Not his responsibility.
Not hers???
She straightened at once and drew her knees back, putting a proper inch between them.
“And who decided it’s not? You?” she demanded.
“These young ladies do not attend such events unguarded.” He was frowning. “They have fathers. Brothers. Companions whose sole purpose is to see them safely through an evening.”
“And yet they fail.”
Gideon’s brows drew together slightly.
She pressed on. “I was not at the masked ball last evening,” she said. “And a young lady—Miss Whitcombe—was discovered alone. In the library. With a gentleman who ought never to have been permitted near her.”
Gideon went very still.
“She was not protected,” Beatrice continued, her voice steadier now. “Not by her companions. Not by the other gentlemen in attendance. Not by anyone.” A small pause. “And now, in the eyes of society, she is ruined.”
Silence settled between them.
“If those tasked with safeguarding these ladies are not equal to it,” she went on, more sure of herself than ever, “then it seems only sensible that the ladies themselves should be better prepared.”
Her chin lifted slightly.
“They may at least learn how to recognize danger. How to avoid it. And, if necessary… how to assist one another.”
Gideon still said nothing until, finally—he exhaled.
“Very well.”
Beatrice lit at once. “Oh—Gideon, that is?—”
“But.”
The single word halted her.
“Before I agree, I need to understand something.”
Her fingers tightened in her lap. “What?”
“This is not a passing concern for you.” His voice was quieter now. “It is not merely kindness, or indignation, or some attempt to liven up your Season.”
Beatrice went still.
“You speak of these dangers as though you know them too well.”
His gaze held hers.
“Why?”
DONE WITH SOCIETY
Gideon waited for her answer with the stillness of a man who had learned better than to press.
Beatrice opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
