Page 29

This was so much better than inside where odors lingered.

As always, the gentle evening breeze contained a hint of salty tanginess. Nevertheless, compared to the odoriferous man plodding beside her, each breath straining the confines of his corset and making him sound like a winded Ascot racehorse, the breeze was as welcome as a draft from heaven.

“You are attached to the creatures?” Mr. Dungworth gave her dogs an ill-disposed sideways glance.

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Nala and Teddy are like family to me.”

Tightening his mouth into a critical line, he made a rough rumbling noise in his throat, which sounded as if he gargled hot coals or glass.

Seizing the opportunity to press her advantage and prove how incompatible they were, she clasped her hands together.

“I am happiest when I am with them. I cannot imagine a life without my pets.” She blinked at him innocently. “I also have a blind cat, a fox, a dove, and a hare. Normally, I tend to several more animals as well. I welcome and care for every animal in need.”

Dungworth couldn’t prevent the revulsion contorting his face but with difficulty, recovered his composure. “Ahem. Yes. Well. I view animals purely from a commercial perspective.”

The revolting man would.

“We are sorely discordant in that regard.” Beatrice didn’t mince her words. “I try to save animals, and you make a living from tanning their skins.”

His eyes grew marble hard, and his calculating expression made a shudder ripple across her shoulders.

“Miss Fairfax, your uncle gave me permission to address you.”

“He overstepped.” Beatrice ran a hand over Nala’s head to calm and reassure herself. Dungworth was an utter fool if he thought her dogs wouldn’t protect her. She lifted her chin. “I am of age and make my own decisions.”

Grunting, he shook his beefy head. “His lordship assured me you seek a husband and has, in fact, already selected a church and cleric in London where we are to exchange vows.”

London?

That cannot be true.

Before Beatrice could deny the falsehood, Mr. Dungworth suddenly clasped her arm in a bruising grip and forced her to face him. For his immense girth, the man was astonishingly swift.

“You shall require a firm hand, but I believe I can force you into submission eventually.” His foul breath gagged Beatrice. “You shall be my wife.”

My God in heaven. He’s serious.

It was as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

Beatrice would not consent to the match.

She would not.

Her life would be utter hell.

Uncle could not force her to wed Mr. Dungworth.

But he could toss her onto the street.

He wouldn’t do it in Brighton, however. Beatrice was confident of that.

To do so would cast him in a terrible light amongst Brighton’s elites, and his reputation was everything to him. Which meant, Uncle Cedric would cart Beatrice elsewhere, where she knew no one and stood no chance of getting help, before he cast her out.

Her stomach gave a sickening jolt as hopelessness rocked her again.

Still, she would rather take her chances on the streets than marry this pig.

“No. I shall not.” She thrust her chin upward, proud that she hadn’t stuttered once. “I do not know you, nor do I wish to further our acquaintance.”