by Kelly Boyce
She scoffed. Did he really believe that? The ton treated gossip like the air they breathed. Necessary to sustain life. “Word will get out that I was relieved of my position by Lady Dalridge, I can assure you. Once Lord Pengrin notices my absence he will ensure it reaches all the right ears.”
A muscle in Benedict’s jaw jumped, drawing Judith’s attention. She had been trying not to look too closely at him, afraid if she did her insistence that she leave would falter. Her silly heart would whisper how much it truly wanted to stay, to haunt the rooms and hallways in the hopes he would appear and gift her with a smile. A kiss. More.
Heat rushed to her face and she looked away.
“Do you truly wish to leave me?”
“No,” her rebellious heart whispered and the truth slipped off her tongue before she could stop it. She would have been fine if he had simply asked if she wanted to leave, but he’d asked if she wanted to leave him and somehow that made all the difference. Because she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t ever want to leave him.
Silence lingered in the air crackling with a tension she could not put a name to. Need? Desire? Something else? Something more.
“Then stay, and let us not speak of this again. I will endeavor to conclude my business quickly and we will leave directly thereafter. A couple of days at most. We shall put our heads together and concoct a reasonable story to appease your uncle’s concerns and keep your reputation intact.”
She wanted to argue, to refuse, but her heart was not in it and too easily her mind was swayed with the seductive promise of a few more days in his presence.
“Very well then.”
* * *
A wise man would have let her go. Then again, a wise man would never have allowed her to set foot in his home under such circumstances to begin with. But Benedict could not blame Titus in that regard. Had it been he who had opened the door, he would have ushered her in for no other reason than because he wished her to be there. And now here she was. And here he was. And she’d presented him with the perfect opportunity to let her go and he’d refused.
No, not just refused. Demanded that she not go. He gave every reason he could throw at her, none of which were the true reason he fought so hard to keep her here.
And that, quite simply, was that he did not want her to go. Ever.
He played with fire, fulfilling a need with one hand and courting destruction with the other. There was no good that could come of this. None. He needed to stop this madness before it went too far. Yet, when she joined him in the library shortly after the meal ended—on his own invitation, no less—madness was not the first thing he felt. Nor the second. Not even the third.
Unless one considered the fact he was mad for her. About her.
He closed his eyes and took a breath, then opened them again to watch her peruse the stack of books, her fingertips lightly caressing the spines as she passed over them. He imagined those fingertips touching him in such a manner, skimming over his chest, stomach, lower.
He caught a groan as it attempted to escape and swallowed it back. Dangerous thinking, but he was powerless to stop it. He could not look at her without thinking how much he wanted her. Longed for her. He could think of nothing but her.
He stood and walked toward her, his steps muffled by the worn Aubusson rug beneath his feet.
“Miss Sutherland?”
She gave a small jolt of surprise and turned, her fingers falling away from the books. She smiled and it passed through him like a breath of warm air on a summer’s eve. “I thought we agreed to call each other by our given names in private?”
“We did at that.”
A brief silence passed between them. “Did you have a question to ask? You have that look about you.”
He lifted one eyebrow. He had a look? “And what look might that be?”
Her smile grew and with it the beating of his heart. “The one filled with expectation.”
Benedict glanced down at his feet and pursed his lips together. She had no idea the expectations he longed to have fulfilled. But that was not his purpose. He had a far more chaste plan in mind, one that would fulfill the desire to have her close, to hold her in his arms one last time before he must let her go forever.
He looked up and took a deep breath, holding his hand out to her. “I wondered if you might allow me the honor of that dance you promised.”
“A dance?” She gave a small laugh. It reminded him of the sound twinkling stars might make if they had the ability to do so. “But we have no music?”
Did they not? Because he was quite certain he could feel sweet melodies coursing through his veins while haunting harmonies seeped into his heart with such intent he suspected they would linger there long after the moment passed.
He hummed a few notes and watched her eyes light up with surprise. What a glorious creature she was. Anyone who had ever considered her plain or unremarkable had never spent more than a moment in her company. They had never taken notice of the expressions that traveled through her eyes or the hundred different smiles that played upon her lips. They’d never spoken to her or heard her laugh or experienced the stirring pleasure when their name tripped off the tip of her tongue.
They’d never kissed her as he had. Never tasted and savored and devoured her.
They’d never loved her, and for that he was eternally grateful, because had they, she would not be here now. And he could not imagine a more magical place existed in the world than in this library, in this moment, with him standing there, his hand held out as he hummed a tune just a little off key.
And they would never know the distinct pleasure of the instant her ungloved hand slid into his and accepted his invitation of a dance long overdue.
Chapter Twenty
Benedict gave himself strict orders to keep a proper distance between them. Such restrictions lasted only long enough for him to finish the first third of the song, however, and by then he had inched closer. Or perhaps she had stepped closer. He could not be sure. Nor did he care, as the result was that mere inches were left between them as they slowly waltzed about the section of the library where no furniture collaborated to impede their efforts.
“What is the song?” she asked him. “I do not recognize it.”
“It is one my father used to hum to my mother whenever he wanted to entice her into a dance. It has stuck with me all these years, but I’m afraid I cannot claim to know its name or origin.”
“What a lovely memory.” Her soft voice was like a caress.
He smiled. It was a lovely memory, though not one he’d allowed himself in recent years. The sudden elevation in his status to earl and the burdens that came with it had left him scrabbling for purchase and allowed little time to remember the way things had once been. In truth, he tried not to think of those days, for as warm and familiar as the memories were, they shared with them the pain of loss. A loss he had not been able to prevent or been there to provide comfort as it ravaged the other members of his family.
“Did your parents often dance about?” Judith’s calm voice chased his demons back to the shadows, but their footprints lingered on his heart. Had she sensed his sorrow? He squeezed her hand gently, a silent thank-you, just in case.
“They did,” he said. “My father was a firm believer you should dance with a lovely lady every single day of your life, for if you did not, you risked making waste to a day.”
“Your father sounded like a very wise man.”
He nodded. “Far wiser than I.”
Odd that he should consider Father wise. After all, he had failed to perform the one duty his family expected of him—marrying to enhance the family’s standing and connections. Much like Benedict, he had fallen madly in love with the wrong woman and been so captivated by her he had ignored his family’s dictates, pleas, threats, and ultimate renouncement to be with the woman he loved. He had left the life of comfort and privilege and struck out on his own with little more than the small pittance of savings he had managed to
stow away.
It had been nothing short of insanity.
Yet Benedict had never known a man more insanely happy than his father.
“I think you do not give yourself the credit you deserve,” Judith told him.
Sometimes it was as if she could read his mind, an ability he wouldn’t put past her. She had to possess some unusual power to have so positively ensnared him despite all his best efforts.
Fine. Perhaps his efforts had not been his best. In fact, giving said efforts a cursory review, he could not even claim to have tried all that hard to avoid such. Truthfully, he had run to her at every chance, making up one excuse after another to be in her presence. Was it any wonder he found himself in this predicament now?
“Benedict?” He looked at her and realized they had stopped dancing. “Are you quite all right?”
He did not know how to respond. He should tell her yes. She did not deserve to be burdened with his troubles. But when he opened his mouth to give the prudent answer common sense dictated he respond with, the words from his heart muscled past and leaped out instead.
“I’m about to kiss you.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You are?”
He nodded, unable to remove his gaze from her lips. “Yes. I thought I should give you fair warning, in case you’d prefer that I didn’t and wished to express as much.”
She smiled and heat shot directly to his groin. “I see. And will you abide by my wishes?”
“I will.”
“Then I wish you to kiss me as you did before, so that I might feel it all the way down to my toes.”
He swallowed. She had felt it too then. He feared he might have been mistaken, that he had simply projected his own wants and needs onto her to justify his ungentlemanly like behavior.
He touched her face, the soft, smooth skin beneath his fingertips sending shards of fire spiraling up his arm before spreading across his chest and then diving downward to pool much lower. He could not. Should not. Would not.
And yet did.
What sweet ecstasy she was! How desperately her touch reminded him of all the things he would miss if he continued to follow the path he’d set for himself. And to what end? To recapture everything Henry and his father had lost in their own pursuit for love? Such a strange circle he’d found himself in, the proverbial snake devouring its own tail.
The touch of her lips upon his was like a sigh, the kind only someone who has come home after a long journey could possibly understand. He enfolded her in his arms, held her tight, let the warmth of her body and her heart fill him. She tasted of the sweetest honey and he explored her with his tongue, gently until she joined him and they teased and tangled and tormented together.
“I must have you,” he whispered, the words harsh. Painful. He did not want to want it so much. He wished to be a stronger man, but to his utter dismay, he discovered such was not the case. She was his weakness. She took him out at the knees and left him beggared at her feet.
“I am yours.” The words kissed upon his lips, a promise. A destruction. He could stop now. Step away and beg her forgiveness. She would never hold him accountable. She had too much pride to marry a man who did so only out of duty or sense of obligation.
He quickly dismissed the concern as it stole through his mind. He would not stop. Not without her express wish that he do so.
Judith caught her breath as Benedict swept her up into his arms and carried her from the room. He stopped at the door to the library and peered left and right, but the hallway and staircase ahead of them remained blessedly empty. Not that it would matter. She had said the words, surrendered herself to whatever scandal followed.
I am yours.
She would be ruined after this, a truth she could not escape. Nor cared to.
Why should she? She wanted no other but he, yet fully understood such could never be, not for the long term. But for this moment, he was hers, and she his. And when this moment ended, she would take the memories and pack them around her heart to protect her for when he took another as his bride. She would live out her days at Havelock Manor and do her best to live a life of service to others. Perhaps, if she filled her life with purpose she would not feel the loss of him quite so much.
But such ideas and plans were for later. For now, she gave herself over to the exhilaration of being carried up the stairwell, Benedict taking the stairs two at a time as if she weighed but a stone. He stopped abruptly and set her on her feet before pulling her into an alcove lost to the darkness. A maid passed by farther down the hallway but their presence remained undetected. Once she was gone, Benedict took her hand.
“Come,” he said with a smile, giving her a glimpse of the mischievous boy who had been lost to the ages, squelched by duty and circumstance. Oh, how she would have loved to have seen him then. How she loved all the more to catch a glimpse of that boy now at her hands.
He led her past her own room and around another corner until they reached a door. He opened it swiftly and stepped into the dark interior, turning to face her as he pulled her to him. A small fire smoldered in the hearth in anticipation of its master’s return. The bed too, had been turned down as if expecting them. A faint light spilled out from the low-burning fire and trickled across the floor and two candles flickered beneath glass sconces on a nearby table. It was enough to both light the room yet cast it in shadows. Even so, the masculine feel of its décor enticed her. Beckoned her to explore.
She pulled away from him and walked farther into the room. For the most part, the décor told her little about the man. Touches one would expect to see, that gave a room a distinct flavor of the person it belonged to, were notably absent, save for a book set on the nightstand next to the bed. It was turned over, marking where he’d left it last. She picked it up, careful not to lose his spot, and read the cover. The Wanderer by Frances Burney. Not exactly the type of novel one would expect to find a gentleman of the ton reading.
She smiled at him over its edge. “I am impressed.”
He crossed the room to join her and slowly pulled the book from her hands, closing it with a smile, a glint of humor in his eyes. “It belonged to my sister, Abigail. She suggested it to me and it seemed a far more entertaining read in the evenings than a thick tome on crop rotation.”
How solitary his world must be, now that both Abigail and Caelie were married and his mother split her time between here and Sheridan Park with her new grandson. What had once been a home busy with people and activity had been reduced to a household of one. Perhaps the idea of marriage held other benefits to him other than financial. Did he long to fill the house with life and laughter once again? To have someone to spend his days and nights with and fill the emptiness that echoed off the walls? What a shame it would be if he were to find a bride who did not offer the companionship he craved or accept the love he offered.
She pushed such concerns from her mind. She did not want to think of him married to another. It would come soon enough and her heart would break in two, of that she had no doubt. But for now, they were here, just the two of them. She rested her hands upon the lapels of his jacket, his chest solid beneath the superfine wool. He had taken care with his appearance for dinner this evening, yet now that dinner had ended and the evening had come to a close, she wanted nothing more than to see him out of his finely tailored clothes. She longed to peel his jacket off his shoulders, pull his shirt over his head, and press her mouth to his warm skin.
Her heart raced and she reached for a distraction. “And are you enjoying the book?”
“I am enjoying you more.” He tossed the book onto the table and wrapped his strong arms around her. His lips dropped to her neck and teased against her pulse until her head fell back to give him full access. His mouth glided downward, trailing a line of kisses across her collarbone then across the rise of her breasts where the scooped bodice of her town left them exposed.
When he lifted his head and pressed his mouth against hers a fever heated within her veins and rushed throu
ghout her body, igniting a fire that raged out of control.
“I cannot think rationally when I am near you,” Benedict confessed, pressing his lips to hers. She understood the sentiment. Returned it. His kiss left her breathless. Hungry, yet gentle, it reached somewhere deep inside of her, touching upon the part she kept hidden from others for fear of being hurt. But she did not fear him.
He broke the kiss, his chest rising and falling. He leaned his forehead against hers, a gesture so simple and yet so intimate. “There is so much wrong with this,” he said.
But she disagreed. “Nothing has ever felt more right than this.”
Perhaps society would call what went on between them sinful or scandalous, but Judith had learned the hard way that those opinions were built on hypocrisy. The ton set their puritanical rules, but few actually lived by them, yet did not hesitate to cast stones at others who did the same.
“Should I stop?” Benedict’s voice whispered in her ear, an edge of desperation dancing around his words.
“No. Do not.” The answer came easily, definitively. She had been unsure about so much lately, but not this. This was true and real. Her feelings could not be denied even if their circumstances allowed their relationship to go no farther than tonight. She held him to nothing beyond this.
He did not argue with her, a fact that both surprised and delighted her. “Turn around.”
She did as he bade and felt the pull against the fabric of her dress as he undid the long row of buttons down her back. Within a few minutes, he pushed the gown over her shoulders and let it fall down her arms, until it tumbled into a heap at her feet.
She did not move, unsure of what to do. Benedict’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against him. The length of him warmed her. His hardness pushed against her bottom and a thrill shot through her, robbing her of breath.
Benedict’s lips kissed a trail of heat across her shoulders and upper back where it was left exposed by her chemise and stays. The ties of which he soon loosened until that garment, too, fell away. She shivered. No man had ever touched her with such gentleness and reverence. Had touched her at all really, save for—