Page 44 of Better Than a Duke
“Wait a moment.” He held up a hand. “You took yourself out of the running to be my bride. Intentionally.”
Was he angry? He didn’t look angry. Surprised, certainly. “I… Yes. For being too handsome and strong-willed.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ve never been thrown aside in such a flattering manner before. Evidently, I was also after someone I could improve. What does that make us?”
“Foolish.”
“I would agree with that. At least we seem to have learned our lessons.”
Yes, they’d both become wiser. Now he wanted a poised female who would help him raise Rebecca and get him a son. And she was considering a man too old to be her father who offered her a roof and a future for Edmund. No romance, no thoughtsof love, nothing but being as practical as possible. Whatever the lesson had been, they’d both learned it. Quite well.
“Come and look,” Becks said, appearing beside them and grabbing her father’s hand. “We found Romeo and Juliet. She’s lovely. And they’re so romantic.”
“I thought you were looking for Queen Elizabeth.”
“Oh, we found her,” Edmund said, popping up at Iris’s elbow. “She has a very white face and red hair that looks like rats nest in it.”
“That was the fashion at the time, dear,” she commented, falling in with them as the children led the way through the crowd. “Being as pale as possible is still considered fashionable.”
“It looks silly. But she does have some nice jewels.”
“I say they’re paste,” Becks put in, hopping around them. “Because how could they put them in the middle of where everyone is walking if they were real?”
“You make a good argument,” Beckett commented. “But why are you so interested in Shakespearean characters?”
“Well, you like Shakespeare.”
“I do.”
“Mama, you like Shakespeare,” Edmund commented. “You always sayMuch Ado About Nothingis your favorite.”
Iris nodded. “It is.”
“Then come along! We found something you both like.”
Sending Iris a sideways glance, Beckett grinned. “I don’t know about that. I rather enjoyed the heads.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Oh, Papa.”
The Romeo and Juliet display, featuring as it did Juliet holding a dagger to her breast and Romeo already dead and draped over a stone bench, didn’t seem very romantic to Iris, but then she wasn’t nine or ten years old. “What do you like about the display?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“It’s so romantic,” Becks gushed. “She’s going to kill herself to be with her Romeo.”
“That is not romantic,” Beckett cut in, his voice sharp. “Men are smelly nodcocks and buffoons. No woman should ever do so much as cut her hair to please one, much less stab herself. Is that clear, Rebecca?”
His daughter frowned. “But it’s Shakespeare. Everyone says Romeo and Juliet are the most romantic couple ever.”
“They are the most tragic couple ever. No—”
“I believe,” Iris interrupted, kneeling to be at eye level with the nine-year-old, “that your father wants you to grow up to be the sort of lady who values her own life and her own happiness enough to be a little more sensible in her choices than Juliet was.”
Becks reached out to put a hand on Iris’s shoulder. “Thank you,” the little girl said solemnly. “Sometimes I don’t know what he’s talking about, though I do try to be patient with him.”
“Very amusing.” Reaching down, Beckett took Iris’s hand and helped her to her feet. “And thank you from me, as well,” he murmured, his mouth brushing her ear.
A pleasant little shiver ran up her spine. Oh, good heavens. “I’ve been having similar discussions with Edmund,” she whispered back again.
Actually, she didn’t want to talk about Edmund. All she could think about was how long it had been since she’d last felt a man’s warm breath brush her skin. And how such a silly, clearly innocent thing made goose bumps rise on her flesh and conjured some very… inappropriate thoughts for such a public setting. It wasn’t as if she yearned to be in a man’s arms, but on occasion moments like that reminded her how pleasurable such things had once been. Could be. Clearly, she’d gone mad. No wonder her relations had decided she was a burden.
