And when she threw herself at you in the library, and you slid your hand down to her arse, what exactly did you think you were doing?
He had known it was her.
Of course he had.
He was a man who paid great attention to detail.
A man who had been consumed with the details of her from the moment he’d met her.
And no, he had not thought of her beauty when she had been a girl. It had been her resilience, her sadness, her wildness.
But he had known her.
And he had known her when she’d gone into his arms.
‘There is much you don’t know of the world. We will find happiness together in it. But you must trust me.’
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with scepticism. And he could not stop himself. He reached out and took hold of her chin, gripping it tightly between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You must trust me.’
She looked away. ‘I don’t think I can.’
‘If you cannot trust me in this, you would not have been able to trust me with more.’
Her eyes flashed up to his. ‘With...’
He released his hold on her. ‘Let us walk this way, William. You wish to see St James’s Park?’
‘Yes,’ William responded, never quicker with an answer than when everything was going his way.
That was not fair. It was not about getting his way, it was about being in this perfect space where there was no resistance being brought against him by the things that he found challenging in the world.
Briggs understood that. He remembered being a boy and finding peace only in books, and then in the hours spent seeing to the health of his orchids. He understood how engaging his own brain could be when it was occupied by things that were important to him.
And how difficult the world could feel when he did not connect with what was happening.
It was not a choice to be bad or misbehave, but a strange reordering of his brain, as if all of the pieces of his mind had been shoved into an overcrowded corner, leaving him in part overwhelmed and the other disconnected.
He had better control over these things now. But he still remembered when he was at the mercy of his emotions.
They turned and began to walk towards the park, Beatrice next to him, the wind now against her. And he did his best to ignore just how appealing she smelled to him. And it was nothing to do with the rose water she had likely placed just beneath her earlobes. And everything to do with the smell of her skin.
He had tasted her last night. She had been marvellous.
He would’ve thought that it would be the easiest thing in all the world to protect his best friend’s younger sister in this position. For he had no interest in a wife, and he’d seen Beatrice as a child...
Did you?
He did not like this insidious voice searching inside himself for truth. He was not interested in his truth. He was interested, rather, in maintaining things as they were. And not allowing them to deteriorate.
St James’s Park was filled with those intent on taking advantage of the sunshine, a veritable menu of societal elite, promenading so as to be seen by those who mattered. Briggs had never had the patience for such things. It was perhaps why he had married as quickly as he had done. For participating in the marriage mart, in these sorts of games, had not been his idea of intrigue at any point.
And now that he was back here, it was thankfully with a wife in tow, so as not to bring any marriage-minded mothers and their debutantes his way.
Beatrice herself looked delighted by the spectacle, and her delight only increased her beauty. He could feel the envious gazes of men around him.
Truly, these fashionable dresses with their boldly scooped necklines flattered Beatrice in an extreme fashion. Her tits were a glory. That he knew well, as he’d had them in his mouth.
Desire was like a raging beast in him, right here in the sunshine in the full view of so many people, with his son so near.