* * *
“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.”
She smiled tightly. “Perhaps you thought everyone was watching you? You are such an ambitious young member of parliament.”
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?
On that thought, Reynaud entered the room. Beatrice dismissed Quick with a soft word. She’d moved into the countess’s rooms, unused since Reynaud’s mother had occupied them. Uncle Reggie still had possession of the earl’s room, at least in name—he’d left the house for the night. Beatrice had half expected Reynaud to take advantage of her uncle’s absence to assume control of the master bedroom. But he hadn’t.
Once again he’d surprised her.
He strolled toward her now wearing only his breeches and shirt under a deep gold banyan. That, together with the earring swinging near his jaw and the tattoos of the flying birds, made him look like some exotic prince. One that might lounge on mountains of silken pillows while he was administered to by a harem of dark beauties. Beatrice shied at the thought. She was no harem beauty.
Perhaps that was why her voice seemed a little high as she said, “There’s some wine and biscuits and also some sweetmeats on the table there by the fire. Perhaps you’d like me to pour you a glass?”