Margaret squeezed his hand under the table, though her tone was decidedly unsympathetic. “You provoke him on purpose.”
“I provoke no one,” Sebastian insisted. “People simply react poorly to the truth.”
Edward turned deliberately to Beatrice, his voice low, his expression neutral. “This is the man who accusesmeof being dramatic.”
A lock of hair fell forward as he shook his head, and Beatrice itched to brush it from his face, but she forced that thought away and reached for her wine instead. His gaze rested on her for the briefest moment, then darted away.
She wondered why he was playing tag with his eyes.
She bit her lip, warmth rising at his subtle invitation to share the joke. “I fear neither of you is innocent.”
“Thank you,” Margaret sighed. “Finally, someone honest.”
The servants entered in an orderly fashion, some of them cleared the dessert, while others moved quietly, refilling the wine.
Margaret leaned in. “Beatrice, tell the truth. Does he always sit that straight when he eats?”
Beatrice blinked. “Sebastian?”
“No,” Margaret said sweetly. “The other impossibly tall duke at the table.”
Beatrice tried—and failed—not to smile. “He sits straight because he spent his entire youth being lectured by tutors who measured posture as fiercely as mathematics.”
Edward arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon? Me?”
Sebastian grinned. “Do go on, Duchess.”
Beatrice lifted her chin in mock solemnity. “His governess used to place a book on his head and make him walk the length of the corridor.”
Margaret gasped. “Did she?”
“No,” Edward cut in dryly. “She did not.”
“She absolutely did,” Beatrice said, refusing to look at him. “I’ve seen the schoolroom records.”
Sebastian choked on his wine.
Edward gave her a look—half betrayed, half amused—that sent warmth through her chest.
Margaret dabbed her eyes. “Please tell me there’s more.”
“There was a bell,” Beatrice added. “Apparently, if the book fell, the bell rang, and the tutor would declare that ‘the Duke has disgracefully lost his head'.”
Sebastian wheezed. “Wrexford, this is tremendous. Even I didn’t know.”
Edward set down his cup with dignified resignation. “I am going to burn that schoolroom.”
“Too late,” Beatrice quipped. “I already redecorated it.”
He stared at her, caught between offense and admiration. “Why?”
“Because it was untidy, and Pip might need it later on,” she answered mildly.
Sebastian nodded at Edward. “You married a terrifying woman.”
Edward’s gaze slid to Beatrice again—slow, appreciative in a way he likely didn’t intend. But she felt it. God, did she feel it.
She lowered her gaze to the table, heat creeping up her cheeks.
