by Meara Platt
“Me?” Benedict blinked rapidly. “If I have been able to be of some assistance, then you are welcome?” He hated pretending ignorance, but it could be his only chance to protect Suzanne.
Stanley only grunted in response before returning to scanning the streets with a vicious look. “I will let you know.” He searched a bit more before returning to Benedict. “Are you staying in Shrewsbury?” he asked.
Benedict’s pulse ratcheted up. Stanley might have tracked him from St. John’s to Liverpool and from Liverpool to Shropshire, but Benedict had the feeling the man didn’t know where exactly he and Suzanne were staying. He thought fast, searching for a way to befuddle the man. “I am only passing through,” he said. “I’ve been staying at an inn just outside of town, though I forget the name. The King’s something. I’ve been waiting for the appropriate conveyance to take me on to Bristol, and eventually to London. The roads are dreadful at this time of year, though.”
Stanley grunted again in response. “Perhaps I will join you at The King’s something,” he said, bursting into a toothy smile. “I believe we have some unfinished business.”
“Do we?” Benedict fought to keep his expression banal. “I’m afraid my Antigua plantation was sold quite a few months ago. As far as I can tell, that was the beginning and end of our business.”
Stanley stared silently at him. Benedict did his best not to betray anything with his expression. At long last, Benedict had the feeling Stanley had given up.
“Good day to you, Lord Killian,” he said in a menacing voice before turning and walking away.
Benedict watched him go, fear for Suzanne’s safety growing within him. He needed to get back to Hadnall Heath and her as quickly as possible, but he needed to do it in as round-about a way as he could.
Determination to do whatever it took to keep Suzanne safe filled him as he turned and marched on to where his carriage waited. He would leave town in the opposite direction that he needed to travel. From there, he would double back, heading to Hadnall Heath. But he would stop in and discuss the matter with Rufus Herrington before returning to the cottage. With any luck. Herrington would set some of his footmen or tenants as guards around his property. Perhaps Lady Caro would be amenable to having him and Suzanne move into the big house, though if they did, it was unlikely they would be able to share a bed, as they were doing. That possibility depressed Benedict, but he knew he couldn’t afford to think about it. His first and only concern needed to be for Suzanne’s safety.
Chapter Eight
“And then, just when I thought the poor woman couldn’t be any more ridiculous, Mrs. Carpenter’s baby spit up on her,” Suzanne giggled as she regaled Benedict with the tale of her afternoon with Lady Crawford over breakfast the next day. “Mrs. Carpenter and I both rushed to find a cloth to clean the mess up, but all poor Lady Crawford could do was hold the baby at arm’s length, screaming. That, of course, set the poor, tiny boy off, which meant both of them were crying as though the world were coming to an end. Mrs. Carpenter finally rescued her son, and I did the best I could to tidy Lady Crawford. It wasn’t that extensive of a mess. But how the woman expects to navigate motherhood when one tiny spit-up terrifies her so remains a mystery.”
Suzanne’s giggling faded somewhat as she noted Benedict’s lukewarm reaction to the story. He sipped his tea and ate his eggs more or less in silence. He wasn’t entirely unaffected by her tale, but his smile was strained, and it was clear from the lack of focus in his eyes that he was hundreds of miles away.
“I will keep my adventures to myself, if they aren’t what you want to hear in the morning,” she said, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “I know you are not necessarily awake, even when your eyes are open.”
“I am sorry,” Benedict sighed, his eyes focusing as he smiled at her. He twisted his hand to hold hers, their fingers twining together. “I can assure you, I find every word you say completely charming.”
A rush of feeling swirled through Suzanne’s chest. It wasn’t entirely welcome. Her time with Benedict was coming to an end, and it hurt. More and more, especially since arriving in England, she’d found herself wishing for some miracle that would allow her to continue on in Benedict’s arms for the rest of her life. Those prayers would issue up from her heart at night as she snuggled against his side, particularly when he showed so much care for helping her find a comfortable position to sleep in with her expansive belly. Not that there was a comfortable position for sleeping in her state.
“I agree with you,” he said, pulling his hand away from hers with a sudden intake of breath, as if he, too, realized the danger of fostering so much intimacy between them. “This Lady Crawford of yours will have a hard time of motherhood if she pales at the sight of a baby doing what a baby does. But in all likelihood, she will have an army of nursemaids and nannies to care for the baby, leaving her free to forget about her child entirely.”
Suzanne reached for her tea, swallowing a mouthful to combat her suddenly dry throat. “I was hoping to speak with you at some point about a similar arrangement for…for our baby.” She couldn’t believe her daring, both in finally bringing up the subject that had been on the tip of her tongue for months but that she had been too anxious to discuss and about calling the babe within her theirs. “I am more than happy to stay on as this little one’s nursemaid for as long as you need me,” she said in a rush, then hid the pink that came to her cheeks by sipping her tea and hiding behind the cup.
When she braved a look at Benedict, he was studying her with eyes so full of emotion and indecision that it made her want to fly into his arms to tell him everything would be all right. As soon as their eyes met, he broke into a wistful smile.
“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it,” he said. “Or that I wasn’t still considering it. But we should deal with one thing at a time.” He grew suddenly serious, and his brow knit in concern. “There’s something I haven’t told you about my trip into Shrewsbury yesterday.”
“Oh?” Suzanne’s stomach fluttered. The baby seemed to feel the same trepidation and kicked restlessly. Had Benedict encountered his beloved Lucy in town somehow? Would everything be over long before she had assumed it would be?
Benedict let out a breath and reached for her hand on the table. “I ran into Mr. Stanley in Shrewsbury.”
In a flash, the dread Suzanne thought she would feel turned into an entirely different sort of dread. She gulped as fear washed through her. “He followed us here?” It wasn’t truly a question, but she prayed for some sort of denial, for Benedict to say he was mistaken.
“I believe so,” Benedict said, his shoulders sagging. “But don’t worry, I’ve already taken steps to ensure your safety.”
“Steps?” she asked.
He shifted in his chair, squaring his shoulders and addressing her like a general planning for war. “I’ve spoken to my friend, Lord Herrington, about patrolling this estate to make certain that no one who shouldn’t be here trespasses. He assures me that Mr. Stanley won’t set foot on any land owned by him. And Lady Caro has made it known that if you would like to move into the grand house for the duration of your confinement, she would be happy to play hostess.”
He didn’t seem happy about that possibility, and it didn’t take much for her to see why. Tucking themselves away in a country cottage meant they could continue the illusion of closeness. Being a guest in someone’s house would end all that. She had no idea how Benedict had explained their relationship to his friends, but even the most outlandish of hosts wouldn’t allow two unmarried guests to share a room under their roof.
“I will do whatever you think is safest,” she answered at last, glancing down at her unfinished breakfast for a moment. Her appetite was completely gone, so she stood to take her dishes into the kitchen.
“I believe in a wait-and-see stance at this point,” Benedict said, rising and helping her clean up from the meal. “After all, at this stage of pregnancy, you should not move around too much or
endure any unnecessary strain.”
She grinned over her shoulder at him as she set the dishes aside to be washed. He was so considerate of her, but it went beyond that. He had developed feelings for her. But whether those feelings were stronger than fondness because she carried his child and was helping him woo the woman he truly wanted, was unknown.
“I told Lady Crawford I would meet her today,” she said, suddenly remembering, as they continued tidying up. “I need to go to Shawbury this morning, if only to tell her tea will be impossible.”
Benedict frowned at her announcement. “I’m not certain it’s safe.”
“I’m not certain crossing Lady Crawford is safe,” Suzanne countered. “The woman is surprisingly persistent. She might be the sort who would come seek me out if I didn’t appear when and where I said I would in the village.”
Benedict frowned. “This Lady Crawford sounds like just another of many spoiled, fussy women of so-called breeding who believes the world revolves around her.”
“She is a bit silly,” Suzanne agreed cautiously. “But I think she has a good heart.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Benedict finished putting away their dishes and dried the pan Suzanne had just washed, which was charming, considering the task was, in theory, so far beneath him. “Women of the aristocracy can be insufferable when they take on protégés. Even when they seem harmless at first.”
“Why don’t you come with me, then?” Suzanne asked. “You can watch over me along the way, and you can judge for yourself whether Lady Crawford’s intentions are pure.” She moved closer to him with a mischievous grin. “And you can see just how silly the woman is. I am certain you will be entertained.”
He met her grin with one of his own. More than that, he inched closer to her. Their bodies were close enough to touch, and for one, heart-stopping moment, Suzanne was convinced that he would bend toward her and kiss her. She held her breath, tilting her head toward him and meeting his eyes with undisguised longing. It had been so long since she’d felt his lips on hers, and she was hungry to feel them again.
But he stepped away, clearing his throat. “If you must go, then I’ll go with you.”
It was the best she could hope for, though a kiss would have been nicer than a thousand jaunts across the countryside to meet eccentric noblewomen. “Thank you,” she said all the same, then broke away from him to go about her business for the morning. She wasn’t certain being that close to him was good for either of them.
Benedict prepared the small carriage his friend had loaned him, and before too long, they were on their way into the village. The skies threatened rain, but even grey, Suzanne found the world around her beautiful. That may have had something to do with Benedict by her side. She was mightily impressed with him for driving his own conveyance, but then, since she had met him, she’d learned he was as independent as she was.
They drew attention as they arrived in town, but Suzanne found she didn’t mind. It was highly unlikely that the citizens of a tiny, Shropshire village would recognize Lord Killian on sight, which meant that Suzanne could pretend, at least for a moment, that he wasn’t a lord at all, he was only her Benedict. He smiled at her as if she belonged to him as he helped her down from the carriage, and he was slow to let go of her hand. For that beautiful moment, she could believe that they belonged to each other and that everything in the world was exactly as it should be.
At least until a startled gasp and shout of, “Lord Killian?” greeted them from the door just outside of the village’s café.
Suzanne turned, her smile slowly fading, to find Lady Crawford gaping at the two of them—or rather, at Benedict—as if seeing a ghost. If that wasn’t bad enough, Benedict’s pleasant smile instantly vanished, to be replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.
“Lucy?” He stared at her in utter shock.
A dark, swirling sensation threatened to cause Suzanne to black out as she together put the details of the mad situation they’d just fallen into. If she hadn’t been clinging to Benedict’s arm after alighting from the carriage, she would have sunk to her knees.
“Lord Killian, what on earth are you doing here?” Lady Crawford regained her power of speech first. She waddled toward them, one hand on her round belly. “The last I heard, you had sailed away to the Caribbean and your father was killed by pirates.”
“That is true,” Benedict said, as out of breath as if he’d just finished fighting off the pirates. His disbelieving stare dropped straight to Lady Crawford’s belly. His mouth opened, but instead of saying whatever he’d been about to say, he closed his mouth, shifted his stance, tilted his head, and stared at Lady Crawford. “What is the meaning of this?”
“The meaning of what?” Lady Crawford said, blinking and obviously at a complete loss.
Benedict’s face was slowly turning red. “When last we spoke, you rejected my suit because you did not think it was fair to burden a marquess with a wife who was barren.”
Lady Crawford flinched, looking as puzzled as ever. “Did I say that?” She placed a hand on her heart. “That doesn’t sound at all like something I would say. Are you certain those were my words?”
“Yes,” Benedict said, near shouting. “You told me that you were flattered by my offer, but that you could not, in good conscience accept it, because you had been informed in no uncertain terms by the finest doctors in London that you were unable to bear children.”
Lady Crawford looked as though he had spit-up on her shoulder, like the Carpenter baby had. She glanced down at her belly. “Not to be indelicate, my lord, but clearly you can see that is not the case.”
Benedict opened his mouth, but again, nothing came out. “How,” he began, but stopped. “When….” Again, he stopped. Finally, he straightened to his full height and cleared his throat. “I suppose congratulations on your nuptials is in order.”
“Yes, thank you,” Lady Crawford said, beaming. “Lord Crawford and I are very happy. He simply swept me off my feet last season. Though had I known his family’s estate was so far away from the heart of London, I might have considered another proposal.” A moment too late, she must have realized her mistake. “Oh,” she said, clapping a hand to her mouth for a moment. “Your estate is in Kent, is it not? That is ever so much closer to London than here.”
The color that had been rising on Benedict’s face reached a dangerous shade of puce. Suzanne’s heart went out to him. It must have been beyond shocking to realize that everything he’d pinned his hopes and dreams on for the past year and more was built on an illusion. Though from the very little Suzanne knew of Lady Crawford, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised.
At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to grieve for Benedict’s loss either. Not when her heart pounded with all the possibilities of what Lady Crawford’s duplicity could mean for her.
“I do not understand any of this,” Benedict said, rubbing his temples. “Why would you tell me you were barren and would not marry me if it wasn’t the case?”
Lady Crawford shrugged. “I suppose it must have been my intention to be kind in rejecting your suit.” She paused and blinked, falling into her own thoughts. “Though why would I refuse the suit of a marquess?”
Suzanne was curious about that herself, but then, she had fled from marriage to the American equivalent of a marquess in terms of land and fortune. But Hugh was another matter. He was cruel and vicious, whereas Benedict was all gallantry and kindness. Benedict was handsome as well, whereas Hugh was—
—standing in the alley between the pub and a shop only a few yards away.
Suzanne gulped and pressed a hand to her belly. She glanced around, but there was nowhere to run. Hugh had spotted her. More than that, he glared at her with a look of pure fire.
“I am sincerely sorry for all the confusion, Lord Killian.” Lady Crawford continued their awkward conversation. Neither she nor Benedict had seen Hugh. “This is all such a muddle.”
“It is more than a muddle, my lady,” Bene
dict said, his voice tight.
In the alley, Hugh gestured for Suzanne to come to him. Suzanne swallowed. She should tug on Benedict’s sleeve and do whatever it took to alert him to the situation. But it didn’t seem right to drag him into her mess when his world as he knew it had just collapsed in on itself.
She inched slowly toward the alley, confident that she could face Hugh and tell him off on her own. She wasn’t the same frightened woman who had fled her father’s house on the morning of her wedding anymore. She had escaped a life she didn’t want and forged ahead on her own. She had learned to do what was necessary to keep herself alive, and she had found a friend and a lover in Benedict along the way. He would stand by her, no matter what happened. She was strong now, and she would use that strength to tell Hugh precisely what she thought of him.
“Someone could have at least written to me,” Benedict railed on in his confrontation with Lady Crawford as Suzanne stepped into the mouth of the alley.
“I know you’ve come to confront me,” Suzanne whispered to Hugh as she faced him down, careful to stay out of his arm’s reach. “But I’m not going anywhere with you. You don’t frighten me anymore.”
“Don’t I?” Hugh growled. He glanced down at her stomach with a look of pure disgust. “Didn’t take you long to turn into the whore I always knew you were, did it?”
“I’m not a whore,” Suzanne hissed. She hesitated, then said, “It’s a long story.”
“That bastard Englishman did this to you, didn’t he?” Hugh growled.
Suzanne huffed a breath through her nose and crossed her arms. “I see no reason to explain myself or my actions to you.”
“You’ll explain what I tell you to explain,” he snapped. “You’re mine, my property, and you won’t ever be anyone else’s.”
Fear began to creep around the edges of Suzanne’s resolve. “I do not belong to you, Hugh. Or anyone else but myself, for that matter.”