Gideon stilled. Not, then, when she had withdrawn from society.
“When a woman is in danger,” Beatrice said, “another woman might see it first. Might understand it sooner. Might know how to raise an alarm before matters become irreparable.”
Her gaze dropped to their joined hands.
“After that, I could not help wondering how many other women were waiting for someone to notice.”
Gideon said nothing.
It made perfect sense. All of it.
And yet, he couldn't help but think there was something else. A missing piece.
His thumb moved once over her knuckles before he could stop himself.
“I do not think that is the whole of it.” He spoke softly.
The pulse at her throat flickered. She drew in a breath. Let it out again.
A small lift of one shoulder followed.
“I imagine we all come to understand, eventually,” she said lightly, “that the world is not as kind as we were raised to believe.”
In that moment, something cold settled in Gideon’s chest.
Not directed at her.
At the thought of something darker. At the mere possibility that?—
He had not been there. But he knew what men were capable of.
He had heard the remarks made in card rooms after too much brandy. The little laughs over a lady’s innocence. The crude wagers dressed up as sport. The way some gentlemen spoke of women as though a gown, a dowry, a blush, a moment alone, were all invitations waiting to be claimed.
He disliked it.
Of course he did.
Any decent man would.
But disliking a thing was not the same as standing against it.
And they all knew, didn’t they?
Every brother. Every father.
They knew.
Gideon’s mouth hardened.
Beatrice had not invented danger where none existed. She had seen what men like him had been taught to look past.
She was right.
He could not look away now, not from her.
“When would you like these lessons to commence?” he asked.
A DASH OF HELP FOR… DASH
