Benedict watched the man scan the dancers as they walked away. When the dance came to an end, Brierley headed straight for Harriet, took her arm and spoke quickly into her ear. Harriet gave no sign of what he said, but her gaze roamed the room until it settled briefly on Benedict. She replied to her stepson, a pink tinge colouring her cheeks, who then walked away from her. Her partner had already disappeared, and Harriet made her way across the ballroom to Benedict.
‘So you came.’ Her voice was low with accusation.
Benedict forced a careless shrug as he faced her. ‘I was invited,’ he said. ‘It struck me as being the perfect place to meet suitable young ladies.’
‘So it is. I wish you luck.’
‘I am surprised you can risk being seen speaking to me.’
Her eyes glittered as she stared up at him. She looked so beautiful—almost edible in shimmering rose-pink silk clinging provocatively to her lush curves—that he itched to take her in his arms there and then and hang the consequences. Except that would hardly help his quest for the perfect society bride. It was funny how he kept losing sight of that fact—or it would be if he could find anything vaguely amusing these days.
‘Edward already knows you are here. The damage is done. I came to beg you to leave—it is unfair on Kitty to court trouble on the biggest night of her life.’
Anger smouldered deep inside him. ‘I am not interested in courting trouble,’ he growled. ‘I am simply eager to secure my future.’
‘Then, I suggest you begin by engaging at least one of the young ladies present to dance,’ Harriet spat. ‘For it seems to me that every time I see you, you are staring at me. Or perhaps it is your intention to cause strife between my stepson and me?’
‘You flatter yourself, madam,’ he said, and bowed before stalking off.
His insides churned—in turmoil, as they always were in Harriet’s presence. He needed to catch his breath and calm the battle between desire and distrust raging deep within his heart. He gritted his teeth and kept walking. He had a mission to accomplish: the search for a bride. And, however much he might desire Harriet, he would never ask her to marry him.
One betrayal was enough.
As he strolled around the perimeter of the ballroom, he caught sight of Miss Marstone standing with her mother and several other young ladies. He stifled a sigh. He must start somewhere and, as he was already acquainted with Lady Marstone, she would be bound to introduce him to the other girls. Pasting a smile on his face, he joined the group.
‘Good evening, Sir Benedict, how gallant of you to join us, for I was beginning to wonder where all the young gentlemen were hiding.’ Lady Marstone was positively beaming. ‘Of course, you are already acquainted with my Bridget, are you not?’
Miss Marstone smiled up at him through her lashes: a far too seductive smile for an innocent young lady. Benedict wondered how innocent she actually was. He should know how easy it was to seduce such a girl—
Hell and damnation! Why does she keep invading my thoughts? Then he hesitated, thinking back over the words that had run unbidden through his mind. He had seduced Harriet. She was a year younger than he; she had barely known what was happening until it was too late—how had he never thought of what had happened from her point of view before?
Because you were too busy being bitter that she betrayed you by marrying Brierley.
And she had betrayed him, there was no denying it. They had pledged their love, but she had been seduced all over again—not by lovemaking but by wealth and a title, according to Malcolm. She hadn’t been prepared to wait until Benedict inherited; she had wanted instant riches and the easy life they would bring her. Well... He came to with a start, finding himself the focus of several pairs of eyes watching him curiously.
‘I do beg your pardon,’ he said, smiling his most charming smile. ‘I was overcome with the enormity of so much beauty and elegance in one place.’ He cringed inwardly at those words—which elicited a trill of giggles—but it was expected that gentlemen should charm and flatter the ladies of the ton, and he was now part of this world. A surge of homesickness for the simplicity of his former life swept through him. He ignored it and continued, ‘Good evening, Lady Marstone, Miss Marstone. Would you do me the honour of introducing me to the other young ladies?’
Lady Marstone began the introductions and Benedict soon became aware of the irritable looks Miss Marstone was shooting at the other girls. Still mindful of the importance of keeping mother and daughter happy to prevent Harriet’s stay at Tenterfield becoming public knowledge, he asked Miss Marstone to dance as soon as the introductions were complete. She smiled graciously, but he did not miss her darting triumphal glance at her friends.
During the movements of the dance where they could not converse, Benedict’s thoughts turned inexorably to Harriet, and to her view of their past. They had never spoken of it. She had never told him why she had wed Brierley. Had it been a love match? The man had been old enough to be her father. More than old enough, in fact, for Edward was actually several years older than both Harriet and Benedict. What had driven her to accept his offer? It could only, surely, have been greed, as Malcolm had said.
Had he not suspected that was the very reason she had pursued him at the masquerade—because of his new position? With his wealth and status, no number of threats from Brierley could hold sway. She would have that comfortable, secure life she craved but...if that was truly the case, would she not have been friendlier from the start? And why did she appear to have given up so easily?
‘I declare, sir, you have such a look of contemplation upon your face I would swear you have forgotten I am here.’ It was said with a pout and a coquettish look that set his teeth on edge.
‘Of course I have not forgotten you, Miss Marstone,’ he replied smoothly. ‘How could I? I am merely concentrating on the steps. I should hate to tread on your toes.’
‘Oh, la, sir. You dance very respectably for a...for a...’
‘For a novice?’ he suggested.
Her eyes flashed with relief. ‘Precisely. Tell me, sir, have you made plans for supper? Oh!’ She giggled artlessly. ‘Mama would be shocked at my boldness, but I already feel as though you and I are old friends and can be quite comfortable with one another.’
‘I thought a gentleman was honour bound to escort his partner for the supper dance into supper?’ He knew quite well that was the custom.
‘But I do not have a partner for that dance, sir, and as we have only so far had this one dance...’
He ignored her dangling invitation with relief as the dance dictated a change in partner. Were all young girls this shameless, or had he just been unlucky in meeting this one? He made a mental note to scrawl his name on some other girls’ dance cards before they all filled up. And the first dance he must secure was the supper dance.
As they swapped partners again, he said, ‘I regret that I am already engaged for the supper dance. Perhaps a little later in the evening?’
‘Perhaps,’ she replied with a toss of her dark curls.
After barely half a minute of silence, she said, ‘Do you like to walk in the park, sir?’
‘On occasion.’
‘I love to walk. I should walk every day, if only Mama was strong enough.’
‘Mayhap she should take the carriage,’ Benedict said.
‘She does, but it is hardly the same, to sit in the carriage next to my mother whilst everyone else is enjoying fresh air and exercise.’ Miss Marstone sighed. ‘She will only allow me to walk with my friends if there is a gentleman present. Perhaps, if we should happen to meet in the park, you might offer me your arm?’
‘Perhaps.’
Making a mental note to avoid the park at all costs, Benedict led Miss Marstone back to her mother at the end of the dance and then quickly took his leave, determined to secure partners for the
dances to come.
After dancing with a few young ladies and successfully engaging to partner several more, he found himself standing next to Harriet during a brief lull in the music.
She immediately turned and began to walk away, but he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, saying, ‘I want to talk to you.’
Her violet eyes met his warily. ‘What about?’
‘Brierley.’
‘Edward? What has he done?’
‘Not Edward. His father.’
Her skin blanched. ‘I do not wish to discuss him.’ He had to strain to hear her words.
‘Harriet—’
‘I must go. I am promised to Mr Damerel for this dance... Ah, here he comes now.’ The relief in her voice was palpable.
Benedict watched his friend lead Harriet into the dance.
‘Sir Benedict?’ A timid voice spoke by his side.
‘Ah...’ He racked his brain. ‘Lady Susan, is it not?’
Lady Susan was his partner for this dance. Fair haired, pretty and shy, she had been the only one of Bridget Marstone’s friends he had been in the slightest taken with. He smiled, determined to put her at her ease. ‘I was just coming to find you,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Come, let us show the rest of them how it’s done.’
When the dance ended he returned Lady Susan to her chaperone, then looked around. On the far side of the room he spied a familiar tall figure with a pair of wide shoulders topped by a head of dark blond hair—Matthew, with Harriet by his side. Benedict started across the dance floor, his way hindered by couples forming sets ready for the next dance. He lost sight of Matthew and Harriet for a moment and then, the next time he saw them, Matthew was standing alone. He scanned the surrounding people and caught a glimpse of Harriet slipping out of the room.
He forced his way through the rest of the throng, only to be waylaid by Miss Marstone, a coquettish smile on her face.
‘Do I detect that you lack a partner for this dance, Sir Benedict?’
Swallowing an oath, Benedict halted. ‘You do, Miss Marstone,’ he replied, keeping a wary eye on Matthew whilst Miss Marstone, in turn, gazed at Benedict. She raised a questioning brow. Damn. Only a blind man would not interpret that look. ‘I find myself in need of a rest,’ he said, hoping she would accept his excuse. He indicated his knee. ‘An old injury is playing up.’
‘An injury! How fascinating.’ She linked her arm through his. ‘You must tell me all about it.’
‘Another time.’ Benedict untangled his arm from hers. Matthew had begun to move away. If he was not quick, he would lose him in the crowd. ‘My apologies, Miss Marstone, but I simply must find a quiet chair and rest this leg.’
He bowed and strode away, only remembering at the last minute to mime a limp for the lady’s benefit. He caught up with Matthew and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Where has Lady Brierley disappeared to?’
Matthew cocked his head to one side, giving Benedict a quizzical look. ‘You appear fascinated by Lady B,’ he said. He then grinned. ‘Not that I can blame you. She is a beauty, and a widow, too, by God.’
Benedict battened down his anger. No one should be looking at Harriet in that way, but in particular not a man who was already happily married and setting up his nursery.
Matthew held up both hands, palms facing Benedict, fingers spread. ‘Pax, old chap. She pleaded tiredness and has gone to find a quiet spot to rest,’ he said, laughing openly now, his blue eyes gently mocking. Then his expression swiftly sobered. ‘What is it, Ellie? You are looking pale.’
Eleanor had joined them. Benedict thrust aside his frustration at the interruption. She did look washed out.
‘I am tired, Matthew,’ she said. ‘Would you mind—?’
Matthew wrapped his arm around her waist. ‘We are going home. Now. No arguments.’
Eleanor included Benedict in her answering smile. ‘He always imagines I am going to argue,’ she said. ‘I cannot think why. Yes, please, I would like to go home. Goodnight, Benedict.’
‘Goodnight,’ Benedict said. ‘I hope you feel better in the morning.’
As Matthew and Eleanor turned to go, Matthew paused. ‘I believe she mentioned the library,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘She used to live here, you know, so she knows her way around.’
Benedict nodded his thanks and followed them out of the ballroom into the hall. A footman carrying a tray of empty glasses hurried past. Benedict caught him by the arm and only by some nifty juggling of the precariously tilting tray did the servant avert disaster.
‘Which is the library?’ He bit the question out, not even apologising to the poor man.
‘That door there, sir,’ the footman replied, jerking his head towards a door on the opposite side of the hall. He then hurried away, heading towards the rear of the house.
The library was large and imposing, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. The wall opposite the door was punctuated by three heavily curtained windows that presumably overlooked the street outside. A cursory glance revealed an empty room. Benedict frowned. There were two high wing-backed chairs flanking the unlit fireplace, but they were unoccupied.
He moved towards the table in the centre of the room. Perhaps she had changed her mind and gone elsewhere in the house. He needed to talk to her. Now. He would find out, once and for all, why she had thrown away the love they had shared for an old man like Brierley. And he would find out what lay behind her fear. A gap in the curtains covering the middle window caught his eye.
He strode across the room and wrenched the curtains apart. There, curled up on an upholstered window seat, was Harriet.
Chapter Nineteen
The sudden movement of the curtains jolted Harriet from her musings. Her heart leaped into her throat and she shot to her feet, bringing her hard up against a muscled chest. Benedict, bringing with him the familiar spicy, musky scent that was uniquely him.
‘I want answers,’ he said.
Her pulse raced. She did not want to answer his questions. Her life was none of his business; it was nobody’s business. She wanted no interrogations, no intrusions and she wanted no pity, particularly not Benedict’s. All she wanted was to feel safe.
‘You should not be here,’ she said. She made to push past him. ‘I must go.’
‘No.’
He grabbed her wrist and hauled her hard against him, then wrapped his arms around her, trapping her. Harriet gasped, wriggling in an attempt to break free.
‘Stand still,’ he gritted out. ‘I need to know—’
She had leaned back against his arms to look up into his face. As their eyes locked, he stilled and fell silent. Harriet’s mouth dried at the intensity of his stare. She licked her lips in an attempt to moisten them, and his gaze lowered to her mouth. Her heart lurched and her breathing grew ragged with her rising awareness of his arousal as it pressed against the softness of her belly. The familiar need pulsed at her core, and she felt her body prepare for lovemaking.
She swallowed, aghast at the speed with which she responded to him. Was that really all it took to arouse her? Just the thought of his kiss? The tears that never seemed far away these days threatened to surface, and her pride rebelled against allowing him to see just how vulnerable she was to his allure. She could not break free of his encircling arms and she would not talk to him about Brierley. But, oh, how she craved his kiss. How she needed something to distract her from her fears over the future, if only for a short time. That need overrode all caution and stifled all the very good reasons why this was akin to playing with fire.
She stood stock-still as he traced her neckline with one finger. She searched his eyes, one hand on his chest, aware of the hard, fast beat of his heart as she played with his top waistcoat button until it slipped free and moved down to the next one, and the next.
She rose on tiptoe, craving the touch of his lips. She brushed her lips over his with a feather-light touch. With a harsh groan that sounded as though it was ripped from him, his arms tightened and he took her mouth, his lips moving over hers as his tongue plunged inside, tangling with hers. She slid her arms beneath his coat, around the curve of his ribcage and then drifted lower, stroking, until her hands cupped the firm muscle of his buttocks. Heat radiated from him in waves.
I want him. Here. Now.
I cannot. I must not.
She did not push him away, despite the voice of caution in her head. She ignored it, pressed closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into their kiss as she weaved her fingers through his hair.
They heard the noise at the same time and they sprang apart as the door started to open. They exchanged a look and Harriet nearly recoiled at the accusation in Benedict’s eyes. He had followed her, not the other way round, although she couldn’t deny she had instigated that kiss, to distract him from his questions and her from her fate. And it had worked: his waistcoat hung open rakishly and his auburn hair was ruffled.
‘Hide!’ Benedict whispered, pushing her back onto the padded seat.
Willingly, she thought, still smarting over that look. He dragged the curtains closed, and she was once again secreted behind the curtains where she had imagined nobody would find her. Her lips felt bruised and swollen and an errant lock of hair feathered her neck where a hairpin had been dislodged. She fumbled around for her lost pin, but could not find it, so had to be content to tuck her curl behind another pin and hope it would stay in place until she could properly repair the damage.
She heard the sound of the library door clicking shut.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’ It was Benedict’s voice, harsh with anger. ‘You should not be here... The risk to your reputation if we are seen—’
‘Don’t be cross with me, Benedict.’ A female voice—seductive and cajoling—interrupted him.
Saved by Scandal's Heir Page 17