She folded his coat and carefully set it aside. Then she stood on tiptoe and pulled off his wig. He ran his hands over his head, scrubbing at the stubble of his hair.
“I confess it made me sad the day you cut your hair,” she said quietly.
A half smile curved his lips. “You’d rather I sport that wild mane?”
“No.” She reached up to smooth her palms over his head. “But maybe a little more hair than this. Your long hair softened your aspect a bit. I never really realized until you cut it all off. Without it, you look so… ruthless.”
But he was ruthless. Didn’t she know that yet? He didn’t say the words, merely watched her as she bent her head over the buttons of his waistcoat. The only sounds in the room were her breathing and the slide of fabric over the bone buttons. She reached the end and pushed the waistcoat off his shoulders. She laid the waistcoat aside and hesitated for a moment, staring at the expanse of his white shirt. Had her feet grown cold? Only two days before, this woman had been a virgin, and now he was demanding that she undress him. He should take pity on her.
He grasped her hand and brought it to his chest. “The shirt next, I think.”
She began on the buttons without comment, though her breath was coming faster. The brush of her fingers, even with the fine linen in between his skin and hers, was a torture. She undid the last button, and he raised his arms so she might draw the shirt off over his head.
She licked her lips and glanced shyly at him from under her brows. “Everything?”
ghed. “Adriana, my dear, as usual, you’ve quite lost me.”
“Have I?” She smiled at him. “But I didn’t mean to. And you considered one of the leading lights of the Tories, too!”
Her ripple of laughter was enough to send a less-strong man into raving fits. As it was, Hasselthorpe merely smiled tightly at his spouse. “Very amusing, my dear.”
“Yes, aren’t I?” she said complacently, and went back to poking at her fish. “I think it must be the reason you love me.”
Hasselthorpe sighed. Because despite her lack of wits, her irritating conversation, and her execrable decorating style, Adriana was quite right about this one matter.
He did love her.
BEATRICE SHOULD’VE BEEN suspicious when Reynaud sat down to dine with her and her uncle that night. But alas, she was so caught up in keeping her expression bland that she didn’t even think to wonder what he was doing there. So when he made his request over the fish, she nearly choked on her wine.
“What did you say?” Beatrice gasped when she’d caught her breath.
“I wasn’t addressing you,” the odious backstabber said.
“Well, you’ll certainly have to consult with me about the matter eventually,” she said tartly.
A muscle in Reynaud’s jaw flexed. “I doubt—”
“No!” roared Uncle Reggie.
Beatrice’s head swung toward her uncle in alarm. His face had gone the color of claret. “Please don’t excite yourself—”
“It’s not enough that you must have my title, but now you want to take my niece as well,” Uncle Reggie bellowed. He thumped a fist on the table, making the silverware jump.
“I haven’t accepted Lord Hope’s proposal,” Beatrice said soothingly.
“But you will,” Reynaud said, crushing what little peace she might’ve gained.
“Don’t you threaten my niece!” Uncle Reggie shouted.
Reynaud’s lips thinned. “I don’t threaten; I merely state a fact.”
And they were off again. Really, she might not be in the room for all the attention they paid her. She was like an old bone for two dogs to fight over. Beatrice sighed and sipped her wine again, taking a surreptitious glance at Reynaud. He’d left her the night before, soon after their lovemaking, and she hadn’t seen him all day. He wore the white wig tonight and a dark wine-red coat that made his tanned skin and dark brows and eyes exotically elegant. The iron cross earring swung against his jaw as he tilted his head mockingly at her uncle. It made him look a bit like a pirate, she decided.
He caught her eye and winked. The rest of his face was impassive, and it was done so quickly that she almost thought she imagined it. Did he really want to marry her? The notion sent an odd shaft of warmth to her center.
Until Uncle Reggie said, “You only want to marry my niece to bolster your claim that you aren’t mad. It’s another scheme to steal my house and title!”
Well, that was certainly dampening. Beatrice stared fixedly at her wineglass. She would not weep before these two buffoons.