Curiosity duly piqued, she pressed her lips together and lifted a brow, encouraging him to go on.

“Lady Beatrice, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on an excursion tomorrow?”

How charmingly formal. It all sounded so official when he said it like that. “I’d be delighted. What sort of excursion did you have in mind?”

“The sort that would allow us to continue what we started.”

She blinked, shocked that he would be so bold about the embrace they had shared at the studio. She was usually the one who came right out and said things, not the other way around. Something in her expression amused him, and he made a visible effort to contain the laugh she felt sure was lurking behind his studiously closed lips.

“The portrait, Lady Beatrice. I thought perhaps we could carry on with it.”

The portrait— Yes, of course! She grinned up at him, not at all embarrassed to have mistaken his meaning. “I’d like that very much. I’m not certain, however, that I can escape to the studio again.”

“Which is why I made special arrangements.”

“Special arrangements?” He’d done special planning, just for her? Oh, but she liked the thought of that.

His lips turned up in pleasure, his expression somehow more intimate than a full smile. “Indeed. You may tell your family that I’ve invited you to the gallery to view the newly arrived portraits before the exhibit opening on Saturday. Let’s say two o’clock?”

“Very well. What about my supplies?”

“Bring your drawing if you need it, but I shall take care of anything else.”

She smiled, pressing her lips together as she always did. He would take care of everything, would he? Clearly he had put much thought into the outing. “Perfect. I shall see you at two o’clock.”

“Excellent,” he said, his eyes bright with satisfaction. “And I’m sorry to have interrupted you, but I was determined to invite you on the outing before you beat me to it.”

“Under the circumstances, Sir Colin, I forgive you.”

He bowed and left her then, making his way to the small group surrounding Sophie and her sister. She smoothed a calming hand down her front before heading to the refreshment table for something to drink. What exactly was in store for her tomorrow? A thousand hazy possibilities flitted through her mind, making the anticipation all that much greater.

“Good evening, Lady Beatrice. You are looking very well indeed, if I may say so.”

Drat it all, she’d dropped her guard and somehow allowed Mr. Godfrey to sneak up on her. Colin was proving to be detrimental to her normal awareness, it would seem. Irritation mingled with an uncomfortable twinge of guilt as she turned and gave Mr. Godfrey a shallow bob of her head. “I hope you have enjoyed the music, Mr. Godfrey.”

“Not nearly as much as the company. In the absence of dancing this evening, I was wondering if you might like to take the night air out on the terrace with me. The evening is wonderfully mild for this time of year.”

Which up until that moment had been a good thing. But the lingering guilt of her unintentional slight in the cartoon weighed heavy on her conscience. It was just a few minutes of her time—a minor penance to assuage her guilt. Dipping her head in agreement, she said, “Certainly. Lead the way.”

He extended his arm, and she rested the very tips of her fingers on the superfine wool of his jacket. He’d applied his cologne water with a heavy hand, and she turned her head away from him in an attempt to breathe unperfumed air.

“I was so glad to see you in attendance this evening, my lady. After my necessary yet regrettable early departure from the Westmoreland ball, I’ve quite been looking forward to stealing you away for a bit.”

“I see.” She didn’t want to affirm or encourage him in any way.

“Especially since that Tate fellow interrupted our time together at Granville House. He does seem to hover about you like the commoner he was born to be.”

She ground her teeth to keep from making any snide remarks. She really wished to survive the encounter with as little engagement between them as possible. They reached the double glass doors at the back of the room, and he ushered her through them with a bit more “assistance” than necessary over the low threshold.

The air was warm and damp, helping her to clear her head. “Oh, no, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. I’m the one hovering about him.” She tilted her head, offering him a look of utter innocence. “Does that make me common? I do so love hearing about his father’s work.”

She suspected that if he’d had a mouthful of drink, he would have spit it out just then. “No, of course not. And I was clearly exaggerating—you’ve hardly seen the man. Do forgive me for bringing it up at all.”

How little he knew about anything. “Of course.” Beatrice lightened her touch even more, until she couldn’t have sworn her gloved fingertips were even connecting with his jacket. As if sensing her thoughts, he brought his hand down on top of hers, pressing it firmly against his arm and effectively trapping her at his side.

“Do you know, Lady Beatrice, I must say that you have been a most agreeable companion this past month. I find myself quite looking forward to your presence at any of these events.”

There were two things that made her eyebrows inch up her forehead in surprise. First of all, she was as unagreeable as she could be without actually giving the man the cut direct. What part of her humorless smiles and flat conversation came across as positive to him? And that aside, his words were entirely too forward for her liking. “No need to exaggerate, Mr. Godfrey.”

He led them to the corner farthest from the door, pausing by the balustrade and turning to face her. He did not, she noticed, free her hand. She wiggled her fingers a bit in subtle warning, but if anything, his grip tightened.

“No exaggeration, my dear. I’m sure you know, that as the son of a viscount, I am a perfectly suitable match for the daughter of a marquis.”

She did not like where this was heading. Pulling against his hold, she scowled and said, “Unhand me, Mr. Godfrey.”

“Calm yourself, Beatrice. There is no need to worry for your reputation, as there is no one here to witness our stolen moment.”

Real fear trickled into her heart. Dear heavens, what was he doing? She started to struggle away from him, but he wrapped her up in an embrace before she could gain even an inch. He was much taller than her, and surprisingly strong, nearly swallowing her in his arms. “Let g—”

But she didn’t even finish the word before his mouth swooped down and covered hers. She was so shocked, so appalled, that for a moment she didn’t do anything at all. His iron grip held her in place while his mouth lay heavy across her lips, claiming her like some sort of animal. The stink of alcohol soured his breath, flavoring her nightmare.

In that moment of outrage, the door to the house whooshed open.

Chapter Sixteen

His instincts had been dead-on.

As Colin stepped out onto the terrace, he was greeted with exactly the scene he had feared most. Beatrice, wrapped in Godfrey’s arms, his lips planted firmly over hers. Without stopping to consider the consequences, he started forward. At the sound of his footsteps, Godfrey broke the kiss and looked up, a gleam of satisfaction illuminating his dark eyes.

Beatrice scrambled backward, turning to him with widened eyes that shone with horror.

The rat bastard— Colin came at the other man with his fists flying. He might not spend his days at Gentleman Jackson’s, but even a half Scot knew how to throw a bloody good punch when needed. And oh, the satisfaction he felt at seeing the man’s expression go from smugness to fear in the space of a second would be worth every consequence that would await him when he was done with the bastard.

His fist connected with Godfrey’s mouth with exacting precision. Not only did it wipe away all traces of the self-satisfied smirk; it made damn sure that the man wouldn’t be kissing anyone for a while. The punch was angled in just the right way to bust a lip but not break any teeth—not that the man deserved any mercy from Colin.

He fell backward against the stone railing, flipping over it and into the bushes a few feet below. It would have been amusing, if Colin weren’t so angry. Heaving a deep breath, he turned to Beatrice, whose features were drawn and pale. “Are you all right?”

“Y-yes. I think so.” She shook her head, clearly a bit dazed. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Yes, I know.” He would have said more, but the bushes rustled as Godfrey extracted himself. After a moment of struggling, he came back to his feet, leaves sticking out of his hair as a trickle of blood dribbled down his chin and onto his once pristine cravat.

“You bastard,” he grunted, slurring the words just a bit. “I’ll see you bloody gaoled for that.”

“I highly doubt that.” Colin’s voice was cool and collected, his barrister’s training finally reemerging. “You surely wouldn’t want the world to know that you tried to trap a woman into marriage, since clearly you couldn’t procure one by her consent.”

Godfrey’s eyes narrowed to slits as his gaze darted in between Colin and Beatrice. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” He yanked at the twigs embedded in his hair, tossing them angrily to the ground.

“Well, I do,” Beatrice said, crossing her hands tightly over her bodice. “You forced yourself on me just now. If it had been anyone else walking through that door, we’d be betrothed by now.” Her voice held such utter disgust, if he had possessed even the slightest doubt as to whether or not she had welcomed Godfrey’s advances, they would have been banished.