Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2)

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Whilst I appreciate your concern, Benedict, I do not believe—do not dare to believe …’ she gave a helpless shake of her head ‘… that even you will succeed in permanently ridding me of William’s threats.’

  He gave another humourless smile. ‘Then you do not know me as well as I had hoped that you might.’

  She looked at Benedict searchingly, easily noting the grimness of purpose in his expression and the hard and angry glitter of his eyes. ‘I know you well enough to realise that you are not at all the cold and remote gentleman that you allow the ton to believe you to be.’

  His expression softened. ‘Then I ask that you also have a little faith in both me and my ability to protect you.’

  Tears welled up in her expressive eyes. ‘I could not bear it if—if you were to come to harm because of me.’

  Benedict shook his head. ‘I shall come to no harm, I assure you, Genevieve. I do not consider men like Forster, either father or son, to be men at all. They are worms. Lower than worms, when they choose to bully and abuse a woman as you have been bullied and abused.’ His eyes gleamed darkly. ‘The father is beyond my reach, but William Forster, at least, shall pay, and pay dearly, for his sins against you.’

  He sounded so confident, so sure of himself, that Genevieve could do no other than believe him. Believe in him. If any man could rid her of William’s oppressive presence in her life, then she now believed that man to be Benedict.

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘If you succeed, then how shall I ever repay you?’

  Benedict eyed her ruefully. ‘A lesser man would be insulted that you might ever consider I should require repayment.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I meant you no insult, Benedict—’ She broke off as he began to chuckle softly. ‘I fail to see anything in the least funny about this situation, Benedict.’

  Nor, in truth, did Benedict. But these past few minutes had been harrowing ones for Genevieve, as she relived the pain and fear she had suffered this past seven years. Seven years …! Damn it—No, he must not allow his anger to get the better of him now; that he intended saving until he was able to see and deal with William Forster as he deserved to be dealt with. And the sooner the better, as far as Benedict was concerned.

  He reached out to take both Genevieve’s hands in his before lifting one of those hands to his lips. ‘Before you ask,’ he murmured indulgently as he saw the question in her expressive blue eyes, ‘I am saluting the bravery of a fellow soldier.’

  She gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‘I do not understand …’

  ‘If we had a dozen as brave as you during our battle against the Corsican then I have no doubts that war would have been over years earlier than it was!’ Benedict assured ruefully.

  A delicate blush coloured her otherwise pale cheeks. ‘It is not brave merely to have survived the battle.’

  Benedict touched the warmth of her cheek. ‘It is the way in which you have survived, Genevieve!’ He looked down at her admiringly. ‘There is no bitterness inside you. No drive for revenge against the people who harmed you.’ He gave a disbelieving shake of his head that this should be the case.

  Genevieve knew, as surely as if Benedict had spoken the words out loud, that he referred now to the bitterness and drive for revenge he still felt against whoever had murdered his parents all those years ago. That same bitterness and need for revenge which had driven Benedict, moulded his character, for these past ten years.

  ‘Such destructive emotions only damage those who feel them,’ she chided gently.

  He gave a heavy sigh. ‘And yet I find it impossible not to feel those emotions when I know that a murderer still walks free whilst my parents are both dead.’

  Genevieve gave a pained frown. ‘I do not mean to interfere, Benedict, but—you said that your godfather carried out the initial investigation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you know if he questioned all of the servants?’

  ‘I am sure that he will have done so. Yes, I know that he did.’ Benedict nodded grimly. ‘As I recall, there were two of them that I was unable to question when I carried out my own investigation some months later.’

  ‘And why was that?’

  ‘They had moved on to another household.’ He shrugged. ‘And who can blame them? Two people had been murdered in their present household.’

  ‘You are sure they went to another household?’

  ‘Genevieve, what are you implying?’

  ‘I know, from personal experience, that the household servants are usually privy to much more than we give them credit for.’ She grimaced. ‘For example, whenever I had been locked in my bedchamber, cook would help my maid to bring me food and water to drink.’

  ‘When were you locked away in your bedchamber—?’

  ‘Please do not let us become distracted from this conversation again, Benedict—’

  ‘I will know who locked you away in your bedchamber!’ A nerve pulsed in Benedict’s jaw. ‘No, do not bother answering; I can see by your expression exactly who is to blame for that!’ His eyes glittered darkly as he envisaged all of the things he would do to William Forster when he saw him next.

  Which he intended to be very soon indeed …

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘I do not wish to make a fuss, but—I am afraid you are crushing my fingers, Benedict!’

  Benedict brought his tormented thoughts under control as he focused on Genevieve, realising as he did so that he was indeed crushing her tiny fingers in his much larger ones. His eyes widened in horror as he immediately released her to mutter, ‘Your poor wrist!’ He inspected it for further damage.

  ‘It is unharmed, Benedict,’ she assured softly. ‘But I do think that you should look further into where those two servants went after they left your employ.’

  ‘You believe they may have seen something they should not?’ Benedict frowned.

  ‘I believe it is worth investigating further,’ Genevieve answered cautiously. ‘If only so that you might ask if they have remembered anything of import since—since leaving.’

  His expression softened as he looked down and saw Genevieve’s anxiety of expression. ‘Do not look so troubled, Genevieve,’ he murmured ruefully. ‘I assure you, I am grateful for any help you may give me in this matter.’

  ‘There may be no reason for your gratitude.’ She sighed. ‘I may be completely wrong about these two servants.’

  ‘And you may not.’ Benedict smiled at her. ‘And as a reward for your caring—’

  ‘Of course I care, Benedict!’ Her cheeks became warm as she realised what she had said. ‘I cannot imagine how awful it must have been for you these past ten years,’ she added. ‘To have lost your parents so tragically, and then not to know who had killed them …’

  ‘—as a reward for your caring,’ Benedict repeated firmly, ‘I intend to indulge you in something else you would consider “fun and adventure”.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You do?’

  ‘I do.’ He nodded. ‘God help me!’

  She chuckled. ‘There is something I should like so very much …’

  ‘Yes …?’ Benedict answered warily as he saw the return of that familiar reckless gleam in her eyes.

  She smiled eagerly. ‘I would so like to go for a ride in the park in your carriage tomorrow afternoon!’

  He frowned slightly. ‘I never ride my carriage in the park.’

  ‘Which is exactly the reason I should like to accompany you the first time that you do so!’ Genevieve grinned her satisfaction.

  ‘Minx!’ Benedict gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘In that case, we will make the arrangements for the outing when I join you for dinner this evening.’

  Her smile faltered slightly. ‘You intend dining here, with me, this evening?’

  ‘It is what lovers do, is it not?’

  Genevieve’s gaze lowered from meeting Benedict’s as she felt the warmth of colour in her cheeks. ‘I believe this afternoon has shown that I—I am not cap
able of taking a lover—’

  ‘All this afternoon has shown is that you are a very warm and responsive woman.’

  ‘But—’ She looked up shyly beneath her long lashes as Benedict placed his fingers against her lips in order to silence her.

  ‘You are a very warm and responsive woman, Genevieve,’ he repeated firmly. ‘And it will be my pleasure at some time in the future—and I hope, your own—to enable you to see that physical pleasure is not meant to be painful.’ His jaw hardened.

  The colour deepened in Genevieve’s cheeks at discussing such a delicate subject. Which was slightly ridiculous, after all she had already confided in Benedict this afternoon!

  It still disappointed her that she had reacted in the way that she had earlier. She had so wanted—hoped—that she would feel differently with Benedict. And up to a point she had, having once again enjoyed his caresses until she climaxed. It was only thoughts of penetration which had sent her into a panic.

  She gave a slow shake of her head. ‘I am not sure that any amount of patience on your part, in—in this regard, will make the slightest difference to my own … aversion to—to such a depth of intimacy.’

  Benedict tapped her playfully on the tip of her nose. ‘But you will allow me the privilege of trying?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Only if I can be completely sure that you do not offer out of pity?’

  ‘Does this feel like pity to you, Genevieve?’ Benedict’s gaze held hers as he slowly guided her hand to the front of his pantaloons, allowing her to feel the once again hardness of his pulsing arousal.

  Her cheeks felt fevered. ‘You desire me still, after all—after all I have told you?’

  ‘Why should I not?’ His brows lowered to a glower. ‘You had no choice in the matter—how could you have, when you were completely at the mercy of the two Forster men!’

  ‘Benedict, you will not—I could not bear it if you came to any harm on my behalf,’ she amended as she knew by Benedict’s harsh expression that he would not be persuaded out of his decision to pay William Forster a visit.

  ‘And risk being unable to join you later this evening?’ he teased huskily.

  Her cheeks warmed at the seductive note she detected in his tone. ‘In that case, I will organise a delicious dinner for us both. Would eight-thirty suit?’

  He nodded distractedly. ‘Admirably. And now I should like to kiss you goodbye until later, if that is agreeable to you?’

  Genevieve’s heart leapt, her breasts tingling, just at thoughts of being kissed again by Benedict. And surely, if she liked and enjoyed Benedict’s kisses so much, then all was not lost to her after all? Maybe even, with time, she might be able to—

  ‘You seem to be taking an unflattering amount of time deciding, pet?’ Benedict teased gruffly, hoping he was not pushing Genevieve too far too quickly. It was not his intention to do so, but neither did he feel they should take a single step backwards in their relationship—to do so would only lead to Genevieve becoming even more nervous and shy in regard to physical intimacy.

  The glow of anticipation in Genevieve’s eyes was neither nervous nor shy. ‘On condition that you do not kiss me any less passionately than you have done before today.’

  ‘I would not dream of doing so,’ Benedict murmured huskily, his arms moving assuredly about her waist and pulling her against him even as his head lowered and his lips claimed hers.

  It was a different sort of kiss, though, he very quickly realised. More intense, sweeter, as he tasted and sipped from those full and delectable lips and Genevieve curled her luscious curves against his much harder ones, her arms up about his shoulders as she returned the heat of those kisses.

  ‘Enough for now, love.’ Benedict finally broke the kiss with a groan, his arousal throbbing even more painfully against the welcoming softness of her thighs. ‘We will continue this when I return later this evening,’ he promised gruffly.

  But before then, Benedict had two visits to make.

  Firstly, to Eric Cargill, to ask that gentleman to see if he could locate the two servants who had left his parents’ employ soon after the shooting; Eric, besides being a spymaster for the Crown and so having the means at his disposal to make such enquiries, was also one of his parents’ oldest friends, hence his having been chosen as one of Benedict’s godfathers. The older man’s interest, in finding the person responsible for their deaths, was as intense as Benedict’s own.

  Secondly—and this was the visit Benedict anticipated the most!—he would call upon William Forster at his London home, and make it known to the other man that he was now conversant with events of both the past and present in regard to Genevieve, and that in the circumstances he would not welcome—in fact, it might be detrimental to William’s own health—if he were to find the other man anywhere within Genevieve’s vicinity in the future.

  A challenge Benedict sincerely hoped that the other man would take him up on—he would enjoy nothing more than, as Genevieve had already stated, ‘the excuse to beat William Forster within an inch of his life’!

  ‘You need to see my opponent to realise the triviality of my own injuries!’ Benedict assured with satisfaction as Genevieve’s eyes widened in concern later that evening as she obviously spotted the bruise upon his cheek the moment the butler showed him into her gold salon.

  ‘Thank you, Jenkins.’ She waited until her butler had departed before turning back to Benedict. ‘And do I really need to take a guess as to whom that “opponent” might have been?’

  ‘As a woman of intelligence, I rather think not,’ Benedict drawled as he stepped further into the room, eyes dark with appreciation as he took in Genevieve’s appearance in a deep-blue silk gown the exact same colour as her eyes. ‘You are looking very beautiful this evening, love.’

  It was impossible for Genevieve to hold back the flush of pleasure that warmed her cheeks. Just as it was impossible for her not to be affected, in turn, by Benedict’s dark good looks, the darkness of his hair lightly tousled, that bruise he now sported upon his cheek only adding to that air of danger he carried so easily.

  She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘If you are hoping to divert my attention with flattery—’

  ‘The truth can never be called flattery, Genevieve,’ he assured her softly.

  ‘You are attempting to divert me.’ She eyed him reprovingly.

  He laughed softly. ‘But only by telling the truth.’

  ‘Then do me the service of answering me as truthfully in regard to your meeting with William Forster!’

  ‘Tenacious as well as beautiful,’ Benedict murmured appreciatively.

  Genevieve reached up to gently touch the livid discolouration upon his cheek. ‘Your poor face,’ she murmured with compassion. ‘Did the brute dare to hit you?’ Her expression darkened with displeasure.

  Benedict continued to grin his satisfaction. ‘Only after I had hit him. And he did not touch me with his fist, but the heel of his boot, as he toppled over with all the grace and trumpeting of a bull elephant!’

  ‘Now that you mention it, he does rather resemble one!’ Benedict had described the scene so well that Genevieve could not help but smile at the vision which had appeared so vividly in her mind. ‘Even so …’ she sobered with a frown ‘… you promised me that you would not allow yourself to come to any harm when you met with William.’

  ‘I seem to recall my precise words were that I would not allow anything to prevent me from joining you here for dinner this evening,’ Benedict reminded her softly as he reached out to clasp both her gloved hands in his own. ‘And now that I have, I believe I would prefer to eat you up rather than any meal your cook may have prepared for us …’

  ‘Benedict …!’

  ‘Yes, love?’ He lowered his head to nuzzle his lips against the bare skin between her shoulders and throat.

  ‘I—is this what lovers do, too?’

  ‘I believe so …’ he murmured distractedly.

  ‘I—but you—Surely you are so much m
ore conversant in these things than—than I …?’ Genevieve’s heart was pounding loudly in her chest, her pulse racing to the point that she could barely think, let alone answer him coherently.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Well, are you not?’ She gave an inelegant squeak as the warmth of his lips grazed the tops of her breasts left bare above the low neckline of her gown.

  He shrugged elegant shoulders as his lips continued to blaze a trail of fire across the swell of her breasts. ‘I do not recall being so, no.’

  ‘Benedict …!’

  His eyes were dark as onyx as he lifted his head slightly, his lips now only inches from her own. ‘It is not gentlemanly to discuss previous … relationships, pet. Not that there have been any in my own life which could be called such,’ he added softly as Genevieve’s frown deepened. ‘Very few women have captured my interest for as long as you have, love.’

  ‘But we have only been acquainted for two weeks.’

  He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘And that is twelve, or perhaps thirteen days longer than any other woman has succeeded in holding my interest.’

  Genevieve looked up at him searchingly, unsure whether or not Benedict was teasing her. The directness of his dark gaze implied he was not. ‘I had thought—I believed—’

  ‘Yes, love?’ Benedict looked down at her with dark and mocking eyes.

  Genevieve’s frown became pained. ‘I believe there is something else which I must tell you, Benedict, if we are to proceed any further …’

  He arched dark brows. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I—I would hate for you to learn of this by any other means.’

  He stepped back slightly, his own expression guarded. ‘Proceed, Genevieve.’

  She moistened the plumpness of her lips with the tip of her tongue before continuing. ‘The truth is, that several weeks ago, the night of Sophia Rowlands’s ball, as it happens, I—I made a deliberately outrageous statement to my two dearest friends, declaring that if we had any sense at all, now that our year of mourning was over, we should all take a lover or two before this dreary Season came to an end.’ She gave a sad shake of her head. ‘At the time I had believed that I would be able to—I had thought I might succeed—No matter.’ She grimaced. ‘You arrived at the ball with Devil Stirling at the very time I made my announcement and I impulsively stated that either of you fine gentlemen would make one of us a splendid lover.’