Page 43 of To Wager with Love

“De Beauvoir!”

He turned around, not looking especially pleased as he was hailed once more, this time by a group of fashionable people who were heading towards them.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, glowering. “Miss Butler,” he added, sotto voce. “Could I trouble you to remind me of an urgent appointment in precisely two minutes?”

“Oh!” Minerva exclaimed, delighted to be given the opportunity to be of use to him. “Indeed, you may.”

She turned her attention to the newcomers with interest. There were three men, one of an age with de Beauvoir, and the other two young dandies. With them was a stunning, exquisitely dressed woman also of around thirty years of age, and a lady Minerva took to be her maid.

“Lord Havisham,” Mr de Beauvoir said, acknowledging the older man before turning to the woman with a frown. “Ah, and Mrs Tate. Good afternoon.” His words were perfectly polite, but his reluctance to stand and speak with them was palpable.

“De Beauvoir,” said Havisham, either ignoring or blithely unaware of de Beauvoir’s indifference. “Tried to see that last talk of yours. Couldn’t get in the bloody door. Wanted to ask if you’d come and do it again for me and some friends. Clever chaps, all of them. Know you’d like them. Feed you, of course, and plenty to drink. In fact, come for the weekend!”

“A kind offer,” de Beauvoir replied, looking as though he believed it anything but. “I’m afraid I have work commitments.”

“Oh, nothing that won’t wait, I don’t doubt,” Havisham replied, waving this away with the careless indifference of a man who’d never worked a day in his life.

“Oh, Mr de Beauvoir, do forgive me for interrupting,” Minerva said, sensing him bristling with irritation, “but you do have that appointment….”

“Yes,” de Beauvoir agreed, snatching at the exit she offered him. “Quite right, Miss Butler.”

“What appointment would that be, Inigo?” the woman who’d addressed him as Mrs Tate purred. She gave Minerva a pointed look and smirked. “I’m sure they’ll wait a few more minutes, for a price.”

Minerva gasped in outrage.

“You overstep, madam,” de Beauvoir said, his voice so coldly furious that Minerva felt the chill of it even when it was not directed at her. “The appointment is with my solicitor. I was merely walking Miss Butler back to her companions. If you would excuse us.”

He held out his arm to Minerva, who took it with alacrity, sent a look of sheer triumph towards the vile Mrs Tate, and stalked away with him, nose in the air.

Once they were out of earshot, de Beauvoir let out a breath.

“Miss Butler, I must beg your pardon for having subjected you to such a scene.”

“Oh, please don’t apologise, I was never more entertained,” Minerva said, grinning up at him. “And it appeared you really needed an escape route. I was only too happy to provide one. What a ghastly woman.”

He nodded. “I cannot disagree. It’s a strange thing, but some women seem to take a man’s disinterest in them as a personal affront, especially if they are considered beautiful.”

Minerva nodded, understanding how a glamorous woman like Mrs Tate would be irritated by de Beauvoir not giving her a second glance. It had rankled Minerva that he’d not remembered her after all.

“Yes, well, for some of us our faces are our fortunes. Take that away and… and I suppose it’s rather frightening to contemplate what’s left. If there is anything left,” she added, feeling a twist of anxiety knot in her stomach.

It was a moment before she realised de Beauvoir had stopped and was staring at her rather intently. Minerva gasped, realising she’d spoken carelessly and practically admitted she was an empty-headed pea hen. Well, and so she was for having spoken without thinking, she thought with a surge of irritation.

“And what do you think you’d find, Miss Butler, if you were not blessed in such a way?”

Minerva swallowed, put on the spot by the rather forthright question. Oh, well, she’d likely blown any chance of getting to know the man better; she may as well speak her mind. “Not a lot,” she admitted. “I… I’ve always been rather frightened of clever people. My cousin Prue is terribly clever. She’s a writer,” she added, giving a wistful sigh. “I hated her for a long time because she made me feel stupid in comparison, but I know it wasn’t her fault now, it was my own lack that made me angry with her.”

She looked up and found herself the subject of those intense grey-green eyes. Heavens, but they were forceful. Minerva had the strangest feeling he could see right into her brain… and wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

“I think, Miss Butler, that you are a great deal more intelligent and perceptive than you give yourself credit for.”

“Oh,” Minerva said, glowing with pleasure at his words.

“If I were you, I’d read that book. I think you might surprise yourself.”

“I-I will,” she stammered, finding her heart thudding rather too fast in a not altogether unpleasant fashion. She stared up at him, drinking in his rather uncompromising features. It was a harsh face, to be sure, but one that she felt engraved upon her soul, unforgettable. He hesitated for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision.

He reached into an inside pocket and took out a small silver case, which he opened. “My card, Miss Butler,” he said, handing it to her. “If you find the book of interest, or have any questions, you may write to me.”