She paused again, the memories causing so great a pain in her heart that she had to take a rest and sip at her tea. Beatrice tried to raise her eyes toward Algernon, to see what sort of expression he wore, but she could not bring herself to do so. Such a confession was making her feel wildly embarrassed and inferior.
“You said your mother died,” Algernon said softly after a few moments of silence.
Beatrice nodded, feeling a fresh wave of pain in her heart.
“A month after my ninth birthday, she started to feel unwell,” Beatrice explained. She spoke in barely a whisper, as if to raise her voice any louder would make the heartache worse.
“It was just a stomachache at first, she swore. Promised it would be gone within a day or two. Yet the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks turned into two months. It was during that time that I finally found the courage to go to Simeon alone. I was terrified, but I had to ask him to send for the physician.
“I told him that Mother could not eat. Could barely drink. That she had gone small and pale and could not get out of bed, but it did not matter. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shoved me out of his office, warning me to never bother him again.”
Beatrice paused as she drew her fingers up to the tiny scar under her chin.
“My first scar from him,” she murmured, lost in the memory. “His shove sent me to the floor, and I scraped my chin against the floor.”
The groan of metal jolted Beatrice from the memory, and she looked up to see that Algernon was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt flattered over his apparent rage.
“My mother died the next day,” she said, feeling strong enough now to finish the story. “To Simeon’s credit he did allow her to have last rites and a proper funeral. She was buried in a noble cemetery, and there was an announcement in all the papers. I believe—at least since I was born—that it was the one act of kindness that Simeon bestowed upon her.”
“Oh, Beatrice,” Algernon rasped from across from her.
She shook her head, and raised her eyes to the sky, not wanting to shed any more tears.
“Simeon made me a servant a week later. He brought home Elspeth and Verity, my stepmother and sister, and explained that they were now the ladies of the house and I was blessed to have the opportunity to serve them. I was to call him Simeon. Not Father anymore—Simeon. He said I should be grateful that I could call him by such and not have to constantly address him as Lord Farhampton.” She let out a bitter chuckle as she absentmindedly rubbed the tiny scar under her chin again.
Beatrice heard the scrape of Algernon’s chair against the flagstones, but before she could even look up, he was at her side, pulling her to her feet and gathering her into his arms. Warmth enveloped her as her cheek pressed against his naked chest, and she could not help the sigh of contentment that followed. She was not sure what was allowed, what was proper in that moment, but she nuzzled deeper into his embrace, reveling in the comfort it provided.
“I am sorry, Beatrice,” Algernon rasped, slipping his fingers up the nape of her neck and into her loose hair. “I amso sosorry for what you were put through.”
Despite trying to keep them at bay, tears sprung from Beatrice’s eyes as she felt his lips caress a kiss atop her head.
“It is not your fault,” she said, her breath shaky and full of tears.
“Even so, you did not deserve what happened to you,” Algernon replied, his arm tightening around her waist.
She stayed there for a moment, sinking deeper into the comfort Algernon’s embrace provided. She knew what he said was true; she had always felt so. Yet it was affirming to hear someone like him state such a thing. Then he pulled her away, keeping his hands on her elbows. His eyes fell not her own but to her right upper arm.
With the softest touch that made her tremble, Algernon drew a knuckle gently down the five finger-sized bruises Simeon had left behind.
“These are not the first bruises that man has left you with then,” he murmured, his green eyes darkening.
“No,” she confessed, bringing her own hand up to them, “and they are certainly not the worse. Look, they are already starting to fade. I suspect they’ll even be gone by the morning.”
She looked up Algernon then, wanting to assure him that she was fine, but as she caught his heated gaze, her breath hitched, and she found herself speechless.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“They are certainly not the worse. Look, they are already starting to fade. I suspect they’ll even be gone by the morning.”
Beatrice was trying to reassure him. She had just confessed to a life of sadness and pain, and yetshewas trying to assurehim.
“They should have never been put on you in the first place,” Algernon gritted out.
Feeling his anger start to lead him again, he pushed it down. He could be angry later, and he intended to. Just not right now. Not when Beatrice needed kindness and caring. He took a moment, forcing the storm of rage deep into a mental cage. Then he leaned down and softly caressed his lips against her bruises.
Satisfaction roiled through his blood as a soft sigh escaped Beatrice’s lips. He kissed each bruise on her right side softly then moved to her left side, placing a tender kiss on each of thosebruises as well. Then he gathered her back into his arms as he sat down with her in his lap. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of lavender and chamomile from her silky-smooth skin that he could not seem to stop running his hands over.
“Snuggle,” he commanded, and heat sparked through his loins as Beatrice immediately curled into him like a kitten and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Her hot breath felt delicious against his skin, and he could not help the way his arms tightened around her much smaller body.