A faint beat of silence.
The duke’s jaw flexed slightly.
Across the room, Bea glanced up from a conversation with a pair of older matrons.Her eyes found Nicholas at once.Gratitude flickered there—a soft, unguarded warmth—followed almost instantly by that same shadow he’d noticed in the carriage.Guilt.Again.She masked it quickly, but it was unmistakable.
Winston followed his daughter’s gaze, then looked back at Nicholas.His voice remained perfectly even when he spoke again.“We are still in the early stages of arranging a match,” he said.“Stability matters.Diplomacy matters.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes.Was that a threat?
Heat surged up his spine.“And integrity matters.Lady Beatrix should never be expected to silence herself for anyone’s comfort.”
The duke studied him for a long, heavy moment, measuring the man who had just contradicted a dining room full of Tory peers.“Take care, Vanover.Agreements not yet sealed may still be withdrawn.”
Oh, that was definitely a threat.Nicholas’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm.“If defending her costs me your favor, I will bear it.”
Something in Winston’s expression shifted…faintly, almost imperceptibly.Not approval.But not disdain either.A recalibration.
He placed a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder, a subtle assertion of authority.“You’re bold,” he said quietly.“I like that about you.Just be certain your boldness doesn’t outrun your judgment.”
Nicholas met his gaze unflinchingly.“On the contrary, Your Grace.I believe my judgment has never been clearer.”
Bea’s eyes caught his again from across the room, guilt, worry, conflict, all swirling together.
As Nicholas watched her, he was certain.He would face down every man in England if it meant easing that look from her eyes.
Hours later,when the party finally dispersed, Bea stood with her parents near the front door.Nicholas stepped to her side.He offered his arm again.
She hesitated—not from disdain, not from carefully cultivated Winslow nonchalance, but because everything inside her had been rattled loose tonight.Still, she set her hand on his sleeve.Her fingers betrayed her with a tiny tremor.She prayed he didn’t feel it.
“I’m riding back with you,” he said quietly.“Your father may prefer to pretend I do not exist at present, but I would see you home.”
A ridiculous flutter moved through her middle.“You needn’t trouble yourself.”
“Too late,” he murmured.“I’ve already made it my trouble.”
She had no response for that, not one that wouldn’t reveal far too much.
When they reached the Winslow carriage, he handed her up with a care that felt…intentional.Protective.Her parents were already seated opposite, her father’s attention fixed firmly on the window as Nicholas took his place beside her.
Bea sat, pulse misbehaving.He sat close enough that even the warm summer night air between them seemed charged.
The door closed.
For the first time since dinner, silence wrapped around them, thick, humming, intimate.She should have been more worried about her father.About the inevitable disdainful lecture she would receive once they were privately behind closed doors at home.And yet, all Bea could think of was Nicholas.He defended me.Twice.He defended me against my father.
Every moment from the last several days flashed through her in a dizzying cascade.Him listening, really listening; him watching her with that frustratingly perceptive gaze; him coaxing her opinions forward instead of dismissing them; him teasing her out of moods she didn’t even realize she was in; him bringing her to Parliament; and then…defending her as though he’d beenwaitingfor the chance.
Piece by piece, an unavoidable truth settled, heavy and hot, low in her chest.
She didn’t just want him.Shelikedhim.Admired him.Looked forward to him.Missed him.And that—dear God—that meant…she was falling for him.
The realization struck like a physical blow.Her breath faltered.Her pulse stumbled.
But beneath that heady rush, guilt twisted sharp as a blade.
Her drawings.Her mistake.The Bow Street Runner.She was falling for the very man she had mocked and maligned in print for months.He saw the guilt in her eyes.He had to.
Nicholas shifted beside her.“Bea,” he said softly.
