Page 6 of A Single Obsession

He shot her a wicked grin. “You’re learning fast.”

Eliza was not so sure. It was easy to treat Anthony’s compliments lightly, but what if it was Beau who said those things? She would find it hard not to take such words seriously if her heart was involved.

But the situation had not arisen.

It was a lowering thought that—despite Anthony’s assurance that everyone played this game—Beau had not made the slightest attempt to flirt with her.

Chapter 3

After the hunt, Beau returned to his stepfather’s estate in Alton. The ride should have been pleasant, but it was spoiled by his half-sister’s wretched husband, who insisted on accompanying him. By the time he arrived at Holybourne House, he was counting the minutes until he could escape from Whitlow’s moralising talk.

As the house came into view, Beau’s heart sank. A carriage sat on the gravel outside the front, and there was no doubting Lord Whitlow’s crest on the door panel. Frances must have come to visit her mother and was bound to be staying for dinner. Darn it. Was he never to be rid of Whitlow’s irksome company?

For a moment, he considered riding into Alton, and eating at The Swan. Dare he? No. It wasn’t worth it. The relief would be short-lived. It would be preferable to endure a few more hours of Whitlow’s company rather than face his mother’s recriminations if he failed to appear at her dinner table.

While his valet helped him dress for dinner, Beau wondered if he would survive the evening without losing his temper.

He delayed as long as he dared before making his way to the drawing room, where his mother was entertaining her guests. One glance around the room was all he needed to see that the evening would be even worse than he had feared. Frances had brought Whitlow’s parents and sister with her as well.

“At last,” Lady Frances exclaimed as he walked into the room and the visitors rose to greet him.

With an awkward smile, Beau bowed to Lord and Lady Whitlow and then to the others. He intended to take a seat as far away from them as possible, but Frances was not having it. Pressing her lips together in displeasure, clearly unimpressed with his lukewarm greeting toward her new family, she grasped his arm and led him to where her sister-in-law stood.

Her eyes flashed with challenge, as if daring him to pull away. Beau was helpless to resist, and he found himself face to face with Miss Whitlow. She had jet black hair, a porcelain complexion, and a curvaceous figure that many men would find alluring. He might have found her attractive if it was not for the predatory gleam in her eye.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he realised he faced a greater challenge this evening than holding onto his temper. He had witnessed the manoeuvres of too many matchmakers not to guess what Frances was up to.

He would have given anything to throw off her grip and run from the room, but he did not dare. Everyone was looking at him—including his mother.

“You met my new sister at the wedding, Beaumont, but I don’t think you had the chance to get acquainted,” Frances said, drawing Miss Whitlow forward. “I’m sure you would love to hear about my brother’s young racehorse, wouldn’t you, Harriet?”

Miss Whitlow peaked up at Beau from under her eyelashes. “Yes, I would, if it is not too much trouble.”

Beau struggled to repress the shudder that coursed through his body as a result of that flirtatious look. Though offered a blank canvas to talk about Romeo, he’d never felt less inclined to do so.

Not for a moment had he doubted that Eliza’s interest in his horses was genuine, but Miss Whitlow? That was another matter.

Unable to remain silent without appearing rude, he described Romeo to an apparently appreciative audience, but he suspected her interest was manufactured to curry his favour.

Beau was relieved when dinner was announced, and they proceeded to the dining room. He held back, hoping to avoid sitting next to Miss Whitlow, but it was a forlorn hope. His mother made sure of that.

However, by dint of asking a few questions about her family, Miss Whitlow provided all the necessary conversation, and he applied himself to eating with more than usual diligence.

After brushing through dinner tolerably well, Beau sat with the other gentlemen over his port for as long as he dared. Here, at least, he had an ally in his stepfather. Lord Harting would have been content to sit with him all evening, but Lord Whitlow and his son had been promised a game of whist and lingering was not an option.

Beau foresaw an evening of purgatory. He was not a card player. Counting cards and tricks was beyond him, making his play erratic. On this occasion, however, there was an advantage to playing, as he would not be expected to make much conversation during the game.

Having expressed his willingness to play, he sat down at the table, only to find Miss Whitlow taking the chair opposite.

Frances snickered. “Oh, I shouldn’t do that, Harriet. You would do far better to be my partner. Playing cards is not Beaumont’s strong point.”

“You shall not dissuade me,” Miss Whitlow replied, flashing a look at Frances that made Beau feel uneasy. “My mind is made up. I am determined to partner Lord Beaumont.”

As the game progressed, Beau’s sense of uneasiness increased. Though she must have regretted her willingness to play with him when they lost every hand, the smile did not depart from Miss Whitlow’s lips. With a sinking heart, Beau realised she was bent on being pleased.

At last, the tedious game was over, and a maid brought in the coffee and tea. Beau rose from the card table and hovered with a semblance of politeness while he waited for Miss Whitlow to sit. Once she was seated, he found an excuse to talk to his stepfather and took a place next to him, as far away from her as possible.

Frances, however, was not to be deterred from forcing her new sister’s company on him.