Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,46

some misfortune had befallen her, preventing her return. He’d rather imagine her healthy, happy, and well cared for. He could forgive her for not wanting him. Life wasn’t easy when a woman had a bastard in tow. “You’ll teach her how to avoid pregnancy?”

“Who? Althea?”

“No, my mum.” He gave her a frustrated glare. “Yes, Althea. That’s who we’ve been discussing.”

“For someone you have no interest in knowing carnally, you certainly are worrying about her.”

After tossing back his scotch, he set the glass on the desk with a little more force than was necessary, taking satisfaction in the loud thunk, and stood. “We have a responsibility to ensure she avoids all the pitfalls.”

He just wasn’t certain that where she was concerned, he had the wherewithal to avoid them.

Chapter 10

Althea stood before the cheval glass in her bedchamber, studying her reflection, wondering if she should change into the green rather than wear the gray that had serviced her all day, from arrival through dinner.

She’d been startled to appear for the evening meal and discover the ladies wearing what they’d worn in the library—not a stitch more.

Sitting at the head of the table, fully dressed in a black jacket, gray waistcoat, white shirt, and a perfectly knotted neck cloth, indicating he saw these women of the night as worthy of his attiring himself properly when dining with them, Benedict immediately came to his feet when she entered the dining room.

Clutching her hands in front of her, suddenly self-conscious, she said, “You don’t have to stand for me.”

“He stands for everyone, love. Don’t think you’re special,” Jewel said, sitting at the other end of the table.

Yet, for him she wanted to be.

Then he indicated the chair to the side, immediately on his left, and she had felt she was special. During the entire meal, they’d not spoken. Not because she hadn’t wanted to but because the other ladies had dominated the conversation, talking over each other, revealing their excitement as they illuminated their successes and others’ failures during their lessons. While she was gratified by their enthusiasm, tomorrow she would begin tutoring them on proper dining etiquette.

Afterward, they’d all adjourned to their rooms and she had listened to the minutes tick. She had heard their laughter and footsteps when they’d traipsed down to start entertaining customers. And still she’d waited.

She’d pinned and unpinned her hair three times. To wear it up, to wear it down. She’d finally decided on up.

She had considered penning her impressions of the women, a sort of journal for her own edification, or maybe an article for others. The afternoon had been a revelation. They were so very different from the ladies with whom she’d previously spent her time. She was no longer certain it was to the benefit of the aristocracy to be so dictatorial regarding with whom they should associate. As a result, she’d acquired a rather limited view of the world.

But then so had these ladies, begrudgingly referring to her as a toff, a bit suspicious until they’d come to know her a little better. Eventually, they might even become friends. Wouldn’t Society have a laugh at that?

When the clock finally struck ten, she quietly padded down the hallway papered in green decorated with tiny pink flowers, giving it a homelike feel. This residence ran the gamut from sensual to masculine to feminine, which made it easier to determine the purpose of each area. As she neared the library, she noticed the door was opened wide.

When she peered inside, she saw Benedict sitting before the fireplace in one of two wing chairs upholstered in a plum-shaded velvet. She thought she’d been quiet but he either heard her arrival or felt her presence because he immediately put aside his book and stood.

“You don’t have to stand for me,” she said again.

“It’s the way I was taught.”

By the woman who had given him a treasured silver match safe. Taking a step over the threshold, she wandered in, wondering if the ladies had been as nervous about their lessons as she was about hers. Then she spotted the glass of sherry resting on the table beside the empty chair and smiled.

“If you prefer something else—” he began.

“No, sherry is good.” Standing before the chair, she folded her hands in front of her. “As I’ll have a few hours to myself each day, I should like to spend the time reading. Somewhere within this room must be at least one copy of Murder at Ten Bells. Are you going to make