Bound To Bea

Chapter Nine

"Except Lady Curtis!" she said, a little too sharply as she jerked her hand free. "I mustn't displease your wife." . She swallowed at the thought, turning to leave.

"Even your husband had a mistress, Lady Atkins," he said, blocking her path with his rounded form.

Fighting the urge to slap the coy smile off of his face, she shrugged. "I am aware of his many mistresses. Now, I must be excused."

"Mistresses?!" He blocked her path once more. "There was only one mistress, my lady. She had his attention long enough to keep him to herself. I'm sure this can be the case between us."

One mistress?! It couldn't be! Beatrice thought as she searched Lord Curtis' brown eyes for signs of falsehood. Perhaps he sought to mislead her into believing Oliver spent all of those evenings with one woman.

Beatrice knew Oliver had loathed her, but it was a different type of pain to know he had loved another woman. Yet, it made sense—Oliver's late nights, his seeming desperation for discretion, his unwillingness to consummate their marriage...

Pushing past Lord Curtis as her tears threatened to fall, she stumbled through a narrow hallway, desperate for air. But her tears blurred her vision, and unable to find the exit, she pushed a door open, finding a private parlor. The room was small, but it afforded her the privacy she craved.

She crossed the room on weak knees and settled on the only couch in it. Lying flat on her back, she closed her eyes, weeping over the revelation of the extent of her husband's infidelity—Oliver hadn't only cheated with his body, he had cheated with his heart.

Then why did he marry her?! It made no sense! Beatrice could not understand why a man, whose heart laid with another woman, had married her, imprisoning her in a foul marriage.

Consumed by her grief, she didn't hear his footsteps approaching until something warm claimed her lips.

Stunned, she opened her eyes to find Lord Curtis over her, the foul smell of tobacco assaulting her nostrils as his hands locked around her waist.

Desperate to be set free, she clawed his shoulders and fought to shove him away. But he was stronger, and for several agonizing seconds, he kept her trapped.

Horrified, Beatrice's mind scrambled for a way out, and just as she was about to give up on escaping Lord Curtis's assault, his lips detached from hers, and the weight of his body over her was lifted.

A loud cry filled the room as Lord Curtis tumbled across the wooden floor.

"Leave!" someone roared, and instantly realizing who it was, Beatrice jerked upright on the couch, her eyes immediately locking with Lord Camden as he stood over her, glaring down at her with fury.

*

His chest rose and fell with such speed, she feared his heart would burst out of his chest.

Uncertain of what was expected of her, she made to rise.

"Sit!" he barked, causing her to stumble back against the couch.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he let out a loud growl as he turned from her and began pacing the length of the small room.

"My lord," she began carefully, desperate to explain what he had witnessed, for she was afraid he would punish her by throwing her out on the streets.

But Lord Camden didn't stop his pacing to acknowledge her.

Frustrated, she called, "My lord!"

He stopped then, turning eyes of steel her way.

She sighed; of course he blamed her for tonight—of course he would punish her whether or not she offered an explanation. "Will you keep pacing while I sit confined to this couch, or will you simply punish me?" She raised a brow in question, and the lines around his mouth hardened.

Rising to her feet slowly after a few seconds of silence, she said, "If not, my lord, permit me to return to the ball." She might as well enjoy her last night as a wealthy homeowner before her inevitable eviction from Lord Camden's house. She would return to the streets where she belonged.

She stepped forward, and he stepped in her path, his eyes reddened by rage.

"No respect for the dead," he whispered silently, clenching his teeth.

Resisting the urge to give into her laughter, Beatrice held her lips shut, knowing her laughter would do nothing but further infuriate the Marquess.

A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply because he returned to the dust whence he came."

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stepped forward, pausing before her. She raised her chin, holding his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by him or the stupid ton. She would not cower, nor would she bow.

But as Beatrice searched the Marquess's gaze, she found something concealed by his anger. And it was what she found that rendered her speechless for several seconds.

"At the very least, Lady Atkins, pretend," he admonished. "Pretend to mourn for your husband! You are a woman in mourning! You're expected to stay secluded, away from social gatherings! Grief, sadness, decency is expected of you," he growled, stepping so close to her, his nose almost kissed hers. "Not a low cut, salacious red dress!"

She inched forward, jaw set, until she could feel his warm breath on her skin. "And you are a man whose cousin's widow was only a few minutes ago caught with a man on top of her," she shot back, leaning further in until her lips were nearly brushing his as she searched his gaze. "Anger, rage, fury, is expected of you, my lord." She paused, certain of what she knew she saw clearly in his eyes. It was something she had never seen before, yet she recognized it. "Not jealousy!" she challenged. She watched him, noting the color that sprang to his cheeks, setting his entire face on fire as his eyelids widened. She was correct; Lord Camden was jealous!

But why?

Beatrice couldn't understand his jealousy—she had never seen such fierceness in a man, she had never evoked such fierceness, nor did she ever imagine she would ever be attracted to fierceness... To Lord Camden.

Yet, as she stood before him, staring at him, she was set ablaze by the fire in his eyes.

She watched his gaze fall to her lips, and instinctively she leaned in closer, eager to be kissed. She wondered what his lips would feel like against hers. She had always wondered what a kiss would feel like, and while Lord Curtis had given her an unpleasant first experience, a part of her suspected Lord Camden's kiss would be different—

Just as the thought drifted through her mind, the breath was knocked out of her lungs as his lips settled on hers.

Warmth shot up her chest so fast, she clawed her fingers around his shirt to keep her legs from giving way beneath her. His arms tangled around her waist, nudging her gently forward into his arms. Eagerly, she obeyed, reveling in his warmth.

It must have lasted only a second, for as quickly as it began, it ended. His lips released hers, his arms loosened around her, and he spun around.

Breathless, Beatrice barely heard him utter a word until he was moving from her path. It was then she saw them. Her heart sank the second her gaze settled on the crowded doorway.

And right in front of the crowd was Lord Curtis with a smirk on his face.

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