A Scandalous Bargain (The Pretenders #2) - Darcy Burke Page 0,4

Beatrix couldn’t tell what. Then she launched herself at him, raising her hand. He turned to avoid her. She hit the railing, which barely came to her thigh. Her arms flailed, and something fell to the ground. Beatrix would never forget the look of horror etched into the woman’s pale features as she followed the object and tumbled to the cobbled stones below.

Too late, Beatrix clapped a hand over her mouth to block her cry of shock. The sound escaped anyway. Her gaze snapped back to the balcony, only to find Lord Rockbourne’s dark gaze fixed on her. Then he was gone, stalking quickly into the house.

Beatrix scrambled down from the tree. She should run. Instead, she dashed to the viscountess, sprawled awkwardly on her side, eyes open, her body still. Hands shaking, Beatrix crouched down and held her fingers in front of the woman’s nose and mouth. There was no breath.

“Careful, there’s blood.”

Beatrix whipped her head around and saw black boots shined to a nearly impossible sheen. Lifting her gaze over black breeches to a snow-white shirt cloaked in a burgundy waistcoat, then up to that arresting triangle of flesh, she finally settled on Lord Rockbourne’s impassive face.

Beatrix glanced down and saw there was indeed blood, streaming from beneath the viscountess’s head and running along the stone straight for her boots. Gasping, she stood so quickly, she lost her balance.

The viscount reached for her, grabbing her arm and keeping her from falling. “All right?” He was asking if Beatrix was all right?

Unable to form words, she merely nodded. He released her, then stared down at his wife.

“I don’t think she’s breathing,” Beatrix whispered. She glanced at the woman, but had to look away from the unsettling sight of her. Instead, she focused on the viscount.

Rockbourne lowered himself and held his fingers to the viscountess’s neck. “She is not.” His face turned a shocking shade of gray. He withdrew his hand to cover his mouth.

Beatrix reached for him with an instinctive need to provide comfort. But how could she? She pulled her hand back before she touched him.

Remaining crouched, Rockbourne slowly lowered his hand. He gently touched the vicountess’s brow, and his eyes closed. “I can’t believe…” Anguished lines creased his face, tugging at Beatrix’s heart.

She again told herself to flee, that she had no business here, but her feet were rooted to the ground while the rest of her began to shake. She couldn’t leave him.

Looking toward the house, she wondered about the servants. Surely one of them would come outside any moment.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Rockbourne brushed his hand over Lady Rockbourne’s eyes and removed his waistcoat to drape it over her upper chest and face. He slowly rose, a ragged breath stuttering from his lungs. “This is my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Beatrix tried to sound calm and firm, but her voice was shaking. “She fell over the railing. It’s not as if you pushed her.”

Tension and emotion pulsed out from him, clouding the air. “We were arguing.”

“That doesn’t mean you…” She couldn’t bring herself to say killed her. For then she’d have to acknowledge the woman was truly dead. But she was, and nothing would change that. Beatrix nearly reached for his hand, but stopped herself again. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Thea,” he whispered. “Why did it come to this?” He stared down at the viscountess. His eyes closed once more as the muscles of his jaw clenched tightly. “What will I tell my daughter?”

He had a daughter? Horror knotted in Beatrix’s throat. The poor child. Beatrix wondered how old she was and immediately thought of her “sister” Selina, who’d lost her parents at such a young age that she didn’t remember them at all. In many ways, that seemed far easier than what Beatrix had endured—losing her mother to illness when she was eleven and then losing her father when he’d shipped her off to school and out of his life. She would hope Rockbourne’s daughter was young enough to recover better than Beatrix had.

The viscount seemed frozen, his face still ashen. And why wouldn’t he be? “Where are the servants?” she asked.

“Hiding, most likely. They always retreat to the nether regions of the house when Lady Rockbourne and I are arguing.”

“You think they’ll assume you pushed her?”

“No.” He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

He suddenly turned toward her, his gaze sharp as a bit of color returned to his face. “Who are you? And why were you in