She hated the little swoop in her stomach.The shift in her chest.The uncomfortable flicker of…respect.
“But you work with him,” she insisted.“You listen to him.”
“I do work with him,” Nicholas agreed.“And I listen, but at the moment, I’m trying to persuade him to reconsider.”
She snorted.“Parliament’s stone steps are more yielding than my father once his mind is settled.”
Nicholas only smiled.“I’ve managed more difficult feats.”
Bea opened her mouth to argue, but stopped.This didn’t make any sense.She’d listened to them, endlessly, through the grate in her bedchamber, and Nicholas always…alwaysagreed with her father.She’d never heard him disagree with him.Not once.Not ever.
But then again… Now that she considered it… She’d never heard him explicitlyagreewith him either.
Oh, God.
She swallowed hard, her heart thumping in her chest.Because suddenly, horribly, she remembered the cartoon she’d dropped off this morning.
The fox.
The bribery.
The insinuation of corruption.
The caption:A pretty mouth and prettier lies.
Her stomach sank.
She had drawn Nicholas as precisely the sort of man he had just said he wasn’t.
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her gown, guilt washing over her in a hot, disorienting wave.She had misjudged him.Misrepresented him.
Hadn’t she?
The thought snagged, sharp and unwelcome.
Because the alternative was far more unsettling.Was he lying to her now?To court her favor?
Her chest tightened at the thought.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”she countered.
His frown was immediate.“Why would I lie to you about it?You can see my record.It stands for itself.I’m more moderate than the Tories.In fact, I can prove it to you.”
She didn’t have time to ask what sort of proof he meant.
Just then, the coach slowed, the rhythm of the wheels changing, the familiar scrape of stone replacing gravel.When it stopped, she looked out and felt her breath catch.They were before the very steps she had just mentioned—directly in front of the Houses of Parliament.
“Would you like to see inside?”he asked quite jovially, as though he were offering her a tour of an art museum, not a political institution.
But seeing Parliament, the inner workings of the place she most often dreamt about, was too much of a temptation even for her.Despite her obvious interest, her father had never offered to show her this place.
All she could do was nod.
