Bound To Bea

Chapter Six

She watched him through the curtains, his dark figure pausing in the center of the room. He appeared to be deep in thought, as if he was contemplating his next move.

He hadn't noticed her then! She breathed with relief, trying and failing to tame the wild animal that was her heart. But her heart ignored her reprimand, quickening further in her chest as he took another step forward in her direction. He kept moving, each step calculated, almost as if he had found what he was looking for—as if he had found her.

And he had. She knew he found her when he paused before her, his form so close to her, she felt his aura permeate the fabrics of the curtains.

He reached forward, his fingers clawing around the curtains.

Pressing her body to the closed window panes, she closed her eyes.

"Lady Atkins?!" he hissed, so sharply that an icy shiver bolted down her spine, weakening her knees.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, anger lacing every word.

For the life of her, she couldn't speak. Fear made it impossible to do anything but stand there and fight to keep her legs from giving way beneath her.

Silence grew in the room and in that second, she wished she would open her eyes to find that he was gone—to find she had simply been having a really terrible dream, and that she hadn't truly been caught trespassing.

She tore her eyelids apart, one at a time, her hope dying when her gaze settled on him.

"Have you gone dumb, my lady?" His tone was softer, but even in the room's dimness, she could tell he was frowning.

He towered over her, his presence intimidating, his eyes aimed at her like a shotgun—like she was an animal caught in his trap.

She opened her mouth to explain; to fall to her knees and beg for his mercy. She wanted to tell him she was without a choice, to explain her predicament as a newly disinherited widow without a means of sustenance, thanks to her ruined reputation. She wanted to complain about her unreliable, evil father, who saw her as nothing more than a means to fill his purse with coins. She was unfortunate, and it was her misfortune that rendered her widowed, jobless and homeless.

But as she fought to give her thoughts a voice, she instantly realized she couldn't trust Lord Camden. He was a relative of Oliver, the man who had stripped her of everything and shamed her. Not only was he Oliver's relative, he was a member of the same ton who ripped her reputation apart with horrendous rumors. Perhaps he even peddled some rumors himself.

Deciding then that she would never stoop low enough to beg for mercy from her tormentor, she squared her shoulders. She would take his punishment with her head held high and her pride in place.

"Perhaps it is because I find your presence unsettling, my lord," she admitted, holding his gaze.

"Why have you chosen to remain?"

Beatrice licked her bottom lip as she considered the best way to answer his question with appearing pathetic.

"I am not done packing," she lied.

In the dark, she thought she saw him raise a brow. "You are a good liar, my lady, but I am not fooled," he said matter-of-fact. It was true; she was a good liar because she had been made to lie many times for her father.

"Very well, my lord," she raised her chin, "I am homeless," she said, choosing honesty. What was the point of lying? She couldn't hide the truth for very long. "I was made homeless the afternoon the will was read. Surely you understand that when Lord Atkins spoke of me walking out of here empty-handed, he meant quite literally?"