“Put away the stinger, Bea—I promise to be nice . . . enough.”

* * *

Colin stared down at the heavy, cream-colored calling card, trying to remember where he’d heard the name before. “The Earl of Raleigh,” he muttered, turning it over in his head. Damned if he could place it. “Thank you, Simmons. Please see him in.”

Aunt Constance’s butler bowed his head and retreated, his impassive expression not helpful in the least. Colin closed the law book he had been reading and came to his feet. He was absolutely certain he had heard the name before, but for some reason he couldn’t recall where. And he certainly couldn’t figure what an earl would want with him.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor and the butler reappeared. “The Earl of Raleigh.”

One look at the man and Colin knew exactly who he was. “Lady Beatrice’s brother, I presume?”

Raleigh tilted his head, raising a single brow in exactly the way his sister did. “Does my reputation precede me, then?”

“No, but your looks certainly do.” Colin gestured to the chairs situated closest to the fire. “Can I offer you a seat?”

At Raleigh’s nod, they made their way to the little seating area. Colin paused by the sideboard. “Care for something to drink?”

“A good scotch, if you have it.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart. Or tastes, at least.” He poured two glasses before handing one to his guest and taking his seat. The afternoon sun slanted through the room’s three windows, lightening the tone of the normally austere library. Beatrice’s blond brother seemed to fit right in, with an easy smile, slightly mussed hair, and an insouciant air about him that Colin was certain put most people at ease.

Not him.

Especially when he had no idea why the man was here in the first place, or more concerning, what he knew. Colin took a long draft of his scotch before settling back in his chair. “I find I’m curious as to what I can do for you, my lord.”

“Well, I’ve heard your name bandied about the house a time or two, and since I haven’t been able to attend many functions lately, I thought I would take it upon myself to meet the prodigal son of the great Sir Frederick Tate.”

“Not so much prodigal, but certainly I am the son.”

“Beatrice has spoken for years about your father’s masterpieces. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Colin nodded his acceptance, but refrained from saying anything more. He was content to let Raleigh set the tone, so he knew better where he stood with the man. He thought of the kiss in the loft, which he later realized had played out in front of the window. Not the smartest moment in his life, even if there had been no light from within to illuminate them. God help him if Raleigh somehow learned of the kiss.

Of course, if that were the case, he probably wouldn’t be sitting calmly in Colin’s aunt’s library, sipping his scotch.

After a moment, he sat back in his chair and angled his head, watching Colin with disconcertingly clear blue eyes. “Well, I’m quite anxious to learn more about the man who descended from a legend and is only just now emerging into the public eye. You are a baronet now, are you not?”

“Indeed. I am also a barrister in training who has lived in London for the last two years.” It was more than needed to be said, but he didn’t like being made to feel as though he’d been hiding under a rock somewhere, waiting for his chance at the title.

Raleigh’s brow lifted in surprise. “Two years, you say? And nary a ball or party? Good God, man, however have you filled your time?”

“You’d be amazed how much time learning a trade can fill.”

For some reason, Colin’s slightly acerbic response raised genuine amusement in Raleigh’s otherwise impassive expression. “No, actually, I wouldn’t. I know full well the dedication that goes into learning a trade, and I respect any person, man or woman, who can submit themselves thusly. It can leave a man with a devil of a sore arm.”

Colin raised an eyebrow. “A sore arm, my lord?”

“Yes, a sore arm. So I wonder, then, what made you decide to take the plunge into society now. I saw your father a few times over the years, by the way. He certainly seemed to fit right in.”

Of course he did. He had charm, charisma, and the favor of the Prince Regent. Colin knew full well the beau monde looked at his father like some sort of plaything to be taken down from the shelf from time to time and examined. Father, on the other hand, never saw it. He genuinely thought he was part of their world and basked in the attention like an unquestioning lapdog.

Which, at this point, would have been preferable to the role Colin was currently filling in society: cliché impoverished nobleman. He took a bracing drink and met Raleigh’s gaze straight-on.

“The committee for the memorial exhibit in honor of my father’s work asked that I return for the event. Since I relinquished my place in the Inn for the rest of the year following my father’s death, I had the time and inclination to finally ‘take the plunge,’ as you say.” It was none of Raleigh’s business that Colin’s break from the Inns was indefinite, pending his ability to actually finance his final year.

“Ah. That explains why you’re staying with your aunt.” Setting aside his empty glass, Raleigh templed his fingers and regarded Colin, his gaze sharp. “So you’ve been taking your meals at the Inns these past two years, have you?”

“I have.”

“The law is such an interesting animal, is it not? All those little tidbits and caveats written in over time. So much to learn.”

He was getting at something—of that, Colin had no doubt. “I daresay a barrister is always learning, since the law is ever changing.”

“So you are aware, then, for example, of all the interesting things I can get away with thanks to the privilege of peerage? Such a fascinating subject, don’t you think?”

“I am aware that it does not extend to courtesy titles, which I’m assuming yours is since your father is still alive,” Colin replied mildly. “And I’m also aware that the privilege extends to civil offenses, not criminal.”

Raleigh smiled affably, shrugging a shoulder. “So they say. Although it is rather remarkable how one never hears of peers—or those with courtesy titles—finding their way to gaol.”

“Should I be envious, then, since my title falls just short of peerage? So convenient to be able to set laws, then exempt oneself from them.”

For the second time since they had sat down, genuine amusement crossed the earl’s face. “Yes, though not so different from arguing the word of law until it bends to suit your purposes. Perhaps we have something in common, after all. Which, incidentally, brings me back to my sister.”

“Oh?” The next words from Raleigh’s mouth would undoubtedly be the ones he came here for in the first place.

“Your attention and your gifts,” he said, adding special emphasis, “have made her quite happy. I simply wanted to thank you. My sister’s happiness is my absolute priority in life. Anyone who hurts her will have me to answer to.”

“As it should be,” Colin responded, thinking of his own little sister.

“And as we’ve established, I have no one to answer to but me, and I tend to be very understanding with myself.”

“Good to know.”

“Well, then, lovely to meet you,” he said, coming to his feet and offering a perfunctory nod. “If you’re ever in the mood for sports, do seek me out at Gentleman Jackson’s. As one of his longest-standing and most proficient patrons, I’m there every week, without fail.”

Colin nodded, and the earl took his leave, striding from the room without a backward glance. Well, that had quite possibly been the most singular conversation of his life. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to be warning him away from Beatrice, only from hurting her. It was like asking his intentions without coming right out and actually doing so.

Finishing off the contents of his tumbler, Colin set it on the wide arm of the leather chair and leaned back. The question was, what were his intentions?

His original intentions—which, truly, were none at all—had changed in the space of a single kiss. All along he had rejected Beatrice as a wife candidate because he had absolutely nothing to offer someone of her wealth and status. But much had changed since then. In almost every instance, she had been the one to show her preference for him, not the other way around. Learning about his father, becoming part of his world through her association with Colin seemed to be of higher currency than even the loftiest title or the wealthiest coffers to her.

But all that aside, she seemed to want him. To be attracted to him almost as much as he was to her. She had kissed him, well and truly kissed him of her own volition. The desire he felt for her—and not just physically—seemed to be wholly requited.

Therefore . . . why not have intentions toward her? Why not consider her as a possible bride? Heaven knew she would bring more than enough to the table monetarily speaking. But more important than that, he could actually envision having her by his side . . . and in his bed.

He swallowed, letting the pleasure of that thought linger.

His search for a wife went from distasteful to delectable just that fast. He came to his feet, discarding the glass on a side table on his way to the escritoire. It was time he took the reins in their relationship.

Chapter Fifteen

Music was most assuredly not Beatrice’s forte. In fact, it probably went hand in hand with her lack of dancing prowess. She could appreciate fine quality and exceptional playing, but it just didn’t speak to her the way it did others. She did, however, have a well-developed sense of loyalty, which was why she was seated beside her mother at her friend’s second recital in six months.