“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.

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.

“So you be shameless too.” Beck padded to her side and took his dressing gown from her hands. “Enjoy a little peek, Sara. Get some ideas for how you want to spend the rest of the evening, hmm?” He shook out his dressing gown and shrugged into it, while Sara did, indeed, risk a glance at him before he belted it at his waist.

Dinner was simple but satisfying. They talked as they ate, about the book Sara had read, about their shopping itinerary for the next day, about the city of Portsmouth, which Beck seemed to know thoroughly. They also talked of sights on the Continent they’d both seen, finding on at least two occasions they’d stayed in the same inns, though not at the same time.

“Why didn’t you use London as your port of call?” Sara asked. “Portsmouth had to be a little remote, given your family lives in Kent.”

“When one wants anonymity about one’s comings and goings, London is not one’s first choice. Then too, I got in the habit of putting in at the smaller ports.”

He crossed his knife and fork on the edge of his plate. “Shall we take in a little evening air?” He rose, not waiting for her answer but holding her chair for her and wrapping her hand in his. “It’s dark enough we’ll have privacy on the balcony.”