And with that, he all but dragged his followers including Lady Pamela from the room.
Finally allowing herself to breath, Pip turned a smile on Beau. She had saved him after all. He would be so grateful.
One look told the real tale. He looked as cold as death, staring down at her as if he'd seen a slug in his soup. “Did you arrange that?”
She blinked. “What?”
Pip could never remember seeing such disdain in his eyes. “Did you finally run out of patience, Pip? Was that it? Or was this just one of your brilliant spur-of-the-moment ideas to coerce me into marriage?”
Pip felt flummoxed. “But I didn't…”
His expression only grew more disgusted. “Of course, you did. I expected more of you than a cheap trick like this. Was it Pamela? Were you jealous? Or just tired of waiting to get married? Or did you know, finally, that the only way I would ever marry you was to be tricked into it?”
She kept staring. “You think that was what this was all about?”
“Of course. And you finally got what you wanted. Whether you'll be happy with the results is another matter.”
For the longest time, she could only stare, the delirium of the past moments disintegrating into cold ashes. She swore a great chasm opened up where her heart had been. She couldn't even draw breath.
And then, blessedly, the rage came, clearing the cobwebs and slipping steel into her spine. “Why yes,” she said, her voice at least as cold as his. “I did get what I wanted. But it obviously is not what you think.”
“What then?”
Her smile was as grim as death. She shook her head. “Don't worry. You'll know soon enough.”
And before Beau could see the tears welling in her eyes, she swept out of the room.
2
Beau would have discovered the answer to Pip's challenge a lot sooner if he hadn't been so completely bowled over. For the longest time after the echoes died from Pip's dramatic exit, Beau couldn't seem to do anything but stand there, his lips still hot, his stomach hotter, and his brains melted right into his shoes.
What had he done?
What hadshedone? Who did she think she was, setting him up like that? Had she arranged to be followed by Pamela and the earl? Did she really want to be ruined? And why in bloody hell had she ever kissed him?
Kiss? That had been no kiss. It had been a whirlwind. A cataclysm. Christ, he was shaking as if he had the ague, and his cock was bone stiff. For Pip. For pugnacious, precocious, provocative Pip.
Pip.
It was incomprehensible. He didn't like sprites or elves or children dressed as fairies. He had certainly never wanted to bed one. But he was sure as hell ready to bed Pip. How could that be? When he thought of her, he thought of that pugnacious little ten-year-old who had insisted on coming on adventures with him and Theo. And yet…
He shoved his hands through his once-carefully styled hair. How had she known? She had to have somehow realized that he would react like this. Planned on it, to the second so they would be caught in a compromising position. She must have been planning this for days. Weeks. And all so she could finally force him into noticing her. No, not noticing her. Marrying her. After all, it was the only possible outcome of her little ploy.
A small voice of reason whispered that that wasn’t like Pip. She was many things, but he had never known her to be less than honest. Painfully so, sometimes. Pip might have worked to get her own way, but he’d never known her to be underhanded.
It might have helped if he’d given her a chance to explain. For now, though, he had to convince his cock to surrender so he could be seen in the corridors, otherwise he would never get these papers back to…
He patted his jacket. He patted again, expecting to hear the crinkle. He reached inside, only to find the pocket completely empty. His gut lurched. Someone had lifted those papers from him. Somehow, while he was being compromised, he'd been compromised.
The earl? Inconceivable. He was on the Privy Council, a gentle man with gentle hobbies. Pamela? No. She hadn't come close enough. Not when the evidence of his disloyalty had been so painfully obvious.
Then who?
There was only one option left.
“I'll kill her,” he snarled, stalking over to the door. But when he yanked it open, he stalked straight into his Aunt Maude, who had just raised her hand for the knob. The old harridan looked ready to commit murder.
“Howcouldyou?” she demanded in a voice like Gabriel's horn, which was distinctive coming from a woman the size of a gnome. “Evenyou.I should have known better than to expect you to respect the honor of your family, but when have you ever made us proud? And now, to take up with that little ragbag, and in the duke's own home! Well, I will tell you this. Let her be your mistress. I have no care for that. But you willnotbring her across the threshold of Delamere.”
