“Such aseverything.” Bea drew a breath, straightened her back, and fixed both her friends with a determined stare.“Our revolt,” she continued.“Have you two forgotten?Parliament convenes again next week.There are rumors the shipping reform bill will be voted on earlier than expected.If the Tories block the bill, everything I’ve worked for will be undone.I need to influence public sentiment…hard.And swiftly.”
Georgie nodded.“Which means?—”
“Which means,” Bea interrupted, “my caricatures must be sharper than ever.Devastating.Unignorable.And as usual”—she grimaced—“my best material comes from my father and Nicholas themselves.”
Only things had changed.The vent had gone quiet since the courtship began—Nicholas came to visit her now, more often than Father.Her movements were too managed.If she wanted information, she’d have to take it the dangerous way: from Nicholas himself.
Poppy snorted.“Well.At least Lord Vanover is giving you…fresh inspiration.”
“You’re calling himNicholasnow?”Georgie asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
Bea glowered at both of them.“I have no time to be distracted by seductive whispers and fingertips trailing down my neck and—” She clamped her mouth shut, then added, “And other nonsense.”
Georgie exchanged a knowing look with Poppy.
Bea ignored it.She stalked over to her escritoire, grabbed her sketchbook, and held it like a shield.“We need a plan.We need strategy.We need outrage distilled into ink.And if Nicholas thinks one stolen kiss is going to convince me to marry him, he is very much mistaken.”
Georgie tilted her head.“Out of curiosity, have you attended any new Tory gatherings?Since Lord Vanover began courting you, I mean.”
Bea waved a dismissive hand in the air.“Of course, I—” She stopped.
Poppy frowned.“Any dinners?Salons?Political suppers?”
Bea opened her mouth again.And closed it again.“Well,” she said slowly, irritation creeping in, “not formal ones.We’ve…spoken.”
“Spoken,” Georgie repeated.“Where?”
“In the park.On a walk.Once on a veranda.At night.”Bea’s brow furrowed.“Privately.”
Poppy’s eyes widened a fraction.“So not a single drawing room?Not one room full of overheard conversations and indiscreet opinions?”
The silence stretched for several seconds.
Bea felt it then.The shape of it.The truth she had somehow missed.
“He’s kept me alone,” she said quietly.Not accusing, but realizing.
Georgie leaned back, lips pursed.“That does seem…convenient.For Lord Vanover, at least.”
Heat flared in Bea’s chest—annoyance, sudden and unsettling, but not at Nicholas alone.At herself.
“I allowed it,” she said.“I let him distract me.”Her jaw tightened.“By God…that stops.Immediately.”
Georgie picked up her teacup again and tilted her head, eyes dancing.“So, no more kissing?”
Bea hesitated for only a fraction of a second.“Absolutely not.”
Poppy arched a brow.“You’re certain?”
“Positive,” Bea said firmly.“I will not be swayed by flirtation.Or charm.Or the width of his”—her cheeks warmed treacherously—“shoulders.”
“Oh dear,” Poppy murmured.“You’ve mentioned his shoulders more than once.”
“Enough about Nicholas,” Bea declared.“I have work to do.Caricatures to draw.A nation to sway.”She clutched her sketchbook tighter, her jaw setting like iron.
Nicholas Archer could promise seduction until he turned blue,she vowed silently.He could whisper wicked things until her bones melted.He could even kiss her senseless.
But she would not—would not—allow any of it to pull her from her mission.
This was not a romance.
It was a revolution.
