An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,33
For a woman to refuse a duke was nearly unheard of. He wondered what life was like that she became so desperate to risk such a great scandal.
What she must have suffered through to prove she deserved it.
His heart suffered a pang for what the girl he once loved had lived through.
If only she’d chosen me instead.
But it was too late for thoughts like that.
“I know everyone thinks I’m a scandalous failure of a woman,” she said with a shrug. “But I actually find it quite liberating. I have lived too long trying to please other people, I now wish only to please myself.”
“I’ve been underestimating you, haven’t I?” Dalton said.
“You and the rest of the world.”
“I’ll admit I’m curious to see what you’ll do next.”
She smiled, a wicked smile, and he felt it like an arrow to his heart. Somehow, they had moved close together—pressed close by the crowds, drawn together. So close he could feel the heat of her, breathe in the faint scent of her perfume.
“Are you saying you’ve got your eyes on me, Dalton?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he murmured.
And his gaze locked with hers and for a second it felt like they were eighteen again, which is to say a yearning so intense that the rest of the world could have fallen away and he wouldn’t have noticed. All of a sudden, all at once, it felt like the years hadn’t happened. And he could, maybe, reach out and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, whisper a secret, press his lips to hers, laugh about something funny only to them. How could she have ever doubted him?
“But you won’t give up on your plans for revenge, will you?”
“Not when I’m so. Damned. Close.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Goodwin Residence
One West Thirty-Fourth Street
The next day
One did not expect to have callers at breakfast, especially when one dined as early as Beatrice did. As a duchess, she lolled in bed, reading newspapers. As president of a struggling department store, she glanced at them over tea and toast at what her mother termed an ungodly early hour.
Nevertheless she had a caller at breakfast.
Wes Dalton himself.
For all the hours they’d spent together in their youth, it had never been in the dining room. They stole moments together in back rooms and broom closets, stockrooms and secret stairways. Later, when their love had blossomed and desire couldn’t be constrained, he’d snuck into her bedroom after hours.
Now he had come calling and she was about to entertain him in the dining room. Unchaperoned. And it would be acceptable.
The perks of being a divorcée.
It was curious, though, that he should come calling. Any business they might have could be conducted at their respective offices. She couldn’t imagine that they had personal business to discuss at home. They certainly hadn’t ceded any ground to each other at the ball last night, though she might have felt something like temptation. Being so near to him brought the memories back. They were not unpleasant. Quite the contrary.
And Dalton did cut a fine figure in his evening attire, and his focused gaze on her made her feel like the only woman in the world and that was something. When she teased and provoked him, he didn’t get angry and storm off. She was herself with him, for better or for worse and he didn’t disparage her for it.
Now that was the stuff of romance and seduction.
Therein lay danger and temptation. Worse yet: distraction.
She could not afford distraction.
She had ideas about the store that she had begun to implement, especially now that she’d gotten Mr. Stevens out of the way. Things were proceeding at pace once she had removed him and the other naysayers and staffed their positions with spirited men and women who did not even know The Way Things Were Always Done and who were keen to do something new. There were renovations to embark on, new merchandise to select and stock, dazzling displays to dream up and make real.
Which is to say, she was excited to get to work.
But first, Dalton.
“Hello, Dalton. Twice in one week. Making up for lost time I suppose.”
“Hello, Beatrice.”
She sat at the head of the dining table and he took the chair to her right. For a brief second she was struck with the impression of him and her as man and wife. At home, breakfasting together. It was so intimate, that.