Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

IN THE LIbrARY

B elatedly, Beatrice realized her feet had carried her to the library, the very place where she had read and danced with Charles. Her mind still circled around the kiss they had just shared, her heart overwhelmed by the deep emotions that seemed to pulse through every cell of her body. Almost from the first, Beatrice had liked Charles. She had come to care for him so quickly, so easily, and yet she had always only considered him a friend, worried that she could not love him. Had she been wrong?

Beatrice wished she could share her confusion with someone who might advise her. What did it feel like to be kissed by someone one loved? All Beatrice knew was that Charles's kiss had been different from Eugene's… yet in a good way. Was there anything more than love? Or was the only conclusion that she had never truly loved Eugene? Had she merely been in love with the idea of being in love, being courted by a dashing gentleman? Had she been even more of a fool than she had first thought?

As her head began to spin in circles, Beatrice strode up and down the length of the library, willing her limbs to cease trembling and her mind to clear. After all, she needed to return to the ballroom. This night was held in her honor, and she simply could not disappear. More than that, what was Charles thinking right now? He had kissed her so sweetly, and then she had dashed away.

A groan slipped from Beatrice's lips, and she closed her eyes, willing a deep breath into her lungs. "What am I to do?"

"Good evening, my dear."

At Lord Strumpton's voice, Beatrice whirled around. Oddly enough, she had not even contemplated the idea of seeing him here tonight. Perhaps that had been reasonable after all, for she doubted that Charles's family would invite the man whose child she carried. Then what was he doing here? Here at the ball… and now here in the library?

Closing the door behind himself, Lord Strumpton moved toward her, an easy smile upon his lips. Only now, it failed to make Beatrice's heart trip and stumble in her chest. "My lady, allow me to congratulate you on your wedding." His grin widened. "I admit I never expected you to be so… resourceful in procuring a husband. How did you do it?"

Beatrice could do little else but stare at him, for the moment did not quite strike her as real, more like a nightmare one imagined on a gloomy day.

Coming to stand in front of her, Lord Strumpton met her eyes. "If it is possible, you've grown even more beautiful," he whispered, an honest touch of awe in his voice. "I've missed you."

Not long ago, Beatrice would have given anything to hear him say these words. Now, though, she felt not even a quiver of excitement at hearing them. Instead, his presence here in the library made her feel threatened. "You need to leave," she told him, taking a step backward. "You're not supposed to be here."

Yet Lord Strumpton remained. "You cannot mean that," he replied, looking hurt. "Only a fortnight ago, you spoke of love, and now you wish to send me away?" He shook his head, disappointment showing upon his features. The emotion did not reach his eyes, though.

Beatrice laughed. She could not help it, for his words struck her as ridiculous. "You cannot mean what you just said," she told him boldly, lifting her chin and meeting his eyes without flinching. "As I recall, you were the one to send me away first. You sent me away when I needed you the most." She shook her head at him, finally realizing the kind of man he was. "You betrayed me. You promised me the world, and then you left me alone."

"I am here now," Lord Strumpton said simply, clearly unconcerned with anything he might have said before. "Perhaps this is a sign. Since you are now safely married, there is no reason for us to remain apart any longer."

Aghast, Beatrice stared at him, uncertain how she had ever thought herself in love with him. How could she not have seen the cold selfishness in his gaze? "I want you to leave and never return," Beatrice told him in a hard voice, not wanting there to be any doubt.

Unfortunately, Lord Strumpton remained unimpressed. "Do you truly think it wise to speak to me like this?" he inquired, cocking one eyebrow, a rather disconcerting grin coming to his face. "After all, your husband would be most disappointed to learn of your… misconduct, would he not?" The grin upon his face stretched into a deeply smug smile, heavy with self-importance and superiority that made Beatrice wonder how she could ever have cared for him.

"My husband knows," Beatrice said slowly and calmly, enjoying the way Lord Strumpton's expression froze before his smug smile slowly evaporated, replaced by something that resembled not merely surprise but rather stunned shock and perhaps a little concern. "I told him. I would never have married him otherwise."

Lord Strumpton's eyes bulged. "You told him before—?" He raked a hand through his hair, still staring at her as though she had suddenly sprouted wings. Clearly, in his world, he could not conceive why any man would marry a woman carrying another man's child.

He loves me , Beatrice thought to herself, realizing only in that very moment what it truly meant. He truly and honestly loves me. What had Charles said? That to love meant to put another first? Indeed, he had every moment of every day. "My husband is a most honorable man," Beatrice told Lord Strumpton, her voice heavy with accusation. "It is such a shame that so few true gentlemen remain these days."

The look upon Lord Strumpton's face suggested that her accusation had not escaped him, for his expression darkened, and for a moment, Beatrice doubted whether it had been wise to taunt him like this.

Fortunately, only a heartbeat later, Charles abruptly crashed through the library doors, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His eyes widened when they spotted Beatrice, and he lunged toward her with long strides. Lord Strumpton hastily stepped aside to let him pass, and Charles shot him a threatening stare before embracing Beatrice in a tight hug, the tension of the moment evident. Yet there was also a sense of pure relief on Charles's face.

Overwhelmed, Beatrice clung to her husband, returning his almost desperate embrace. The way his arms wrapped around her made her feel safe, and she understood from the relief she had seen upon his face that he had been truly afraid for her. Clearly, he had somehow noted that Lord Strumpton had gone after her, and yet his thoughts had never strayed into the direction of betrayal. He had not doubted her, her loyalty to him.

Not even for a moment.

"Are you well?" Charles asked almost frantically, his eyes searching her face, his hands tight upon her arms as though he feared she could slip away.

"I am," Beatrice replied in a trembling voice. "Truly, I am." She sniffled as emotions tightened her throat, her gaze seeking his. "What are you doing here?"

Charles looked as though he were about to speak. Then, however, he closed his eyes, briefly shook his head and then straightened. When he looked at her once more, the expression in his eyes no longer burned with desperate concern, with emotions barely held in check. No, he had slipped on a mask, shielding himself from her gaze. "I noticed his absence from the ballroom," he told her with a glare in Lord Strumpton's direction, "and… and I was concerned for you." He took a step back, and involuntarily, Beatrice's hands grasped his, staying his retreat.

A look of utter confusion came to Charles's face, and yet there was hope there as well.