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“Certainly, miss.” The butler seemed neither annoyed nor amused by her antics.

Beatrice, on the other hand, was a tangle of emotions. She buzzed from the inside so much so that she had to pause in front of her vanity and breathe for a few moments before doing anything.

Finally, she reassembled her coiffure and tightened it in a bun, smoothed her skirts, and pinched her cheeks before regally—or as regally as she could while bubbling with excitement—making her way toward the drawing room.

She tempered her pace as she glided down the stairs, but with every step, her speed only grew until she fairly burst into the drawing room, only to stop short. Because instead of the familiar, comforting, and equally enticing form of Adam, there stood a rotund old man, his fat fingers entwined on his rounded belly, his powdered wig sitting stiffly on his head. He took a step forward and bowed an inch before his withered, croaking voice came out. “Good afternoon, my dear.”

Beatrice froze in disbelief, for the man in front of her was none other than her betrothed.

She had seen Lord Lansdowne only a handful of times before. The last time was after she had made a bold move and announced to the entire world, or at least most of London, that she was betrothed to him.

He had negotiated a fair contract with her father, and that was the first time she had ever seen her father cry.

In joy.

She understood him quite well. They had been destitute for years. And with only daughters whose dowries he couldn’t afford, he was worried for their future. Now, instead of providing a dowry, Lord Lansdowne had actually promised to cover all his debts and to provide a nice stipend to Beatrice after marriage. Never mind the fact that Lansdowne was the most unpleasant old man Beatrice had ever met, and he was over twenty years her father’s senior!

But Beatrice couldn’t fault her father for being happy. No matter what happened to him, now Beatrice and all her sisters would be well taken care of. And it was Beatrice’s own choice to marry the man. Nobody had twisted her arm. Except that she’d hoped—prayed—that she would not see the old man again until the day of their marriage.

Now, as she stepped inside the room, her instincts screamed at her to get out, while her manners urged her to stay. She knew what she had to do, so after an awkward moment of silence, she dipped into a curtsy. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Isn’t it?” Lansdowne stepped closer, and Beatrice squashed the urge to retreat. “I was passing through London on my way to Northumberland from Surrey when I recalled your father mentioning that you were in London with your aunt, preparing your trousseau.”

Yes, my aunt! Where is she? “Indeed. I shall ask for her to sit with us. Would you like some tea?” Beatrice moved toward the servants’ bell, but the man cut off her path, placing his rather sizable body in the way.

“Oh, no, dearest. There is no need to disturb your aunt. We are betrothed, after all. We can be alone together.” He stepped even closer, crowding her.

Beatrice opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. She looked frantically around the room, trying to figure out an escape route. “But we must have tea!” she finally exclaimed and tried once more to get to the servants’ bell, but he blocked her attempt for the second time.

“I don’t think that is necessary either.”

Beatrice swallowed.

“You see, the last time we met, we didn’t have the chance to get acquainted properly.”

Beatrice let out a sigh of relief. He wanted to speak to her. “Absolutely. I would enjoy getting to know one another. If you don’t want a cup of tea, perhaps a round about the gardens would be more to your liking?”

He stepped closer. “No, I would like a more… intimate acquaintance.”

“Intimate?” Beatrice’s voice came out strangled.

“When I buy horses, I like to inspect them thoroughly.” His words were unhurried, almost too slow. “Since I paid far more for your company than that of a horse, I think I am entitled to a more thorough examination.”

A horse? “If you refer to my ancestry, then I am sad to disappoint but I am far from a thoroughbred,” Beatrice said sharply and took a couple of steps away from him.

He tsked. “A mouth on you. But no, that is not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?” She backed away a few more steps, but the old man kept up with her pace.

“You are aware of the reasons for this marriage, of course, are you not?” Beatrice opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off, showing that taking part in the conversation was not one of those reasons. “Continuation of the Lansdowne line. I’ve been married a few times before, and all my wives have failed me in this endeavor. I cannot be certain if you shall provide me with heirs, not that I have a choice since I’ve already signed the contract for you. But the least I can do is test the warmth of your flesh, the taste of your lips before proceeding to our marriage bed.”

A little whimper left her lips at the horrifying image. “But th-that’s most inappropriate, my lord,” she stuttered.

“We are betrothed.” He stepped even closer.

“But we are not married yet.” I have a few weeks!

“What’s a little indiscretion between future spouses?”