"No respect for the dead." His words came out in silent whispers, his teeth clenched.
A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply becau...
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Gripping the teacup tightly in her trembling hands as it threatened to fall, Beatrice placed it on the table. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. For the life of her, she was nervous and utterly embarrassed. She hadn't only committed the crime of trespass against the Marquess's property, but she physically assaulted him when she slapped him! And now, rather than swallow her silly pride and beg for his forgiveness, she sought to gain his favor by offering him breakfast!
Settling in a seat, she thought of her exchange with Lord Camden the evening before. She remembered the crippling grief she had felt that weakened her knees. She remembered his powerful arms around her; his warmth; the safety. And all she had wanted to do was cling to him.
The memories had become blurred after that, and hours later, she had woken up to the sound of his snores across her bed.
Shocked to find him curled on the settee, she had made to rise to her feet when she realized she was still clad in her revealing nightdress. She wondered if Lord Camden had seen her in her indecent state, and the thought warmed her cheeks. It was a scandalous thought, but she wondered if he did, and perhaps he did, did he find her appealing?
Shaking her head, she shoved the thought aside. Lord Camden was a powerful gentleman, certainly not lacking a selection of fine women vying for his attention. He would never find Beatrice appealing. Even Beatrice's own husband had found her unappealing enough to subject her to a life of celibacy until his death.
Still, Beatrice wondered what it would feel like to have a gentleman look at her with admiration, desire, love.
"My lady?"
Gasping, she jerked upright and spun to the door, where Lord Camden stood, staring at her. She had been so consumed by her thoughts; she hadn't heard him approaching.
Running her gaze down the length of him, she noted the poor state of his hair, almost as if he had hurriedly run his fingers through it rather than a comb. His clothes from the evening before were creased, his cravat hanging loosely around his neck as he clung to his coat.
"I must decline breakfast, Lady Atkins." He bowed slightly, and unsure of how to respond, she watched him. "Have a lovely day," he said, turning to leave.
"My Lord!" she called after his retreating back. Pausing in his tracks, he didn't turn around.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, unsure of what to say. She couldn't let him leave without finding out his decision about her present predicament. Would he throw her out of his home? Would he have her arrested for trespassing and for physically assaulting him on top of her many crimes against him?
Perhaps she was undeserving of his mercy. But Lord Camden was her only hope for survival. Desperate, she said, "Sorry! Forgive me, my lord, for last evening." When he didn't make any move to acknowledge her apology or to walk away from her, she understood he meant to kick her out despite her desperate plea, and she knew she couldn't blame him.
