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.
Colin shook his head. “It wasn’t supposed to be just anyone walking out to find you. I saw Mr. Jones as he watched the two of you head outside. He checked his watch three times before making a beeline for the doors. Lucky for me, Miss Sophie didn’t bat an eyelash when I snagged the man on his way out the door and told him she wished to speak with him.”
Beatrice’s jaw dropped open in outrage as she rounded on Godfrey. “You scurrilous beast! Not only did you force yourself upon me, but you arranged for us to be caught?”
The bastard in question dragged the back of his hand across his bloodied chin. “I don’t have to take this. You want her?” he asked Colin, his face contorted with disgust. “Fine, you can have her. She may have the best dowry of the Season, but the rest of her sure as hell isn’t worth it. Good riddance.”
He stormed through the garden and disappeared around the corner like the slithering jackass he was. Colin breathed a deep sigh and turned to Beatrice. She looked furious, her sparkling eyes radiating an internal fire as she clenched her jaw tight. She was a study in contrasts, like a small, vulnerable avenging angel. He laid a calming hand on her shoulder, wishing he could pull her into his arms and soothe away her upset. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Are you certain you are all right?”