Lesson Six
“Congress having once commenced, passion alone gives birth to all the acts of the parties.”
—The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
WHEN BEA ASKED TO BORROW the brougham and driver to go into Linlithgow the next morning, no one, not even Kate, thought to ask why. Her sister, still grieving her horse, was quite understandably holed up in her room.
Once there, Bea headed for the cobbled high street. From Hattie she knew there was a public house, the Stag and Tartan, from which mail, including telegrams, might be both dispatched and received. She supposed she might have sneaked the use of the castle telephone. Then again, given the grave importance of her message, likely she’d been right to send it in person.
She opened the door and ducked beneath the low frame. Pipe tobacco and peat smoke greeted her as she stepped within. Old-fashioned tallow candles filled the brackets on the whitewashed stucco walls. She followed the sound of voices and clanging cutlery and tankards into the taproom. Tavern tables lined three of the room’s four walls and most of the seats on the backless benches were taken for all that it was a workday and not yet time for tea. Making her way between the tables, ignoring the curious stares and occasional wink shot her way, she walked up to the caged bar beyond which mail bags mingled with tapped beer kegs and casks.
“Can I help you, miss?” the bespectacled barkeep and apparent postmaster inquired.
Bea nodded, resolved despite her hands’ trembling. “Yes, please. I need to send a wire to a gentleman in London.”
“London,” he echoed, scratching the side of his head. “Why, that’s a rare long way.”
“Is it?” she asked. Perhaps it was. She wouldn’t have thought so a week ago but then, a lot could happen in a week. A lot had happened in six days. Now nothing would ever again be the same, most especially not her.
“What is it you wish to say, miss? Mind ’tis six pence’s for the first ten words and a ha’penny for every word thereafter.”
Bea paused, not because she was uncertain of her message—indeed, she’d composed it several times on the trip into town and she was fairly certain it did not surpass ten words by much—but because once she sent it there would be no turning back.
Behind the barred box, a throat cleared. “Miss?”
Bea swallowed against her own thick-feeling throat. The previous night in Ralph’s arms had been the deciding factor, not the sex, tender though it had been, but the emotional intimacy afterward. As much as she hated to hurt the feelings of a fellow human being, she could see no other way.
She drew a bracing breath and began: “Mister HC Billingsby Knightsbridge London. Stop. Cannot marry you. Stop. Please forgive & forget me. Stop. Bea. Stop.”
BEA LEFT FOR TOWN after breakfast, her demeanor making it clear she wasn’t looking for company, at least not Ralph’s. From her vague reference to shopping, he surmised she might be going about wedding errands, perhaps even selecting a gift for her bridegroom. That thought acted like a lit match to his jealousy. Feeling at loose ends, he headed to the study hoping to find his friend within. Surely Rourke, newly returned from his trip, must require him to take down yet another letter, dispatch a telegram or perhaps help him go over another quarter’s profit figures? He heartily hoped so. It would be good to have some occupation, otherwise he would only waste the day brooding on the fact that he had but one more “lesson” with Beatrice. The previous night she’d as good as said she loved him and yet so far as he knew, her plans remained unchanged. Mr. Billingsby and the coveted security he presumably offered were proving formidable foes.
The clacking of typewriter keys alerted him that Lady Katherine was within. That she was back at work so soon was surprising. Then again, everyone had their own way of dealing with grief.
The door stood ajar. When his knock met with no answer, he announced his presence with a cough and stepped inside. “Forgive the disturbance. I was looking for Rourke.”
“He’s gone riding.”
“I see.” Hoping his disappointment didn’t show, he turned to go.
“Since you are here, pray take a seat, Ralph.”
Kate nodded toward the sole chair whose seat was unfettered by papers and books. Ordinarily a paragon of orderliness, she apparently made an exception when it came to her writing. By the look of it, she was in the thick of things.
Circumventing the dog lying sprawled in the center of the carpet, he made his way over to the chair and sat. “How may I be of service?”
Amber-colored eyes fixed on his face. “You and I started off on the wrong foot when I first came here as a bride, but I like to think we’ve become friends.”
Wondering at her point, Ralph nodded. “I believe we have, milady.”
“As a friend, I will speak frankly.”
Ralph had never known Kate to speak any other way but frankly, be it to a friend or foe, but he held his peace.
“My sister’s happiness was my primary concern nine months ago, and it remains so.” She halted, searching his face. “Back in London, it was I who arranged her introduction to Mr. Billingsby. At the time, I thought his mild-mannered nature might be the antidote to her impulsiveness. Now it occurs to me that I may have inadvertently pushed her into a marriage that may bring her no great distress but also little joy.”
Ralph reasoned he had nothing left to lose. “Have you considered that Beatrice possesses more sound sense than you credit her with? Perhaps you would both be better served by letting her decide her future for herself.”
He braced himself to be ordered first from the room and perhaps even the house. Instead, she drew a ragged breath. “Our mother died when Bea was but a few days old. I’ve been making decisions on her behalf as a mother might for twenty years. It is a difficult custom to break…but I will try.”
Ralph had never before known Rourke’s wife to willingly relinquish control. Flabbergasted, he could do little more than nod.
Kate drummed her fountain pen on the desktop. “But before I turn over any new leaves, I have a question to ask of you. It is a most important question, so I counsel you to think carefully before giving your answer.”
“And that is?”
She fixed her gaze on his face. “Are you a marrying man, Ralph?”
Her question took him aback. Recovering, he asked, “That depends. Do you have a bride in mind?”
Her face showed she was not amused. “Don’t play coy with me. I saw how you looked at my sister the other day in the stable and more to the point, I saw how she looked at you. Only last winter I would have judged you to be a scalawag and a philanderer. I did judge you as such, and truth be told I am not yet certain I am entirely mistaken.”
Ralph opened his mouth to defend himself, but her raised hand stayed him though he couldn’t think why. Lord knew, he’d never submitted to any authority before. But Lady Katherine wasn’t only Rourke’s wife. She was also the elder sister of the woman he loved. And judging from her very leading and intrusive question, he might just find an ally in her if he played his cards properly.
“But much can change in nine months,” Kate continued, lowering her hand. “People may change, myself included. And so I ask you for the final time, are you a marrying man?”
Ralph swallowed hard, his pride as well as his fear. Beatrice loved going to bed with him, that much was clear, but did she love him? “For the right woman, I could become one.”
“For my sister, you mean?”
He shook his head, all at once weary of women playing with him. “It is a moot point. She is affianced, is she not? She seems determined to go through with her marriage to this…Billingsby because he is…nice,” he ended, spitting out the word.
She shrugged. “She is not married to him yet. Not for a fortnight more. Beyond that, you’ve never struck me as a man who gives up easily.”
It was his turn to look her in the eye and ask the hard question. “Am I to understand that you would accept me as your brother-in-law? Unlike Rourke, I have no fortune to recommend me as a relation.”
She sat back in her seat with a sigh. “Admittedly, I used to care for such things greatly, too greatly. But if this past year has taught me anything, it is that a happy marriage is not reliant upon equity in station. Instead, the ingredients are mutual liking and respect, passion, and love. I’ve always known you liked Bea and this week it has become abundantly clear that you lust after her, as well. But do you love her?”
This time Ralph didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
He’d meant to tell Beatrice so the previous night before all her talk of safety and security had derailed him. And then afterward in bed, she’d suddenly seemed so sad he hadn’t thought it the proper time. Now he wondered if it wasn’t the timing, but his own courage that had failed him.
Exhaling heavily, Kate rested her folded hands upon her flat belly as if anticipating the coming swell. “I thought as much, but I had to hear it from your lips to be sure. Seeing you now, I cannot but believe you to be sincere.”
“I am.”
“If you won her, would you let me or my father or anyone else stand in your way?”
“Not on your bloody life,” he answered bluntly.
She smiled. “In that case, you have my blessing.”
“Thank you.” Judging that their heart-to-heart was at an end, he rose to go.
“One final thing.” Kate’s voice stalled him in midstep.
He turned back. “Yes?”
Beneath the arch of one dark brown brow, she stared him down. “If you hurt her, I’ll see your cods cut off.”
WEARING ONLY A CORSET, garters and stockings, all black, Bea knelt on the floor in Ralph’s room. The silk blindfold, also black, made for a taut band about her head, the ticking of the wall clock her only means of tracking the time, the floor planks both bruising and cold beneath her bare knees. Her hands weren’t bound, but she’d folded them behind her, the right hand cuffing the left wrist just as he’d instructed. It hadn’t seemed so very bad at first. She’d supposed his latest lesson would involve him stepping into the outer chamber for five minutes, perhaps ten.
The clock’s chiming confirmed he’d been gone almost an hour.
In the course of waiting, the floor had come to feel cold and hard beneath her bare knees, uncomfortably so. Her bare backside felt goosefleshy. Surely her last lesson in submission, in pleasure, needn’t include contracting a fever. Had she known he meant to make her wait so very long, she would have asked for a cushion at the very least. But then she supposed creature comforts would detract from the edginess swiftly transforming to desperate impatience.
She’d never been a patient person. In point, she abhorred waiting. Ralph no doubt knew that just as he seemed to innately know nearly everything else about her.
She briefly considered yanking off the blindfold, rising and fetching a pillow from the bed to spare her knees, a blatant violation of the “rules” Ralph had set and to which she had agreed.
You are to hold this position, this very posture, until I return and release you. Until I do, you may not move, you may not rise, not to scratch your nose, not even to relieve yourself. If you do, I shall know of it. And Beatrice, my beautiful wicked Beatrice, I shall punish you.
The heat in his eyes when he’d pronounced “punish” had made her instantly wet. And throbbing. And shivery in a way that had nothing to do with kneeling near naked on a cold floor in a drafty room.
She reminded herself she was free to rise and leave at any time. Whenever she wished, she was at liberty to tug the blindfold free, put her clothes back on and walk out the door. Given that she was taking the train back to London on the morrow, she might quite possibly never look Ralph in the face again. All her scandalous explorations, all the deliciously dirty things they’d done together would be as good as erased.
Only she didn’t want any of it—him—erased. She didn’t really want to be free, not if free meant living apart from Ralph. The choice was hers. The only bond fettering her was her need.
The bald truth was she wasn’t submitting to anything at all. Nothing was being imposed upon her that she had not expressly consented to, that she didn’t dearly want. Searching one’s soul could be a “dodgy” thing or so Hattie might say. Certainly this latest lesson was forcing her to face yet another uncomfortable, inconvenient self-truth.
It satisfied some need within her personality to beg.
Deep within herself, she harbored some heretofore dark, secret need to subjugate herself to another’s will, to lose herself to the pleasure and the darkness, desires that must never ever see the light of day, desires which after this week, she must put away forever.
But not just anyone would do. Ralph, it must be Ralph. She liked giving him power over her, sexual power. Beyond that, she would have liked giving him everything, all of her, including her heart.
Complete submission, her last lesson in pleasure, promised to culminate in her greatest reward. But first, where was he?
RALPH PACED HIS SITTING AREA, glass of Scotch in hand. Under the guise of a “lesson,” he’d left Beatrice nearly naked, blindfolded and kneeling on the floor. The reality was he was working up the courage to tell her he loved her and to ask her to break off her engagement to Billingsby. He’d never felt more out of his depth in all his life. Once he took her blindfold off, he would have to look into her eyes, her beautiful eyes, and find the courage to say either “I love you” or “goodbye.” His hands shook so badly that a measure of Scotch lopped onto his knuckles, obliging him to set the glass aside.
Toenails clicking on the uncovered floorboards alerted him that he was no longer alone. He snapped up his head. His gaze aligned with that of his unanticipated visitor, and he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Toby, how did you get in here?”
Toby, Rourke’s brindle-colored mastiff, loped up to him and sniffed at his pocket. The dog was nearly the size of a miniature pony but without any trace of equine grace. Since his master’s marriage, he’d lived as Kate’s shadow. The improbable pair could be seen making their rounds about the castle. And yet the beast seemed to have a canny knack for knowing when someone in the household was in distress.
“What are you looking at?” Ralph demanded, willing the animal to go away.
Only Toby didn’t appear inclined to go anywhere. He cocked his massive head to the side and nudged Ralph’s hand with his nose. The nudging ratcheted to full force bumping. Backing up, Ralph held up his hands.
“Bad Toby, stop that. Stop that at once.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he almost fancied the animal was deliberately pushing him toward the bedroom door. His back bumping up against the knob confirmed it.
Looking enormously pleased, Toby wagged his tail encouragingly, the thing lashing at Ralph’s legs like a whip cord. The bloody beast had him pinned against the bedroom door!
Ralph reached down, scratching the dog’s head to distract him even as he tried maneuvering himself around the massive and implacable body. “Move.”
He tried giving the dog a push back, but Toby wouldn’t budge. The dog seemed to be digging in his heels, all four of them. He fixed Ralph with a maddeningly determined look that made Ralph think of Kate, his mistress. Come to think of it, they did both have amber-colored eyes.
“Take care, Toby,” Ralph said, giving up the fight and reaching for the doorknob. “Sticking one’s nose in the romantic affairs of others brings the very devil to pay.”
BEA WOULD LATER REFLECT that she must have nodded off because the door’s opening sent her starting. Footfalls belonging to a male shod in slippers rather than boots or shoes made steady progress toward her.
“Ralph,” she called into the blackness, heart hitching.
Silence greeted her. Still, it must be Ralph, it must! If anyone else were to discover her as she was, there would be no further cause for fretting upon the future. There would be no cause for fretting about anything at all, for she would, she hoped, expire upon the spot.
Strong hands seized firm but gentle hold of her. “Ralph,” she said again, this time with a smile, for his scent of lemon and bay rum told her it was he as much as his touch.
“I’m so sorry. Dear Lord, Beatrice, I’m so very sorry.” Sliding an arm beneath her, he lifted her against him and buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder.
“It’s all right, Ralph.” Still blindfolded, she reached up to comfort him, her fingers finding his sandpapery cheek. “You came,” she breathed, winding her arms about his neck. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized, not fully, how very close she’d come to fearing he might not.
“Sorry, so sorry…” He repeated the regret as though it was a mantra.
He lifted her from the ground. Cocooned in a dark, weightless world with only Ralph to anchor her, Bea had never felt more safe or grounded in all her life. She rested her head against what must be his shoulder and absorbed his scent, his solidness and his warmth.
Halting, he lowered her. After an hour of kneeling on hardwood, his bed felt wondrously soft, like a cloud she alone occupied. Only she didn’t wish to be alone any longer, not tonight, not evermore.
“Ralph.” She stretched out her arms in appeal.
His hands slipped behind her head, tugging the blindfold free. “I love you.”
Not certain she’d heard him properly, Bea blinked and looked up at him. Hair mussed from where he’d run his fingers through it and gaze stark, he was hands-down the most beautiful sight she would ever behold.
“You love me?”
“I do.” He eased onto the bed beside her and then moved to cover her, trailing whisper-light kisses over her neck, her breasts and her belly. “I love you.” His stroking hand moved to the inside of her thigh, his palm warm and his touch both gentle and flawlessly knowing. Parting her thighs, he pressed soft kisses on the insides. “I love you.” He fitted a hand between and filled her with his fingers.
Happy tears filled her eyes. Both her heart and body felt poised to explode. She reached down, cinching a stalling hand about his wrist. “I love you, too,” she said again, this time freely and without fear. She briefly considered telling him about the broken off engagement, but stopped herself, not wanting to spoil the magic.
Resting back to rest on his heels, he regarded her. “I’m glad.”
Gorgeously engorged, his penis was thicker and longer than she’d ever before known him to be. Only looking up at him, she felt the throbbing intensify, the longing so stark, so raw it bordered on pain.
“I want you inside me. Please, Ralph,” she added, not because she needed to beg anymore, but because she simply liked saying the word along with his name.
He reached for the tin of French Letters setting out on his nightstand, took one out and began rolling it on.
“Oh, no, please, don’t,” she said, surprising them both. “I want you, just you.”
He paused, the prophylactic partway on. His eyes found hers in the semidarkness. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” Lest there be any doubt, she pushed up on her elbow and unfurled the condom herself.
Holding her gaze, Ralph shifted to straddle her. Bea held her breath, intuitively sensing that this time would be unlike any previous coupling. The lessons were over, the fantasies finished. This time they would be making love, not playacting parts. Reality had never been more gloriously welcome.
He entered her in one clean, beautiful thrust that had them both gasping. Bea felt her heart filling along with her channel. “Oh, Ralph, I’m so happy, so madly happy.” She anchored her legs to his hips and met him stroke for stroke.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Stilling inside her, he reached down and caressed her cheek. “I want you to be happy. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
He moved inside her gently, so very gently, periodically pausing to touch her face or to look deeply, searchingly into her eyes. Smoothing a hand down her lover’s sweat-slick back, Bea gave herself up to the moment, letting herself feel not only the pleasure, but the love.
When they came, they did so together, crying out each other’s names. When later Ralph pulled the covers over them both, there was no mention of saying goodbye or parting ways for separate rooms. Folded into Ralph’s warmth like two stacked spoons, Bea let sleep carry her off, trusting—hoping—that with love on their side, the future would take care of itself.
STANDING ON THE THRESHOLD of the study the next morning, Ralph cleared his throat. “Sorry to be late. I…overslept.”
Bea had left his room for her own scarcely an hour ago. To his best knowledge, neither of them had bothered to appear at breakfast. Their mutual absence would stand as a stupid slip-up if he didn’t so dearly wish for them to be caught.
Rourke looked up from his open newspaper. “Nay matter. Kate and I had a leisurely breakfast.”
Ralph stepped up to the desk. Staring into his old friend’s face, he found himself at a loss as to how to begin.
Fortunately for him, Rourke was not one to endure long silences. “You’re the verra picture of a soberness, Sylvester. You also have the look of a man with something weighing on his mind.”
Ralph nodded. “Accurate on both counts, Patrick.” He’d always known his friend’s acumen wasn’t limited to business, but he’d never before been more cognizant of the other man’s canniness than he was now. “I’ve come to give you my notice.”
Rourke dropped the newspaper without folding it. “If this is your idea of a joke—”
“It’s no joke. You’ve been carrying me for years now. As much as I appreciate your friendship and of course, your largesse, it’s past time I struck out and made my own way.”
His own way—and Beatrice’s. He hadn’t proposed to her, not yet, but after last night, he couldn’t believe she still might mean to marry the milksop. Still, security was important to her, and he meant to provide for that and all her other needs to the very best of his ability. His position as Rourke’s private secretary was fine for a bachelor—his friend paid him embarrassingly well—but before long, he hoped to make Rourke his brother-in-law. Bosom friends though they were, still Ralph had his pride. He didn’t want to be seen as living off his future wife’s family. He had a little nest egg set aside, not much, but enough for a stake in some small business and a start for a new life, a new life with Beatrice.
Rourke brought his fist down hard on the desk, sending inkwell and paperweights jumping. “This is about my sister-in-law, isn’t it? That cursed girl is the bane of my existence.”
Friend or not, Ralph didn’t pause to properly consider his actions. The name of the woman he loved, yes, loved had just been impugned and there was nothing left to do but fight.
He launched himself at the desk and grabbed his friend by the collar points. “Take it back.”
Rourke glared up at him. The muscle ticking in his jaw told Ralph he was struggling to hold himself in check. “Be careful, Sylvester. Remember I spent time in the ring, and it was good reason they had for calling me The Bull.”
Before making his fortune, Rourke had made his way as a pugilist. His winnings had been his stake for purchasing the first railway shares that had transformed him from street tough to magnate. In a fist fight, Ralph would emerge as the loser—the pulverized, flesh-stripped loser—and yet he held on.
“Don’t ever speak so about Beatrice in my hearing. Don’t ever speak about her in that manner at all.”
Rourke nodded and Ralph let go. Shaking his head at Ralph, he lifted one ham-size hand to his neck and kneaded the raw, red spot that would soon turn into a bruise. “Good God, she’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? You love the lass.”
Brow perspiring, Ralph stepped back. “I do.”
Rourke knocked back his head and guffawed, so hard and long that Ralph was tempted to punch him if only to make him stop.
Swiping at his watery eyes, Rourke said, “Two scalawags like us ending up wed to earl’s daughters, sisters no less. Life takes some wondrous queer turns, aye Ralph?”
Ralph fell silent. “I haven’t proposed yet.”
“Why the devil not? If you’re waiting for the father’s blessing, you might as well wait for hell to freeze over. But for certain you’ll have Kate’s and mine.”
“Thank you, Patrick.”
Ralph hesitated. For the first time since they’d met at Johnnie Black’s flash house all those many years ago, Ralph found himself in the position of pupil. And a pupil’s shoes, he realized, made for exceedingly uncomfortable footwear in which to stand.
“What if I ask her and she still won’t break it off with Billingsby?”
“Och, man, find your balls. You’re one o’ Black’s boys, and the best of the bunch.” Rourke rose and rounded the desk. “Beyond that, you’re a born card sharp. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to take a chance on love?”
Ralph sank into a chair. “I have so little to offer her, Patrick.”
“Would it help to know you’re rich?”
Ralph snapped up his head. “That isn’t funny.”
“Do you remember some months back you gave me that one hundred pounds and asked me to invest it in that wee scheme o’ yours?’
Ralph did. He’d approached Rourke after reading an article in the financial section of The London Times touting the rage for traveling to the Orient. The new railway extending service from the present Orient Express into satellite terminuses had seemed his very favorite sort of wager: a long shot. He’d handed over the money to his friend to invest as though it was his. A self-made man in a society where class was mainly based on birth, Rourke was a living legend among working men and his “betters” both. Ralph had reasoned that having his railway magnate friend act as the front man would greatly increase the stock’s likelihood of success. Apparently, he’d been right. Still, that he was rich in his own right boggled his already boggled brain.
Rourke’s grin confirmed it. “The shares split, and then split again and then again. The wire came in early this morning.”
Reality hit. Ralph shot up from his chair. He gripped the edge of the desk and held on with white-knuckled hands. “You’re serious, aren’t you? I’m rich!”
Rourke nodded. “If you sell now while the price is at peak, you’ll be set for life with ample funds to provide for a wife.”
“Even if she’s an earl’s daughter?”
Rourke snorted. “I’m married to one, as well. Trust me, you’ll get used to it. They’re still women, Sylvester. Good women, with generous, loving hearts open to the man canny enough to see beyond the fuss and frills. Give Bea the chance to make you happy. From the looks of you, she has already.”
BEA WAS ON HER WAY to find Ralph and tell him about the telegraph she’d sent to Mr. Billingsby the day before. So far the sole person who knew about it was Hattie. She’d simply had to tell someone or burst. Jubilant, the housekeeper had urged her to seek out Ralph straightaway. She came up on the study just as he was stepping out.
Smiling, he stepped back. “I’ve just given my resignation.” He reached out to embrace her.
Startled, she leaped back. “Ralph, why! Even were Rourke not your friend, this must be a very secure situation.”
His smile faded. “For a man such as me, you mean?” His gaze flickered over her face.
Bea acknowledged she’d framed her thoughts badly. “I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant that if you and Rourke have quarreled, I’ll speak to Kate straightaway. I’m sure she can fix things and—”
His expression darkened. “I neither want nor need your sister to ‘fix things.’ I’ve made my decision.”
“I see.” She hesitated, waiting for him to say something more, something like “I love you. Marry me.” Instead he stayed silent and stared at her as though she’d just sprouted horns.
“You are resolved, then?” She winced at how small her voice sounded.
“I am.” Again she waited for him to say more, but instead he moved to step past her.
She started to reach for him, but stopped herself. Their lessons were over. This was real life, not fantasy, and despite last night’s “I love yous”, she needed to know whether or not he meant to spend that life with her.
“Where are you going?”
Turning back, he smiled thinly. “For the present, to pack.”
SECURITY, THERE WAS THAT word again. Deflated, Ralph walked back to his rooms. Beatrice hadn’t once asked about his plans. She hadn’t seemed to suppose he had any plans. Beyond that, she didn’t seem to trust him to take care of her. She’d yet to say anything to indicate she meant to break off her engagement. For all he knew, she might still mean to go through with marrying the milksop.
Stepping inside his rooms, he found Hattie waiting. He held in a groan. Just what he didn’t need: another uninvited woman invading his privacy.
Duster in hand, she advanced on him, her mien that of a soldier marching into battle. Stopping scarcely a foot away, she ran her stern-eyed gaze over him. “You’re a sorry sack.”
He drew the door closed behind him. “You’re looking splendid, too. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack. I’ve given my notice.”
He started to sidestep her but she shifted, putting herself directly in his path. “So you’re running away.”
He shrugged. “That’s what street boys do. We run.”
“Where will you go?”
His destination wasn’t her concern, but he supposed there was no harm in answering. “Back to London. It’s my home. I’ve been away too long. But please keep that bit of gossip to yourself until Lady Beatrice boards her train tomorrow.”
A shocked gasp greeted that directive. “You mean to say you’re letting her leave without you?”
So much for keeping secrets. Rather than put up a token denial, he shrugged. “It is hardly in my power to detain her even…even if I wished to. She is getting married or had you forgotten that niggling detail?”
She opened her mouth as if to reply, and then clamped it closed. Looking as though she might explode, she said, “Before anyone goes anywhere, you need to talk to her.”
“Really? I wasn’t aware I had anything more to say.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve money now, Ralph. You don’t have to play at being a proper gentleman anymore. You can be one.”
He started. “So you know about that, do you?” Recovering, he tsked. “Hattie, my darling, this listening at keyholes and reading wires meant for other persons simply must stop.”
She lowered her lids. “I might have had a glance at the master’s desktop, but only to dust it, of course.”
“Of course.” He bypassed her and walked over to pour himself a much needed Scotch.
She followed him, wrenching the glass from his hand. “The only reason you’ve for being miserable is because you fancy being so.”
Giving over the glass, he answered, “Money or not, I’m still too hard for someone so very fine.”
“Hard, is it?” She snorted. “If anything, I’d say you’ve gone soft…soft in the head, soft in the ballocks, too.” She lifted the glass and drained it in a single swallow that would have served a sailor proud. Handing it back to him, she said, “I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”
It was likely a mistake to ask and yet he’d made so many mistakes in his life already, what could one more signify. “What is that?”
She folded her arms across her chest and pinned him with her gaze. “You, Ralph Sylvester, are a coward.”
Ralph slammed the empty glass down upon the table. “Were you a man, you’d find yourself issuing your next insult from the floor.”
“Threaten all you like because I’m not leaving this room until you answer me. Do you love my girl or not?”
Ralph exhaled heavily, suddenly drained of the will to fight. “Of course I love her. I’ve loved her from the first moment I set eyes on her.”
Hattie stared at him with a misty gaze. “Then for Lord’s sake find her and ask her to marry you before that mealy-mouthed milksop coaxes her to come away with him.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I will. Thank you.” He turned to go. Halfway to the door, he turned back. “Of what milksop would we be speaking?”
She looked at him as though his wits were dim indeed. “Why, Mr. Billingsby, of course. He came direct from the train station a few minutes ago. He’s waiting for her in the library.”