The question landed like a thrown gauntlet.
Bea stared at him.No man had ever asked her that—not as a challenge, not as a trap, but as though her reasoning might actually matter.
“The assumptions,” she said at once.“The bill is sound.It’s careful.It’s necessary.What will hurt small ports is Parliament dismissing it without grasping what it’s meant to fix.”
Archer’s expression changed—not smug, not dismissive, but intent.
“So the danger isn’t the legislation.”
“It’s ignorance,” she said flatly.“And indifference.”
His mouth curved, slow and genuine.“Then the bill isn’t the problem.”
“It’s the solution,” she finished.“If they’d only bother to read it.”
“I see.”
She narrowed her eyes to absolute slits.“Why did we need to be alone for you to ask me that?”
He smiled faintly.“Because I want to hear what you actually think, not the version you might perform in public.”
She opened her mouth—intent upon telling him that she didn’tperformfor anyone—but he didn’t allow her the chance.“No need to say it.”He lifted a hand.“Shall we begin to get to know each other with something simple?Perhaps my understanding of what you do not like about me?”
Bea flicked her gaze toward him, her wariness intact, but now threaded with curiosity.She simply couldn’t resist.“Oh?Do tell.”
“It is no secret to me, my lady,” he replied, “that you are not a Tory.”
Her brows shot up, suspicion and amusement no doubt warring on her face.“I was not aware that ladies wereallowedto have political affiliations.”
“Allowed?”His low laugh curled warm along her spine.“We both know you’ve never given a toss about what you’re allowed to do.”
Bea felt the words settle somewhere they had no right to reach, loosening something she had kept carefully bound.No one had ever said it before, this thing about her, this part she normally kept tightly tucked behind wit and sarcasm and careful propriety, albeit with the occasional outburst toward men as idiotic as Lord Hargrave.
To have Nicholas Archer see it, name it, as though it were the most obvious truth in the world…
Well.It was…unsettling.Off-putting.And entirely too perceptive of him.
She lifted her chin.“If you insist on ascribing rebellious motives to me?—”
“I am merely observing,” he said smoothly.“You are not governed by fashion or flattery.You form your own conclusions.You speak them.Loudly.And often to someone who is paying attention.”
She wasn’t certain whether to be insulted or flattered.
“You think I’m a Tory,” he continued.“And that is an unpardonable offense.”
She whipped her head toward him.“Are you not a Tory?”
He did not answer at once.Instead, his gaze drifted to the water beside them, where the Serpentine lay smooth and bright, sunlight skating across its surface.
“I am,” he said at last, “a man who has learned that some truths are best revealed selectively.”
Her lips curved, unimpressed.“That was not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed mildly.“It was caution.”
She gave a quiet, derisive huff.“How very political of you.”
“Practical,” he corrected.“Your father is a formidable man with formidable convictions.I admire him greatly.”A pause—carefully placed.“I also prefer that he continue to admire me.”
