With her hand bared, he lifted it to his lips, turning it over to kiss the soft, sensitive skin of her palm. Her lips parted as his touched her, her eyes riveted on their point of contact. Finally, he was getting through to her. His gaze flitted to the painting, ready to tell her exactly what he had found in Scotland, but the moment their eye contact was broken, she yanked her hand from his grasp, taking a quick step backward.

“No, I know what you are doing,” she said, taking yet another step back, putting more than just distance between them. Her walls were up, their connection of moments ago severed. “You are trained in the art of debate. Who better to convince a person of anything than a barrister? A successful barrister can make any jury believe his client’s innocence—whether it is true or not.”

“Beatrice—”

“No,” she exclaimed, darting around the easel. “You know full well the effect you have on me. You know that you’ve only to touch me and my defenses are weakened. So tell me now. Please look me straight in the eye and without manipulation or exploitation of my weaknesses, tell me: Do you have any real proof of your claims?”

He stared at her, taking in the huge blue eyes that had haunted his dreams, the lips that had always been so quick to smile, and her slender frame that had fit so perfectly in his arms. He had agonized about how to prove his love to her, only now to realize the cold, harsh truth.

He couldn’t.

So long as she was so damn eager to believe the worst of him, he could never truly win her over. And that wasn’t the only truth reverberating around inside his skull, cracking the foundations of their relationship.

The painting had seemed like such a lifesaver—something tangible to point to and prove that he was willing to turn over his family’s single most valuable possession to her. How could she doubt him?

But he knew now that it was all wrong. She would see it as a bribe—as a manipulation of her appreciation of his father. One look at her stricken features and glittering eyes and he just knew that the painting would solve nothing. If she didn’t believe him on the merit of his word, on the fierceness of his passion and the strength of his affection, then no tangible object was going to change things.

And, honestly, perhaps it would have been a manipulation, however unintended. He’d been so damned happy to have something of worth to offer her, it never occurred to him that his gifts to her—the studio time, the gallery tour, the paintbrushes—may have reduced him to little more than her idol’s son. At this point, how could he even know if she had any true affection for him?

His heart ached brutally, his body unable to accept what his mind was coming to realize. He shook his head slowly, breathing in the last hints of lilac. “If you doona already have the proof you need, then nothing I say will change anything.”

* * *

It was exactly what she had been expecting.

So why did she feel as though she’d been kicked in the chest by one of Papa’s best stallions? Beatrice clenched her jaw against the disappointment that flooded through her, washing away the last vestiges of hope.

“So . . . that’s it?” The flood receded, and she was left with a huge, yawning emptiness inside her. How could she be so utterly unprepared for an eventuality that she had predicted?

He spread his hands. “The decision is in your hands, Bea. Either you trust what we have between us, or you do not.” The angles of his face had never looked more severe, more harsh. More beautiful.

She closed her eyes, and immediately Godfrey’s face came to mind, his sneering eyes and self-satisfied smirk as clear as if he were standing before her. Had he been so smug because she had been duped by a fortune hunter, or because he could cast doubt on an already-shaky relationship? Wreaking havoc for the point of wreaking havoc?

She pushed Godfrey from her mind only to have him replaced by Diana, the way she had looked the night she had discovered her husband’s betrayal. She was shattered, broken in a way that could never be fixed by a fortune-hunting scumbag.

She opened her eyes and looked to her betrothed, helpless to know what to say. Her traitorous body sang for him, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his arms and be lost in his embrace. Her palm still burned from his kiss, a delicious, tempting heat that proved that she couldn’t trust herself around him. She needed time to think, away from the siren call of his gaze. She wanted to believe him, but if she relented and married him and discovered he had been lying, there was no turning back.

“I don’t know,” she said, raising her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “There is no separating the money and the marriage. I don’t want to make the wrong decision and regret it for the rest of my life.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped as though he were grinding steel with his teeth. “If the answer isn’a yes, then it’s a no. Period. You canna have it both ways.”

“I need more time.”

“What are you going to learn with more time that your heart hasn’a already told you?”

For once in her life the pieces just wouldn’t fall into place for her. All of her normal powers of reason seemed to be completely abandoning her, leaving her vulnerable and unsure—two things she absolutely hated. “You can’t just expect me to choose right here and now. Colin, don’t be unreasonable.”

He crossed his arms, his muscles flexing against the sturdy wool of his jacket. “Of the two of us, I am not the unreasonable one.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No, you don’t actually. You’ve insulted my integrity, called into question my sincerity, and doubted the depth of my emotion for you. But the one thing you have not done is begged my pardon.” He stalked to the door and pulled it open. “So, I doona see the point of us hashing this out again and again.”

“Colin—”

“No,” he said with a decisive sweep of his hand. “I have put everything on the table for you, and you canna even see your way to accepting the sentiment, let alone returning it.”

She pressed her lips together, frustration and anger boiling up. She had every right to be cautious—they had agreed that he was the one who had to prove himself. “Who are you to judge me—”

“Your betrothed, remember?”

The statement fell flat on the floor between them, stopping the argument dead in its tracks.

“As if could I forget.”

Colin’s flint-colored eyes ignited, and he took a step back as if physically attacked. She hadn’t intended the bitterness burning in her battered heart to so vividly color her words, but she couldn’t take it back now.

“I see.” He scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “Well, I guess we know where you stand now.”

Panic welled up within her, but she refused to speak when she couldn’t be at all sure of what she would say. If only she had employed the tactic before she opened her mouth last time.

“Fine. I canna force you to see reason, clearly. Just know that if you wish for the marriage contract to be broken, then you’ll have to be the one to do it. As much as I doona wish to be yoked to a wife who finds my every word suspicious, I won’t open myself up to legal ramifications.”

Her stomach pitched like a storm-tossed ship. How had things come to this? But in that moment, something else occurred to her. If she broke the betrothal, then he would be entitled to sue for the promised dowry. Blast it all, she would drive herself mad, second-guessing herself like this. She had to talk to someone; otherwise she’d have herself tied up in knots in no time.

She had to get out of there, the sooner the better. “Rose,” she called, her voice shaking the tiniest bit. The maid quickly appeared, her book in her hand. “We’re leaving.”

She had thought Colin’s features couldn’t grow any harder, but before her eyes he seemed to turn to stone. His eyes frosted over, and he stared straight ahead as if she weren’t even in the room.

Beatrice motioned for her maid to go ahead of her; then, straightening her spine, she headed for the door, steeling herself to pass by him. She could have stopped. She could have wrapped her arms around him and begged his pardon.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she pushed forward, each tap of her boots on the wood stairs underscoring the chasm opening up between them. She had either just made the best decision in her life . . . or the absolute worst.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Five days.

It had been five torturous days of misery, where Beatrice had done nothing but second-guess herself. But no matter how she looked at it, it always came back to trust. Once compromised, things could never be the same. Naïveté couldn’t be reclaimed; innocence could never be rebuilt.

And she had yet to tell a soul about her decision. Her parents and younger sisters had returned to the country, and Evie and Benedict were spending some time with his brother before the rest of them returned home next week. With so much of her family out of touch, she wasn’t prepared to make an announcement that drastic in the form of a letter. No, when they all returned to the Hall for Christmas, she would do it then. In the scheme of things, a couple of weeks really didn’t matter. Colin knew the truth, and that’s what counted at that point.

A sound caught her attention, and she put down her useless paintbrush and looked to the door. The footsteps were long-strided and sure—Benedict was here.

Seconds later, he appeared in the doorway. “Do you have a moment?”

It was not the greeting of a man simply visiting family. His features were neutral, his tone bordering on official. Beatrice came around from the unused easel and pulled off her apron. “Yes, of course, Benedict. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Is something the matter?”

“That depends on how you interpret the information I come bearing.”

Well, that certainly didn’t put one at ease. “Come, have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the old sofa. The morning sun poured into the studio, warming the space far better than even a fire would. That had been a good thing, a few moments ago. Now, a prickle of concern combined with her heavy winter morning gown, making her sweat.

“I could certainly use some good news, Benedict.”

He smiled, his dimple creasing his left cheek. “I can see that. Unfortunately, I have no idea whether you will like or dislike the information I come bearing, but I decided you should have it nonetheless.”

“My, that does sound serious. All right, then, let’s hear it.” She braced herself, completely uncertain of what he could possibly have to tell her. If it was bad news, she was not opposed to boarding the next ship to France for an extended sojourn. Five or so years ought to do it.

“I received a missive today from one of my contacts who I had requested help from last month. There is to be an announcement in tomorrow’s paper, but select private invitations have already been issued.” Benedict leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Evidently, a single portrait is to go to auction next week. Sir Frederick Tate’s final masterpiece.”

Beatrice’s mouth dropped in utter astonishment. He could have just as well said Rembrandt was in town. “A final masterpiece? Does Colin know?”

“Colin is the one who is to sell it.”

The words were like a blow to the chest. “How could that be? He never . . .” She trailed off, unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation. He’d never said a word. She thought back to their meeting, which he had so eagerly arranged the moment he had returned. Was there a significance to them meeting in his father’s studio?

“From what I gather, it is a previously unknown work, discovered at the estate during his recent visit.” He leveled his chocolate gaze on her, taking in her reaction. “There are bound to be questions about why he would choose to sell the work.”

She nodded slowly. Of course there would be. Everyone would think the estate was in trouble—why else would a man sell his newly deceased father’s last piece? But in that moment, it didn’t matter to her. The whole world could think he was a penniless fortune hunter, for all she cared.

Because in that moment, in a sudden, blinding flash of clarity, she knew better.

He had every right to sue if she backed out of the betrothal. He would win, too. She had no case—and more than that, she was quite certain every detail of the settlement had been attended to in order to be certain it was legally binding.