“But you haven’t mentioned one thing,” continued Artemis.
“What is that?”
“Love.”
Oh.
Beatrix cleared her throat. A stalling tactic. She was utterly unprepared for this turn of conversation, though she shouldn’t have been. “I feel…”
What did she feel?
Ajumble with too much feeling.
That was the truth of it.
“I feel affection for him.”
“Affection?” scoffed Artemis. “You’re upsetting the entire balance of your life foraffection?”
Beatrix nodded.
She didn’t like this lie precisely because it didn’t feel all that much like a lie.
What it felt like was the least safe truth she’d yet spoken.
Artemis stopped and turned, pinning Beatrix in place with the force of her gaze. “Beatrix, you can tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
If a question could be a lie, this one was.
“Tell me what that man has over your head. Beatrix, I have means. I know the last several years haven’t been the easiest for you, and really I should’ve said something before now, but I can help you.”
Beatrix’s cheeks burst into flame. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug Artemis or give her a good telling off. She managed to say, “What Deverill and I have isn’t blackmail.”
“Then what is it?”
Beatrix tore her gaze from her friend and began marching. The instant she emerged from the woods, a sharp, feminine shout brought her to an immediate standstill. She met Artemis’s gaze over her shoulder. “Did you hear that?”
Artemis held a hand to her forehead, her gaze scanning the open grounds. “There,” she said, pointing toward a flat stretch of land on the other side of the large pond. “A group is out shooting at straw targets.”
A fleet arrow whizzed through the air, followed by a solidthunk, punctuating the fact.
“I suppose we should join them.” A distinct lack of enthusiasm accompanied Beatrix’s words.
“Indeed,” said Artemis, distinctly enthusiastic. “You can introduce me toDev.”
Beatrix didn’t groan—only just.
As they neared the party, she took note of those present. Lord Bridgewater seated with his morning newspaper open before him, alternating his attention between paper and proceedings—sardonically, no doubt. Lord Wrexford’s shock of copper hair announced his presence as he stood near Mr. Shaw and theeldest Miss Shaw, who was undoubtedly blushing furiously at the attentions of an eligible gentleman—an earl, no less. And off to the side, bows at the ready for another round of shooting, stood Lady Bridgewater and Dev.
There, the proof indisputable, was Dev’s wooing of the countess commenced.
It was all Beatrix could do to keep placing one foot in front of the other in forward fashion and not pick up her skirts, whirl around, and leg it back to the woods.
Now that they’d moved closer, she saw Dev’s bow had lowered.
And he was staring directly at her.
