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Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

ONCE UPON A KISS

" W hy didn't you tell me you planned to elope?" Marianne demanded in a rather indignant huff. "You never even spoke to me about Lord Hawthorne. I did not know you were in love." She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her utmost to glare at Beatrice.

Beatrice chuckled, grasping her friend's hands. "I apologize," she replied, grasping for words. After all, what was she to say? Theirs was not a love match, and yet she could not tell Marianne so. Certainly, they were friends and had been for a few years. Only Marianne had never been one to keep secrets, words flowing from her tongue with such speed that she often had trouble keeping confidences.

"And you were married in Gretna Green?" Marianne whispered confidently, linking one arm with Beatrice's and pulling her toward a quiet corner, all anger suddenly forgotten. "What was that like?"

Beatrice did her best to satisfy her friend's curiosity; still, she could tell that Marianne was disappointed with Beatrice's explanations. Indeed, Marianne possessed a deeply romantic heart, as Beatrice supposed many young women did. While not wishing to disappoint her closest friend, Beatrice could also not bring herself to lie. She could not speak of love when there had been none.

"And your wedding night?" Marianne asked in hushed tunes, her eyes glittering with curiosity. "What was it like?" Her nose was slightly crinkled, and her brows drawn down into a tentative frown. "Was it as awful as we overheard Lady Torrington say last year? Or was it… wonderful?"

Beatrice cringed. "Well…" Beatrice wished with all her heart that she could escape this conversation. Only Marianne was determined to have her answer.

Yet as Beatrice thought back to the night of her wedding, a smile came to her face, and she remembered the wonderful supper she and Charles had shared, how they had laughed and spoken of so many things, getting to know one another in a way she had not expected.

Reading Beatrice's expression, Marianne clasped her hands together in joy. "Oh, it was wonderful, wasn't it?"

Beatrice nodded. "It was. He is a wonderful man, and I am so fortunate that he chose me." Her gaze drifted across the ballroom to where Charles was speaking to his brother and a group of gentlemen. Their eyes met, and the smile that came to his face as he looked at her did odd things to Beatrice's heart.

"And… what was it like?" Marianne inquired, her cheeks flushing a tentative red.

Beatrice cringed inwardly, not wishing to discuss these things. After all, she and Charles had not shared a bed. All she had to go on was the night she had made that foolish mistake with Lord Strumpton. His touch had been pleasant enough, and yet it had been rushed as they had feared discovery. Now, roughly two months later, Beatrice barely remembered what they had said to one another or the touch of his lips upon hers. Somehow, the memory was fading, and fading quickly.

And with a bit of shock, Beatrice realized she did not mind.

"Well?" Marianne prompted.

Fortunately, Beatrice was saved from having to fabricate any sort of answer by a young gentleman who bowed low and then asked Marianne onto the dance floor. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Beatrice remained where she was, savoring a moment of peace and quiet, without having to choose her words carefully, simply breathing in and out.

Unfortunately, her moment of quiet ended rather abruptly when Henry suddenly appeared by her side. Indeed, her new brother-in-law had the tendency to show up in moments most inconvenient. "You look as though you could use a drink," he remarked, raising his brows meaningfully and grinning quietly. "Not that I procured you one, mind you."

Beatrice chuckled. "Sometimes you are truly impossible."

"You are too kind to notice," he said in reply, clearly delighted with the chiding expression upon her face. Inhaling a deep breath, he swept his gaze over the ballroom. "I suppose London is a nice enough place; however," he glanced at her, "I can't imagine staying for too long."

"Charles mentioned your restlessness," Beatrice replied as they began strolling around the ballroom. "Which place is it that captured your heart?"

Henry laughed, handing his empty glass to a footman as he hurried by. "I'm afraid there is no such place. Quite frankly, I never enjoyed staying in one place for too long."

"So, you travel constantly, a new town, a new country every few weeks?" Beatrice could not fathom such a life. It intrigued her, and yet she doubted she would truly enjoy it.

Henry nodded enthusiastically. Then he laughed. "It seems you and my brother are quite suited to one another."

Beatrice frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, he, too, always looks at me with this odd sort of scrunched-up expression whenever I wish to move on." He chuckled. "I think he rather enjoys staying in England, especially now that he found you." He winked at her wickedly.

Overwhelmed, Beatrice averted her gaze and found it colliding with her husband's, a circumstance which immediately sent her heart into a little gallop. It was the oddest thing! Indeed, her heart seemed to pick up even more speed when Charles turned away from the group of gentlemen he had been conversing with and came toward them, a somewhat disconcerted expression upon his face as he eyed his brother.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Henry exclaimed when Charles reached their side, "and he shall appear."

Charles's forehead furrowed harder. "You spoke of me?" he inquired, and his gaze moved to Beatrice.

"We only—" Beatrice began, but she was cut off when Henry said, "All bad things, I assure you." He grinned at Charles.

To Beatrice's relief, Charles shook his head at his brother good-naturedly. "I would have expected nothing less," he retorted in kind, humor dancing in his eyes, before he once more turned to Beatrice. "If he annoys you, you must tell him so to his face. Otherwise, he will not understand. He seems to possess no intuition when it comes to these things."

Beatrice chuckled, feeling herself relax once more. "I shall try," she promised, wondering if she would have the chance, considering that Henry planned on leaving England again soon.

"Would you mind stepping over here?" Henry inquired, gesturing them forward. "There is something I must show you."

Beatrice frowned and exchanged a confused look with her husband. "What is it?" she asked as Charles offered her his arm and she took it.

"Something marvelous," Henry insisted, yet the grin upon his face put a rather suspicious-looking expression upon Charles's face.

Taking two steps forward, they looked at Henry expectantly. Still grinning, he then pointed toward the ceiling. "Look up."

The very moment Beatrice spotted the mistletoe dangling above their heads, another round of applause went up, making it very clear that they were not the only ones to have discovered it.

"Henry," Charles growled under his breath, his eyes hard and accusing as he glared at his brother.

"What?" Henry asked with an innocent and yet smug expression. "You ought to thank me." Then he stepped back, joining the ranks of the surrounding onlookers.

As her heart beat unsteadily in her chest, Beatrice looked up at her husband, surprised to see an almost tortured expression upon his face. "Is something wrong?"

He sighed, casting a furtive glance at the cheering crowd around them. "We don't have to do this," he whispered, his hand still holding hers, his own trembling as much as her own. "My brother should never have—"

"No," Beatrice interrupted him, placing a hand upon his chest. "It's all right." She nodded, giving her permission for him to kiss her, unable to say the words. Indeed, at his suggestion that they need not kiss, Beatrice had felt a sudden surge of disappointment.

It seemed she wanted to kiss him. Only she had not realized it until this very moment.

Although they had only met a fortnight ago, the time they had had together had been indescribable, and Beatrice found her curiosity piqued, wondering what else could be between them.

"Are you certain?" Charles whispered as he pulled her closer, the expression upon his face hesitant. Still, eagerness shone in his eyes, mingling with devotion and desire alike. The space between them dissipated as he stepped closer, and an inaudible sigh escaped his lips. He reached for her and Beatrice, without a moment's hesitation, nodded. This would not be her first kiss, and yet somehow, oddly enough, it felt as though it were.

Gently, Charles cradled her face in his hands, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned in, slowly and steadily, until his lips were inches away from hers. Then, finally, they both closed their eyes and their lips met.

The kiss was sweet and gentle, but it was also full of promise. Beatrice had not expected this. A mistletoe kiss was nothing more than a tradition fulfilled, a quick peck that was over almost before it had begun.

Their kiss, however, did not. It did not seem to end, and Beatrice realized she did not want it to. Each second felt like a lifetime, and with each passing one, Beatrice felt a little more of her heart stringing together with his. Charles, too, seemed lost in the moment, for he lingered, his lips upon hers, teasing and asking and revealing how deeply he cared for her.

When they finally parted, they were breathless, and Beatrice could barely manage to open her eyes, her heart in an uproar. Never had Eugene's kiss made her feel so unhinged, so cared for, so utterly bewitched. What on earth did this mean?

Overwhelmed, Beatrice stared at her husband as the crowd around them cheered with delight, her lips still tingling from his kiss.

"Are you all right?" Charles asked, concern upon his face.

Swallowing, Beatrice nodded. "I'm sorry. I…" She backed away. "I need a moment alone." Then she turned and fled the ballroom.

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