Beauty in Breeches

chapter Five


Julius called the next day as Beatrice was leaving the drawing room to go up to her room.

‘I do hope you’re not leaving on my account,’ said a deep unperturbed voice behind her.

Beatrice whirled in surprise. The pleasure at seeing him again after so long and being able to speak to him was eclipsed by her growing panic about the forthcoming nuptials, a panic she’d been trying unsuccessfully to stifle for days. He stood in the centre of the hall, a tall, slender-hipped, broad-shouldered man. Attired in a tan jacket, buff-coloured breeches and Hessian boots, Julius Chadwick was as handsome of physique as he was of face. His chiselled features were touched by the light, and a gentle ache in her bosom that grew and grew attested to the degree of his attractiveness.

‘I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not,’ she said falteringly, walking towards him.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he regarded her with mild curiosity. ‘I apologise for not calling on you before now, but I had several pressing matters of business to attend to. Since I have no engagements this morning, I thought I would come and see how you are bearing up.’

His tone was impeccably polite, impersonal and businesslike. Relieved but wary, Beatrice’s reply was coolly polite, but when she raked her copper curls back from her face, her hand was shaking. ‘Perfectly well, as you see.’

Watching her unconscious gesture, Julius did see and he studied her. Sunlight slanting through the windows glinted on her hair, gilding it with a golden sheen, and turned her magnificent eyes luminous bright green. The deep yellow of her gown flattered her creamy complexion and the peach tint glowing in her cheeks.

In a long-suffering voice, Beatrice said, ‘Will you please not look at me like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘As if you’re searching for all my flaws.’

‘Was I doing that?’ he asked absently, noting her high cheekbones, the delicately arched brows, thick sooty lashes and the fullness of her soft lips.

‘Yes, you were and it makes me feel uncomfortable.’

His eyes took on a sudden gleam of suppressed laughter and Beatrice assumed, mistakenly, that he was laughing at her. She lifted her chin to its haughtiest and most obstinate angle. ‘Don’t do it and will you please take me seriously.’

Julius sobered immediately at her imperious tone. ‘I’m going to marry you. That’s serious enough—although it’s hardly the most auspicious start to a marriage and don’t imagine for one minute that it will be smooth sailing.’

Lady Merrick appeared and fussed over his arrival and ushered them into the drawing room while she went to supervise the unpacking of some of Beatrice’s gowns that had just arrived.

Closing the double doors behind them, Julius waited for Beatrice to be seated. Instead of sitting down, he perched a hip on the arm of a chair opposite, crossed his arms over his chest and studied her impassively.

‘You are comfortable here, I hope.’

‘Yes, thank you. Lord and Lady Merrick have made me feel very welcome.’

‘I knew they would, but if you are to be my wife you have to face society some time. Since you have a scandal hanging over your head I suggest the sooner we are seen together the better. For your first public appearance I have accepted an invitation for us to attend the Earl and Countess of Newland’s ball in St James’s at the end of the week.’

Beatrice paled at the mention of the scandal. ‘I can’t. I have no desire whatever to enter society. I can’t face everyone just yet.’

‘You can and you will,’ he said in his determination to convince her of the feasibility and the necessity of the plan.

Unable to endure his close scrutiny, Beatrice shot out of the chair and, ramrod straight, stood apart from him. With a superhuman effort, she took control of her rampaging ire. She looked straight into his enigmatic eyes. ‘A ball is not a solution. It—it’s a nightmare. I really don’t think I can do that—not with everyone talking about me. I shall encounter curious strangers who will watch my every move, searching for something else to gossip about. I can’t do it.’

‘Yes, you can.’ He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument.

‘And it doesn’t concern you that I shall be flayed alive by wagging tongues?’

Unbelievably, he laughed outright at that. ‘Not a bit. You deserve it.’

His remark made her cheeks flame. It was exactly the sort of thing she would have expected him to say as an act of revenge. ‘And I have no doubt that you will enjoy every minute of my suffering.’

Relinquishing his perch on the chair arm, he stood up straight and captured her gaze. ‘I may be many things, Beatrice, but I am neither cruel nor sadistic. Of course, you don’t have to go through with any of this. You could bring it to an end right now and simply walk away. It’s not too late to cry off.’

‘No.’ She was adamant. ‘How pathetic and desperate I must seem to you if, after all I have put myself through, you could even suggest such a thing and believe I would go along with it. I told you, Julius, if you want to back out of our agreement then you have to do it yourself, for I have no intention of walking away now I have come this far.’

Julius shrugged. ‘Then it looks like we’re stuck with each other—for better or worse.’

‘That’s exactly what it looks like. But do not forget that in the eyes of the ton I am a shameless wanton and unfit to mingle in polite society. I have broken all the rules governing moral conduct, so if you still insist on parading me in front of everyone like some—some performing puppet, then go ahead.’

Julius gazed at the tempestuous young woman standing before him, her breasts rising and falling with suppressed fury, and his ire gave way to reluctant admiration for her honesty and courage in admitting her fear over the coming event.

‘Perhaps now you will realise what you have done. Your case is extreme. Normally social prejudices exclude young women like you from the ton—not that you cared much about that or about what they would think of you when you connived to trap me. But as my wife these are the people you will have to associate with and it is absolutely imperative to me that you learn to get on with them. The object is to brave it out. You have spirit enough to endure what they will put you through. As my betrothed, no one will dare disrespect you—though Lord knows you deserve it.’

She glared at him. ‘Why are you doing this? For what reason do you wish to put me on display? To further humiliate me?’

‘I do not make sport of you, Beatrice. As I said, I want us to be seen together. It is important that we put the right face on our relationship. I don’t normally attend these affairs, but I have no intention of my wife being a social outcast. Constance and James are also invited. The three of us will support you. No one will dare give you the cut direct in front of Constance and I will terrify everyone into accepting you.’

‘But what to wear,’ Lady Merrick said, sweeping into the room like a restless wind, suddenly thoughtful as her eyes moved over Beatrice from head to toe, her mind absorbed with dressing her in such a way that she would outshine all the rest. ‘I would normally opt for glamour rather than subdued elegance, but since it’s your first outing we don’t want to go over the top. The lime-green tulle will be just the thing.’

Julius smiled his agreement, his eyes appraising his future wife. ‘I agree absolutely. With that hair and those eyes, it cannot fail.’



In the carriage taking him back to his house, Julius leaned back against the upholstery, thinking over his meeting with Beatrice with fascinated interest. He was amazed by the gracious ease with which she had fitted into the Merrick household and the way she had effortlessly charmed James Merrick, bringing the house to life with her presence and her smile. She was fresh and unspoiled and, despite her youth and inexperience, there was a natural sophistication about her that came from an active mind. He remembered her shy responsiveness to his kiss in the garden at Standish House and the incredible surge of desire she had ignited in his body.

Beatrice was full of surprises and full of promise, he thought, with beauty moulded into every flawless feature of her face, but her allure went deeper than that. There was something within her that made her sparkle and glow like a rare jewel.



It seemed as if everyone in London was at the Newlands’ ball. When Julius arrived at the Merrick house, Beatrice was just coming down the stairs. She paused and looked down at him. With a stunned smile of admiration, he took in the full impact of her ravishing lime-green gown. High waisted, it fell from beneath her breasts into panels that clung gently to her graceful hips and ended in a swirl just above her toes. Her hair was drawn back in a sleek chignon, its lustrous simplicity providing an enticing contrast to the sophistication of the gown.

Moving towards her, he took her hand to help her down the last steps. ‘You look positively enchanting. After tonight, you’ll take the shine out of all the London belles.’

Buoyed by confidence stemming from wearing her first London gown, Beatrice returned his smile, while deep inside she felt something tighten and harden, clarifying and coalescing into one crystal-clear emotion. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, her eyes alight, her parted lips moist and rose tinted. She thought Julius looked incredibly handsome in his evening attire. It made him look elegantly powerful. He had a certain flair in his mode of dress—a bold splash of claret in his waistcoat beneath the black coat, an artful twist to his pristine white cravat and a flourish to the ruffle at his sleeve. It was impossible to believe he would be her husband in just a few days.

When his shrewdly judging gaze swept over her once more, with a little laugh she obligingly performed a twirl, her skirts flaring.

His eyes warmed appreciatively. ‘The gown is beautiful, Beatrice. But perfection can only be attained when one works with the best of raw materials.’

Beatrice’s heart skittered. She lowered her gaze. ‘I appreciate your compliments, Julius. It gives me confidence for what is to come. I think I shall need it.’

‘I truly expected you to send me a note informing me you had taken to your bed with a headache and a dose of salts.’

Despite her dread of the evening before her, Beatrice had to bite back a guilty smile over that remark. ‘I did consider it,’ she confessed, smiling reassuringly at Lady Merrick who stood looking on, immensely proud of her handiwork. ‘Lady Merrick talked me out of it.’

Julius nodded his approval. This young woman who was to be his wife was brave, immensely so. It was a slightly dangerous bravery that she possessed, but it was a quality in her that he admired. ‘Everyone of importance will be at the ball and it will be a complete crush—which will work to your advantage. Hopefully, afterwards, when everyone has seen you with me, the gossip will die a death and you can get on with the business of being my wife.’



The four of them travelled in Julius’s long black town coach drawn by four fiercely black horses. Less than half an hour later they arrived at the Earl and Countess of Newland’s mansion, which was an outstanding example of opulence on a grand scale. They stepped into the brilliance of the interior. It was lit by a multitude of candles in countless chandeliers and crystal sconces that made the marble pillars gleam.

A grand staircase swept upwards to the first floor where the ballroom was located. Gaming tables had been set up in reception rooms for those who preferred to pass the evening in dice and cards, and another two large reception rooms had tables arranged for the customary light supper served at midnight.

Beatrice could feel the stares and whispers as she stood in the receiving line, but she was pleasantly surprised when their host and hostess greeted her warmly. As they advanced up the low, wide staircase, she had the strange sensation of helplessness and fatality that one sometimes has in a dream. In the surrounding haze she was aware of no one but Julius by her side, offering her his undeserved support. She was crushed by the weight of responsibility, for her stupidity, her gullibility, and all that those two traits had brought down on her. Almost all the unattached beautiful women she saw had probably aspired to be the next Marchioness of Maitland, but not one of them had behaved with wanton indiscretion as she had. She deserved to be ostracised.

Julius looked at Beatrice, noting her pallor. ‘You look terrified,’ he murmured. ‘Feel like running away? I couldn’t blame you.’

Beatrice took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, knowing that if she turned back now, she would cover herself in further ridicule. ‘Yes, but I won’t. I’ve never run away from anything in my life. As a result of what I’ve done my dignity has taken a public flogging. But if I have nothing else, I still have my pride.’

Yes, Julius thought, pride was all she had left right now, and he hoped she would face them all down with her head held high. Taking her gloved hand, he tucked it through the crook of his arm. The flesh above the edge of her glove was cold. ‘Your arm is like ice. Beatrice, I could never let anybody insult you in my presence. Rest assured of that.’

Touched by his chivalrous vow and the depth of his concern, Beatrice pinned a bright smile on her face. ‘Thank you. I’ll be all right,’ she assured him. ‘After all, I faced worse than this when I confronted you to take you up on your challenge.’

He watched her rally and manufacture a smile as she lifted her head and met his gaze. She meant it, he realised with surprise. ‘Is that so?’ he said with an assessing smile as he studied her upturned face. ‘At least the memory of your brazen challenge has put some sparkle back into your eyes. It’s unfortunate that my kiss didn’t have the same effect.’

Beatrice made the mistake of looking at his mouth. She studied those lips for a second, then shook off the awareness that suddenly gripped her. She had to look away because she couldn’t concentrate on what was happening around her. ‘I wish you wouldn’t refer to that. I’m not accustomed to having men I hardly know kiss me.’

Leaning towards her so that his mouth was only inches from her ear, he whispered, ‘When you are my wife you will get to know me better. That I promise you.’

As they entered the ballroom where weaving lines of dancers were progressing in a hectic country dance, Beatrice’s restless glance skimmed about her, taking stock of her first Grand Ball. A multitude of voices were raised in avid chatter. Silks and satins in bright and subdued colours paraded before her. Perfumes drifted and mingled into a heady haze as bejewelled ladies nodded and curtsied, while elegant gentlemen in superbly cut evening clothes inclined their heads.

Julius escorted her forwards. A huge sea of people seemed to press towards them and voices erupted as heads turned and fans fluttered and people craned their necks to observe the new arrivals. Although they wouldn’t dream of giving Julius the cut, they looked at Beatrice with raised brows and severe disapproval. Knowing how conscious she was of the spectacle she offered, Julius lifted a couple of glasses of blood-red wine from the tray of a liveried footman and handed one to her.

‘Drink this. It will put some colour into your cheeks and give you a little courage.’

Beatrice accepted the glass and took a sip.

They heard whispers from those around them. A stout, elderly woman, wearing a red-satin turban and standing close enough for them to overhear, joyfully remarked behind a beringed hand to her companion that Miss Fanshaw was so desperate to find a husband that she’d had to do the proposing herself. Another was heard to say that she remembered her when she had come to London with her cousin Astrid. Astrid was a sweet young thing, whereas Miss Fanshaw had such a high opinion of herself.

Julius knew the instant he looked at Beatrice that she’d heard the malicious remarks; because he couldn’t offer her any comfort, he slid his arm about her waist and moved towards the dance floor where couples were whirling about to the lilting strains of a waltz. He felt anger and protectiveness begin to simmer inside him, emotions that leapt into steady flame as other venomous remarks reached his ears. He was unable to understand why women were driven to such heartless, vengeful jealousy.

‘This is worse than I imagined,’ he said, silencing one malicious female with a slicing look.

He understood why she would naturally dread being the focal point of so many fascinated gossips, but not until she actually lowered her head and bit her trembling lip did he realise that her embarrassment was going to be compounded a hundred times now she was thrust into the limelight.

He was right. Beatrice turned away from him as if she couldn’t bear to be there any longer, but Julius caught her arm in a gentle but unbreakable grip. Instinct and experience told him that a little tender persuasion could vastly further her cause and he was prepared to resort to that, only if logic and honesty weren’t enough to persuade her.

‘Don’t give them anything more to talk about and condemn you for.’

Beatrice stared at him dubiously. ‘How can I possibly do that? I’ve done all I can to ruin my reputation before I even started and heaped more embarrassment on you,’ she said, realising he was a person with feelings that could be hurt. ‘I am being ridiculed, scorned and snubbed—and even pitied by some, which is the worst thing of all. I wouldn’t blame you if you were to drag me out of here and take me back to Standish House—except that I can’t go back there. Aunt Moira would take one look at me and laugh, say I told you so and close the door in my face.’

Julius hid his amusement behind a mask of genteel imperturbability. ‘Dear me. This isn’t like the reckless, devil-may-care young lady I have come to know. Am I to assume you’ve had a change of heart, and would like to be free of me?’ he taunted gently.

She scowled up at him. ‘The idea is beginning to have a certain appeal, but don’t get your hopes up, Julius,’ she replied stonily. ‘I am fully committed.’

He laughed lightly. ‘I thought you might say that.’

On the sidelines where she was conversing with an acquaintance, Lady Merrick, seeing what was happening, excused herself and marched towards Beatrice like a protective mother hen guarding her chick. She collected Lord Caruthers and his wife on her way to add to the ranks. Her back was ramrod straight and her jaw thrust forwards in an aggressive stance that dared anyone to question her judgement in lending her enormous consequence to Beatrice.

Julius shot the three of them a grateful look. Right now Beatrice was vulnerable and he didn’t want to do or say anything that would make things worse. So, he ignored the instinct to reach up and brush back a wayward tress of shiny hair from her cheek and squelched the temptation to tell her that he had no intention of dragging her anywhere unless it was into his bed. He was not, however, morally opposed to diverting her resistance with as much alcohol as he could pour down her.

‘Drink your wine and then we’ll dance—and smile, for God’s sake. If we are to beat the critics and quell the gossip, it is imperative that we put up a united front—in public at least,’ he said in a steely voice that was in vivid contrast to the expression of bland courtesy he was wearing for the sake of their fascinated audience. His eyes shot to hers as an absolutely ridiculous thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘You can dance, I hope?’

Beatrice wondered how he would react if she were to tell him that she hadn’t danced since the dancing master Aunt Moira had employed to teach her and Astrid had left Standish House two years ago. Instead, with a sparkle in her eyes and a tilt to her head, the smile she gave him was quite sublime.

‘Like a fairy,’ she quipped.



Eventually, to Beatrice’s relief, the flurry created by their conspicuous arrival died down. But when Julius led her on to the dance floor and gathered her into his arms for a waltz, she wasn’t at all sure she could do it, but the challenge in his amber eyes made demurring unthinkable. Giddiness threatened to take hold of her.

‘Relax.’ Julius looked down at her. She almost missed her step, but his arm tightened, holding her steady. ‘Focus your eyes on me and follow my lead,’ he said, steering her into the first gliding steps as the graceful music washed over them.

Of their own volition Beatrice’s feet followed where he led and her mind opened to the sensations of the dance. She was aware of the subtle play of her skirts about her legs and the hardness of her companion’s thighs against hers. The closeness of his body lent to her nostrils a scent of his cologne, fleeting, inoffensive, a clean masculine smell. The seductive notes of the music were mirrored in their movements and the sway was a sensual delight. Julius’s hand at her waist was firm, his touch confident as he whisked her smoothly around the ballroom.

After looking at them attentively, the couples on the dance floor renewed their interest in the music. Conversations were resumed and everyone got on with enjoying themselves.

Julius stared down at the lovely young woman in the provocative green gown, her eyes as they observed the other dancers both wary and stormy. In the three weeks since he’d kissed her in the garden at Standish House, he’d made no further attempts to kiss her or embrace her. In his opinion he’d been a perfect gentleman—considerate, courteous, even casual—and the energy of a sexually aroused male, the need in him to make this woman totally his, went by her like the dancers whirling around.

Determined to have the lead in how their marriage was conducted, he said, ‘There is something you should understand, Beatrice.’

She tilted her head to his. ‘What is it?’

‘When you are my wife, I expect you to behave as if you married me because we are in accord—that you care for me more than my title and my money, that you will never discredit my name or your own. What transpires between us in private is our affair. I will conduct myself publicly as if I were the most devoted and faithful of husbands. I will not knowingly do anything to cause you even a moment of humiliation, even though there will be times when you may have cause to regret our bargain.’

Beatrice stared up at him. Bargain? What bargain? her mind warned her in a quiet voice. The silent argument was overturned by the effect of a sombre, handsome face, a deep hypnotic voice and the powerful, tall and strong male body that loomed over her. Here was a man who, to her surprise, was offering to shield her from the world and shoulder her burdens. The combination of that and his good looks was becoming dangerously appealing, particularly because he wasn’t offering love or even affection.

‘In the eyes of the world,’ he went on, ‘you will be my cherished wife.’

Cherished! Beatrice couldn’t believe what he’d said. It was a word that was sensitive and sentimental. It didn’t apply to what was between them and it was totally unlike anything she’d expected him to say.

‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘it works both ways. I shall expect the same promises from you. Is that agreeable?’

His future wife bit her lip, considered for a moment, then nodded and with a winsome smile gazed up at him. This was better and much more than she could have hoped for, although she couldn’t understand why there was a frisson of disappointment underlying her relief. ‘If you are asking me to give a convincing performance for all the world to see that we are a truly happily married couple while continuing as we are now, then I will do my best.’

He looked irritated by her reply, but said, ‘I’m glad we are in accord on that, but as my wife you will find that things will not be the same as they are now. Marriage will change everything.’

Beatrice gazed into his unfathomable eyes, seeing the cynicism lurking in the depths. ‘I don’t mean to pry—what you do has nothing to do with me—but I have learned from living in the Merrick household for the past weeks that you are disenchanted with life. I know I shall be marrying a man I don’t love—a man who doesn’t love me. That’s what makes it so perfect. Our marriage won’t be complicated by messy emotions. We’re the perfect solution for each other. You could say this was fate—if you were superstitious, that is.’

‘Which I’m not,’ Julius said with a bite in his voice. ‘I don’t believe in fate.’



When the dance ended, he put his hand under her elbow and guided her towards the supper room where they were joined by a jolly group of Julius’s friends. Over food and wine and easy, lighthearted conversation, they both relaxed. Confident that the firestorm of gossip surrounding Beatrice and Julius had subsided, Lord and Lady Merrick left the ball early with friends to attend a quieter function in Mayfair.

In no mood for dancing and suspecting that in her nervousness, to boost her confidence, Beatrice had drunk too much wine over supper, Julius suggested they get some air on the terrace.

Beatrice glanced at him in mock horror. ‘The terrace? But is that proper? Should I not have a chaperon?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he murmured softly, staring at her with a half-intimate smile. ‘We are already betrothed—and after the amount of wine you consumed over supper, I think some fresh air would not go amiss.’

He flashed her a smile that made her heart rebel against all the strictures she had placed on herself.

‘Ah,’ he said in amusement when he saw her eyes darken with warmth. ‘I think you’re beginning to like me in spite of yourself.’

‘That is merely a delusion,’ she replied, fighting back her laughter.

He knew better, said his eyes.

‘And don’t look at me like that,’ she reproached lightly. ‘You can’t read my mind.’

‘I am older and more experienced than you, Beatrice. I see what is written on your face.’

She laughed. ‘Then I shall have to learn to school it better.’

‘An impossibility for you,’ he said in a husky murmur.

Taking her gloved hand, he tucked it into the crook of his arm and led her towards the French doors that opened on to the moonlit terrace. They went down some steps into the lantern-lit gardens. Strolling along the paths, they nodded politely to other couples they passed. At the end of the garden they turned off the path and stepped into a shaded arbour. Beatrice stood and looked at Julius, suffused with trepidation and a tingling excitement that was the result of being alone with him in such a dark, intimate setting. The voices of others died away, leaving only distant strains of soothing music.

‘Dance with me, Beatrice,’ he said suddenly, his voice like rough velvet.

Beatrice stared at him, the lilting notes of the waltz floating around her. When he opened his arms, feeling as if she were in a dream, she walked into them and felt his right arm slide around her waist, bringing her close against his solid strength. His left hand closed around her fingers and suddenly she was being whirled gently about the arbour in the arms of a man who danced the waltz with the relaxed grace of one who has danced it countless times. She should have felt overpowered—threatened—but surprisingly she felt protected instead.

Suddenly his arm tightened around her waist, forcing her into closer proximity with his powerful body. ‘You are very quiet, Beatrice. Have you nothing to say? It is customary to engage in some form of conversation with your partner.’

Tilting her head back, she smiled teasingly up at him. ‘What am I to say? That you dance divinely?’

Julius smiled down at her. ‘That is what I’m supposed to say to you. We could engage in some kind of harmless flirtation. It is quite acceptable for couples to do that when they are dancing.’

‘Why? Is it because otherwise onlookers will perceive they don’t like each other? Well, don’t expect me to do that because I haven’t any experience with flirting—unlike you.’

‘Would you like some lessons?’

‘Are you offering to show me how it’s done?’

Julius stared down into her dark-green eyes and momentarily lost himself in them. Desire surged through his body and he pulled her closer still. ‘I’d like to try—although you’re doing very well at it right now.’

‘Julius, will you kindly take me seriously!’

‘I’m going to marry you,’ he said coolly, loosening his hold on her as the music ended. ‘That’s serious enough.’

‘Do you realise,’ she said with a winsome smile as she tilted her head to the side, ‘that you become positively grim when you speak of our marriage? Are you happy—with your life, I mean? Has the breach with your father affected you very badly?’

He looked irritated by her question, but he answered it. ‘Why this curiosity to know? I’ve already told you that the Chadwick history is nothing to be proud of.’

‘That’s it. I’m curious. You told me you come from a long line of gamblers. Is that what you do when you want to replenish your coffers?’

He looked at her steadily. ‘You really think I make my money at the gaming tables, don’t you?’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ He stepped closer, his gaze on her mouth.

Beatrice frowned, trying to ignore the tug of his eyes and his voice. ‘Why is it that when you don’t wish to answer a question, you divert the conversation to something else and…’ Her words died as he placed his hands gently on both sides of her face, his fingers sliding into her hair, grateful she didn’t favour the fashion for silk flowers and silly ribbons so many other women seemed fond of.

‘Stop talking,’ he whispered, then lowered his head and kissed her.

Her lips were soft and they parted slightly to receive his. Accepting her invitation, Julius deepened the kiss with ease. She was happy to submit, even though she had the feeling she was getting in over her head. She closed her eyes, exploring the sensations of delight that flooded through her. The beauty of the setting, the romantic sense of the evening and the intoxicating nearness of this man overpowered her judgement. His kiss was exquisite, transporting her to further delights.

Lost in pure sensations of wanton yearnings, warm, strong and exciting, when his mouth left hers and trailed to her neck, she melted against him, her palms sliding up over his chest. He moved against her in the most intoxicating way that sent a shiver up her spine. Lifting his head from devouring her neck, Julius let his gaze settle on her lips. Beatrice considered him the most handsome man she had ever seen; when she thought how he had manoeuvred her into the kiss, with all his worldly elegance and experience that could instruct her in every pleasure that a woman could discover with a man, she accepted he was also a silver-tongued charmer.

‘Well, I’ll be blowed,’ a man’s voice intruded. ‘If it isn’t the Marquess of Maitland.’

At once Julius stiffened and released Beatrice, then turned to face an old acquaintance. It was Lord Percival Canning, a ponderous, mincing fop who was dressed like a peacock in yellow coat, red-satin waistcoat and yellow-satin breeches that swelled over his protruding midsection. Two of his friends hovered behind him.

‘I’m happy to see you back among us, Chadwick.’ Lord Canning’s eyes shifted to Beatrice. ‘By all accounts we have the lovely Miss Fanshaw to thank for bringing you out of isolation.’

‘Not really,’ Julius replied drily. ‘I’ve only recently returned from one of my trips abroad. It’s impossible to be in two places at once.’

‘So it is. Then you won’t have been down to Highfield. Pity.’

‘Why?’

Lord Canning shrugged. ‘I hoped to discuss that little business matter with you I mentioned when you were last down there. Maybe we could meet up while you are in London.’

Julius stared at him icily. ‘I don’t think so, Canning. The matter you speak of is not open for negotiation.’

Anger briefly flashed into Canning’s eyes and Julius’s steely body tensed as the dandy drew close, striking an arrogant pose.

‘Think about it. I would give you a fair price.’ He turned his attention to Beatrice, his fleshy lips opening in a salacious, gargoyle-like grin from ear to ear as he ran his eyes over her in an insulting manner. ‘I regret that I did not see the race at Standish House. Everyone’s talking about it, Chadwick—of how the high and mighty Marquess of Maitland has been caught like a fish on a hook by a mere slip of a girl! How could you have let that happen—you of all people?’ he taunted. ‘I hear Miss Fanshaw beat you on a high-spirited brute of a horse. Why, I’d have put money on her myself had I been there.’

‘Indeed,’ Julius replied blandly. The men— Canning’s companions snickering foolishly behind him—would have been dumbfounded to know that as he languidly listened to Canning, he was seething inside.

‘Yes, indeed—and she’s a beauty all right. Ye Gods, had she challenged me I’d have willingly thrown the race for the pleasure of paying her forfeit.’

Insulted and outraged to the core of her being by this obnoxious fop, Beatrice was furious, but, seeing the rigidity in Julius’s back and knowing how he was struggling to hold his temper, she did not retaliate. But she could not bear the way he was being mocked.

‘You’re being very stupid, Canning—and as immature as I remember,’ Julius said. ‘You should know better than to bait me.’

Unperturbed and emboldened by the backup of his two friends, Canning laughed inanely and continued. ‘Get the bit between her teeth, tighten her rein a bit and she’ll be as docile as a lamb. I don’t think you’ve introduced us, Chadwick.’

Julius’s brows lifted. ‘No.’

‘It’s not very sociable.’

Julius answered by slamming a fist in Canning’s face that knocked him to the ground. ‘I don’t feel like being sociable, Canning,’ he uttered icily, looking down at him with utter contempt, seeing the blood from his burst nose staining his yellow coat to match the colour of his waistcoat. His eyes sliced a warning to the stunned friends not to interfere. ‘That was for insulting my future wife. Insult her again at your peril, Canning. Excuse us.’ Taking Beatrice’s elbow, without looking back, he strode towards the house.

Shocked by what had just happened and hoping that Canning wasn’t badly hurt—although she had to admit that he deserved the punch in the nose—Beatrice was almost running to keep up with Julius’s long strides. ‘Julius, please slow down. Who was that man?’

‘Lord Percival Canning, a neighbour of mine with an axe to grind to do with some lands he wants to buy off me. I’ve no intention of selling to him, but he never gives up. He never fails to take the opportunity to put my back up.’

If Julius’s black scowl and rigid jaw was anything to go by, Lord Canning had succeeded admirably, Beatrice thought. But the meeting with the aforesaid gentleman made her realise for the first time what a laugh Julius’s friends must be having at his expense. In the eyes of everyone who’d followed the stories in the newspapers, she had manipulated him into marrying her. She was filled with guilt and remorse over what she was asking—no, demanding—of him.

‘Julius—I had no idea… I’m sorry,’ she said with quiet desperation.

At those words Julius’s gaze jerked to her and he stopped dead. Beatrice almost cried out at the blistering contempt blazing in his eyes.

‘Julius, I—I can imagine what you must be thinking—’

He interrupted sarcastically, ‘Oh, I don’t think you can. If you could, you’d be quite horrified at this moment.’

‘I—I didn’t think—’

‘What you think is not my primary concern at this moment,’ he bit back coldly.

‘But…I never realised people would react this way—truly. Your friends… They are laughing at you. I will call an end to it…’

‘What? And shame me more than you already have? Don’t even think of quitting now, lady,’ he hissed. ‘We play this damned charade out to the bitter end.’

‘But I…’

‘Shut up,’ he ground out, without relinquishing his hold on her elbow. ‘Let’s get out of here.’



Not until they were in the coach and Julius had regained a modicum of self-control and his hard face was wiped clean of all expression did he speak.

‘So, Beatrice, what have you to say about your first London ball?’

‘Until our encounter with the obnoxious Lord Canning, it went better than I thought it would, although I confess I’m glad it’s over. It will be a relief to be back at the house.’

Julius nodded and not by the flicker of an eye did he betray his admiration for way she had conducted herself in the face of so much condemnation. It was a pity his admiration did not extend to himself, he thought bitterly. He should have known better than to retaliate with his fists to Canning’s baiting.

‘Very soon you will be coming home with me.’

Looking at him, Beatrice wondered at her sudden weakness in the garden. She really had intended backing out of their arrangement if that was what he wanted. But she could see that to walk away from him now would be tantamount to jilting him and would be a slight to him and to his rank, and she could not do such a thing to him.

‘When will you be taking me to Highfield?’ she asked. ‘Lady Merrick has told me how splendid it is.’

‘My ancestors would be pleased to hear it,’ he remarked drily, feeling no pride or any warm sensation in the palatial splendour that was Highfield Manor.

‘You don’t like it?’

‘I find it oppressive. I don’t often go down there—not since the demise of my parents—and, as you have just witnessed, the neighbours leave a lot to be desired.’

‘You must miss them—your parents.’

‘My mother, yes. As far as my father was concerned, no. We were not close.’

He turned his head and looked out of the window, but the tension pulsating from him began to play on Beatrice’s nerves. She wished that he would open up to her and tell her more about his family and why he felt such antipathy for his father. She felt sure it went beyond his father’s weakness for gambling and drink. Julius was locked behind a barrier and she was on the other side. It troubled her that he seemed to know a great deal about her, then shut her out when she asked for answers in return.

‘Did your father hurt you?’ His expression turned glacial. She knew she should heed the warning in her head, but ploughed on regardless. ‘Why do you hate him?’

‘Hate? Yes, I hated him.’ That was his only response, but his eyes were full of secrets, as unyielding as cold, hard steel.

‘Why won’t you tell me what he did that makes you feel like this?’ Beatrice persisted. He gave her an impatient look, a warning look, and did not reply. She knew he was getting angry with her, but she was not ready to give up yet. ‘Why do you find it so painful to speak of him? It might relieve your feelings if you were to confide—’

‘Beatrice, do me a favour,’ he interrupted acidly. ‘Do not tell me how to deal with my feelings and I won’t tell you how to deal with yours. Agreed?’

She flinched at his hard tone, but she detected a turbulent pain beneath his cold veneer.

‘You are such an innocent still, Beatrice, a naïve child in many ways.’

‘At least I’m not heartless,’ she retorted.



For the rest of the journey back to Upper Brook Street nothing more was said. Julius had his gaze fixed out of the window, aware of Beatrice glowering at him in the light from the carriage lamps. When anyone tried to get too close or attempted to pry into his past life, resentment surfaced towards his father and the terrible crime he had committed towards Beatrice’s father. May God help her—and him—should she ever discover the truth.

He shoved the painful memory away, reminding himself that his father was dead. What mattered now was getting on with his life and his future with Beatrice. And yet the old barbs stuck in his flesh and posed problems, threatened what happiness he hoped for.

Beatrice wanted answers, but her questions awoke years of anger and hurt and deception and lies. To protect his father—a father unworthy of a son’s loyalty—and to prevent an almighty scandal, Julius had allowed himself to be unfairly maligned. He never realised he would meet a beautiful girl who, completely innocent about her own connection to the night that had ruined his own life, would probe into his mind in her curiosity to know him better.

And now, whatever the cost, to protect his future with Beatrice and Beatrice herself, this terrible secret must remain hidden. He would carry it to the grave.

But secrets had a way of slipping out.