"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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Beale Cavendish, the Duke of Devonshire, was a clever businessman with a respectable reputation and a witty disposition. His handsomeness and impeccable taste in fashion made him desirous to the young ladies, a target of pesky mothers who sought to pin their daughters on him, the fantasy of the women who had no allegiance to the men in their lives, and the envy of every man who sought to be exactly like him—every man except Noah.
Noah could have gone the rest of his life caring nothing for the duke, if the duke hadn't walked into the ball that evening with the woman Noah cared very much for; Bea. A surge of jealousy washed over him as he watched the two enter the room like a couple, and for the duration of Bea's time in the room, Noah could do nothing but stare at her.
Bea was absolutely breathtaking tonight with that satin, orange number that caressed her figure in the most enticing way. Her hair was swept off of her shoulders and pulled up to form a cluster of curls. He trailed his eyes down her neck to her shoulders, left exposed by the deep neckline of her dress. Silently, he sought to do the same with his lips.
Barely able to keep up with the conversations that went on around him, Noah trailed Bea's movement until she was slipping out of the room. He made to go after her, but was accosted by a pesky mother who instantly roped him into dancing with her daughter.
Three times he had stepped on the poor girl's foot—the third being the time he watched the duke exit the room in the same direction as Bea. Remembering his manners, Noah forced himself to finish the dance, before hurrying after the two. But as he stood here, watching them stand so close to each other, he almost wished he hadn't come after them.
"Your Grace," Noah said in greeting, still holding Bea's gaze; unable to look away.
"Is there a problem, my lord?"
Several. First there was the problem of the duke arriving at the ball with Bea on his arm. There was also the problem of Noah walking in here to find them in the process of kissing. Then there was the glaring fact that the duke still held on to Bea's hand.
What in Hades was going on? Why was Bea clinging to the hand of another man?! Who was the duke to Bea?
Desperate to find out, he asked, "Perhaps you must introduce me to your companion." He forced the words through tight lips.
"Lady Atkins? I assumed you already met. Weren't you Lord Atkins' cousin?"
"We haven't been properly introduced." He kept his gaze on Bea.
"Very well. This is Lady Beatrice Atkins, widow of Lord Atkins—"
"I do not suppose it shall be appropriate for someone to walk out here to find you clinging to the hand of my dead cousin's widow." He motioned to their locked hands, and thankfully, Bea was sensible enough to pull away from the bastard.
She clasped her hands before her; her gaze falling to the ground. "I must leave you gentlemen to your business."
It took everything in Noah to let Bea walk past him. There were many things he wanted to do to her at that moment, none of which were appropriate. He hated how he had been deprived of her presence for nearly a month, only for her to resurface hanging on the arm of another man. He hated the jealousy that made his head hurt.
