Chapter 4

The Failed Seduction

Beatrice quickly brought her hands to the man’s chest and pushed him back, or tried to push him back. His body was muscular and solid, and she only managed to push herself back—not that it mattered. She only needed to get out of the room.

“You are the man from the ball,” she gasped.

He was the one she had mistaken for the Baron when he had walked in.

The man smiled. “Yes, I am the man from the ball, and you are the woman from the ball, and we find ourselves in a bedroom together.”

“No, it was not meant to be like this.”

Edwin stepped forward and took her by the chin, much as Lord Mutton had, but it felt very different. It stopped her in her tracks, and all she could do was stare into his emerald eyes.

“It should not have been you,” Beatrice muttered. “It should have been…”

“What did you have planned? What rotten scheme is this? Tell me why you are here,” the man boomed. “You thought you could seduce me? I saw how you looked at me in the great hall. You are naive, woman! Who sent you here? Is this some sort of test? Why does Robert have you in his room?”

“I’m not here to seduce you,” Beatrice whimpered. “I’m promised to another.”

The man let go of her chin and stepped back, looking her up and down. “As am I, but I am not in a state of undress. It is a good thing she did not follow me up here.”

“Your betrothed is here?” Beatrice asked.

Beatrice felt the shame and embarrassment overcome her. She wrapped her arms around her chest, hoping to cover herself a little. She had her shift on, but it left very little to the imagination.

She had been a fool for hiding in the room. She and Hannah had spoken about it. She would hide in the room until Lord Pemberton arrived, and then they would be caught in a compromising position.

She grimaced at the lack of planning. Their host might never leave the ball in time to enter the room, and there would come a point when she would have to leave with her family, or else her absence would be noticed. Now, she was stuck in the room with a stranger.

A sudden thought struck her. There might be a dozen betrothed couples at the ball, but she knew one of them.

“Your betrothed? Is it Miss Jennings?” Beatrice asked, her face reddening.

“You seem to know a lot about me,” he drawled.

“Oh, my goodness. You are the Duke of Walford, aren’t you?”

“The very same,” the Duke said with a smile.

She dropped her head in her hands, forgetting her modesty. “Please, you cannot tell her about this, or else she will spread more gossip about me.”

“Do you believe I want anyone to know about this? You came here to seduce me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Beatrice insisted.

“Then you came to seduce Robert. Is that it?”

Beatrice bowed her head. She felt emotionally naked before the Duke. She had made a fool of herself by running from her commitment, and now she had made an even bigger fool of herself. She could only hope no one else would find out.

Suddenly, muffled voices sounded in the hallway. Edwin looked toward the door and then back at her.

“Not a word,” he ordered.

Beatrice still could not believe she was almost naked in a room with the Duke. She looked him in the eye and nodded, noticing how his eyes raked down to her body before he looked back at the door.

She felt wanted—a world away from how Lord Mutton made her feel.

Perhaps… No, he is an entirely different prospect. Lord Pemberton is eligible and good, while His Grace is a cruel man who is already promised to someone—not just anyone but Miss Jennings.

Still, as she stared at his back and thought about how she had felt in his arms, she found a new freedom. If the Duke turned to her and offered himself, she would not refuse. They were both promised to other people, and a little fun could be their secret. Lord Mutton could not compare to the Duke in the bedroom, that much was for sure. And what harm would one night of passion do?

Beatrice lost herself in imagining the Duke’s hands on her again. It had only been a few seconds in his embrace, but they were the most pleasurable few seconds she had felt over the past year.

The Duke held his hand toward Beatrice as he studied the door.

“… he keeps it,” a voice said from the other side of the door. “I overheard him telling someone else.”

Beatrice clapped a hand over her mouth. It was Hannah on the other side of the door.

“He never shares any with me,” came another voice, that of an older woman.

The Duke spun around quickly and took off his coat, handing it to Beatrice. “Put it on,” he hissed.

“Oh, is someone in there?” the older woman asked.

There was a pause, and then the door swung open.

“Oh, Your Grace. Pardon the intrusion, but I?—”

The older woman, one of the more gossipy matrons, stopped in her tracks when she saw Beatrice standing behind the Duke, with only a tailcoat to cover her modesty. Behind the older woman, Hannah stood still, her mouth hanging open in shock, her eyes locked on Beatrice’s.

“I… excuse me,” the older woman said quickly. “I must return.”

“I will…” Hannah stammered out, unsure what else to say. She locked eyes with Beatrice again and gave her an apologetic look.

The two women scurried off, and the Duke closed the door noisily.

“Thank you for the coat,” Beatrice said.

“Thank you?” he boomed. “That’s what you have to say?” He turned and placed a hand on his forehead, muttering, “As if this day can’t get any worse.”

“Do you need it back?” Beatrice asked.

She looked up at the Duke, trying to hold his gaze but not quite able to hold it. She wrapped the coat tighter around her.

“Do you understand what you have done?” he growled.

“It will all be fine,” Beatrice assured. “We were not doing anything, and it will be your word against hers—you are much more respected than her.” Or much more feared. “And the young woman was my sister. I shall talk to her, and she will not say a word.”

“Your sister?” the Duke echoed. He turned back to face her, a wicked storm brewing in his eyes. “Then you did plan all of this. Who are you, and why did you come here tonight?”

“I am Beatrice Bolton, the daughter of the Earl of Ramsbury. I didn’t mean to be in here with you, I swear. I came here tonight to meet my future husband and…”

Beatrice broke down in tears. She could take it no longer. Any guilt she had felt previously was clouded by regret and embarrassment. She had heard the Duke mutter about how unpleasant his day was, but he had no idea. She was to be forced to marry a horrid baron, and now she had been caught in a compromising position. It was supposed to save her, but it only condemned her more.

The Duke came toward her, and she looked down at the floor. Despite his ire, she needed his embrace to take away her pain.

“I would like my tailcoat back,” he said, holding out his hand. “I presume your clothes are in here somewhere?”

Beatrice looked up, surprised. She should have expected nothing less from the cruel Duke. “Will you please look away while I dress?”

“I am not some rogue who wishes to ogle you because you are undressed. Is that your first thought? That I should wish to make this situation as uncomfortable as possible and have you dress in front of me? Besides, it is nothing more than what I have already seen a dozen times, and you were more than eager to show yourself off when I entered the room. You still have your shift. Hand me my tailcoat so I can leave, and I assure you that I have no intention of staring.”

Beatrice didn’t hesitate under his gaze. She stood up to her full height and removed the coat so she was in only her undergarments again. This time, the Duke’s eyes did not linger on her. He took the coat, donned it, and turned to face the door once more.

“You are a piece of work,” he snapped. “You meant to seduce Robert, didn’t you? I am about done with the ladies of the ton and the games you all play. Always trying to change who we are and have us do your bidding.”

As he ranted, Beatrice quickly retrieved her clothes and got dressed.

“What is wrong with the man you are promised to? You know what? It doesn’t matter to me. You think you have problems, but you don’t have the first idea about problems. How many lives were you hoping to ruin to get what you wanted?”

“It is not like that,” Beatrice said softly. “I know this is all my fault, but I don’t want to ruin anyone’s life. I have done enough of that as it is.”

She frantically searched for the hair clip she had removed in preparation for seducing Lord Pemberton.

The Duke bent down and retrieved it from under the bed.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, hoping the gesture might ease the tension between them.

The Duke grunted and reached further under the bed to retrieve a bottle. He stood back up and handed her the hair clip.

“I was getting this.” He held up the bottle. “Your hair clip was on the floor, and it was no extra effort to retrieve it for you.”

Beatrice stood before him in her dress, and when she looked into his eyes, it was a very different experience from when she had gazed at him downstairs.

Perhaps I have a knack for ruining everything!

“I will fix this,” she claimed.

“You will do no such thing,” the Duke warned. “You have done enough already, and you shall not meddle anymore. I will take care of the situation, and that will be that. Do you understand me?”

Beatrice nodded quickly.

The Duke opened the door. “Go and leave the ball. I believe you are done here. Do not mention a word of this to anyone, not even your sister. I will ensure this does not become a bigger deal than it needs to be. And be warned, you made this mess, you should deal with the repercussions. You will agree that I am innocent in all of this, so if there is any blame, you and you alone will bear it. Do I make myself clear?”

“But—”

“Do I make myself clear?” the Duke growled.

“Yes.” Beatrice wanted to burst into tears, but she remained strong.

“Good.” He gestured with his head for her to leave.

Beatrice could have run out of the room, but she held her head high and walked past the Duke. She didn’t look back as she descended the stairs back to the ball. She didn’t look at anyone, but she felt all eyes on her. It felt like everyone already knew what she had done, and they were all talking about her.

The only person she willingly locked eyes with was Hannah. Her little sister shot her a look that said, What happened?

“Where the blast have you been?” her father asked when she returned to her family.

“I needed some air,” Beatrice claimed.

“Lord Mutton left already,” her father stated.

Her mother harrumphed disapprovingly.

“Can we please leave?” Beatrice asked.

“Leave?” Phineas frowned. “The night isn’t over yet.”

“We did what we came to do, and I would like to start planning my wedding,” Beatrice insisted.

Her father looked at her, but she would not meet his eyes, looking down at her shoes instead.

“I know you don’t want this, Beatrice, but I admire your attitude. There are few men here for your sister to dance with, so I will agree to your request.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice murmured.

“Are you feeling well, my dear?” Letitia asked.

“I will be fine,” Beatrice replied.

She did not know if she would ever be fine again. Not only did her foolish plan fail, but it had made everything much worse. She had no choice but to marry the Baron, and she only hoped that when the Duke cleaned up her mess, there would be no repercussions for her or her family. She could not bear to disappoint her father again.

As they left Pemberton Manor, Hannah took her sister’s hand, a show of solidarity.

I tried. I tried, and I failed. Now, I must live my life in complete and utter sadness.