Chapter Twenty-Three
Bea had successfully delivered another cartoon.Just now, she’d sneaked out, tucked the folded drawing into the usual pamphlet, and dropped it into the slot at the printshop.Sheshouldhave felt triumphant.
Instead, her cheeks warmed at the memory of last night, the stolen moments in her darkened bedchamber when her thoughts had drifted, unwisely, inexcusably, back to Nicholas.To his mouth.His hands.The way he had looked at her as if he could see straight through every layer she presented to the world.
She’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that she’d created another caricature so quickly in order to draw Nicholas’s attention away from the Langford drawing.He’d been far too perceptive when he’d asked her about it.She’d cleared her throat and glanced away, then hurriedly disembarked from the carriage before he’d had a chance to say anything more.
Of course, last night, she’d been far more preoccupied with the memory of Nicholas’s mouth on her breast, driving her mad, than the discussion about B.Adroit.
Fine.She was a woman with desires, not a marble statue.There was nothing sinful in wanting what any warm-blooded creature might.And Nicholas was handsome enough to haunt a woman’s imagination.Nearly irresistible, if she were honest.But none of that meant they were suited.Nor that they would marry.And it certainly didn’t mean she agreed with his politics any more than she ever had.She still had a mission to accomplish.
The drawing she’d just delivered was deliciously sharp—Nicholas drawn as a smug fox in a perfectly tied cravat, whispering sweet nothings into the ear of Britannia with one paw while the other slipped coins into the pocket of another fox dressed like a duke, one who bore a startling resemblance to her father.The caption read:A pretty mouth and prettier lies.Who profits from the seduction of a nation?
She’d thought of it after listening to her father read her the riot act after she’d returned home yesterday afternoon.She’d been forced to sit in silence—her hair and clothing still no doubt mussed—while both of her parents told her how disappointed they were in her ‘unfortunate outburst’ at Lord Hillary’s salon.They’d apparently got wind of it from a friend who’d stopped by for tea while she’d been out in the park with Nicholas.How terribly helpful.
First, they’d forbid her to attend another one of Lord Hillary’s salons.Then they’d threatened her with a shorter courtship if she ‘couldn’t control her words.’Of course she’d promised them both she would be more than able to control her words.She would have promised them anything in order to escape their diatribe for the quiet stillness of her sitting room.
She’d sat in silence for a while before deciding that her father would be the perfect target for her next drawing.She’d added Nicholas almost as an afterthought.Perhaps he would believe she had nothing to do with the cartoons if he were the subject of the very next one.A tenuous plan, but in the moment, it was all she had.
Bea straightened, turning away from the printer’s shop, and brushing a curl behind her ear.
The cartoon was, objectively, rather brilliant.
Though it did come with a twinge of guilt, now that she’d had longer to consider it.
Because in a matter of hours, the man she had just dismantled in ink would arrive to collect her for another outing.An outing she had agreed to.Worse—one she was looking forward to.The contradiction pressed uncomfortably at her conscience.
Which was a problem…because if she was going to face Nicholas again—if she was going to spend time with him—then she would need to be cool.Careful.Entirely in command of herself.
Of course, she was absolutely not planning to kiss him.Not today.Not again.She’d had enough fun.It had been enjoyable, to be certain.But she didn’t particularly care to be a woman who would expose a man’s politics to public scrutiny and then lose her composure in his arms.
Not to mention, yesterday their antics had hardly stopped at kissing.And she tended to agree with Nicholas when he’d pointed out that it probably could never just be kissing between them.He was right.And she suspected Nicholas would make that line far more difficult to hold than it had any right to be.
Which meant she needed to be on guard.
Determined.
Unflappable.
Even if the man’s mouth was… No, his mouth was irrelevant.
She pulled her borrowed cloak tighter and quickly walked away from the shop.
There would be no seduction today.No kissing.No shoulder touching.No hands anywhere they did not belong.
Bea repeatedall of this sternly to herself when Nicholas arrived that afternoon, punctual as always.
He’d brought the coach again today.Of course he did.No doubt he was eager for them to repeat the scandalous things they’d done yesterday.
“There shall be no kissing today,” she informed him in what was probably far too loud a voice the moment the coach door closed behind them.
“Noted,” he said, with that same self-satisfied grin she’d seen too often lately.“Actually, kissing wasn’t my plan for this afternoon.”
“Oh, really,” she muttered, knowing full well her voice dripped with skepticism.“What else were you planning?”
“Parliament will be back in session soon.The first vote,” he continued, “will be on the trade restrictions for the East Indies.I thought we might discuss it.”
Bea tilted her head, studying him.Of all the directions he might have taken the conversation, that was certainly not the one she’d anticipated.
