He began to pace methodically, a move that Beatrice assumed he used during business dealings to make himself appear more intimidating. “Maybe you aren’t going about it the right way,” Lord Ivanry hummed, ignoring Beatrice’s last response. “Have you offered yourself to him yet?”
If this were not such a distasteful discussion already, Beatrice would have loudly derided Lord Ivanry for speaking in such a way, but she knew this was not a conversation for all ears. “No, I have not,” Beatrice admitted, fury etched into her features. “There is more to attraction and temptation than the act of bedding someone.”
Lord Ivanry had the audacity to chuckle. “And you’d know so much about those things, would you, Beatrice? Has my ward learned some new skills under the tutelage of Mr. Grayson?” His mocking tone made Beatrice clench her fists, the silky material of her gloves softening the sharpness of the gesture.
“A gentleman does not say such things to a lady, My Lord,” Beatrice said, her voice low and angry, “and our deal did not relate to me performing such acts, only being flirtatious enough to get a marriage proposal.” The young lady sighed, attempting to calm herself. “I am not sure anymore if it is a just thing to do. He is…he is much kinder than I thought him to be, and I fear I am the uncaring one for lying to him.”
Lord Ivanry crowed. “Such sentimental feelings, my dear! Tell me, did you start to fall in love with him before or after he began to give you attention? I know how you ladies almost make fools of yourselves whenever a man glances your way.”
Beatrice did not acknowledge his cruel words but pressed on, saying, “No one will truly benefit from our deal, My Lord. Certainly, marriage proposals might be made, but at least one of those will be built on dishonesty. And would you rather not see Penelope and me with men who loved us and not the false pretenses we put them through?” She immediately knew that was a stupid question to ask Lord Ivanry, and he confirmed it by stopping in his tracks to sneer at her.
“I could care less who you marry as long as he’s rich, Beatrice. And as for Penelope, well, I think we both know how I want that story to end,” he replied, stepping closer to Beatrice until he was mere inches away. Lord Ivanry peered down at her, piercing Beatrice’s soul with his cold, blue eyes. “Now, here’s what I want you to do, my dear. In whatever way you deem suitable, I want you to wind up in bed with Mr. Grayson as soon as possible.”
He grinned at Beatrice’s increasingly furious expression. “I don’t care if you have to sneak into his room at night or corner him in one of these dark hallways. Believe me, the only way a man like Mr. Grayson would court a girl like you is if you give him something of value.”
A shiver ran up Beatrice’s spine, and she bit her tongue hard to keep from lashing out. Instead, she tried to remain virtuous, pleading, “But he is a good man, My Lord! I cannot continue this farce if you expect me to throw myself at him and further this hellish spiral of deceit.”
Lord Ivanry seemed to be getting tired of her refusal, his angular face growing redder as he quietly exclaimed, “I don’t care if he’s God himself! You struck a deal with me, and you will see it through to the end or face the consequences.” He did not have to enumerate to Beatrice what those would be, for she could guess what a conniving gentleman such as Lord Ivanry deemed as punishment.
“You know this is unjust and that my prize for winning is as shameful as anything I have ever heard come from a gentleman’s lips. I have done my part, played the role perfectly, and now you come to me with more disgusting ideas!?” Beatrice could barely contain herself now, feeling much like the ferocious animals she had read about living in such inhospitable climates as the one she thought herself to be in at the moment.
Lord Ivanry gazed down at her wickedly when he replied, “Don’t stand there and pretend that you don’t enjoy enticing Mr. Grayson. If I weren’t such a gentleman, I would have made more of a spectacle of my ward practically whoring herself out to one of the richest men we know.”
Hot tears brimmed in Beatrice’s eyes at the insinuation which was entirely false but felt real when said with such vitriol from a lecherous man. It took nearly all her strength to hiss back, “I have only done this because you asked me to, Lord Ivanry. Do not claim that any flirtatious behavior on my part toward Mr. Grayson was any more than an assurance on my behalf that Penelope would be safe from you!”
That accusation seemed to enrage Lord Ivanry as he firmly crossed his arms to keep from harming Beatrice like she thought he wished to. “You girls don’t know anything about duty and honor. Your grandmother seems to think she taught you all you need to know, but what about a man’s responsibilities? If you think my intentions are vile, then maybe you should consider that my affections for your sister are merely to show that I could provide for her like a good husband.”
Beatrice coughed through the lump in her throat. “Ah, yes, My Lord. A good husband who makes his wife tremble in hallways late at night by using his size and strength to bully her into submission? No, you are nothing but a lecherous man, and everyone knows it, Lord Ivanry.” She did not feel as powerful as she had moments ago, could sense the righteous fury draining from her with each verbal blow from her guardian.
The wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as Lord Ivanry began to circle Beatrice like a shark, now smirking. “You sound jealous, my dear. Here you’ve been entertaining the man I want you to marry, but maybe all you need is some good, old-fashioned American brawn to make you blush.”
Swallowing harshly so as not to expel bile on Lord Ivanry’s shiny black shoes, Beatrice turned her head to follow his circular gaze. She felt meek now, unsure of how to respond to such a repugnant, lewd suggestion, and her silence gave Lord Ivanry more time to speak.
He advanced on her sharply, using his larger body to force Beatrice’s delicate frame to take up less space while murmuring dangerously, “Now, I don’t wish to make this uglier than it is, Beatrice, so I expect you to bed Mr. Grayson and force him into a marriage proposal, if necessary, by the end of the week. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to do what I said I would when we first struck this deal.”
Beatrice could feel sweat beading at her hairline as fear coursed through her at Lord Ivanry’s threatening posture. Though it made her head and her heart ache, Beatrice gave in, murmuring, “You are one of the most contemptible men I have ever known, and I would rather die than see Penelope saddled with a man like you. Therefore, I…I will do what you ask, but know that I take no pleasure in it.”
There was a small scuffling sound coming from behind the almost closed door, and for a second, Beatrice hoped someone had come to save her. But no one did, and Lord Ivanry leaned forward to sardonically pat Beatrice’s cheek. “See, that wasn’t so hard, my dear. Now, run along. You have important matters to attend to, I’m sure.”
Her skin crawled at his touch, and it took several moments for Beatrice to move again even when Lord Ivanry stepped back to let her pass. She could not believe the mess she had gotten herself into, even if it was for a noble cause, and suddenly had the urge to flee the Saumon Estate.
She knew Lord Ivanry was still staring at her, so Beatrice straightened and tried to imitate her grandmother’s composure. It was not until Beatrice was alone in her chamber that she let herself feel the weight of her emotions. Snot dripped from her nose as tears cascaded down her cheeks, and Beatrice eyed the closet containing her clothes, wondering how quickly she could pack her things.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Anthony had finished three quarters of the bourbon in the decanter by the time his grandfather came looking for him. As usual, the Viscount gave two sharp knocks before entering, and the shock on his face upon seeing Anthony in such a state nearly made the reformed rake laugh.
“Good God! This is certainly a sight to see!” Lord Randlay exclaimed, rushing into the room to swipe the drink out of Anthony’s hand. “Is this any way to comport yourself, Anthony?”
“Don’ worry,” the drunken man replied, slurring lazily. “I’m jus’ up here enjoyin’ the peace n’ quiet.” In a move that the Viscount had done a couple of times over the years when Anthony was especially soused, his grandfather reached down to grab him by the lapels and shook him roughly.
“This is disgraceful, Anthony,” he grunted, nose wrinkling at the spicy smell of alcohol on his grandson’s breath. “A man enjoying himself is one thing but choosing a state of inebriation is quite another.”
Anthony tugged himself out of Lord Randlay’s hold, regarding him blearily as he tried to straighten. “Tell me why now, when we are guests in another man’s home, you decide to behave this way,” his grandfather demanded with irritation, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest expectantly.
Looking first at the Viscount, who was flushed from his chin to the top of his bald head, and then at the ground, Anthony embarrassedly muttered, “Beatrice was jus’ using me. I heard her n’ Lord Ivanry talking about how she was supposed t’ trick me.”
Lord Randlay sighed in the way only world-weary grandparents can and guided his grandson to sit on his bed. “I cannot blame you for playing the fool when it comes to matters of the heart,” he said, staring seriously down at Anthony with a tinge of kindness in his tone, “but did I not warn you that many of these young ladies, as lovely as they may be, are only after a man’s money?”