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He stepped closer. “Has something happened?”

She furrowed her brows. “Things happen every day. You have to be more specific.”

Now it was Adam’s turn to get annoyed. “You know what I mean, Bea. You are not acting yourself. You’ve been subdued and quiet the entire evening.”

“I am not allowed to be in a bad mood?” she countered.

Adam paused, letting himself come to a more rational frame of mind. “You are,” he finally answered. “But I am also allowed to be worried about my friend.”

“Friend,” she murmured and moved to sit on the bed. “Are we friends?”

“I thought so.” Adam moved closer, but not in a linear direction to avoid appearing confrontational. Instead, he circled her, giving the bed a wide berth as he moved in a clockwise direction. “Do you disagree?”

She raised her hand and rubbed her forehead, her sleeve dropping and revealing reddish-purple marks on her wrist.

“What is that?” Adam forgot about his slow approach and leaped toward her.

Beatrice immediately crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her wrists. “It’s nothing.”

“Bea, I am warning you—”

“You’ll what, Adam?” she cried. “What will you do?”

Adam frowned. “I’ll stop helping with your stupid list.”

“Fine,” she agreed easily.

“Bea…” he growled. When she didn’t answer, didn’t even meet his gaze, he slowly, carefully wrapped his fingers around her forearm. She didn’t protest as he took her arm with both hands and hiked up her sleeve. Dark little marks circled her wrist, reminiscent of a handprint. As if someone had held her tightly enough to cause the damage! He took her other hand and revealed the same. “What the devil is this? Who did this to you?”

Beatrice snatched her hands back and shook out her sleeves until they covered her bruises. “No one.”

“Bea, tell me. Is it your aunt?”

For the first time since he’d approached her bed, she looked up at him, her brows furrowed, but her eyes had a glimmer of laughter in them. “Of course not. Aunt Agnes is the sweetest woman.”

“Then, who?” Adam crossed his arms over his chest and made it known with his demeanor that he was not leaving until he knew the truth.

Beatrice grimaced and looked away. “Lansdowne paid me a visit yesterday.”

“What? He did this to you, the old pig?” His voice came out too harshly and too loudly.

Beatrice shushed him and went to lock the door. Adam scrubbed his face, his blood boiling. “Why did he think—Why?”

Beatrice returned to the bed and perched on the edge, her head bent. “Does it matter?”

It really didn’t. But if she kept talking, it would distract him from finding that old sack of horse crap and beating him to the inch of death.

“He wanted to kiss me,” Beatrice whispered.

No. It didn’t work. Adam turned away, running his fingers through his hair when all he wanted was to punch his fist through the wall.

“I didn’t want to let him,” Beatrice continued, “but he is my betrothed. He has the right.”

“He has no right to hurt you!” Adam barked as he turned toward her once more, his face hot.

Beatrice let out a bitter chuckle. “Do not try to fool me or yourself. I am to marry him very soon. And then he shall be at liberty to do to me whatever he pleases.”

Adam was silent. He knew that to be true. And he could not intervene. There was nothing he could do. Beatrice wasn’t his. And if he did intervene, that would create a scandal neither of them would be able to crawl out of.