Liz Tyner - The Notorious Countess

‘Let that work in your favour now.’

‘It sounds like acting a part. A grand performance. I might like it a lot. Though you are sure your brother will not mind my presence?’

‘He will be delighted.’ Not really, but it didn’t matter. He’d be too refined to show even the flick of an eyebrow to anyone but Andrew.

She smiled and he could see the remains of the boisterous child she must have been. And something he didn’t think would ever be tamed. And some sort of planning of her own.

‘Beatrice,’ he said, firmly, reprimand in his words. ‘Think demure.’

With a little smirk of agreement, she blinked away her thoughts. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’d like to be seen differently. With my brother being such a bear, and me being a beast, it would be wonderful to be invited—anywhere. My mother doesn’t know it, but she reminds me of a dragon.’

Now the portrait above the mantel in her brother’s house made sense.

Two public meetings with her should be enough. Perhaps three. He’d make sure some of the more retiring men noted her. Women were not the only wallflowers. Lord Simpson could hardly raise his eyes to anyone and he lived an exemplary life. Palmer was rough at every edge, yet he’d been faithfully married until his wife passed. Either of those men would be suitable for an adventurous woman such as Beatrice.

‘I understand. When Riverton and I courted, his past was seen as a youthful indiscretion. Older women smiled at us as if remembering how it felt. Young women looked enviously at me... Then, reality.’

Coldness replaced the warmth in her voice. ‘I was blissful—blissfully unaware of what a pit I was dancing into. Trust me. Marriage is a lovely thought, but a bad reality. If murder were not frowned upon so much, few marriages would last beyond two years.’

‘Your opinion is harsh.’

‘That opinion wasn’t pulled out of the air. It is based upon careful study, my marriage and eavesdropping.’

‘But my plans work on the premise that you are correct in how research is done by others. Now we must assume everyone is also taking careful study and eavesdropping. That will be to your advantage.’

‘It’s not been a boon in the past.’

‘It will now.’ He would guide her. She wasn’t the only one involved in this pretence, but his role in it would be short.

‘I would love to attend the duke’s soirée—if you are certain your brother will not toss me out—and I will act quite the perfect lady.’ She stretched her arm forward, fluttered a gloved hand at a passer-by and smiled warmly.

Without looking his way and in an undertone, she said, ‘I feel no one wishes to see me, but everyone wishes to watch me. But I will attend the soirée.’

He paused, reminded again of a baby bird fallen from its nest. He did not want Beatrice to feel alone in the world.

Chapter Five

Beatrice looked across the room and her stomach churned. Everyone in the ducal residence seemed too full of gaiety, except when she stood near. The scandal sheet had not been kind. Wilson had grumbled, but the plan to escort her to the duke’s soirée had pleased him. She imagined everyone wondering if she’d truly been invited.

If Andrew had seen the scandal sheet, he might have decided to call the whole thing off. He would be wise to do so. He’d not even been mentioned. Apparently Tilly hadn’t recognised him and the servants probably had not even known who he was.

Chattering voices, smiling faces and a sea of glasses going bottoms up, and the feeling that everyone in the room was speculating about her private life—as if she’d had one since she married.

So much like when her glittering world as Riverton’s countess had crashed.

Had she known how events would unfold, she still would have stopped Riverton when he attacked the maid, but she wouldn’t have kept quiet and let his version of what happened become labelled as fact. And she would have found another way to convince his mistress that she wasn’t welcome.

She looked to the doorway, wondering if Andrew would arrive. She tamped down those thoughts. At least she could be certain if he did arrive he would not be sotted. Long ago she’d learned it was better not to coerce a man into attending an event where he didn’t wish to be.

Then two men entered the grand doorway and Beatrice knew who they were just from their outline.

Since the unfortunate encounter, she’d discovered all she could of Andrew and his family. She’d already known of Foxworthy. Every woman in the ton knew of Foxworthy. Andrew she’d only known of from her brother. Wilson had made him sound so tedious. He’d complained that Andrew often asked for the near impossible to be designed, and Wilson had made Andrew sound meticulously stuffy.

Seeing the cousins side by side, though, one didn’t doubt their bloodlines. If they hadn’t already been written up in Debrett’s, then she supposed the regent would take one look at them, consider it an oversight and rush to correct the error. No woman in the country would even think of questioning a decision like that. The mothers of unmarried daughters would merely rub gloved palms together—thankful of a boon for the marriage mart.

Dressed in black evening wear, the men appeared to be bookends of each other, but her eyes never really made it to their faces. Both stood tall enough to clear a regular-sized door, but only just. Framed by the entrance, they appeared as works of art.

She tried to imagine how she’d missed Andrew before. Possibly because Riverton had taken so much of her and she hadn’t been about in society much since then.

She’d been very young and entranced with Riverton when he’d approached her father and brother with a dream for a new mansion. She’d been too much in love and too green to have any idea what he would be like. His family had flatly forbidden the union, which she knew now had earned her a proposal and a special licence. Riverton had been doted on far too much to believe he didn’t have a right to his every wish and he’d been one toddle away from falling into a tangle of his own excesses. Perhaps he’d thought she could save him. Or perhaps he’d known she couldn’t.

Watching, she could tell when the men’s presence became noticed. Women began to flutter around Foxworthy. One would have thought the sun had just risen. And Fox was clucking to the cluster, gathering them, letting them fluff and preen, while he crowed and postured.

Andrew excused himself and moved aside. Women tried to catch his eye, but he never noticed, intent on stepping away, eyes searching. She knew the very instant he became aware of her, because he stilled.

Her thoughts exploded with possibilities. Her breathing quickened. Strong jaw. Yes. Nose. Yes. Pleasant skin. Brows. All the normal male attributes, arranged in just the right proportions. What she wouldn’t give to pull that white cravat aside and see his Adam’s apple. She could almost feel it under her hand. Little bristles from shaving. Masculine mixed with softness of skin. Her mind instantly took care of the excess clothing for her, letting her imagination see him as if no barrier existed.

Beatrice kept her face serene. His body would be perfect for art. It was much like his thoughts if the dearth of information about him was to be believed. Pristine. Cautious. Wilson said Lord Andrew had refused to accept less than perfection from any of the craftsmen he’d hired to work on his properties. A man who did not tolerate flaws well.

He walked to her, moving among the other guests with a quick word here and there, but with little detour. She watched his movements more closely than she’d ever studied another man. Other needs had been foremost in her mind on the night they’d met, but now she could see him with shadows flowing over his face. This was the man she’d been looking for, if not all her life, then at least for a year. If she could convince him to let his hair become a bit unkempt. His jaw could use a bit of darkness on it, too. The valet would have to spare the razor perhaps. She could paint him as a knight, a rogue, a rake for any century.