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Bea hesitated, recognizing she could hardly trust herself to remain in check. Her rest earlier had helped, but she remained exhausted, and the ties holding her ire in check were fragile.
“Beatrice,” William intoned in gentle warning.
“As you see fit, my lord.” She said as sweetly as she could, hearing that it wasn’t very. She went straight to the settee, and after closing the door, William joined her.
Once more, he observed her carefully, and with apparent surprise, he concluded, “You’re angry.”
It wasn’t ladylike to admit it, but she nodded curtly.
“Youare angry? My wife is cross afterIsee her so enjoy the sight of another man?”
Bea blinked. “Another man? That’s what you thought I enjoyed?”
Nowhishands flexed into fists. “Do you think me blind? Since the night of the Duke’s ball, you’ve been fascinated with Robertson!”
“WithJames?”
“James now, is it?”
She looked away, wondering if she should explain that it wasn’t Clara’s husband who had beguiled her so, but the ardency he had for his wife—and she for him.
Could William truly not know that? She observed him; all she saw in his eyes was the flame of jealousy, and it snapped the last of the strictures holding her wrath in place. “You have no right to hurl such accusations at me! I have only ever been your faithful wife, in thought and in deed!”
“You deny it?”
“Yes!”
His voice was quiet yet vibrated with rage. “But Iseeit! You’re different when he’s with her. I feel your intrigue. Your interest.”
“Not in him, William!” She pressed her knuckles into the seat cushion. “In what they havetogether!I don’t want him. I’m jealous ofthem!”
His brow furrowed. “Of them?”
“You saw them in the music room! If it were wintertime, they wouldn’t have needed a fire in the hearth. They create their own!”
William’s eyes dropped to the floor, and his lips flattened. “He is not a marquess, and Clara is not a marchioness.”
Not this again! I know that! I don’t care!Tears burned her eyes.
When she sat silently, his gaze returned to hers. “She isn’t a mother—yet. You know better, Beatrice. Wemustn’t.”
“I know nothing of the sort! She won’t either. Do you think James won’t want to touch her that way after she’s had his child? Did you see him cradle her belly?” She covered her mouth, both to stop herself from speaking and because her mind was filled with the image her words had evoked.Oh God, to be so adored!
“You would have me treat you that way? Like a merchant treats his wife?”
“Yes.”
He froze, and she wondered whether it was the speed or the intensity of her reply that shocked him so.
“Iwon’ttreat you like that! Like it or not, I’m no James Robertson!”
“No, you’re not!”
William sat up straighter, his expression haughty. “I beg your pardon?”
Her fatigue had been bone deep before the dinner party; now it was soul deep. “What do you want from me, William?”
Her quiet, sincere question rattled him, but after a time, he answered. “I want for us to be a family. For you to know I hold you in high esteem. I want you to continue being the wife you are—a devoted mother. A respected marchioness.”
