The door swung open and Benedict followed Alex inside. A fire crackled in the hearth, and tapers scattered through the room illuminated soft of yellow and pink décor. Benedict didn’t understand what he was seeing at first, his mind jarred as he gazed over shelves neatly arranged with toys, another chest brimming with more of them, and a rocking horse adorned with yellow ribbon. A small, mousy woman sat in a chair near the fire, knitting needles clicking as she worked.
The woman gazed up at them with an uncertain smile. She stood, set her knitting aside and curtsied. “Good evening, my lord. She’s been fed and is right cheery this evening. Have you come to put her to bed?”
“Yes,” Alex replied, casting a nervous glance at Benedict. “But first, I wanted to introduce her to my guest … and you as well. Rosalind, this is my dearest friend, Mr. Benedict Sterling. Ben, this is Rosalind, the nursemaid.”
It was that final word that rattled through Benedict’s mind, and the reality of what Alex wanted to show him became clear.
Not what … but who.
Rosalind had uttered a greeting, followed by something else directed at Alex. Benedict heard none of it as he watched the nursemaid cross the room and reached down into a polished oak cradle. She stood upright presenting a child small enough not to be able to walk, but too big to be swaddled. The baby held a delicate rattle in one chubby fists, and alternated between shaking it and drooling on it as the woman approached and handed the babe to Alex.
Benedict stared with disbelieving eyes as Alex held the child close to his chest, running a hand over glossy blonde curls. The infant ignored its father in favor of Benedict, a one-toothed smile and bit of drool making part of him violently rebel and another part surge with curiosity.
“Ben … this is Lady Isabella Harriette Obsborne.”
The girl gurgled and sputtered as she again went at the rattle with her gums. Benedict could feel Alex’s gaze on him, wary and pleading.
“She … she’s your …”
“My daughter,” Alex filled in. “Yes. She is six months of age.”
Benedict did a quick calculation, remembering when he’d read the news of Katherine’s death. By then she had been dead for a few months already.
“Katherine died in childbirth,” he said.
“A few days after,” Alex replied. His voice had taken on a low, reverent quality, as if holding his daughter and speaking of his dead wife required a certain recognition. “Something went wrong … she was weak from losing too much blood and never recovered.”
Benedict glanced about, finding that the nursemaid had left them. Still, he lowered his voice just in case. “How did you … I mean, I know how, but …”
“It was difficult,” Alex said, lightly stroking Isabella’s back. “I had resolved years ago that I would never be a father. I couldn’t do what was required to make one. Or so I thought. It was Katherine who convinced me—not because she wanted me in that way. Our friendship was too pure, and she knew that I preferred men. But she wanted a child. I owed her as much, didn’t I? She had married me knowing she would never have passion or real love, only the material comforts of being a countess. She was a wonderful woman—brilliant and sweet and nurturing. Katherine deserved someone to love.”
“So did you,” Benedict said, finding that the words weren’t simply a banal reassurance. Benedict had spent their separation lonely and nursing an ache deep in his soul. He had been alone, with no one to love or love him. He had never stopped to think that Alex’s life might have been weighed down with the same excruciating isolation.
“Perhaps,” Alex said with a shrug. “But I was willing to try for Katherine’s sake. I wanted … I felt it was my duty to ensure that she, at least, enjoyed it, but she asked me not to. She didn’t want to learn what it was like to take pleasure from the act, when she knew it wouldn’t continue after she’d conceived. I visited her night after night, hating myself for being unable to muster at least an ounce of interest. The relief I felt when she was conceived … it was due more to knowing we might never have to do it again. Neither of us particularly cared for it, and we were ready to forget and move on. But then … Ella was born and … and Katherine …”
Benedict grasped Alex’s shoulder and squeezed. “Little Isabella survived. She’s the last piece of Katherine you have left.”
Alex turned tear-filled eyes on him. “Then you understand. I know you have every reason to hate Katherine—”
“I don’t hate her. I barely knew her. It was you I hated for leaving me, but even that hatred was misplaced. I cannot pretend to be happy that you married her, but I also cannot begrudge you finding whatever happiness you could—whether it be as Katherine’s friend, or Isabella’s father.”
Alex’s shoulders slumped with relief, and he smiled as Ella presented the rattle to him. She giggled when he took it from her small hand.
“She looks like you,” Benedict observed. “She has Katherine’s hair, but your eyes and your smile.”
Alex gave him a puzzled look. “She doesn’t have enough teeth for us to know who’s smile she has.”
Benedict raised an eyebrow. “I know your smile when I see it.”
Alex bounced Isabella at his side, angling her toward Benedict. “Ella, this is Ben. We love him … yes we do.”
Benedict offered a finger, which the girl took into her grasp and squeezed. “Hello Lady Ella. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
The babe offered him a smile, showcasing the single tooth protruding from her bottom gums—which were reddened and swollen, indicating a mate was on the way.
“Would you like to hold her?” Alex asked.
Benedict stiffened, uncertainty welling up in him. “I … I don’t think I should.”
Alex looked disappointed but didn’t argue. “I understand.”
“It isn’t that I don’t want to. I love babies, it’s just … I think we need to talk about … everything.”
Benedict’s face flushed at his ineloquent flustering. This felt like tricky territory and he hardly knew where to begin.
“You don’t have to explain,” Alex said, steadily bouncing Ella as he went to a nearby rocking chair.
“There’s still Cynthia and my father to consider. I cannot risk bringing scrutiny upon you, or your daughter.”
“Ben,” Alex murmured, arranging the baby so that she lay against his chest. “When it’s all over we will talk. So long as you know that Ella is the only person I could claim to love more than you. She is a part of me. Where I go, she goes. I think you should consider whether or not you can accept that.”
Alex then diverted his attention to Ella, who still seemed to want to play. She toyed with her rattle and babbled, but Alex held her tight and began to rock while whispering to her, words Benedict couldn’t make out. With nothing left to do or say, Benedict took up the chair the nanny had abandoned, taking in the sight of father and daughter.
His mind still wrestled with the idea of Alex as a papa, but the scene before him made it all-too real. Instead of the revulsion Benedict might have expected to feel, he was riveted to the picture they made—Ella’s innocence framed perfectly by the strong but gentle hold of Alex.
Could he accept that Alex came along with a child? Could he live with that should they choose to recommit themselves to one another?
As Ella drifted off to sleep with Alex’s hand firm at her back, Benedict found his answer.
Yes, he certainly could live with this.
Another fortnight passed Benedict by in a flurry of training as his impending match loomed closer. When Fisher wasn’t putting him through his paces, he was in the company of Alex and Ella—who had been let out of hiding now that Benedict knew of her existence. While he wasn’t ready to let himself bond with the girl just yet, Benedict found himself watching her often, noticing that even as a baby she possessed her father’s natural charm. Alex was like a child himself when playing with her, rolling on the rug, bouncing toys across the floor, and producing a range of noises that made Ella laugh ev
ery time.
Before Benedict could allow himself to imagine what life might be like with the two of them always underfoot, making him smile and laugh, he needed to know what the future might bring.
The nights were theirs together, and Benedict found their lovemaking was enhanced by freedom from mystery and strife. They lay together talking until they fell asleep, speaking of everything and nothing at all. Despite knowing he would soon have to face Cynthia and his father, Benedict was too happy, too at peace to allow himself to think of it.
“I cannot wait until we return to London for your match,” Alex said.
“We?” Benedict teased.
“You didn’t think you could be rid of me that easily, did you?” Alex replied.
Benedict was content to let matters lie for the time being. A letter had arrived days ago from Aubrey, who had assured him that all was well and quiet in London. The note had been rather short, but Benedict supposed his friend had enough to juggle with a business, a family, and the task he had been entrusted with.
Two nights before they were to set out for London, he and Alex dressed together for dinner. Simmons and Hamond took inordinate care with their attire, with Simmons stuffing Benedict into another colorful waistcoat. This one was a brilliant gold with black trimmings and gleaming buttons, a black cravat serving as a backdrop for a brilliant diamond tiepin. His coat was burgundy worsted, fitting taut through the shoulders due to the muscle he’d packed on these past weeks.
“Perfect,” Alex said as he inspected Benedict from head to toe. “Though … I do wish you’d allow Simmons to trim your hair. You look thoroughly villainous wearing those clothes with that hair. Like a Gothic novel villain.”
“No one is touching my hair,” Benedict said, brushing a small piece of lint off Alex’s shoulder. “And you seem to know more about Gothic novels than any man of my acquaintance.”
Alex sniffed. “Say what you will, they are riveting pieces of art. I’m particularly fond of a new author who has only become popular in the past two years or so. Perhaps you’ve heard of E. Whiswich?”
Benedict barked a laugh, not certain whether it was funnier to reveal that one of his friends was married to this author, or to keep Alex in the dark until he could meet Evelyn Radcliffe. Hugh’s wife had made quite a name for herself—with a nom de plume, of course.
“I have a passing acquaintance with the woman.”
Alex’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Please say you aren’t bamming me.”
Benedict shrugged. “Perhaps I could arrange an introduction.”
Alex grabbed his arm, his grip unyielding. “I’ll do anything.”
Benedict allowed a wicked grin to spread across his face. “Anything?”
Alex pulled him by his arm until their chests bumped, pressing a soft kiss to Benedict’s lips. “Absolutely anything.”
“I will hold you to that. Now, are you going to tell me why I had to dress like this just to eat dinner with you and Fisher?”
Placing a hand over his heart, Alex gasped in mock horror. “The company of an earl and a boxing master aren’t good enough for you?”
“Of course not,” Benedict said with a laugh. “And I do enjoy the sight of you in that coat. I thank you for not wearing the one that matched mine—I still haven’t forgiven you for having them made behind my back.”
Alex smoothed both hands over the lapels of his royal purple coat, the splash of his signature yellow cravat contrasting in a unique way. “I didn’t want to upstage you, so I chose the violet. I will reveal to you the reason for your elegant attire in a moment. First, I have a proposition for you.”
Following Alex’s indication for him to sit on the bench, Benedict smirked. “A proposition. And here I thought that was my job.”
Remaining serious, Alex reached into his breast pocket. “This time, it’s my job. I believe this belongs to you.”
A block of ice settled in Benedict’s chest as he unfolded a bank draft, signed over to him in the amount of twenty-five thousand pounds. Suddenly, acting as Alex’s courtesan felt sordid and wrong. He’d begun the arrangement for a reason, but now regretted it sorely.
“Alex—”
“Just hear me out,” Alex said, not accepting the draft as Benedict tried to give it back. “I am placing an important decision in your hands. Your first choice will be easy. Take the money and use it to silence Cynthia—yes, I know that’s why you needed it. I didn’t need you tell me; it was plain enough when you insisted you had a plan. Your plan seemed dependent on earning this money from me … and earn it you did.”
“I can find another way. I don’t want your money. What we did here, together … you cannot buy that. Second chances aren’t a commodity.”
The beaming smile Alex gave him warmed the icy block away, and Benedict felt as if he could breathe again.
“Then make the better choice,” Alex said. “Your second option is to let me deal with Cynthia and your father myself. Before you say anything … Nick and I developed a plan to end this, tonight. All is in place, but we won’t act without your leave. If you say no, this dinner will be just that. If you say yes, you will trust me to execute the plan without interfering.”
Benedict’s mind screamed that he would be a fool to entrust this task to anyone else. His heart told him that he’d done it all alone for too long, and his weariness was a problem of his own making. He was more than ready to leave this phase of his life behind and start something new—perhaps with Alex and Ella in tow. Alex could have come back to him with six children and a basket full of puppies, and Benedict would still have taken him back. He knew what he wanted, but he needed the obstacles of Cynthia and the viscount out of the way before he could claim it. It seemed Alex was willing to fight alongside him to make the dreams of their youthful love into a reality.
Benedict had thought him weak all this time—a coward for walking away instead of choosing to stay and fight. But there was much to be said for the power of hindsight. Knowing what he did now, Benedict could see how wrong he had been. It had taken incredible strength of will to do what was necessary, and while Alex had already proved that once, he seemed prepared to do so again.
“Will you at least tell me what the plan is?” he pressed.
“No,” Alex insisted. “If you say yes, I will take it as you placing your faith in me and letting someone else take the lead for a change. I’m a terrible leader on the dance floor, but I promise you that I am prepared to end this threat to you and your friends effectively and efficiently. So, I suppose there is only one question left to ask. Do you trust me?”
Benedict stood, allowing the bank draft to flutter to the floor. He had a feeling that taking Alex’s money would open another rift between them. Now was the time to prove that he could be the man Alex deserved.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I trust you.”
Alex smiled, pulling Benedict into a quick embrace. Then, taking his hand, he guided Benedict from the bedchamber. “Remember, no interference.”
“I’ll be as silent as a fly on the wall. I must admit, I’m looking forward to watching this mysterious plan unfold.”
They released one another’s hands as they reached the stairs, falling silent. A heavy sense of finality fell over Benedict, but he reminded himself why he had agreed to Alex’s offer. He had something to prove, and he would not to let Alex down. The murmur of voices reached out to them from the open doors of the dining room—so many voices, Benedict couldn’t distinguish them all.
“A dinner party?” he whispered as they drew closer, ripples of laughter and the high and low pitches of conversation reaching out to them.
“Like none you have ever attended.”
The murmurs died away once they entered the room, the butler’s voice intoning their names. Dozens of pairs of eyes landed on them, speculative and questioning. Among those seated down the length of the table, Benedict spotted his dearest friend. Hugh sat with a very pregnant Evelyn at his side; their dark heads bent
together as he whispered something in her ear. Beside them sat Aubrey in Lucinda, then David and his wife, Regina. David’s wife was only just beginning to show her condition, and her ethereal beauty was the perfect complement to her husband’s swarthy good looks. Dominick and Calliope sat across from them, with Millicent and Celeste together on Dominick’s left. Millicent raised her wineglass and gave Benedict a slow nod, as if to reassure him that all was well because she was here.
The presence of the people he considered his family offered some relief from his apprehension, but his attention was soon stolen by the other occupants of the room. His father sat to the left of the head chair, dour and imposing, his mouth fixed in a dark scowl. Other members of the nobility filled in the other seats—one duke, three earls, two viscounts, and a baron. Some had come with their wives, others were alone, but all were prominent, well-known members of the ton.
Ignoring his questioning glance, Alex spread his arms like a master of ceremonies and flashed his magnetic smile. “My lords and ladies, thank you for joining me this evening. Many of you are familiar with my good friend from university, Mr. Benedict Sterling. His father is here with us, as well. Viscount Sterling, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
The sharp bite of his words clearly said Alex was not pleased in the least to have Benedict’s father in his home. The viscount’s expression showed that the feeling was mutual.
“Ben, if you would, take your place at the end of the table,” Alex coaxed.
Benedict wanted to rebel, but fought past it to do what he was told. Aubrey’s steady gaze bolstered him as it always did, steeling his resolve. Once Benedict was in his place—seated as far from his father as possible, he looked to Alex and waited.
“As stated in your invitations, this dinner is more than an opportunity for us to gather and socialize. It is also a chance for us to combine our collective power as peers of the realm to deal with the scourge plaguing us. I speak, of course, of the London Gossip.”
Voices raised in a clamor, many cursing the elusive gossip columnist, others whispering to one another as if to protect their secrets.
Chasing Benedict (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 5) Page 23