Beau hushed her. “She insisted.”
So, Pip smiled. And she smiled for the rest of the ceremony until Beau finally bent to drop a fleeting kiss on the lips that did no more than frustrate her and turned her back down the aisle.
“Time to face the lions,” he murmured as he laid her hand on his arm.
“Don’t be silly,” she retorted, her smile feeling more like a rictus. “Lions are far kinder.”
* * *
It tookBeau two hours to catch Drake alone. First it had been the princess, then Lord Burke, and then every person there making certain they had a chance to collect their own tidbit to carry back to the autumn season. Since the duchess had been the one to arrange the wedding breakfast, Beau was never without a glass in his hand as he danced his way through one uncomfortable encounter after another.
Separated from his wife by an ever-changing parade of guests, he answered a thousand questions with nonsense—where will you take your bridal trip? He didn’t know, as he hadn’t had time to plan, although the continent looked much more inviting, didn’t it? How long had you planned this little surprise? If he told them, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.
He even found himself exchanging cool looks with his Uncle Edward.
“I assume this means we should begin counting months,” his uncle snapped, effectively catching Beau’s attention. “I cannot think of another reason for this travesty.”
Knowing it would infuriate the old tartar, Beau took a languid sip of champagne. “Thank you for your best wishes, uncle. I knew I could count on you to be a gentleman. As I told Aunt Maude, if this situation distresses you, feel free to escape the outrage back to your own home. We would certainly understand.”
Evidently some outrage was too great for words, because Uncle Edward simply spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving Beau behind with a surprising thought.
Should we start counting months? How odd. The thought saddened him. He did not want children with Pip. He did not want a real life with her. He wanted a little peace and the freedom to do his work and the chance to forget the conspiracy the two of them had entered into that had sent Theo to his death. But still, he suddenly wondered if Pip did want children. She had never really talked about it. Not that he would have listened.
He came within ames ace of making the fatal mistake of asking her. The guests had risen from the table after excellent food and a cake sculpted like the kind of flowers Beau preferred—the kind that didn’t smell of funerals— and were now cluttering up the Great Hall. The duchess was patting Pip on the shoulder, and Pip was showing off the ring to one of the Duchess’s friends. She looked so bright and carefree, as if this were any party. Her laughter rang out clear and melodic. Not the suppressed titters of the debutante, but whole-hearted enjoyment so few people conveyed.
It was Pip’s special gift, her relentless joy. No matter how bad things got, she could dredge up a smile and a kind word and seem as if nothing mattered more than that moment or the person she was talking to.
Watching her now, Beau simply couldn’t understand how he’d so lost control the other night. One simply didn’t ravage a sprite. One didn’t want to toss everyone out of the way to get back to her to finish what they’d started. For a perilously long moment, he did nothing but stare at her as she charmed everyone around her. For just that long, he found himself clutching his glass of champagne as if it were a lifeline.
Well, at least he could give her Delamere. She did love the old place. Maybe she wouldn’t mind being left there for a while as he finished his work. God knew it would be safer all around that way.
“Have you ever thought of diplomatic work?” Beau heard in his ear.
Startling, he turned to find Drake standing next to him watching Pip as she described something mostly with her hands.
“What? Why?”
Drake grinned with a nod toward Pip. “You couldn’t do better than having Pip for a wife. She’d be perfect.”
Drake stared at his friend, wondering if he’d suddenly run mad. But Drake, as ever, was the perfectly groomed English gentleman, from the top of his scrupulously arranged blonde locks to his gleaming shoes, his expression serene. Beau turned to look at Pip, and then back again.
“Pip,” he said and pointed. “ThatPip. The Pip who cannot define the word discretion. The Pip who would rather shoot than sing. The Pip who is such a pattern card that her parents refused to take her to St. Petersburg.”
“The Pip whose father didn’t want her forced into marriage with the Russian princeling who was hounding him for her hand.”
Now Beau stared back at his wife.
Hiswife. He wasn’t sure whether the shiver that swept down his spine was dread or fear. Or something else entirely.
“A Russian princeling.”
Drake nodded, sipping at his champagne. “She refused him after hearing him order some of his serfs off their land. Pip has very particular ideas about those things.”
Beau knew that too well. He had once had to physically pull her away from a neighboring squire who had taken a riding crop to a groom. She had been ten at the time.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
Drake was watching Pip as well now. “I told you. I was in Vienna at the Peace Talks at the same time the Knights were. So was the prince. And his cousin who threatened to duel him over her. And the Italian Count who wanted her to have his babies. And an entire cadre of people who looked for her at every party.”
