Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

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A ll the way from the ballroom to the library, checking rooms left and right despite his sense of certainty where Beatrice would have retreated, Charles had reminded himself that it would not serve him to lash out at Lord Strumpton. If Beatrice still cared for him, he needed to tread carefully. Still, Lord Strumpton's intentions could not be good, and it was paramount that Charles rid them of this so-called gentleman.

Finding them together in the library momentarily knocked the air from Charles's lungs, fear rising in his heart that hers might be in peril once more. As much as he hated seeing her with Strumpton, Charles could simply not bear to see her in pain. Her heartbreak had been his, and although he wished to send Strumpton to the ends of the earth, he knew he could not do so if she begged him to refrain.

And then he had embraced her, his arms pressing her against his chest. He held her so tightly that he had felt her heart beat against his own, loath to release her. It had been an impulsive act, like their mistletoe kiss. He had never meant to hold her so tightly or for so long, yet he could not help himself.

And then, only belatedly, Charles had realized that she clung to him as well.

Instantly, his heart soared and hope flared to life in such a way that it terrified him. As much as he loved her, he needed to guard his heart until such a moment that her affection for him might deepen. And so, he reeled in his emotions, his mind focused on removing Lord Strumpton from their lives.

"I noticed his absence from the ballroom," Charles growled under his breath, casting a hateful glare in Strumpton's direction. "And… And I was concerned for you." He took a step back, determined to face Strumpton here and now, when he felt Beatrice's hands tighten upon his, holding him back.

Tears shimmered in her eyes, and yet the smile that touched her lips made him go weak in the knees. Again, hope flared, and Charles eyed her curiously, wondering what it was he was seeing, wondering if perhaps he was dreaming.

It was the sound of Lord Strumpton shifting upon his feet that drew Charles's attention back to the other man in the room. One hand remained clasped in Beatrice's as he turned to face his rival for his wife's heart. "You're a fool," he told Lord Strumpton with a wide smile, noting the man's surprise with satisfaction. "You lost her. You had your chance, and you wasted it." His hand tightened possessively upon Beatrice's, and to his utter surprise, she squeezed his in return. Yet Charles did not dare turn his head, his gaze fixed upon Lord Strumpton. "Now, she's mine. Mine alone." Oh, to speak so was boastful of him and petty and probably not very wise. Yet Charles could not help himself.

Lord Strumpton regarded him with an odd expression in his gaze. Then, a slow, almost devilish smile spread across his face. "The child she carries is mine, though," he taunted Charles.

Behind him, Charles heard Beatrice draw in a sharp breath. He could feel her hand tremble and knew that she still blamed herself for what had happened. In truth, though, Charles wondered where they would be today if he had not come upon her in that heartbreaking moment, if it had never happened.

Holding Lord Strumpton's gaze, Charles had never felt so certain in his life. "This child," he told the other man, "is ours. Beatrice's and mine. I will be his or her father, and if it is a boy, then he will be my heir, not yours." A deep smile claimed his face, and he knew he did not regret a single word he had spoken.

Aghast, Lord Strumpton stared at him, clearly not having expected this.

"Leave," Charles insisted, nodding toward the door. "Now."

The red of humiliation darkened Lord Strumpton's cheeks, and he straightened his shoulders. "But I was invited," he replied foolishly.

"I am revoking the invitation," Charles snarled then once more nodded toward the door, exhaling a sigh of relief when Lord Strumpton turned upon his heel and stormed out, huffing and puffing indignantly as he went.

Then, slowly, Charles turned back around to face his wife. Tears still shimmered in her eyes, and the expression upon her face made him hope that…

"Did you truly mean what you said?" Beatrice asked, her voice trembling as she tapped a finger to the corner of her eye, catching a tear that spilled over. "About my child? About… our child?"

Charles nodded. "Yes, I did." His hands wrapped tightly around hers.

"Listen," Beatrice began, her gaze unsteady, "about before, about the… kiss," she bit her lower lip. "I need to tell you that—"

Charles lifted a hand to stop her. "There is no need," he assured her, worried about what she might say. She did not look offended or about to chide him for taking such liberties; yet Charles knew he had overstepped a line. "I apologize for what happened," he said a bit sheepishly. "I never meant to… kiss you like that, but I was swept away in the moment, I suppose."

Beatrice chuckled, her face transforming into an image of utter joy. Her hands slipped from his and grasped the sides of his face as she pushed closer, looking up into his eyes. "Don't you dare apologize," she whispered against his lips, brushing her mouth against his ever so softly. "I was swept away as well. I did not expect it, and it confused me. That's why I rushed off. I'm sorry I did, but I needed a moment to myself."

Thunderstruck, Charles stared at her, barely aware of how his hands settled upon her waist, drawing her ever closer.

"You're a good man," she told him, and inwardly, Charles cringed. "You've become the most wonderful friend to me." Indeed, this was not what he wanted to hear. "Yet only when you kissed me did I realize how deeply I've come to care for you." Disbelief lingered in her eyes. "I never even considered it after so short a time, after thinking my heart lost to another." Her hands upon his face tightened. "Now, though, I realize that my heart only ever beat for you."

Still staring at his wife, Charles knew not what to say. He could barely blink or breathe, let alone form any sort of coherent thought. Her words echoed through his mind, and yet he did not dare to believe them. Joy surged through him, and yet he willed it to back down, afraid to lose again what now seemed within arm's reach. "There is no need," Charles finally said, needing to be absolutely certain, "to pretend. I care for you, and I shall always care for you even if you cannot—"

"Did you not hear what I said?" Beatrice exclaimed, a touch of annoyance in her gaze now. "I love you, Charles. Can you hear the words I'm saying?"

Charles laughed. He could not help it. "Yes, I can. Only I'm afraid to believe them." He exhaled slowly then rested his forehead against hers, both their eyes closing for a moment of peace. "Tell me what it is you want."

"I want you," Beatrice replied instantly, her voice strong and determined. "I want a life with you. I want what we had this past week. I want to laugh with you and dance with you in the snow or in the library. I want to be a family. All of us. I want everyone we love close by and never far apart. I want our child to be loved, truly loved, and find love one day as well."

Charles chuckled. "Well, perhaps I haven't told you yet," he lifted his head and met her gaze, "however, it is a Whickerton family tradition to marry for love and nothing else."

Beatrice loved the sound of that. "Truly?" she teased, remembering when he had first told her, remembering how awful she had felt to have robbed him of his own chance for love. "A tradition, you say? For how long?"

"Well, let me think." His gaze shifted sideways as though he were calculating a rather complicated mathematical equation. "We are now the second generation to do so." He grinned at her.

Beatrice laughed. "Already the second? That is quite an impressive record, I must say."

Charles sighed, his gaze sobering. "You know I love you as well, but this, is this truly what you want?"

Beatrice nodded. "As long as you promise that we'll never stop dancing in the snow, I'll agree to anything." She hugged him tightly, her arms slung around his neck, feeling the wonderful sensation of his heart beat in tandem with her own. "I might have another request, though."

Charles's brows rose in question, and Beatrice thought a smile teasing his lips suited him quite wonderfully.

"Will you kiss me again?" she asked, worrying her lower lip despite knowing that he would not deny her. "And again tomorrow? And the day after that? And a year from now?"

"Did I not promise to make you smile again?" Charles whispered against her lips. "To make you happy?"

"I do recall something of the kind, yes."

"Well, then…" Charles kissed her gently, cradling her in his arms with infinite care. He tasted her lips as she closed her eyes, surrendering to the pleasure of his embrace. She felt the warmth of his body against hers, and the electricity of his touch coursing through her veins. He pulled her closer, their hearts beating in unison, and the world around them melted away. Nothing else mattered except them and this moment.

Their first.

She held him tightly, savoring the gentle caress of his fingertips, and the love that seemed to flow between them. She felt safe in his arms and finally allowed herself to simply be . Her spirit felt soothed, and the walls that encased her heart melted away. She was home.