Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

B eckett could easily murder Genevieve right at this moment. He shook his head as she sauntered away without a by your leave, without a care in the world that she had ignored his advice. Not that he would ever hurt her, but if she continued to sneak out of her home in the middle of the night and attend balls and parties her parents were unaware of, she could end up in more trouble than she knew existed.

She was innocent. Even though her conversation this evening and her knowledge of carnal delights was enlightening, more so than he needed to know, it didn't change the fact that what she was doing was wrong and could put her reputation at risk.

He cringed, remembering he'd threatened to spank her ass. He caught sight of her with her friends, her voluptuous gown not giving a hint as to what her ass or legs looked like beneath all that material. Although as shameful as it was, considering she was his best friend's sister, he'd often admired her bodice and the breasts that had formed with adulthood.

He ground his teeth. He should not be imagining anything about her person and how it would appear under her gown. She was off limits. Martin would never forgive him if he dallied with Genevieve. As much as he'd come to fantasize about doing just that…

She had sparked an interest in him for the past two years that he had successfully ignored up until now. But of late, she drew his attention like a moth to a flame each time he was in her company. A maddening, intoxicating affliction he could not cure.

"What is my sister doing here?" Beckett started at the familiar voice before he turned to face Martin. Genevieve's brother glared in the direction of his sister. "Mother forbade her from attending. I was at the breakfast table two days past when that conversation occurred."

"Oh, I do not know what Lady Genevieve is doing here." He feigned ignorance. "Mayhap, you ought to ask her," Beckett offered, glad he had not, in the end, had to disclose Genevieve's whereabouts and nighttime pursuits to her family. A position that put him in a circumstance where he did not think she would ever forgive him. No one liked a snitch.

"Come, we shall ask her together." Before Beckett could stop Martin, Genevieve's brother strode after her, joining her friendship party of three. The ladies' eyes went wide with alarm, their cheeks pale.

"Brother, what are you doing here? I thought you were attending the Thompson's ball," Genevieve stated, her tone light and without concern. Yet the fear that echoed on her pretty features was apparent. Her sibling had caught her, and no nonchalance would clear her way out of this mess.

"I decided to drop in since I knew Tyndall would be here," Martin stated, meeting Beckett's eyes a moment. "But how odd to find you here, sister…unchaperoned." He paused, tapping his chin in thought. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but did not Mama forbid you from attending? Or did my ears deceive me two days past?"

Genevieve sighed, and Beckett felt a pang of pity for her. That women could not attend parties such as the one they now attended would be frustrating if he were in her position. Beckett had little doubt that should he be cushioned from the world as she was, it would drive him mad, if not a little rebellious. He could understand why the Three Graces, as they were known, were breaking the rules.

"You cannot tell me that Lady Matilda and Lady Charlotte should be here either. Do your parents know you're at Lord and Lady Whitfield's ball alone and unchaperoned?"

"Well, as to that," Lady Charlotte murmured before Genevieve placed her hand on her friend's arm, stalling her words.

"Do not interrogate my friends, Martin. You have no right. And you arrived by chance." She turned her attention to Tyndall and glared. "I have little doubt how you found out that I'm here. Lord Tyndall proves yet again what a rat he is."

Rat? Had she indeed insulted him just now? "I never told your brother a word of you being here. I had not yet had the time to do so, Lady Genevieve."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The action lifted her breasts, and Beckett glanced down at the parquetry floor—anywhere but the location that had haunted far too many of his dreams lately. Not to mention, the little mole that sat just above the bodice of her left breast was particularly pretty and shaped like a heart.

"Lord Tyndall has nothing to do with me finding you at a ball you're prohibited from attending. I shall return all three of you to your homes. Please make your excuses to Lady Whitfield, and we shall meet in the foyer." Beckett did not say a word. His friend's orders brooked no argument, and it was not his place to say anything to Genevieve, even if he had cautioned her earlier about being here alone.

The sight of tears pooling in Genevieve's eyes, however, was not what he enjoyed seeing, and without thought, he stepped toward her, only for Martin to step between them, ceasing whatever madness had come over him for a moment. What had he been about to do? Pull her into his arms and comfort her? Lead her away and give her kind words of support?

What the hell was wrong with him?

The Three Graces moved toward Lady Whitfield, doing as they were bid, and Beckett followed Martin. "I shall escort the ladies home with you, Martin. The ball is less than satisfactory, and I have an early morning meeting with my steward."

"Very good. Let us go," Martin said.

Minutes later, the carriage rolled through Mayfair and deposited Lady Matilda and Lady Charlotte at their respective homes. But when Martin called out the address for Whites, Beckett frowned. "We're making a detour before heading to Grosvenor Square?" he asked.

"Oh yes, I'm getting off at Whites. Be a good friend and deliver my sister home, Tyndall? You're like a brother to Genevieve, in any case."

Beckett swallowed, knowing only too well that he was, in fact, definitely not like a brother to Genevieve, and never had been. When he had first met her, she had been an annoying busybody who followed him and Martin around Curzon's country estate all day, spying on them, wanting to be part of their gang. He had thwarted her every request, and for one reason.

The chit had always looked at him as if she were in love with him and wanted him to kiss her until, one day, she launched herself at his head while alone in the gardens. His first reaction had been to hold out his arm and stop her. That his hand had connected with her forehead and she had been held in that absurd position was an embarrassment he had never recovered from. He couldn't imagine how Genevieve thought of it.

But something told him she had never forgiven him. He had mortified and hurt her feelings. But they had both been children. Could she still blame him for rejecting her kiss?

His gaze dipped to her lips, parted in shock, as the carriage rocked to a halt before the front bow window of Whites. Martin jumped down, calling out the direction for the driver before waving them off without a backward glance.

Damn it all to hell. Beckett would murder Martin, too, if he could get his hands on him.

"I cannot believe you sent for my brother to catch me out this evening. What kind of snitch are you, Tyndall? I've never known an earl to be so ungentlemanly."

Their gazes clashed, and he fought to ignore that when, in a temper, Genevieve's skin was radiant in the moonlight, her eyes bright and burning with vexation. Damn, she had grown into a beautiful, luscious, intelligent, determined woman. She looked like a queen sitting before him in the carriage. Her voluptuous, exquisite gown and white wig, sitting high on her head, gave her an air of stateliness.

"I never sent a missive to your brother. You can believe that or not, but it is the truth."

She scoffed. "And you expect me to accept that?"

"Believe what you want. It is the truth."

The drive to Grosvenor Square was short, and the carriage rolled to a stop before the large Curzon estate, a sprawling Georgian mansion, not a town house that many other residences of the ton possessed. While wealthy himself, Duke Curzon exceeded most of the upper ten thousand by hundreds of thousands of pounds, making Genevieve an heiress and catch for anyone brave enough to take the hellcat on.

She wrenched her shawl about her, but instead of leaving the carriage, she leaned toward him, pushing him back into the squabs. "I will not have you thwart my plans this Season, Lord Tyndall, so it would be best if you stayed out of my way."

As much as he tried to, and he desperately did attempt self-control, his gaze dipped to her lips, soft and all but begging for a kiss. Had she ever kissed a man before? A fire, hot and desperate, ignited inside him, and without thought, he slipped a stay curl of her hair behind her ear. "And if I cannot stay out of your way?"

Her attention dipped to his lips, and something in her eyes darkened. "Then I shall make you," she said, pushing the carriage door open and jumping down, before disappearing through the front gate of her house and out of sight.

But never, damn it all to hell, out of his mind.