“Seven, eight?” He shook his head. “I came away with a bruise or two, but that wasn’t what I couldn’t stand. I didn’t mind getting hurt myself. I couldn’t stand knowing that I couldn’t stop him from hurting her.” His jaw clenched. Anger flashed in his sky-blue eyes like lightning on a clear day.
Marianne placed her hand on his shoulder. “It must have been awful for you.”
“It was. Until I got big enough to fight back. When I was twelve, I was home from Eton, finally tall enough to fight him.” He shook his head slowly, the memory clearly replaying in his mind with vivid force. “I punched that son of a bitch in the mouth and I told him if he ever laid a hand on my mother again, I would kill him.”
Marianne nodded slowly. “Understandable. Did it stop him?”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck. “He never touched her again.”
“That’s good.”
“It was good…until…” Another deep breath. “On his death bed, my father asked for me. I refused to come.”
Her breathing hitched. “Oh, Beau. I don’t blame you.”
“I never saw him again. My mother told me that he’d wanted to apologize. He’d wanted to ask for forgiveness. I never gave him that chance.”
Marianne shook her head. “You cannot blame yourself for that choice.”
“It was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Everyone deserves forgiveness. My mother had forgiven him. Why couldn’t I?”
Marianne nodded slowly. “I do know what you mean. The last time I saw Frederick, we argued. He didn’t like the man who was courting me. He didn’t think he was a good choice for me. I’ve wished every day since that I’d had a chance to truly say good-bye. I regret it, too.”
He smiled at her wanly. “But IknewI’d never have another chance. I refused to take it because of my stubborn pride.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. “I hope you don’t mind my saying that the reason you’re such a good man may very well be because of the pain in your childhood.”
Beau nodded. “Yes, well, my father’s drinking is one reason I understand men like Mr. Broughton. They’ll do anything for the chance to drink. They’re slaves to the bottle.”
“It’s why you’re a spy, too, isn’t it?”
Beau bit the inside of his cheek. “I suppose I’ve always been preoccupied with justice being served.”
She squeezed his hand again. “It’s not a bad trait to have, Beau. Not bad at all.”
“I suppose it’s time for bed.” He pushed himself off the bunk and turned around while she changed into her night rail. Then she climbed into bed, and he pulled off his shirt. They laid down together on the bunk and he blew out the lantern.
“Marianne,” came his voice in the darkness, “are you truly a lady’s maid? Your real accent, it would be at home in the drawing rooms of theBeau Monde.”
“I’m not a lady’s maid at the moment. I’m a spy. But I’m not a marchioness. Or suitable to be one, if that’s what you’re asking.”
* * *
Marianne spentthe time as they neared Calais pretending to read, but all she could think about was how her relationship with Beau would end.
He’d asked if she was truly a lady’s maid. Well, she hadn’t been one until Lady Courtney had hired her, but then her brother had been killed and she’d met General Grimaldi and been trained to become a spy. She’d been encouraged to take the position with Lord Copperpot because of the suspicions of him being the Bidassoa traitor.
In truth, she didn’t knowwhoshe was any more. After her father died, her mother had gone into such deep mourning she scarcely spoke, then she’d died not a year later. David and Frederick had both been gone to war. Marianne had had little choice but to find a suitable position for herself. Fortunately, her father’s friend Lady Courtney had offered Marianne the position of companion while she waited for her own niece to become available.
Marianne had become so single-minded after Frederick’s death that she scarcely remembered any plans before that. At one point, she’d met William. But that had been over quickly. He’d been gone before she’d barely got a chance to get her hopes up for a life with a husband and children. She’d settled back into thinking she would remain a lady’s maid, when the news had come about Frederick.
Her feelings for William paled in comparison to what she’d been feeling for Beau these past weeks. And that’s what made it so frightening. Beau had the ability to crush her heart. For some reason with William, she’d stupidly told herself that their love—a love that didn’t even exist as far as he was concerned—would be enough to overcome Society’s judgement of him marrying beneath his station in life as a knight.
But she’d quickly learned that that had never been true, and never would be true. William had had no intention of marrying her; he’d only used her.
She was not worthy of a marquess and she never would be. And her time with Beau was coming to an end. As soon as they arrested Winfield and Albina, Marianne would be off to look for David, and Beau would move on to his next mission. She would have to leave him soon. It was a thought she didn’t want to contemplate.
* * *
