Beatrice narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Immensely,” she returned. “Et vous, my lord?”
He actually winced a little. “I would have. If not for a minor distraction.”
She threw.
This time the blade struck closer to center.
She didn’t expect him to compliment her, which was good, because he didn’t.
“Your time on the terrace,” he said conversationally, as though remarking upon the weather. “You were in the company of Lady Persephone, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“She seemed… relieved when she returned.”
Beatrice didn’t hear any judgement in his tone, but she turned to face him anyway. “And how is this your concern, my lord?”
She had once called Gideon by his given name, when everyone else used the shortened version of his title–Hawk. But that was before he and Dash had left to train at Sandhurst. Before the war. Before titles and responsibilities settled differently all around.
Gideon regarded her steadily, giving Beatrice a moment to brace for a lecture.
This was precisely why she’d not been bothered by Dash’s recent neglect. It meant fewer inquiries. Fewer stern looks implying an explanation was owed.
She turned back to the target.
“Lady Persephone is perfectly well,” she said.
Gideon remained where he stood, hands loosely clasped behind his back. “Were you?”
“I—me?” The blade stilled between her fingers. “Of course I was. We both were. Did I not look well?” she countered. It would have been simpler had he accused her of recklessness.
One corner of his mouth shifted. “You looked quite… becoming.”
An actual compliment. Unexpected.
But then his mouth tightened, and he inclined his head slightly. “Blackwell will speak with his sister,” he added. “Discreetly.”
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed.
“Speak with her how?”
“Beatrice—”
“If Lord Blackwell means to make Lady Persephone feel responsible for Hatherleigh’s predatory behavior, then I will think very poorly of his intelligence.”
Lord Hawkins paused. There it was, then.
She had said too much. Alluded to the ugliness polite society preferred to ignore.
Her chin lifted.
“I meant nothing of the sort,” he said, but then his mouth tightened. “If anyone was responsible, it was Blackwell. He should have seen Hatherleigh circling his sister.”
Beatrice stilled. Because that tightening, she realized, wasn’t disapproval of her, but… anger.
“She did nothing wrong,” Gideon added. “But he is her brother. He will want to know how close he came to failing her.”
