Free Much Ado about the Shrew by Elizabeth May

eyes. "They're not real proposals."
                "They
were fictitious proposals?" Ben leaned forward, interested.
                "No,
of course not," Beatrice frowned. "They just weren't sincere ."
                "You
were offered insincere proposals?" Ben's eyebrows drew up and he felt
anger course through him.
                "No,"
Beatrice huffed. "They just weren't acceptable, is all."
                Unacceptable? "Who were they
from?" Ben asked.
                "The
Duke of Beaufort, the Duke of Leeds, and Viscount Lisle," Beatrice sighed.
                "Beaufort
and Leeds..." Ben began.
                "I
know," Beatrice shuddered. "They're older than my own father would be
if he were still alive."
                "Lisle?"
Ben asked.
                "I
danced with him once," she said. "He stepped on my feet four times.
Four!"
                "I
didn't realize that was a precursor to a proposal," Ben chuckled.
                "It's
not funny," Beatrice said. "But Lisle's a fortune hunter, according
to my aunt. He is only interested in me for my dowry."
                Ben
frowned. "That is an issue you have to acknowledge. And why you cannot go
out into gardens at night with any young upstart who might ruin you."
                "But
it's perfectly acceptable to go into a dark library with you?"
                Ben
swallowed. "Um..." He looked over at Beatrice and saw her inquisitive
gaze bored right at him, and he could only think about how her eyes softened
last night right before he held her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers.
What color had her eyes been then? He strained his memory for the color.
                "That's
what I thought," Beatrice said, standing and breaking the connection.
                "I
should apologize," Ben said hastily.
                "Well,
are you?"
                Ben
stared at her. Was he sorry for rescuing her? Definitely not; she had no idea
what she was getting into. But was he sorry for kissing her himself?  
                "No,"
he said slowly. "No, I'm not."
                Beatrice
shook her head and Ben heard her call him a name under her breath. "I am
going back to the house now. Are you coming?"
                Ben
did not answer, but merely stood and offered Beatrice his arm. She looked at it
for several seconds before hesitantly placing her arm on his. Ben covered her
small one with his larger one, entrapping it in his embrace. He thought he
heard her breath catch, but he wasn't sure, over the pounding of his own heart.
Without a word said between them, they walked back to the party, where Ben
deposited her at her aunt's side and left the party. He knew his mother would
disapprove, but he could not face any further female censure that day.

 
 
 
 
 

Chapter
Six

 
                Ben
sighed as he made his way up the stairs to the Putney's ball. He was tired of
chasing after Bee, and she was obviously not happy with him tailing after her.
This would be the last evening, he decided, and from now on he would be
spending his evenings at his club. Or perhaps he would look to entertain a
young actress or singer; he knew Milford and Welles had been talking about
doing such a thing, although he doubted they would follow through.   They were far too tame to take a mistress.
                He,
on the other hand... well, he had taken one, for a short time, anyway. Isadora. Ben sighed with the memory of
her. She had insisted on being called Lady Isadora, although Ben doubted she
could claim any noble bloodlines. She was beautiful, and their time before she
was officially his was quite heated.   She
had no qualms about following the regiment, and he had made it a personal goal
to have her acquiesce to be his, and his alone. The moment he became her
protector, however,