She laid down her work and looked at him, drawing a deep breath. “You’re obsessed with regaining your title, your monies, your lands, everything you lost, in fact, and I understand that, but there’s more than that for you to think about.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his face sharp and lined.
Beatrice lifted her chin. “Have you thought about what you’ll do once you become the earl?”
“I’ll manage my estates, attend to my land and investments.” He waved an impatient hand. “What else do you suggest I do?”
She laid a hand on her worktable, clutching the edge. He could be so intimidating when angered! “You could do so much good as the earl—”
“And I intend to,” he said.
“Do you?” Her voice was sharp, and she no longer cared. He was dismissing her and her thoughts out of hand. “Do you? All I’ve heard you talk about is your house, your monies, your lands. Have you no thought of how you’ll live your life once you already have all those things? You’ll sit in the House of Lords. You’ll be able to vote on bills before parliament, even champion your own if you wish.”
“You talk to me like I’m an infant, Beatrice,” he snapped. “What are you trying to get at?”
“There’s a bill that’ll be presented tomorrow,” she said before she could lose courage. “Mr. Wheaton’s veteran’s pension bill. It would provide for soldiers who are no longer in His Majesty’s army, give them a pension so they wouldn’t have to beg on the street—”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t have the time right now to—”
She slammed her hand down on her desk, making the book slide to the floor. He turned, looking at her in astonishment.
Beatrice drew herself up. “When will you have the time, Reynaud? When?”
“I’ve told you,” he said coldly. “After I am certain of my title.”
“You’ll just suddenly start caring for others then? Is that it?” She’d begun to shake. This discussion was no longer about Mr. Wheaton’s bill. It’d become bigger somehow. “Tell me, Reynaud, do you love me?”
He cocked his head, eyeing her warily. “Why are you asking me now?”
Hot tears stung her eyes, but she kept them open, staring at him. “Becuase I think you’ve kept your emotions under such tight rein for so long that you no longer know how to let them loose. I don’t think you can care for others at all.”
And she walked from the sitting room.
Chapter Fifteen
The princess shrank in fear, but though he knelt on one knee, Longsword did not flinch. He met the dragon’s charge with the steel of his blade. Once, twice, thrice, he swung his mighty sword, and when at last the dust had cleared and all was silent again, there lay the great dragon, dying at his feet. And as the beast died, its form changed until a horrid hag lay in its place, for it was the evil witch herself who had assumed the shape of a dragon.
Well! The princess was quite pleased, I can tell you. She rushed to release her father the king. When it was made known to him that Longsword had by himself defeated the evil witch, the king was happy indeed to give his only child as a reward.
And so it was that Longsword married a princess royal….
—from Longsword
It was well after midnight by the time Reynaud joined her in their bed. Beatrice lay still, feigning sleep. It was her wifely duty to let him make love to her if he so desired, but she certainly had no desire at the moment. Not when they’d argued. He probably hated her now for the blunt things she’d said, but she’d had to say them.
She’d married a man who thought only of himself.
So she stared into the darkness and breathed evenly and slowly, in and out, without hitch, as if she was deep in slumber. She listened as he undressed—the rustle of fabric, a soft mutter when he bumped into something—and she’d never felt so lonely in her life.
He blew out his candle, and the bed dipped and shook as he climbed in. The bedclothes tightened on her shoulder as he pulled them over himself, and then he lay still. She stared into darkness. The minutes ticked by, and for a bit she thought he might’ve fallen asleep.
But then he said, “Beatrice.”
She didn’t move.
He sighed. “Beatrice, I know you’re awake.”
She bit her lip. It seemed rather silly to continue to pretend sleep, but if she acknowledged him now, it would be an admittance that she’d pretended in the first place.