Page 51 of Better Than a Duke
“Then I’m glad we didn’t finish the bottle.” She looked at him for a moment, her expression wistful. “I’m half glad we didn’t finish the bottle,” she amended. “The ch—”
“Beckett? Are you out here?”
Shit. Pauline. “Just getting a breath of fresh air,” he called back, handing the bottle to Iris so he could finish tucking his shirt back into his trousers and refasten them. “Watch your step out here; it’s dark.”
“Go,” Iris breathed, opening the gate and shoving him back through it, handing him the bottle, and closing the metal barrier behind him before she melted into the shadows.
“There you are,” his nearly betrothed said, coming dimly into view. “I hope you aren’t bored. Your friends are here, as well as mine.”
Well, they’d been his friends at one time, anyway. “I’m not bored. I’m just unaccustomed to entertaining these days.”
Lady Pauline looked down at his hand, then reached out and took the three-quarters-empty brandy. “I thought you were inquiring about a delivery. But you came out here to drink?”
“It was half-empty when I retrieved it,” he lied. “I’m… I haven’t done this in a decade, Pauline. I never thought I would be doing it again.”
“Oh, darling. I’m not here to turn your life upside down, you know. We make sense. We’re compatible. Having me about would mean that when it comes time for some of those trickier conversations with Rebecca, you won’t have to have them. At least not alone. You’ll have someone to guide her, to assist her, and to support her. Just as I’m here to assist you, to make your life easier.” She ran a finger down the buttons of his waistcoat. “And to give you a son.”
He took a deep breath, all his attention still focused on the woman on the other side of the wall. “That is precisely why you’re here, Pauline. Thank you.”
“I came to fetch you because I need a partner for charades. Because we would be good partners. When you’re ready. I’m a very patient woman.” Abruptly she went up on her toes and lightly touched her lips to his. “Though not entirely so.”
“So I see.” Beckett smiled, trying to put the thought of that other mouth, the soft, supple one that tasted like brandy and strawberries, out of his head.
“Shall we return to our guests?” Pauline suggested, taking his hand to tug him toward the door.
If that was as sharp as her rebukes became, he’d been lucky his mother had shoved her at him. And that was a sentence he’d never expected to have in his head. Beckett nodded. “Charades,eh? I may surprise you with my skill. Rebecca and I charade nearly daily.”
Chuckling, she wrapped her hand around his arm. “I’ve chosen my partner well, then.”
He’d been thinking precisely that himself. She would do as a partner, a hostess, a stepmother to Rebecca, and a mother to any additional children. In fact, he might as well make it official and offer for her. Then it wouldn’t matter if he lusted after his neighbor. That door would be shut. “Pauline, I…”
Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see Rebecca’s curtains dropping into place.Good God, had his daughter seen him with Iris? No, they’d been on the other side of the gate. So she might have witnessed him walking into the Grove House garden, but nothing more until he’d emerged again. He shouldn’t have gone looking for Iris at all, but that moment of pure passion had stirred him in a way that nothing in the past decade had done. Possibly even before that.
But the last time he’d done as he wanted, he’d married Lydia and made both of them miserable. Now he was choosing what he needed. For Rebecca. And that meant he needed to speak with her before he made anything official. He’d seen no sign that Pauline didn’t like her, or vice versa, and in fact Pauline had saved his daughter from choking, but he and Cricket had a relationship that he adored, and she would expect to at least be consulted.
Completely aside from that, that blasted contrary, tempting, ferocious woman was still somewhere on the other side of the garden wall, listening to everything he said. Once he settled things with Pauline, he would have settled them with Iris, as well, and damn it all, but he wasn’t quite ready to do that. Not yet. Not with the taste of her mouth still on his lips.
“Yes, Beckett?” Pauline prompted. “You what?”
Beckett shook himself. “I had no idea you sang so well.”
“I don’t know about that, but thank you for saying so.”
“Perhaps you could assist Rebecca with her pianoforte lessons.”
“I would be happy to do so.”
“Good.”
Yes, it was all good. Or it would be, once he could shake himself loose from the mad desire to kiss his neighbor. Once she ceased attracting him like all the deadliest sins wrapped into one supremely kissable woman.
“‘I would be happy to do so,’” Iris mimicked under her breath, keeping her back against the wall on her side of the garden.
How wonderful it must be, to be able to volunteer one’s time for something as refined as playing the pianoforte. She knew how to play, though she hadn’t as much as touched an instrument in years, and even if she’d had that much spare time at her fingertips she would never put herself forward as a teacher—and certainly not for someone she liked and wanted to see be successful as she did Rebecca Raines.
Yes, Lady Pauline Grenedy and Beckett Raines, Marquis of Hentrose, were utterly suited for each other. In the handful of times she’d seen Lady Pauline, the duke’s granddaughter had been poised, practiced, and perfect, and with abundant time available to become acquainted with the girl who would be her stepdaughter.
Once the voices on the other side of the wall faded, she straightened to glare at Grove House, hands on her hips. The Duke of Trent still snored inside. A man seventy-one years of age, with two grown sons, seven grandchildren, a half dozen properties scattered across England, five deceased wives, and a desire not to grow old by himself.
