Besides which, Genevieve had vowed to herself, when Josiah died and she was finally free to do as she pleased, never to become dependent upon any man again, for anything. Her independence, emotionally as well as financial, was now as necessary to her as the air she breathed—the first free-and-easy air Genevieve had been able to draw for more years than she cared to think about.
She gave Benedict a bright but insincere smile. ‘I am very pleased for all of them. Now, if you will excuse me? I fear I have neglected my other guests for quite long enough.’
‘Of course.’ Benedict had absolutely no idea what thoughts had been running through Genevieve’s head these past few minutes, but whatever they had been they did not seem to have been pleasant ones. ‘I believe that I shall go and renew my acquaintance with Woollerton.’
Her eyes widened at the suggestion. ‘I had thought—you gave me the impression, when last we spoke of him, that you were no fonder of him than I?’
‘I am not,’ Benedict assured her drily. ‘But someone should talk to him, don’t you think?’ It was noticeable, to Benedict at least, that not even Woollerton’s fiancée seemed particularly eager to seek out the other man’s company. ‘One cannot help but feel sorry for the nervous little rabbit who is to become his wife!’ To Benedict’s eyes Lady Charlotte Darby did indeed resemble a scared rabbit, with her pale colouring and wide, ingenuous eyes.
‘That is unkind, Benedict.’ Geneveive shot him a reproving glance.
‘The real unkindness is surely in Ramsey having agreed to his only daughter marrying one such as Woollerton?’
‘Possibly.’ Genevieve could not help but inwardly agree wholeheartedly with this statement, to a degree that she was still uncertain as to what to do about it, having now had chance to see how very young and delicate Charlotte Darby actually was. Far too much so for her to suffer having such a brute as William Forster as her husband. But for her to interfere, by talking to the Earl of Ramsey of her concerns for his daughter, would result in William’s fury. With the result that she might suffer more than just a broken bone in her wrist. ‘Viewed with pragmatism, it is surely a good marriage on both sides? He is a duke, she is the daughter of an earl.’
‘But?’
Genevieve frowned. ‘I cannot help but agree with you that it was not a kindness on Ramsey’s part to have accepted William’s suit on behalf of his only daughter.’
‘Unless it is a love match—no,’ Benedict instantly dismissed such an idea. ‘Woollerton has neither the looks nor character to incite such passions in one so young and obviously romantically inclined as Charlotte Darby.’
“Obviously” …?’
He nodded ruefully. ‘The chit has been giving me cow-eyed glances these past few minutes.’
‘Understandably so.’ Genevieve chuckled softly. ‘You are Lucifer, one of—if not the—most handsome and sought-after gentlemen of the ton,’ she added teasingly as Benedict raised dark and questioning brows.
‘Ye gods,’ he muttered disgustedly. ‘If that is true—’
‘Oh, I assure you that it is!’
‘—then let me assure you that my own tastes do not run to young ladies barely out of the schoolroom!’
Genevieve looked at him beneath the sweep of her long lashes. ‘Then what do they “run to”?’
He arched his dark brows. ‘At this moment? A beautiful and widowed duchess.’
A blush brightened the pallor of Genevieve’s cheeks. ‘I am gratified to hear it.’
Benedict’s expression tightened. ‘Enough, dare I hope, to hasten the departure of your other guests with all possible speed?’
She laughed again softly. ‘Oh, I believe I might just mention in the next few minutes that my arm is starting to ache and that the doctor has advised I need to rest when that happens.’
‘“Resting” is not quite what I had in mind for the remainder of the afternoon and evening,’ Benedict growled.
Genevieve’s blush deepened. ‘I really must go and talk to my guests now—before you have a chance to say anything even more shocking!’
Benedict made no effort to join Woollerton for several minutes after Genevieve had crossed the room to engage the Countess of Ramsey in polite conversation. Instead he simply stood and watched her as she talked easily and charmingly with the older woman, feeling more at ease with himself than he had for the past two days.
Two days, when he readily admitted he had sorely missed their bantering together. As he had felt the loss of Genevieve herself.
Those same two days when Benedict had once again found his thoughts turning far too often to those frustrating memories of their lovemaking, both at Vauxhall Gardens and Carlton House. Both of them occasions when they had come very close—but not close enough for his liking!—to consummating that lovemaking.
‘I am not sure that I altogether care for the way in which you are looking at my stepmother, Lucas.’
Benedict’s shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowing as he slowly turned to look at William Forster, the Duke of Woollerton, the other man scowling at him, his round face florid in his vexation. ‘I do not recall asking for your approval?’ he bit out with a chilling softness the other man would have known to be wary of if he had known Benedict better. If he had known Lucifer better …
‘I am Genevieve’s closest male relative,’ the other man reminded him pompously.
‘And a poor example of it you are, too, if her broken wrist is any example of the guardianship you have shown her these past weeks!’ Benedict eyed the younger man coldly.
The duke’s pale grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘And what do you know of Genevieve’s broken wrist?’
Benedict shrugged. ‘Only that she did not, as she claims, do it by catching the sleeve of her robe upon a door handle.’
‘Indeed?’ Woollerton gave a mocking smile. ‘Then, no doubt, if you are not the one responsible—’
‘I most certainly am not and I would advise that you not suggest such a possibility in my hearing again!’ The chill warning of Benedict’s tone would have silenced any man possessed of even the slightest sense of self-preservation.
Unfortunately, William Forster was far too full of his own self-importance to heed that warning. ‘Then I can only assume that one of her other lovers must have been a little too … rough with her during their love play?’
The fact that it had been Benedict’s thinking, too, did not detract from the insult just levelled to both himself and Genevieve; Woollerton was implying both that Benedict was a fool, if he believed himself to be Genevieve’s only lover, and that Genevieve was nothing more than a trollop because of the existence of those other lovers. It was also designed, Benedict had no doubt, to put the doubt of suspicion into his own mind in regard to Genevieve’s fidelity to their own supposed relationship.
And had it succeeded in doing that?
A part of Benedict knew that he and Genevieve should not even have a relationship, not when he had only approached her initially with thoughts of using her as a shield for his real activities during his necessary ventures into society!
Something which they seemed to have moved beyond almost from that very first carriage ride together …
As for whether Woollerton’s arrow had met its target …?
If it had, then Benedict had no intention of revealing as much to the other man.
Genevieve felt nothing but relief when she saw the last of her callers finally depart an hour or so later—William, his fiancée, and future mother-in-law had all thankfully departed shortly after the end of his conversation with Benedict.
A Benedict who, thankfully, still lingered in the salon awaiting her return …
It had been something of a strain to maintain her social façade as gracious hostess once she had seen William Forster approach Benedict and the two men had fallen into quiet but intense conversation together. And her unease had not been in the least assuaged by the stiffness of the manner in which those two gentlemen had finally parted some minutes later,
William to move across the room to stand silently at the side of his fiancée, Benedict striking a brooding pose by one of the windows, the coldness of his expression not encouraging any present to so much as think of approaching him with the idea of engaging him in conversation.
Leading Genevieve to fear, whatever William’s remarks to Benedict might have been, they would not have been in the least complimentary to her …
Chapter Ten
Benedict kept his gaze hooded when Genevieve returned alone to the salon some few minutes later, her guests having now all departed—no doubt some of them discussing his own arrival and continued presence in Genevieve’s home!
Gossip was, and ever would be, something Benedict deeply abhorred—possibly because of some of the ridiculous, and scandalous tales, which had followed the unusual death of both his parents—but he doubted Genevieve would feel the same disregard he did …
She was only newly arrived back into society, after her years spent in the country, and much as Benedict had disliked intensely having William Forster question him in regard to his own friendship with Genevieve, it was an indication, at least, of the gossip which was already circulating amongst the ton regarding the two of them.
As he was only too aware, Genevieve could be quite determined in her quest for fun and adventure, sometimes without thought for her own reputation. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had felt he had no choice but to offer to escort her to Vauxhall Gardens; left to her own devices, Genevieve was more likely than not to call on the services of a bounder like Suffolk, and so embroil herself in a scandalous tangle which could result in her total exclusion from society.
But Benedict knew it was not the only reason he had escorted her to Vauxhall Gardens …
Nor was it the reason he was here again today, after telling himself it would be far better, for both of them, if he were to stay well away from the temptation Genevieve Forster constantly presented to him whenever the two of them were together.
Because he wanted her, to such a degree that Benedict found he could think of little else. To the point that he really felt he had no choice—if he ever wanted to sleep at night again!—with regard to seeing her again today.
Worst of all, he acknowledged that his desire for Genevieve was becoming a weakness. And it was a weakness that his enemies could—and surely would—exploit to the full, if they were to realise it existed; indeed, Devereux had clearly given the impression that he already suspected as much at Carlton House. Ergo, the weakness had to be dealt with and then dismissed.
Genevieve had to be dismissed.
Not so easily done when she now crossed the room with her usual graceful elegance, having removed the lace shawl from about her arm whilst out of the room, so that she was now able to hold out both her hands to lightly clasp his. ‘It really is so good to have you here again, Benedict.’
He closed his eyes briefly to shut out the effect of the warmth shining in the blue of her eyes. This woman knew no subtlety, played none of the games which other women seemed to so enjoy, but instead blurted out exactly how she felt. About everything, it seemed. And it was as disconcerting as it was refreshing.
Benedict gave a smile as he opened his eyes. ‘I believe, when last we spoke, you had mentioned there was something you wished to discuss with me, in regard to my parents’ deaths?’
She looked disappointed. ‘And is that your only reason for returning?’
Incorrigible baggage! ‘You must know that it is not.’ Benedict found himself smiling, the first time he had found reason to do so in days. Not that he was a man usually known for his humorous demeanour. No, that appeared to have come about only when he was in Genevieve’s company, otherwise he was known as being somewhat surly of nature. ‘But it would seem a place for us to begin …?’
Her laughing eyes looked up challengingly into his. ‘To begin what?’
Benedict drew his breath in sharply even as a frown appeared between his eyes. ‘Genevieve—’
‘I am sorry, Benedict.’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘I am just so happy—pleased—to see you, to be with you, again.’
He carefully pulled his hands free of hers before answering. ‘As usual, your candour does nothing whatsoever to aid a gentleman’s self-control!’
Genevieve eyed him teasingly. ‘Perhaps that is because, in your case, I have discovered I have no wish for it to do so?’
‘Is it only in my case—forget I said that.’ Benedict gave a self-disgusted shake of his head. ‘No doubt Woollerton would enjoy knowing that his remarks earlier have had their desired effect!’ he added harshly.
All the laughter left Genevieve’s expressive blue eyes, the smile fading from her lips. ‘And what remarks might they have been?’ The lightness of her tone was in complete contradiction to the sharpness of her gaze.
‘Nothing of any consequence,’ Benedict dismissed impatiently as he moved away abruptly and placed his hands behind his back, annoyed with both himself and Forster for making him sound as if he were a jealous schoolboy in regard to any other men who might currently be in Genevieve’s life. ‘But you say Dr McNeill is more than satisfied with your progress?’
‘Yes.’ Genevieve had no interest in discussing the progress, or otherwise, of her injured wrist, knowing by the remoteness of Benedict’s expression that she had been right to be filled with apprehension earlier when she saw William Forster deliberately engage him in conversation. ‘Benedict, William is—’
‘I have no wish to discuss William Forster with you, now or at any other time. The man is a complete bore—’
‘But he is a vindictive bore,’ Genevieve put in softly. ‘And he obviously said something earlier which has … disturbed you.’
‘Not in the least,’ Benedict dismissed tersely as he stepped impatiently towards her. ‘And as you seem no more interested in engaging in light conversation than I, perhaps we should just go straight upstairs to your bedchamber?’
‘Benedict!’ She took a shocked step back.
He gave a seductive smile as he came to a halt inches in front of her. ‘You do not enjoy having your own directness of conversation returned?’
Genevieve had absolutely no problem with Benedict being as direct as she was herself, it was the tone in which he made those comments which now bothered her. Unemotionally. Practically. Disrespectfully …
And Genevieve had no doubts exactly whom she had to thank for the latter! ‘William’s conversation obviously contained its usual lack of niceties in regard to myself?’
Benedict shrugged his broadness of shoulders. ‘As I said, the man is a complete bore.’
Genevieve looked down at her hands as she clasped them together in front of her. ‘Perhaps you are right and we should talk of something else.’ She forced a smile as she looked at the vase of roses on the low coffee table in front of the chaise. ‘I received these beautiful roses from the Prince Regent on the morning following our dinner at Carlton House.’
Benedict’s brows rose. He had noticed the vase of fifty or so yellow roses earlier—it was difficult to miss seeing them when they sat in pride of place in the centre of the room! From Prinny. He should have guessed that the Prince Regent would not pass up an opportunity to pay his respects to a young and beautiful widow. Benedict supposed he should feel grateful Prinny had at least had the good sense not to send Genevieve red roses!
‘Very nice,’ he dismissed drily.
‘Four-dozen yellow roses.’ Genevieve nodded. ‘I did not mistake them for anything more than the politeness they are, of course,’ she said softly. ‘But I appreciate his having sent them, just the same,’ she added as she gazed at them with telling wistfulness.
A gentle reminder, perhaps, that Benedict, unlike so many of her admirers, had not sent her any flowers during their own short acquaintance? Even though he had told her he would not.
Damn it, he never sent flowers to a woman he was bedding, so why would he have sent flowers to Genevieve, whom he was not?
As yet, at
least …
He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘I have already told you, if you are expecting to receive flowers from me, Genevieve, bearing insincere messages, then I am afraid you will be disappointed.’
She arched delicate brows. ‘Did I say that I thought you lacking in some way?’
His mouth firmed. ‘The implication was there.’
‘No, Benedict, it was not,’ she spoke softly. ‘And, unless I am mistaken, we are well on the way to having yet another disagreement. By your own design, perhaps?’
He stiffened. ‘Exactly what do you mean by that?’
Genevieve sighed, knowing she was not imagining Benedict’s confrontational manner and demeanour. Some of which she had no doubt she owed to William Forster’s conversation with Benedict earlier. As for the rest …? She felt sure that was of Benedict’s own doing. Because he did not wish to be here with her at all? Did not wish it, and resented it?
She smiled sadly. ‘I have much appreciated and enjoyed our friendship, Benedict, but if you do not wish to continue with it, I will quite understand.’
He began to pace the room. ‘You make no sense, woman—’
‘I make every sense, Benedict.’ Her smile once again became wistful. ‘You do not act, or speak, as if you wish to be in my company. Much as I am pleased to have seen you again, I am now giving you leave to go, with the assurance of there being no bad feelings between the two of us. On my part, at least.’
‘On my part, either,’ he bit out between clenched teeth.
‘There.’ She gave a gentle nod. ‘We are agreed, you will leave now, and even though we shall not be alone together like this again, we shall remain on good terms with each other, if only from a distance.’
Benedict gave a terse shake of his head. ‘I have absolutely no idea what that means!’
Genevieve gave an exasperated sigh, wishing that Benedict would depart if that was what he wished to do, before she could no longer maintain this air of quiet dignity. Before she gave in to the emotions simmering beneath her calm demeanour. Rage at William Forster, for one. Disappointment in Benedict, for another.
Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2) Page 12