helpless girl anymore.”
Gideon swallowed.
She straightened. “I cannot let that go simply because you are frightened.”
“I am not frightened.”
“Yes,” she said. “You are.”
She was right. Damn her eyes.
Beatrice drew herself up, dignity wrapping around her like armor. “And so am I. But I won’t let it stop me.” The words landed hard. Uncompromising. “I won’t let you stop me.”
For a moment, he could only look at her.
At her storm-bright eyes. Her flushed cheeks.
This woman who had trusted him, wanted him, fought him, and now looked at him as though he had become just another man determined to steal her choices.
He had come here to make things right.
Instead, for the second time in less than an hour, a Beckman stood before him looking as though he had become the enemy.
“Beatrice,” he said, but the word sounded useless even to him.
She gestured toward the door. “I think you should leave.”
His body went rigid.
Explain again. Make her listen. Make her understand. But that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it?
He had been trying to make her bend to his will all week.
So Gideon just gave one sharp nod.
“Very well.”
He bowed.
