Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

B eckett ground his teeth. He was at his wits end with the chit, who was starting to occupy far too much of his deliberations daily.

Mr. Venzellons sauntered about the room, his arrogance enough to make Tyndall's lip curl. Why did he hate the man so much? Was it merely because he was an American in England attempting to steal away a desirable debutante who would suit one of his titled friends? Or was it because the desirable debutante that he had his cap set on was Genevieve?

"Sister," Martin said to Genevieve, who remained beside him. "I've just heard from father that Mr. Venzellons has asked for your hand in marriage. I should think you'll soon have a proposal to enjoy. Are you not happy, sister?"

Genevieve stared at Martin before her attention slipped to Mr. Venzellons, who spoke to Lady Masters. Did she not see that he was in the process of securing another lover? The man was a sad dog and, by the looks of it, had no quibbles about getting what he wanted, even at his future betrothed's dinner party.

"Mr. Venzellons asked Papa for my hand in marriage?"

"Yes, just now. I heard him myself." Martin grinned as if this was the best news. Beckett couldn't think of anything worse than Genevieve leaving to live on the opposite side of the world, possibly never to return to England to visit her friends and family.

You're not her friend. If fact, you've made it perfectly clear that you are the opposite.

All true, and possibly from the uncomfortable feeling in his chest, a truth he would no longer wish to continue.

They disagreed on many things, but he wasn't her enemy. They had once been friends—until he teased her about her red hair.

He could not pull his eyes from the hair that sat about her slim shoulders and voluptuous breasts this evening. When had she become such a beautiful woman—one of the finest in London?

"You look a little stunned, sister. Are you not pleased?" Martin pushed.

"Oh yes, very pleased indeed, and I shall have to think on the matter."

Beckett scoffed. "He's a rogue. Who knows where he's been? I should think the consideration of his offer of marriage would be an easy no to conclude."

"You're no better than Mr. Venzellons if what I know of you is true. Were you not the other day boating with one of my friends? If I were to look up the meaning of the word rake, I would find your name beside it. You cannot place judgment on others when you're not innocent yourself."

"Oh, such fun, but Mama is waving me over to join her," Martin said. "I shall return shortly."

"I do not rut about London," Beckett returned. "And I certainly do not ask for a woman's hand in marriage and then commence caterwauling about town later that same evening."

Genevieve's attention moved to where Mr. Venzellons continued to speak to Lady Masters. Their heads together in quiet discussion, no doubt to ensure privacy.

"We are not married yet. Mr. Venzellons may do as he pleases, but I'm sure you're mistaken. He would not be so cruel as to do what you accuse him of."

"Do you not think?" Beckett did not enjoy being blunt or cruel, especially to a woman, but Genevieve wasn't just any woman. She was his best friend's sister. No matter if they did not always get along, a woman deserved happiness in marriage.

He could not see her accomplishing that with Mr. Venzellons.

"He is not such a rake as you accuse him of. He has not even attempted to kiss me."

Beckett met Genevieve's eyes. Was she referring to their kiss in the conservatory that he had stolen? A kiss that still haunted his bloody dreams and ensured an uncomfortable night's sleep.

"Would you kiss him back if he tried?" Did Beckett want to know this information? He regretted the question the moment he uttered it. He didn't want Genevieve to think that he wanted her forever. That wasn't the case at all. He merely had to look out for her if no one else was seeing the flaws that Mr. Venzellons had ample of.

"I think I would. He appears to be a gentleman who knows how to kiss, and I would so love to be kissed passionately and with great skill."

She did not just say that out loud and to him.

To a man she had kissed.

Beckett ground his teeth and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. He would not rant at her or call her out on her lies, for surely that was what she was doing—taunting him and trying to rile him up.

Was she trying to make him kiss her again?

"Did I not kiss you properly, Lady Genevieve? Is that what you're saying?"

She shrugged, her delicate shoulder catching his eye, not to mention her cleavage. She had all the lovely curves he'd always liked in a woman. When had she blossomed into such a stunning creature?

When he hadn't been looking…

"Yours was a kiss that I've already forgotten. I grant you that the first kiss, when you did not know who I was, was very passionate. But the second was more of a punishment. I felt as if you were telling me off."

"I was."

"I know, that is why I said it."

Beckett cracked his neck, the tension in his shoulders unbearable. The woman was maddening. "Perhaps we ought to try again to see once and for all if I can satisfy your desire for passion."

"Excuse me, my lord, but are you saying we ought to kiss again here and now?" She grinned mischievously, the teasing minx pouting her lips. "I'm up for it if you are. But then I shall be married to you before the month's out if you continue this tutelage."

"So I'm teaching you now."

"Well, I suppose you have, in a way. Until you, I hadn't kissed anyone, but now I think I know how to. I'm sure Mr. Venzellons will be pleased with my learning, and I do wish to please my husband in all ways, not just kissing."

Beckett cleared his throat, adjusted his cravat, and gestured for a footman to bring over the tray of wine. He needed a drink now. "It's a shame such talents will be wasted on Mr. Venzellons. I doubt he will be as appreciative as he should be."

"Lord Tyndall, what are you trying to say? You seem quite put out that an eligible man is courting me and that I may wish to kiss him one day. You are not jealous, are you, by chance? If you are, why do you not own it and say it out loud."

"What?" he stuttered, hating that she had possibly read him far too well. Was he jealous? Hell, yes, he was. Not because he wanted a wife, but he also hated the idea of Genevieve kissing that lout of a man. Did no one else see that he was an Abram Cove? Surely people were not so blind? "You think too highly of yourself," he answered, hoping it would stop her from reading him anymore. Far too well indeed.

"I think you lie. I think our kiss has shaken you a little off your bachelorhood pedestal, which you enjoy so much. I think you like me more than you're letting on, and the thought of me no longer being available to your beck and call whenever that need may arise has sent you into a panic."

"You are too bold, Lady Genevieve. I do not think that at all. You're my friend's sister. I look at you as I would a sister."

She scoffed, smiling up at him.

Beckett stilled. Such a stunning face, and sweet smile, and a boldness of character that he couldn't help but admire.

Damn it all to hell.

"You did not kiss me like a sister. You kissed me like a lover. Admit it and shame the devil, Lord Tyndall. You want me in your bed, even if you do not wish me as your wife."

And that was the crux of his dilemma, and she had indeed read him well.

"I do not," he lied. "I would never."

She laughed again, the sound mocking as she sauntered away. "I beg to differ."