Her brow furrowed.“You remember that?”
“I remember everything you say,” he replied, unembarrassed.“Do you believe Parliament is underestimating the unrest?”
She hesitated, then exhaled.“They aren’t underestimating it.They’re dismissing it.That’s far worse.”
“Why?”
The single word—quiet, intent—undid her.
Bea forgot the room.Forgot the music.“Because dismissal breeds desperation.And desperation always finds a voice.”
Nicholas watched her with undisguised fascination.“You should be in the House,” he said.
Her laugh came sharp and humorless.“I would be invisible there.”
“No,” he said firmly now.“You would be impossible to ignore.”
The thought hit her harder than his earlier compliments.
He wasn’t flattering her.
He wasevaluatingher.
It was too much.She didn’t trust it.“What are you aiming at?”
His brows shot up.“Am I that obvious?”
Her brows drew together.“Yes.”
“Then I confess I’m hoping you’ll agree to accompany me to the veranda,” he replied with a sly smile.“Though that has nothing to do with my interest in your thoughts on Manchester.But I’d happily agree to continue the conversation on the veranda, seeing as how this dance is about to end.”
She didn’t want to smile.Sherefusedto smile.But her mouth betrayed her.“You hope in vain.”
Another slow grin spread across his face.“So quick with the refusals.”
She lifted her nose in the air.“You’re not the only man who’s asked me to meet him on the veranda tonight.”
“Perhaps,” he replied.“But I may be the only one who askstwice.”
She arched a brow.“Then consider this my second refusal.”
His grin deepened.They danced without speaking for a few moments, and Bea became acutely aware of the way his hand settled at her waist—confident, careful.The way his gaze didn’t stray.The way he watched her expectantly, as if he couldn’t wait to hear what she would say next.
She glanced over at her parents once more.They were both nodding and smiling at her.It was enough to make her want to cast up her accounts.
When the music ended, Nicholas released her hand and bowed.“Thank you for the dance, Lady Beatrix.”
She curtsied, her spine so straight it could have sliced glass.“Lord Vanover.”
Bea hadno earthly idea what she was doing outside.
The moon was far too smug tonight.
She leaned against the stone balustrade, breathing in the night air, half-convinced she’d lost her mind.She should have gone home.She should have danced with Viscount Merton twice to start rumors, accepted that glass of champagne from Lady Alderidge to settle her nerves, and left without a second thought to Nicholas Archer.
Instead, she had excused herself to the retiring room, walked in the wrong direction on purpose, and now found herself in the shadows of the east-facing veranda like a ninny waiting to be compromised.
Brilliant.
