And against her will, she had come to love him, too.
He knew it with absolute certainty.
Someone like Beatrix wouldn’t give herself so entirely to another person, like she had with him, without love.
So, why had she fled?
Why hadn’t she stayed and fought for him…forthem?
He wouldn’t pursue her tonight.
Or tomorrow.
Or even for the next month, if necessary.
He would give her time to sit and reflect—and stew.
He would give her time to miss him.
To see if she could live without him—to see that she couldn’t.
They weren’t finished.
That much, he knew.
He just needed her to realize it, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
LITTLE STANHOPE STREET, TWO WEEKS LATER
Beatrix stood in the center of the kitchen like an extra appendage, utterly unnecessary to the preparation of tea, as the servants were more than skilled at their vocations.
The servants…
They were still here.
She couldn’t seem to get rid of them.
“But I haven’t been paying you,” she’d said after the first week.
“Oh, we’re being paid,” said Cook.
Dev.
He was the only explanation.
He knew she wouldn’t use her own money on servants.
He knew her that well.
Quite well, in fact.
Too well.
She shook the man from her mind.
Over the last two weeks, she’d almost become good at it.
