Yet another glance over at Monty reminded him why he was complying.The terms hardly mattered.
“Very well.I assent.”
“Excellent,” she said, sweeping up from her seat.“I understand you have a set of rooms in St.James’s.I will meet you there this evening.”
“Really, Beatrice, are you sure you would not rather stay here?”Monty pressed.
“No, cousin.I really would not.Until this evening, Lord Leith.”
She was not beautiful, Leith thought, re-examining Miss Salisbury once more.
No, he supposed that was unfair.
More than lacking beauty, she was far from how he preferred his women.Her wildness, more than her person, repelled him.He could imagine fewer handsome women less suited to his tastes.
And yet she had absolutely dominated him, as no other women ever had, not even the inimitable Lady Killston.Not because of her charm or her comeliness but because of Monty.
With one last, long opaque look, she swept from the room.
His fate was sealed.
Chapter Two
When Miss BeatriceSalisbury reached the bedchamber she had been given at Carrington Place, she resisted her desire to drop to the floor.Instead, she forced herself to sit calmly in an armchair.She couldn’t have Sally worrying for her.
“How was he?”
Beatrice allowed herself to close her eyes for a second longer than normal.
The truth was that he was extremely handsome.There was no denying it.Her preferences in men had never run to pretty nobs, but he was, she could admit to herself, more than that.If you just took in his features—brown eyes, nearly amber, the color of a tawny port wine; his mien noble; and his hair, dark and luscious, worn short, as was the style—he was stunning.
She couldn’t be upset that he would not be a pain to bed.
It was convenient to have such a good-looking man as her first protector.The only problem was that he appeared very reluctant to fill the role.
Because his sneering manner had made clear that he was only taking her as a favor to his friend.When she had first entered the room, his eyes had raked over her once and she had thereafter only seen cold distaste in his expression.
His sneer was the only thing that marred his storybook features.
That and the fact that he seemed like a bit of a coxcomb.
“He was acceptable,” she replied, opening her eyes.
“That is hardly an answer,” her half sister said, moving her hands off the bonnet she was trimming.“Was he kind?”
“No,” Beatrice said, with a sigh.“But he will be civil because—for whatever reason—he owes Lord Montaigne some kind of favor and doesn’t want to vex him.”
“Are you sure about this, Beatrice?It’s just that—”
“Sally, please,” she said, letting her voice express the same flash of irritation that it had in the drawing room.“I am perfectly sure.”
“But to sell yourself—to a man who isn’t even kind—”
“He is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” she bit off.“If that makes it any better to you.”
Sally gaped and moved towards her.Eighteen, lithe, and innocent, Sally had seen very little of life outside of their small town—or inside of it, as far as Beatrice understood.She was only six years Beatrice’s junior, but sometimes it felt like fifteen, given Sally’s innocence.Even though Beatrice was the one who had grown up in the manor house and Sally had spent the first twelve years of her life on a hardscrabble little farm.
“Really?”Her usually milk-white skin, sprinkled liberally with freckles, appeared even paler than usual.Of course, Beatrice reminded herself, if coming to Carrington Place had been a challenge for her, for Sally it must be equally so, despite her role as mere assistant.
