“You don’t have to know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her spine. “You just have to trust that I’ll know, and when the time comes, you’ll know too. Let me.” He got down to business, relieving her hair of pins with deft dispatch. He piled his finds neatly on the vanity then guided Sara by the shoulders to sit on the stool facing the folding mirror. He fished in her traveling bag, while Sara watched in silent alarm as he produced the hairbrush.

“I’ve ordered you a bath,” Beck said, his hands on her shoulders drawing her back against his thighs. “And I’ve a few things to see to while you soak, but the tub will be put in the bedroom, and if you shut the door, dinner can be set up out here. Will that suit?”

“Of course.” Good heavens, what did people talk about in situations like this?

“I want to make this weekend special, Sara.” Beck got her braid free, and it uncoiled down Sara’s back until he caught it in his hands and untied the ribbon at the end. “I realized as we approached the town that where you see the beauty of the place, I see only the many, many times I left my homeland from these shores, or came back to it, exhausted in body and spirit, wondering what the point was of the excursion.”

He paused as he unbraided three thick skeins of hair. “Sometimes, I wondered what the point of my entire excursion on earth was. Portsmouth was so pretty, so bright and busy, while I—”

He gathered her hair up in his hands. In the mirror, Sara watched as he buried his nose in bright, coppery tresses.

“While you?” She wanted to hear the rest of his recitation, wanted it badly enough to lose sight of her worry.

“My brother had found me in an opium den, doing my utmost to shuffle off this mortal coil. For much of the journey home, the drugs were leaving my system. At the time, I thought it fitting I should endure such an ordeal while at sea.”

This was important, also sad. “There is opium in Portsmouth, Beckman. There’s opium in any town with an apothecary, and many people believe a small amount has no untoward consequences.”

He dropped her hair, and in the mirror seemed to stand very tall behind her. “There was sunshine in Portsmouth, blinding sunshine, the gulls wheeling overhead, the hum and bustle of commerce on the dock. There was something of the essential goodness of an English town. I think sometimes I was saved by a delayed case of homesickness.”

“Saved?” She raised the question, because her heart would have said a part of Beckman, as competent, hale, and confident as he was, was still at sea.

Beck’s mouth tipped up in a wry smile. “Your hair should be a wonder of the modern world.” He resumed running his hands through the unbound mass of it. “It’s every bit as soft and silky as I imagined, and how other women must envy you its beauty.”

“It’s just hair.” Nowhere near as important as the words Beckman had given her regarding his past. She wanted to pry, to ask questions, to rant at him that doubting the gift of life was beneath him and a sin and something he must never do again.

Except she had entertained the same doubts herself.

“I used to brush out my little sisters’ hair,” Beck said, smoothing the brush through her locks. “Ethan was their favorite, since he was the oldest, but then he left, and Nick went a little crazy, so I became the consolation big brother. You can’t tease a sister as hard when you’ve braided her hair.”

“You probably can’t taunt a brother as hard when he’s braided your hair, either.”

“Verily.” Beck put the brush aside a few moments later and stroked his fingers through her hair. “I was brilliant and just didn’t know it. I spiked my sisters’ guns with a hairbrush.”

“Is Nick still a little crazy?”

His hands paused in her hair then resumed their slow caresses.

“Yes. I think maybe he is, but there’s hope, since he and Ethan are at least talking, and maybe when he sees Ethan survived his banishment, Nick can get on about his life.”

“Banishment?”

“Banishment.” Beck’s touch became more businesslike as he divided her hair into three thick sections. “My papa found it a useful tool with his sons, and I’ve been regularly banished myself—until Nick fetched me back from Paris.”

“Beckman?”

“Love?”

“Why did Nicholas fetch you back from Paris?”

“Ah.” He began to braid her hair. “I asked him once, because I wondered the same thing. Going to France was very risky, and the earl has two other legitimate sons, so I was clearly expendable. Nick simply did not agree with Papa’s assessment that I’d sort myself out in time. George had just left the schoolroom, and Dolph was still with his tutors. Nick was unwilling to carp at them to see to the succession. Hence, I needed to be retrieved.”

“Your brother fetched you home so you could remarry?” Sara could not keep her distaste for his brother’s motives from her voice. “Why couldn’t your idiot brother do his duty by the title? He’s the heir.”

“Since I went up to school, Nick has been hinting and warning and outright lecturing me he will not be having children. It’s most of the reason why I married. The spare’s purpose in life is to provide that service if the heir can’t. I gave it my best try, or so I tell him and Papa, and I failed. That’s where I leave the discussion, and now Nicholas is marrying, apparently, but the lectures haven’t stopped.”

“I would like to meet this somewhat crazy brother of yours,” Sara said. “I would tell him what I think of his selfishness.”

“Nick isn’t selfish, but his situation makes him seem so sometimes.” Beck sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of this. “When you finish your bath, don’t dress. We’ll serve ourselves, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course.” Sara rose, relieved and a little surprised when Beck took her in his arms and just held her.

“My thanks.”

“For?” She wanted to glance up, assess his mood, but his chin was resting on her temple, contentment in his sigh.

“Letting me take down your hair, coming here with me, letting me hold you.”

Letting him?

“It might come as a surprise to you, Beckman Sylvanus Haddonfield, but you are a comely man, full of charm and clean about your person. Spending time with you like this is no hardship. No hardship at all.” Though it was a challenge. Moment by moment, whether he was sharing his past, taking down her hair, or merely holding her, it was a challenge.

“You’re so fierce.” Beck’s smile curved against her brow. “But your bath will be here soon, and I’d best be about my errands.” He patted her backside, a curiously endearing gesture, and stepped back. As he took his leave, a troop of maids and footmen brought in Sara’s bath and washing water, leaving her to soak in peace and to wonder what errands the Haddonfield spare was about.

Eleven

By the time Beckman had returned to their rooms, the tub was gone, a tea cart laden with dinner had been set up near the window, and Sara was beginning to fret a little at his absence.

“Miss me?” He set down some packages and crossed directly to wrap his arms around her. “Your fragrances are enough to drive me to distraction, Sarabande.”

“You’ve bathed as well.” Sara got a nice whiff of bergamot, citrus, and Beck. She buried her nose against his sternum and wondered when his embrace had come to feel like home and a private adventure rolled into one.

She tilted back to peer up at him. “Just how tall are you?”

“A bit shy of six and a half feet.” Beck peered right back at her. “I’m not the runt in my family—that honor belongs to George, who’s all of three or four inches shorter. Nick is taller.”

“God in heaven. The poor man, no wonder he’s somewhat crazy.”

“Why do you say that?” Beck slipped his arms from her and moved to shrug out of his jacket. Sara’s hands went to his shoulders, helping him out of his coat then turning him to unknot his cravat.

“A man that size will have little privacy,” Sara said. “He’s always visible, and people likely see only his size, like people see only my red hair. You are tall enough to know what that feels like, to be seen only as an oversized physical specimen. Even North is regarded by most as more brute than gentleman, at least until they hear him speak.”

Beck lifted his chin, suggesting to Sara that other women had assisted him out of his clothes. His cuff links came next, and then his waistcoat.

“Tell me, love,” Beck said as she started on the buttons of his shirt. “Are we to allow me any clothing during our meal?”

Sara dropped her hands and stepped back. “I beg your pardon. I wasn’t… Oh, dear…”

“Dear heart,” Beck said, pulling her into his embrace, “you may undress me any time. My dressing gown hangs on the back of the bedroom door, and then I’ll be at least as unclothed as you.”

She nodded, face flaming, and Beck sat to tug off his boots.

“Were you your husband’s valet?” Beck asked as Sara brought him his blue velvet dressing gown.

“I was not.” She took a surreptitious sniff of his fragrance from his dressing gown. “I liked sleeping in your dressing gown. It’s very warm and soft.” She sniffed again, crushing it to her nose. “And it bears your fragrance.”

Beck grinned, rose, and tugged his shirt off over his head. “Naughty, but flattering. And here I resent your dressing gown no end and can think of nothing other than getting you out of it.” His breeches, stockings, and smalls were gone, just like that, leaving him naked in the middle of the sitting room.

“Beckman…” Sara turned her face away, another blush gracing her cheeks. “You are shameless.” Also beautiful and desirable.