Miss Benwick Reforms a Rogue

by Maggie Fenton

  His face twisted with a thousand conflicting emotions, and he looked as if he meant to press the issue, but in the end he stepped away from her with an exasperated growl, tugging at the ends of his hair. “Impossible, is what you are.” He started walking toward the gap in the wall. “Let’s return to the others.”

  She didn’t follow, dismayed at his sudden dismissal of the situation. She kept herself propped against the wall, uncertain if her knees would hold her. “But…”

  He threw her an impatient look. “But what?”

  “What about Kildale? What are we to do about him?” Kildale had to have been the culprit, and she just dared him to try and deny it. Who else could hate Hirst enough to want to crush him with a stone?

  Hirst lifted an eyebrow questioningly. “Do about him? There’s nothing to do, Fawkes.”

  “Of course there’s something to be done. He’s tried to kill you three times now. Shouldn’t there be an investigation?”

  He shrugged. “Why investigate something I already know the answer to?”

  “Then it was the marquess,” she said, more certain than ever.

  He didn’t answer her one way or another, merely tightened his jaw and continued walking away.

  She could have punched him. She didn’t think she’d ever felt so frustrated in all of her life. He’d practically admitted that Kildale was trying to kill him, and yet he wanted to go back to the picnic as if nothing had happened, and have the man continue to stay at the castle. She didn’t understand him at all.

  “You’re just going to pretend as if it didn’t happen, aren’t you?” she demanded, stalking toward him. “Whatever feud you have with Kildale is hardly worth your life!”

  “What would you know?” He laughed at the sky, sounding almost hysterical, and spun around to face her. There was such scathing accusation in his glance that she stopped in her tracks. “And you, why should I listen to a damned thing you say? I hardly know who you are, Miss Benwick!”

  And just like that her heart dropped to her feet like a lead balloon. There was no way she could deny it to herself any longer.

  “Then you know,” she said hoarsely.

  “Of course I know,” he spat, closing the distance between them once more. “I have known since that night at the inn. It wasn’t hard to figure out who you were after that.”

  She backed away from him until the crumbling wall was once again at her back. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “That seems like a question I should be asking you,” he shot back. He closed the distance between them, caging her in. “You’ve been lying to me for days.”

  “None of it was a lie but the clothes I wore,” she insisted.

  “And the name you gave,” he growled. “And the pretense of being a man. And all the small lies you told every day to maintain your masquerade.”

  “It was nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said. “I didn’t come here to deceive you.”

  “Then why?”

  She glanced away. “I had no choice. Nowhere else to go…what does it matter? It wouldn’t change anything. You’d still…”

  “I’d still what?”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it!” she insisted.

  “Oh, it matters a great deal, Davina,” he said softly. “You entered my house under false pretenses. Who knows what sort of nefarious intentions you might have had.”

  If she weren’t so overwhelmed, she would have rolled her eyes. “You’ve known for days who I am. You can hardly think I’m going to run off with the silver.”

  “Oh, I’ve known plenty of thieves and murderers just as gently-bred as you are, Miss Benwick, and just as pretty.”

  She could feel herself blushing. She was fairly certain he wasn’t complimenting her, but she didn’t think she’d ever heard a man call her pretty in her life. She cursed herself for being so easily distracted.

  “How ridiculous…” she began. “I’m not…”

  “A murderer?” he prompted. “Pretty?”

  He was teasing her now, though there was nothing lighthearted about it. She couldn’t look at him, her cheeks burning with some cross between shame and anticipation. “Either.”

  “Oh, I believe you are one of those things,” he said, leaning even closer to her. “I found you pretty even when I still thought you were Leon Fawkes. It was quite confusing for me.”

  “Who’s the liar now.”

  He leaned down to her ear. “Not I,” he whispered.

  “You’re trying to distract me from Kildale…” she began weakly.

  “Of course I am.” He extended his free hand, brushed the back of his fingers against the column of her throat. Her pulse raced and her skin prickled at his light touch, a maelstrom of desire ripping through her body, as swift and as deadly as a lightning bolt.

  “Is it working?” he asked dryly.

  She couldn’t form words.

  He moved his hand beneath her jacket and over the front of her shirt, the fabric rasping against his rough skin. Then she felt the unmistakable pressure of his hand against the swell of her breast. He turned his palm over it, cupped its weight, ran the tip of his thumb over its hardening center. She jerked against his touch, her whole body trembling with a need so monumental she thought her heart would stop.

  “What are you doing?” she choked out.

  He cocked his eyebrow at her as if it were obvious.

  It was.

  “What I’ve wanted to do since the inn,” he murmured.

  His words just aroused her more. “Here?”

  He glanced around them at their quiet, hidden surroundings, looking unbothered. “I don’t see why not. No one will find us here.”

  She was not sure she believed him (she was not sure she cared), but before she could formulate a response, he reached out with his other hand, flicked open the buttons of her jacket, and placed his hand over her other breast, watching her reaction with a steely focus.

  She immediately forgot what they were talking about and moaned under his touch. He closed the distance between them, and she felt the warm heat of his body finally press against her own. He ran a hand down her side, the soft swell of her belly, the curves of her hips, and stopped on the plump mounds of her backside.

  “God, that arse,” he whispered against her ear, sending chills up her spine. He pressed her up and into his body, as if savoring the contact between them. “You’ve no idea how I’ve wanted to get my hands on it.”

  “I think I have some idea…” she murmured breathlessly.

  He gathered her even closer and stared down at her sternly. “Tell me your name. I want to hear you say it.”

  God. “Davina. Davina Benwick,” she whispered.

  He dropped his head against her shoulder and breathed in deeply, as if inhaling her scent, thrusting his lower body teasingly against hers. She was not so sheltered that she didn’t know what the hardness against her belly was, what it meant, but she’d never been in this position before. Her eyes widened, her body stiffened incrementally, and her breath accelerated into a ragged pant.

  “I must have wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he said into her neck.

  She squirmed against him—to free herself or to pull him closer, it was no longer clear to her. She captured his mouth with her own, and his lips were surprisingly hot, surprisingly soft, and they parted against hers for a moment before returning her kiss ferociously. He swept his tongue inside the hollow of her mouth, tasting her. It was better than she had imagined.

  She sighed against him, and his kiss grew nearly furious in its intensity. Any doubt she had fled at his onslaught, and all she could think about was how much she wanted him.

  Her body went boneless, her arms encircling his neck, urging him closer. He lifted her off her feet, stepping between her legs. His clever hands wormed their way inside her shirt, finding her naked flesh. His palms were deliciously rough and as hot as fire, and she trembled with every stroke. She tore her lips from his
to breathe, overwhelmed with sensation.

  He moved his hands to her shoulders and stared down at her. He looked almost bewildered, as if he hadn’t expected to be so overwhelmed. “Do you want me?” he asked her.

  “Of course, of course I want you,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes, scared that he might see too much.

  He clutched her tighter to him. “You are afraid. Or is it another performance?”

  That was a low blow, but not unjustified, even if it did hurt. “I am afraid,” she admitted. Of course she was afraid. Afraid by the intensity of her response to him, the absolute want burning through her body. How could she explain this to him, though?

  His expression softened incrementally. “I wouldn’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

  “I know,” she whispered, closing her eyes. And he wouldn’t. Not physically, at least. He wanted her now, but she wondered how long that would last. She was not so naïve as to think that all of their problems would be solved by one moment of imprudent passion. She was almost certainly setting herself up for heartbreak.

  But she’d never felt this way about another person in her life. And she was done living in fear. What had that ever gotten her? She’d never have another chance like this, and she’d not throw it away, no matter the hurt that might follow.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured.

  She jerked her gaze back up to his face. “No, never,” she breathed.

  With those words, something in him seemed to snap. He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and parted the edges of her shirt, exposing her naked flesh. Then, before she could take another breath, he leaned over her and took the peak of one breast in his mouth. She froze one moment, then in the next she shuddered in his grasp, her breath hitching as his tongue flicked over her nipple. She’d never felt anything like it.

  “God, how could I not have known,” he panted against her skin.

  He released her long enough to work open her pantaloons and shove them down her hips. He caught her trembling form against him and reached down between her legs without preamble, feeling the slick, burning center of her body.

  His fingers stroked her with ruthless dexterity, knowing exactly where to press, where to tease. She was embarrassingly wet with need, and when he dipped inside of her with his index finger, she groaned at the sensation and clutched at his shoulders. God, she’d never come close to feeling anything like this before.

  She turned her head, breathing hard, her mouth catching his jaw, his chin, his lips. He groaned, his movements becoming more frantic with every connection she made. Then his thumb found just the right spot, circling it, rubbing it, until she was thrusting her hips closer, seeking her release, her head dropping back against the wall.

  But just as she was teetering on the precipice, he drew back his hand, and she nearly cursed out loud at the loss of sensation.

  “What…” she began, but then immediately shut her mouth. He was shrugging out of his jacket and shirt so quickly she could hear the delicate seams ripping, staring at her as if daring her to stop him.

  Then he was pulling her down to the smooth expanse of stone beneath their feet. He immediately, wildly, began jerking at her boots, cursing when they didn’t come off easily. Soon enough, however, he was tossing them away and stripping her pantaloons down her legs, studying every exposed bit of flesh with a deep focus.

  The next thing she knew, he was kissing her between her legs where she was wet and quivering, until she cried out and squirmed in an agony of desire. But she didn’t try to stop him. Her hands swept over his hair, then his cheeks and shoulders, anchoring herself as he kissed her and licked her and brought her to the edge once more.

  Seemingly satisfied that he had reduced her to a trembling mass of need, he crawled up her body until he was covering it with his own. Breathing, much less rational thought, had become completely impossible with the heavy, warm weight of him pressing her gently into the stone.

  “Julian,” she murmured, trembling, caught between fear and anticipation.

  He laughed humorlessly against her temple. “Damn you. To use my name, when you have kept your own from me for so long,” he whispered. “Has it all been some game to you? Some elaborate manipulation? To see if you could drive me over the edge?”

  “No, no,” she rasped, but could manage no more.

  He stared down at her as he undid the front of his breeches and released himself, almost as if he was afraid she would disappear if he took his eyes off of her. He pushed the fabric down his thighs with impatience and climbed between her legs, positioning the blunt weight of his erection against her, his movements suddenly clumsy, frantic.

  Then before she could draw another breath, he thrust inside of her with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut, both of his hands landing on either side of her head as if bracing himself from a fall. She gasped at the invasion, feeling exquisitely full in the best of ways. She bit her bottom lip to contain her moan, but he soon bent over her, capturing her mouth until she opened to him.

  He began moving his hips at just the right angle, and her fingernails dug into his shoulders, her body arched off the stone, and the next thing out of her mouth was an incoherent groan. Soon a wave of bliss rose up in her. She’d never felt anything so intense, so splendid, so much like home.

  She peaked then, and shouted her ecstasy against his neck. Her boneless arms and legs did their best to squeeze him tight against her, and her hips arched up into his frantic thrusts, for she wanted to prolong the pleasure for as long as she could. Moments—hours—later, she felt his whole body trembling and a hot rush of his release filling her, and another thrill of satisfaction washed over her.

  After a while, his body went slack on top of her. He panted into her shoulder, breath harsh against her ear. They lay together, just breathing, and she could feel the aftershocks shuddering through Hirst’s body, down his long, powerful back.

  But their moment of peace was short-lived.

  “Julian,” she breathed, and it was as if the sound of her voice once more saying his name jolted him out of a dream.

  He went rigid on top of her and sat up, not meeting her eyes.

  “God, what have I done?” he murmured, and her galloping heart jolted to a stop.

  Careful not to touch her, he pulled up his breeches and stood, glancing around them with a lost expression, never once looking down at her. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and began to walk around, retrieving all of their fallen clothes in a daze.

  She sat up and watched him warily, not daring to say another word. He dropped her clothes next to her and began shrugging his way back into his shirt and jacket in silence.

  This was far from an ideal response. But then, what had she expected? She’d known from the moment he touched her that it would not end well. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. She felt tears well up in her eyes, but she forced them down as best she could. She would not cry again. Not yet, anyway. And certainly not in front of him.

  She dressed herself mechanically, concentrating on the simple motions of buttoning buttons and tying knots, anything to distract her from the lingering sensation of his touch against her skin, the ache between her legs, and the horrible, toxic silence surrounding them.

  When she was done dressing, and was fairly confident she’d not burst into tears in front of him, she turned to find him sitting on a ledge, his head in his hands.

  He’d not share his secrets with her, but she’d be damned if she held anything back from him now. She’d certainly not held back her body or her heart, and she had absolutely nothing else left to lose.

  She took a deep breath. “You wanted to know why I came here. I was to marry the Earl of Dalrymple, but I couldn’t go through with it. I ran away.”

  “He hit you,” he said, not raising his head.

  “Yes. But my mother didn’t care. She insisted I go through with it—you’ve no idea what she’s like. And you know my brother. He’s always been too caught up in his experime
nts to care much what happened to me. So I ran. Cousin Leon had no plans to take up his post with you, so I saw an opportunity.”

  He raised his head at last and pierced her with a heated glance. “A dangerous opportunity with a flimsy disguise.”

  “I fooled you.”

  “Not for long,” he said grimly. “You were lucky. You could have encountered any manner of villain.”

  “One who might take advantage of me?” she asked pointedly, unable to restrain herself. “Ruin me?”

  He clenched his jaw and averted his eyes, a guilty flush to his cheeks.

  She sighed. “What just happened between us. You regret it already…”

  His brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  She laughed helplessly. “I don’t know either. And I know we’ve not known each other long enough for this not to sound insane, but I think I’m in love with you.”

  She knew immediately that she’d put her foot in it again from the anguished expression on his face. She hadn’t meant to say the words, but they’d just come out of her mouth without her permission. That didn’t make them less true, however, even if she wanted to smack herself in the head for letting them slip.

  Yet what was one more imprudent act?

  She wiped at her eyes furiously before her tears could fall. “You don’t feel the same. I didn’t think you would, though you wanted me enough to…well, I’m not so green as to conflate desire and love. I’ve never been much for fairy tales anyway.”

  “Fawkes…”

  “Davina,” she ground out. “You can at least call me by my name.”

  He pressed his lips together and said nothing.

  She pressed on, determined to have her say, for she didn’t expect to have another opportunity. Not after this. “I don’t think anyone’s cared about you in a long time. And you certainly don’t want anyone to care, but I do. Whatever game you’re playing with Kildale cannot end well.”

  At the mention of the marquess, he stood, his entire demeanor immediately shifting. He began to pace in front of her in agitation. “You’re like a dog with a bone…” he muttered.