Cold blue eyes stared down at her, wild with madness and moistened by greed.
Her father!
Horrified by the sight of him, Beatrice scrambled from his reach further into the bed as her gaze ran down the length of his disheveled form. His gray hair fell to his forehead, uncombed, and his white shirt—turned brown by dirt—hung loosely on his lean form.
"Beatrice," he began, his voice unslurred by liquor. She was stunned to find that he wasn't drunk as he usually was. Perhaps he had run out of money to fund his debaucherous lifestyle. It certainly explained his appearance in her room; he was here for money.
Fear sent an icy shiver down her spine at the thought. The last time she had failed to provide him with money, he had beaten her to an inch of her life, but for the timely intervention of Noah. This time, she wasn't certain she would be so lucky, she thought, her gaze shifting around the room for a quick escape route. She saw the door from across the room, firmly shut, and knowing it was likely locked, she turned to the window. It was too high up to attempt a jump. She was trapped, she realized with trepidation.
Fighting to maintain control of her emotions, she swallowed. "What do you want?"
He shrugged and perched on the bed. "Where 'ave ya been?" he asked, reaching across the bed to touch her.
Wincing, she withdrew her legs from his venomous paws. "That doesn't answer my question."
"Can't a father be worried for 'is child?"
"You contradict yourself, Mr. Hobbs. One doesn't attempt to kill his child in a fit of rage and, at the same time, be concerned for her safety," she said bitterly.
"Still 'oldin' a grudge, I see." He raised a brow.
"I do not wish to endure your company."
"And will ya remain angry over summit I did while under the maddenin' possession of whiskey?"
"You shall not blame your madness on liquor, Mr. Hobbs. I'm certain it is inherent in you," she hissed.
"Believe it or not, Beatrice, I've always 'ad your best interest in mind. Perhaps I'm not the bloomin' best father there is. Perhaps I'm flawed beyond redemption, but everythin' I've done, every mistake I've made, I've fought ter correct. Do not forget it was I 'oo found Lord Atkins. It was I 'oo came up wif the plot ter get 'im ter marry ya."
"I do not forget, nor do I thank you for it." She crawled to the other end of the bed and climbed down, hoping to use the bed as a barrier between them.
"Ya 'ad nah future otherwise. Nah wahn was garb ter marry you. I stepped in! I gave ya a 'usband—a noble gentleman, 'oo saw ter your every need."
She laughed at that. Perhaps it was true her father had orchestrated her marriage to the vile man that was Oliver, but he was wrong about her; there was one man who had willingly married her, and that man was Noah. She was in love with that man.
Still, she failed to mention her marriage to Noah, for she didn't wish to include her father in her new life. If she never saw her father again, she would have been beyond grateful.
"You're right, you're singly responsible for my marriage to Oliver," she accused.
"I took ya off the streets, gave ya a home. It was Lord Atkins, or the whorehouse. Lord Atkins, the rich baron wif lands and businesses spread across England, or the whorehouse wif the scum of society soilin' your bed."
"It wasn't your decision to make!" How dare he think so little of her as to predict a future so dark...one so hopeless.
"I made the bloody right choice!" he barked, rising to his feet as well. "I did everythin' ter ensure ya were 'eaven and 'ell situated, everythin' ter give ya a proper future. I worked, planned, schemed... trapped a gentleman of the bleedin' ton."
"Trapped?" Her emotions tumbled over themselves, making her dizzy.
"How else did ya fin' I managed ter convince Lord Atkins ter take ya in?"
"Take me in? Like I'm some sort of stray, rabid dog."
"Ya might as well 'ave been wahn, Beatrice. You're butters, undesirable. If ya 'ad possessed an ounce of beauty, I wouldn't 'ave needed ter stoop so low as to get a gentleman drunk and swindle 'im in a game of cards. In exchange for losing, Lord Atkins agreed ter take ya in as 'is wife and see to both our care."
Trickery. So that was what it took to get Oliver to marry her.
Beatrice made a fist as she listened to her father's revelation. Anger welled up in her heart, tightening her chest until she feared she might suffer a heart attack. Yet, she felt a sense of pity for Oliver. Like her, Oliver had been manipulated into marrying to her. There was also no doubt in her mind that Oliver thought she had known and perhaps even planned with her father to entrap him. It was certainly no wonder he loathed her so much. It was no wonder he treated her so poorly.
"You mustn't speak ill of the dead," she spoke through tight lips. Her relationship—or lack of—with Oliver had simply been because of a great misunderstanding. Even now, she wished she could make him see she was as much a victim in her father's scheme as he had been. Perhaps if he knew she was tricked as well...
Would knowledge of the truth have changed anything? Would Oliver have treated her with a little more respect? Would he have loved her?She sighed, knowing she would never know the answer to those questions; knowing her father had ruined her life and the life of an innocent man.
"Oliver failed ter keep 'is part of the bargain when he willed everythin' to 'is cousin, leavin' us bod impoverished. It is only fair he burns in hell."
"And perhaps the hottest part of hell shall be reserved for a man such as yourself, Mr. Hobbs. For tricking an innocent man, for ruining his life!" It irked her beyond description to listen to her father point an accusatory finger at a man who bore a guilt far less than his.
"I didn't put the gun ter 'is head!"
"You might as well have! You forced us both into a loveless marriage for your own greed!"
"I did it for ya! Everythin' I did was for ya!"
"Everything you do is for yourself!" she yelled, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "You scheme your way through life and when nothing goes your way, you resort to violence!"
"I will never willingly hurt ya!"
"Perhaps I must show you the bruises?" She reached for her sleeve, where a faint scar from her childhood still lined her left arm.
"I 'ave made mistakes..." He circled the bed, causing her to back away. He paused in his tracks. "But I 'ave tried ter correct those mistakes."
Shaking her head, she took several steps back until she bumped into the wall. "You never—"
"I was wrong! The last time I... I didn't mean..." He sighed, shaking his head. "When I realized wot I 'ad done, I carried ya in me arms. All night, I carried ya ter safety; ter Lord Camden's home," he said, stunning her to silence. "I hid in the bushes until I watched 'im carry ya inside."
She shook her head, confused, dumbfounded. Mr. Hobbs took her to Camden?! How was it even possible? Why would he assault her, then take her to safety? It made little sense.
"Why?" she murmured.
"I'm your father."
"Stop saying that!" she half yelled, turning from him.
"Imperfect, but still your father. I made a mistake that evenin', but I fixed it," he said, and Beatrice wanted to yell. The very idea that she had her father to thank for bringing Noah into her life, for falling in love with him, and for their marriage made her head pound.
She shook her head violently. Surely it couldn't be! Her marriage to Noah couldn't possibly have been orchestrated by her father... Unless it was. Why else would he carry her to Noah's doorstep in the middle of the night, right after he had assaulted her. Perhaps it was part of his scheme to bring the two together, to force them to fall in love—to marry.
As if hearing her thoughts, he said, "I fixed everything, just like I fixed your marriage to Oliver."
"What did you do?" she whispered, breathless. Would Noah forgive her when he learned the truth of her father's scheme, or would he resort to loathing her like Oliver had done?
"I arranged for your marriage ter another gentleman, wahn that shall prove beneficial to bof parties."
"You tricked him like you tricked Oliver..."
"On the contrary, 'e came ter me."
"What?!"
"I was wrong. There is wahn gentleman 'oo wants you."
"What is this you speak of?"
"Lord Curtis. Ya might 'ave 'eard 'e is recently widowed. 'E 'as offered for your 'and in marriage, and I 'ave accepted 'is offer."
Partly relieved that her father hadn't been speaking of Noah, Beatrice felt her heart drop at his announcement. Lord Curtis! The man who nearly forced himself on her in a ball. Why on earth would he want to marry her?
She shook her head for the umpteenth time that evening. It didn't matter what Lord Curtis wanted, for she was already married to Noah. She thought even if she hadn't married Noah, she would never have conceded to a marriage to Curtis.
Forcing air through her constricted lungs, she shook her head. "It is impossible."
"Wot is?"
"This ridiculous arrangement you speak of. I shall not—never—marry Lord Curtis. It is not that I owe you an explanation as to the reason for my decision, but the man is a brute."
"Ya cannot survive on your in this house alone," he said, turning to glance around the room.
"I shall remain for as long as I please."
"Lord Camden's benevolence shall wear thin. Ya shall be thrahn aahhht. I do not 'ave the means ter see ter bof our care."
"I do not wish to be cared for by you."
She stiffened as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "Beatrice, listen ter me. Lord Curtis is an older gentleman without an 'eir ter his name and a title that shall revert ter the bloody lousy crown if 'e dies without one. Ya must provide 'im with a son."
"I shall never—"
"—Ya must!" he said sternly, halting her flow of words. "It is already agreed upon. I 'ave gone wif Lord Curtis and we 'ave obtained the chuffin' special license. Aw we need is your presence for the ceremony. It is why I 'ave been looking aw over for you. It is why I 'ave come," he finished. She pressed her back to the wall, desperate to get away from him; hoping the wall might open up and swallow her.
"I cannot marry."
Anger creased his brows, and reaching forward, he grabbed her wrist. "You're comin' wif me!"
"Unhand me!" She fought to be released, but his iron claws only tightened their grip on her.
"Do not be so stubborn, Beatrice. I do not wish ter 'arm ya, but you're comin' wif me! It is for your own benefit!"
Desperate, she blurted, "I'm married!"
He released her then, his eyelids bulging. She stepped to the side, but he blocked her path. "That cannot be." He shook his head.
"It is! I swear it is."
He watched her for several seconds, confusion dimming his eyes. Then, after what felt like a life time, a sinister smile appeared on his lips. "Stop lyin'."
"There is no falsehood in my speech. I recently remarried."
"There is nah record of a marriage between ya and anyone else, Beatrice. Ya only wish ter manipulate your way aahhht of marryin' Lord Curtis."
"It is because I didn't get married here in England!" she screeched, but he ignored her, grabbing her wrist once more. She resisted, kicking his knee as she fought to get away from him.
"Stop!" he barked, his fist connecting with her jaw and momentarily knocking the air out of her lungs. "Foul child!" His fingers curled around her neck, burying themselves in her flesh as he pinned her to the wall. "You will marry Lord Curtis," he whispered menacingly.
And as Beatrice stared into his cold blue eyes, she knew quite well she didn't have a choice in the matter.
*
A/N
MERRY CHRISTMAS!