To Desire a Devil
His head reared back as if struck. What was this? Why did she challenge him now? “You don’t know me,” he said as he strode to the door. “You don’t know what I need, so please refrain from speculating, madam.” And he left her there.
A WEEK LATER, Beatrice hid her trembling hands in the folds of her wedding dress. It was quite a smart frock. Lottie had said that just because she was having a hurried wedding didn’t mean she couldn’t have a new dress for it. So she wore a lovely shot silk that changed from green to blue as she moved. But despite the beauty of her new gown, she couldn’t control the trembling of her fingers.
Perhaps this was normal wedding-day nerves. She tried to pay attention to the bishop marrying her and Reynaud, but his words seemed to run together into a senseless stream of droning sound.
She very much hoped she wasn’t about to faint.
Was she doing the right thing? She still didn’t know even as she stood at the altar. Reynaud had promised to care for Uncle Reggie, had promised to let him live in Blanchard House no matter the outcome of the fight for the title. She’d made Uncle Reggie safe, and perhaps that was reason enough to marry this man, even if he didn’t love her.
He didn’t love her.
Beatrice frowned down at the posy of flowers in her hands. She’d wanted a man to love her for herself, but she was marrying a man out of cold calculation instead. Was that enough? She wasn’t sure. Reynaud might never soften his heart sufficiently to love her. In the last few weeks, he’d seemed harder than ever, more focused on his goal of attaining his title and the power that went with it. If he never came to love her, could she endure this marriage?
But then Reynaud turned to her and placed a simple gold ring on her finger and kissed her gently on the cheek. Suddenly the whole thing was over, and it was too late for second thoughts or regrets. Beatrice drew a deep breath and placed her hand on Reynaud’s elbow, holding more tightly than she normally might have.
He leaned his head closer to hers. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Quite.” A wide smile seemed to be frozen on her face.
He glanced at her dubiously as he led her through the small crowd of well-wishers. “We’ll be home soon, and if you’d like, you can go lie down.”
“Oh, but we have the wedding breakfast!”
“And the wedding night,” he whispered in her ear. “I don’t want you too ill to enjoy that.”
She ducked her head at that to hide a pleased smile. The fact was, he hadn’t done more than kiss her chastely on the lips since their engagement, and a small part of her had begun to wonder if he’d already lost interest.
Evidently not.
He handed her into the carriage to the cheers of the crowds and then hastily entered. He smiled at her as the carriage pulled away. “Does it feel different, being married?”
“No.” She shook her head, then thought of something. “Although, I suppose I’ll have to get used to being Lady Hope, won’t I?”
He scowled. “It should be Lady Blanchard.” He looked out the window. “And it will be soon, too.”
There was nothing more to say to that, so they rode in silence until they came to the town house. Many of the guests had already arrived and were entering the town house as Beatrice descended the carriage. She mounted the steps of Blanchard House with Reynaud, feeling odd. This was still her uncle’s home, but very soon it would be hers and Reynaud’s only—if he won back his title. She would be reversing positions with Uncle Reggie, and the thought was not a comfortable one.
Inside, the dining room had been laid ready for a feast. Yards of frothy pink fabric lined the table, and for a moment Beatrice felt for how horrified Uncle Reggie would’ve been at the expense. He sat at the head of the table already, looking rather subdued and sad. He refused to meet her eyes.
Reynaud sat her next to Uncle Reggie as was proper and then was distracted by a guest. For a moment, Beatrice was quiet.
She looked up and smiled. “Yes.”
“Can’t back out now.”
“No.”
He sighed heavily. “I only want the best for you, m’dear. You know that.”
“Yes, I do, Uncle,” she said softly.
“The blighter seems to care for you.” He placed his hands on the table and looked at them as if he’d never seen the like before. “I’ve noticed how he watches you sometimes, as if you’re a jewel he’s afraid of losing. I hope he treats you right. I hope you’re very happy.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice felt silly tears—so close to the surface all day—start in her eyes.
“But if he doesn’t,” her uncle said, in a low voice, “you always have a place with me. We can move out of this damned house, find another by ourselves.”
“Oh, Uncle Reggie.” She caught her breath on a laugh that was almost a sob. Dear, dear Uncle Reggie, so disapproving of her choice yet unwilling to abandon her entirely.
She was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief when Reynaud took the chair next to her. He scowled at her. “What has he said to you?”
“Shh.” Beatrice glanced at Uncle Reggie, but he was talking to Tante Cristelle. “He’s been very nice.”
Reynaud grunted, not looking particularly convinced. “He’s an old blowhard.”
“He’s my uncle and I love him,” Beatrice said firmly.
Her new husband merely grunted.
The breakfast was long and sumptuous, and when it was finally over, Beatrice was ready for a nap. But she rose and prepared to say farewell to her guests.
Near the end of the line were Lord and Lady Vale. The viscount started talking to Reynaud, and for a moment Beatrice and Lady Vale were together alone.
“He’s very pleased with this union,” Lady Vale said quietly.
Beatrice looked at her, surprised. “Viscount Vale?”
The other woman nodded. “He’s been quite worried about Lord Hope. This whole business of your husband returning alive has been a shock to him—a good shock, of course, but a shock nonetheless.”
Beatrice raised her eyebrows.
“He’s darker,” Beatrice murmured.
Lady Vale nodded. “So Vale tells me. In any case, he was very happy that you consented to marry Lord Hope.”
Beatrice wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she merely nodded.
The viscountess hesitated a moment. “I wonder . . .”
Beatrice looked at her. “Yes?”
The other woman seemed a tad embarrassed. “I wonder if I might give you a rather unusual wedding present?”
“What is it?”
“It’s a job, actually, so if you don’t want it, please do say so, and I won’t be put out.”
Beatrice was intrigued now. “Tell me, please.”
“It’s a book,” Lady Vale replied. “I was told some time ago by a friend that you bound books as a hobby.”
“Yes?”
“Well, this has been something of a project of mine,” Lady Vale said almost shyly. “It’s a book of fairy tales that originally belonged to Lady Emeline—and your husband.”
Beatrice leaned forward. “It belonged to Reynaud?”
Lady Vale nodded. “Emeline found it last year, and she asked me to translate it—it was in German. Once I translated it, I had it transcribed by a friend, and I was wondering if you might like to bind it for me? Or rather for Emeline. I’d like to give it to her eventually so she can have it for her own children. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Beatrice murmured, taking the other woman’s hands. She was filled with a kind of pleased delight, as if Lady Vale had somehow given her an entry into the St. Aubyn family. “I’ll be happy to.”
* * *
“BEATRICE LOOKS LOVELY,” Nate said as he sidled up to Lottie after the wedding breakfast.
“Yes, she does,” Lottie replied without looking in his direction. “I hadn’t realized you were invited to the wedding.”
She stood just inside the front doors of Blanchard House, waiting for her carriage to be brought round. Even though she made sure not to glance at him, she was vividly aware of his deep blue coat and breeches, the white of his wig and neck cloth making him look very nice indeed. She was probably the only one aware that the cuff of that particular coat was fraying and needed mending. She’d forgotten to point it out to his valet before she’d left, and apparently no one else in the house had noticed.
His handsome face darkened. “Didn’t you? I could’ve sworn I saw you glancing my way at the church.”
Nathan’s lips tightened but he merely said, “It’s a good match. Beatrice seemed very happy.”
“Hmm. But then it’s only been three hours.”
“Your cynicism ill becomes you.”
“Oh, that’s right. You prefer a lady to pretend happiness,” she said sweetly.
“Actually, I prefer a lady who is happy in reality, not just pretense,” he said.
“Then perhaps you should’ve paid more attention to your lady,” she snapped.
“Is that it?” He moved closer to her, almost touching her shoulder with his chest, speaking low and intensely. “Would you come back if I promise a trip to the theater or ballet? Perhaps bring you sweets and flowers?”
“Don’t paint me a little child.”
“Then tell me what you want,” he hissed, his normally congenial face twisted with anger. “What did I do that was so wrong, Lottie? What’ll make you come back? Because the gossips are in a frenzy over your defection. My reputation—my career—can’t take much more of this.”
“Oh, your career—” she started.
But he interrupted her, something he’d never done before. “Yes, my career! You knew when you married me that I was a career politician. Don’t act the wounded innocent now.”
“I knew you had a career,” she said quietly. “What I didn’t know was that it consumed your life—your heart—so much that you had no room for a wife.”
He pulled back to eye her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” Lottie shot back. “Well, perhaps you should think about it a bit, then.”
And she walked out the door before he could reply—or before she could burst into tears.
Chapter Fourteen
At the sight of Longsword and the princess, the three dragons flew at them, enormous claws extended, fire roaring from their jaws. Longsword braced himself and swung his mighty sword. THWACK! The smallest dragon fell to the ground, screaming in pain from a mortal wound to its breast. But the remaining dragons separated and attacked him from both sides. Longsword slashed at the one before him even as he felt the rake of fiery claws on his back. He turned, falling to one knee. The remaining dragon—the biggest dragon—shrieked in triumph and swooped down to finish the kill….
—from Longsword
By the time night fell, Beatrice was a bundle of nerves. She was no longer a virgin, so perhaps she shouldn’t have been nervous—after all, what did she have to fear? But despite their physical familiarity, she felt in some ways that she knew her husband less now than she had weeks ago.
Perhaps one never really understood a man, even after one had accepted him into one’s body. It was a gloomy thought to have on one’s wedding night, and Beatrice frowned as she removed the pearl drops from her ears. The earrings had been Aunt Mary’s, and she wondered what that imminently practical woman would’ve thought of her marriage. Would she have approved of Reynaud? She wouldn’t have liked the high-handed way he’d treated Uncle Reggie; that was certain. Beatrice felt a twist of remorse. Had this day been one enormous mistake?