Flirting With Fortune

Chapter Twenty

If she never saw the inside of a modiste shop again, it would be too soon.

Beatrice sighed in relief when the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the black lacquer door of Granville House.

“I still think there was time to visit one more shop,” Carolyn said, straightening her bonnet as they waited for the door to open.

Beatrice barely had the strength to roll her eyes. “If six shops weren’t enough to find what you were looking for, I don’t imagine another would make much difference. Besides, Mama would have our heads if we stayed one minute after five.”

“Which makes it all the more intriguing,” Jocelyn replied, flashing a devilish grin. “If five o’clock is when the gentlemen come out to play, then I’d say it’s the perfect time for one to lose track of ten or fifteen minutes in a shop with an exceptionally large front window, don’t you?”

The door swung open before Beatrice could properly scold her, so she settled for a brief heavenward glance, with a shake of her head thrown in for good measure. She let her sisters disembark first, waiting patiently while they gathered their reticules and skirts. Lord, but she could already tell they were going to be trouble next Season. Half the words spoken today had been dedicated to the gentlemen at the gallery opening last night. Actually, it was more like three-quarters.

But for the first time, Beatrice had had absolutely no interest in discussing the gentlemen of the ton. She’d seen the other men there and had even spoken with several, but there was nothing about them that interested her any longer.

Which, in a roundabout way, explained why the day had been so tedious. She had exactly one man on her mind, and the whole time she was out, she was wondering if he would actually speak to her brother. She pressed her hand against her chest to combat the fresh wave of nerves that assailed her at the mere thought of such a thing.

She had been beyond bold by suggesting he do so, but why shouldn’t she have a hand in her future? Isn’t that what she had been encouraging with her letters to the magazine? For women to stop looking to others and instead take matters into their own hands?

When both girls had exited the closed carriage, she scooted to the edge, taking care to gather her skirts so they didn’t trip her. With her eyes on the step, she grasped the gloved hand waiting to assist her. But instead of providing impassive support, the servant’s hand returned her grasp, and she knew at once it wasn’t a servant.

Colin!

Her eyes darted up, meeting his with the sort of flash one expected during a lightning storm. She braced for the thunder and felt it all through her body, through every last fiber of her being.

He was here. He was smiling unabashedly at her, and his hand was holding hers as though it were a lifeline. Had he spoken to her brother? He had to have—otherwise he could have never been so forward, here in the open in front of her home. Her heart pounded in her chest as she allowed him to guide her to solid ground. At least it was supposed to be solid. She could have been standing on the deck of a ship at sea for all the steadiness she felt.

With her sisters looking on and them standing practically in the middle of St. James’s Square, she knew she should say something. Wetting her lips, she smiled up at him, letting her fingers drag against his as she released his hold. “Good afternoon, Sir Colin.”

“Good afternoon.” His voice was deep and rich and as delicious as warm chocolate. “I was just leaving when your carriage pulled up. I hope you don’t mind that I wished to say hello.”

He was just leaving? Even in her mind, the question came out like a squeak. Then he had to have spoken with Richard. “Well, if you have a few moments to spare, perhaps you would join us for tea?”

Beside her, Carolyn cocked her head to the side. “But we just had tea at—”

“Carolyn,” Beatrice interrupted, “why don’t you let them know that a tray will be needed in the drawing room?”

Her sister blinked, then—bless her—nodded and went to do her bidding. Beatrice turned to Jocelyn next, whose gaze seemed to miss nothing. “Would you mind fetching Mama and inquiring if she’d like to join us?”

“Certainly. Is there anything else you’ll be needing, my lady?”

Now was not the moment to be amused by her sister’s cheek. Bea widened her eyes in warning at the girl, who merely chuckled before retreating into the house. In the relative privacy of the front stoop, Beatrice paused long enough to smile up at Colin, wishing she could clasp hands with him again. “You came.”

He nodded, the sharp angles of his jaw softening as he looked down at her. “I did.”

She wanted to say more, but Finnington had the door open and waiting. They paused to shed their coats, then walked together across the entry hall and up the grand staircase. A footman, blast the man, followed up behind them, intent on one duty or another, so she couldn’t very well say more to Colin. When they reached the gold-and-cream drawing room, Beatrice drew up short.

“What is it?” Colin asked, standing just behind her, close enough for her to catch a hint of his perfect scent.

“No one’s here. How odd.”

He slid his hand down her arm, and she looked up to him in surprise. “Not so very odd, I think,” he said, his breath warming the sensitive skin of her neck. He stepped forward, lightly pulling her into the room behind him.

Butterflies roared to life in her stomach as he turned, facing her fully and joining hands with hers. The door clicked closed behind her, and she started in surprise. Had a servant pulled it shut? “The door . . .”

“Is exactly as it should be. There are only a few times in life when such a thing is perfectly acceptable, and this just happens to be one of them. Beatrice,” he said, then shook his head. “Oh, to hell with it.”

He tugged her full against him, in broad daylight in her own drawing room. He wasted no time in taking advantage of the position, leaning down to press his lips fully across hers in a quick but searing kiss. “There,” he said, his voice raspy as he pulled away. “I feel much better.”

She grinned, happiness covering her like a warm blanket. “That makes two of us. I’ve wanted to do that for days. Now, Sir Colin, was there something you wanted to say?”

“Marry me, a stór.”

All the passion in the world, wrapped up into four little words. No flowery prose, no odes to her beauty or talk of their compatibility—just a pure, simple, perfect entreaty.

One that needed only one word in response. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes, breathing a ragged breath before opening them once more. “Yes?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and spun her around as though she weighed no more than a rag doll. She giggled in delight, pure joy radiating from her heart as if it were the sun itself. When he set her down again, his mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her laughter, sharing it just as they would soon share everything.

The kiss was something different from before. It was possessive, and fierce, and fiery in a way she would like to think she could be but could never achieve without him. His hands came to either side of her face, cupping her jaw as if she were made of the most delicate of porcelains. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Can I say something without you thinking me a complete loon?”

She closed her eyes and nodded once. He could say anything if he would continue to hold her just like this.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Beatrice Moore.”

Her heart skipped two full beats at the pronouncement, and she pulled away to look him in the eye. His gaze held a wealth of emotion, silvery and steely and still somehow soft.

“Thank goodness I’m not the only one,” she breathed.

Colin had never heard sweeter words in his whole life. She loved him! All the worries about the dowry, Raleigh’s condition, and his own misgivings seemed to melt away in an instant. Nothing in the world mattered except this: He loved Beatrice, and she loved him.

With a soft, low growl, his lips found hers again, more insistent than ever. He could feel her hammering pulse beneath his fingers, matching his own racing heartbeat. They were so close as to almost seem as one. Feeling reckless, he lifted her in his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but didn’t break the kiss, instead pressing against him that much more.

He closed the distance to the sofa in three sure steps, then lowered them both to the cushions until she was square in his lap. The weight of her against his chest and thighs was intoxicating, and he had the sudden image of her naked, her honey hair cascading down her shoulders and across his bare skin.

Everything about her—her smell, her taste, her size, and even her voice—seemed custom-made to drive him mad. He wrapped both his arms fully around her, pressing her more snugly against him. She gave a breathy little moan, and he smiled against her lips.

He could make her happy. He knew it without doubt. She could have her painting and do with her money whatever she desired. They could have as many children as would suit her, and they would always, always have this perfect passion between them. Raleigh was right—there was no reason to ruin what they had for something that wouldn’t even be an issue after the wedding. What mattered was that he loved her, and damned if she didn’t love him as well.

An odd tapping noise broke through his muddled senses, and he paused, his lips pressed still against hers as he listened. Footsteps! Beatrice must have realized it at the exact moment he did, because she sprang from his lap as if shot from a cannon.

She shook out her skirts and tugged at the wrinkles, desperately trying to put herself to rights. She looked charming as hell, all rumpled and red-lipped, and he couldn’t help but smile. “How do I look? And good heavens, why are you looking at me like that?”

The footsteps, inordinately loud and slow, had almost reached the door. “It’s all right, my love. They know that I was here to ask for your hand. I think a little kissing is to be expected.”

The emotions on her face scrolled from worry, to shock, to surprise, to impish delight. He came to his feet, straightening his jacket and planting a kiss on her nose. “Clearly they are giving us ample warning as to their presence.”

She grinned, shaking her head as the person outside the door jiggled the knob as if they had never worked such a contraption before. By the time the door swung open—slowly—they were standing side by side, her hand cradled in the crook of his arm.

Lady Granville looked between them, her whole face glowing with pleasure. “Well, I assume a question has been asked and answered?”

“What question?” Beatrice asked, tilting her head in wonderment.

The marchioness drew back in surprise, her gray eyes rounding. “Er, well, I—”

“I’m only teasing, Mama. Yes, a question has been asked and answered.”

“And?”

Beatrice squeezed his arm, pulling them more tightly together. “The answer was a most emphatic yes.”

Three feminine shouts of joy rang from the corridor, and the twins and Lady Raleigh poured into the room. There was laughter and hugs and plenty of congratulations to go around. The earl came to join in the celebrations, ringing for a celebratory round of sherry for the ladies and port for the two men.

Once everything had calmed a bit, Lady Granville settled onto the sofa and took a small sip of her drink. “Of course, we mustn’t make any announcements until your father and sister have been notified.”

“I can only imagine how surprised they will be,” Beatrice said, her eyes dancing with happiness.

“Not so very surprised, perhaps.” The marchioness grinned, her impish expression making her look years younger. “At least not your father.”

“Mama,” Beatrice exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth as she laughed. “What did you write him?”

“I may have mentioned that there was a certain young gentleman who had caught your interest . . . and that the gentleman in question appeared to reciprocate.”

A very encouraging sign, indeed. If her mother had taken enough note to write to Granville about him, she must have seen something between them. Just as Raleigh had. The lingering uneasiness about his deception eased that much more, and he settled back into the cushions of the cream-colored sofa, silently observing as the women discussed things like flowers and gowns.

“When would you like to have the wedding, Sir Colin?”

Immediately. The sooner they were wed, the sooner he could dispatch with the circling creditors and be done with the worry of Beatrice asking about the use of the dowry. “Sooner rather than later, I would think. Perhaps in the New Year, after the celebrations of Christmas are behind us.”