by Golden Angel
Her words stuttered to a stop, leaving her feeling breathless all over again, as well as exhausted. Shame washed over her as she was suddenly aware she’d said far too much, shown too much. Her only excuse was he’d thrown her badly off balance.
“Christina,” he said, his voice soft and gentle as his hands dropped to his side, as though he wished to appear less threatening. “Is there something you wish to tell me about you first marriage?”
The shame nearly drowned her now, her cheeks blushing and paling by turns as buried emotions rose up and were ruthlessly pressed back down. Still clutching the sheets to her chest, Christina got up and picked up her night rail, pulling it back over her head. She couldn’t just keep sitting on the bed, not with all this nervous energy running through her, and she couldn’t walk around bare right now… Fortunately, Benedict did not take her movements as an invitation to move towards her.
Facing away from him, she started to pace, staring around her room without really seeing any of it.
“Everyone knows my first marriage was a love match,” she said, rather flatly.
“Yes,” Benedict replied, his tone bland but tinged with what sounded like jealousy. “Although you did not strike me as the type to forswear future marriage and happiness because your first love perished.”
Her laughter was bitter in response. So bitter she could taste it on her tongue as the image of her late husband rose in her mind’s eye. George had been handsome, rakish, silver-tongued, and utterly charming. And he’d chosen her. Danced attendance on her. Wrote sonnets and salacious notes to her. Singled her out from all the debutantes and made love to her with all the skill of a gazetted rake who desperately needed a bride with a hefty dowry.
Not that she’d realized his financial situation at the time. As young and naive as she’d been, even if she had known, she might not have cared nor believed any naysayers. Unfortunately, her aunt, who had been chaperoning her Season, hadn’t realized the Marquess’ situation either, although she may still have supported the match. The title of Marchesse was nothing to sneeze at, after all, no matter how far up the River Tick the Marquess himself was. There had been no sign however; he’d done a marvelous job of hiding his debts from the ton. Everyone had believed he’d been smitten with the young Lady Christina on sight and, in doing so, had reformed his rakish ways to marry for love.
And Christina had just happened to have a very generous dowry.
“Everyone knows George was killed in an unfortunate carriage accident,” she continued, ignoring his words.
“Yes,” Benedict said, more slowly this time, as if he was uncertain where her train of facts were leading.
“George was…” It was surprisingly hard to say aloud. “George was fleeing his lover’s husband when the accident occurred.”
A secret. One which she’d never heard a whisper of among the ton, to her everlasting relief. Benedict’s shocked reaction reaffirmed that it remained a secret.
“His lover…”
“Baroness Mathilde Alvenley,” Christina said, her resentment simmering again. The blank look on Benedict’s face made it clear he’d never met the woman. Something to be thankful for. After George’s death, the Baroness had not been kind in making Christina acutely aware of George’s disaffection from his marriage bed to the Baroness’. As if the mere knowledge of why George had been driving so recklessly had not been painful enough. Although the Baron had promised no one would ever know the truth of why George had been driving so recklessly, the Baroness had taken every opportunity to deepen Christina’s pain. She was a viper, plain and simple. She’d even sent Christina the love notes George had sent her, the first of which had been dated a mere two months after his wedding to Christina.
They’d been salaciously graphic.
Dealing with the double blows of George’s betrayal and death simultaneously had undone something within Christina, broken her in some fundamental way. She no longer had the same hopes and dreams as other women, she only wanted to never be hurt so deeply ever again.
“They’d been lovers for some time before the Baron discovered them. Unfortunately, I was unaware of their relationship until after George’s death. The Baron, however, is an honorable man and, not wanting to cause me any more pain once he realized I’d no knowledge of the matter, very kindly kept the truth from ever being known.”
In fact, he’d been horrified when he’d realized how innocent she was to their spouses’ meetings and how heartbroken. He’d vowed to make it up to her by ensuring George’s death would be unblemished in the public eye and no taint would touch her.
Thus, Christina had had the full sympathy of Society during her mourning year and her re-entrance to Society, because of the Baron’s success at keeping the secret. If the scandalous truth of George’s death had been known, the gossip and censure of the ton would have been quite awful, and she well knew it. While she would have still received pity, it would not have been of the supportive kind.
“I have already confessed my feelings for you have deepened, honestly past where I would wish them to be, but when you tire of me, we will be able to go our separate ways. I have no wish to marry again and make such an amicable parting impossible.” Not that she would feel particularly amicable when it happened, but she would keep her pride and pretend.
To her shock, Benedict strode forward and took her into his arms before she could stop him, and it was only then that she realized she was trembling. She felt almost sick with all the conflicting strong emotions which had gripped her over the past couple hours, along with the physical exertions. No wonder she felt nearly ill.
It felt good to be in his arms and lean against his strength, a relief to know he wasn’t going to abandon her just because she’d rejected marriage. Perhaps he would pull away after this, but at least for this one moment, he was still here with her.
Benedict kissed her on the top of her head and scooped her up in his arms as she let out a little shriek.
“Do not think I have given up, for I have not,” he murmured, giving her a squeeze as she started to protest before he placed her down on her bed. “You need rest. But, love, we will discuss this again. I am not your late husband and I will not be painted with the same brush… you will see that soon enough for yourself. I will prove it to you.”
She opened her lips to protest again, but he dropped a kiss on her mouth to quiet her, pulling up her sheets over her body as he did so.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered, moving away to collect his clothes and redress himself. Christina rolled onto her side to watch him.
She wanted to ask him to stay… but the servants would gossip if they found him in her chambers in the morning. A merry widow’s reputation could survive much, but blatant indiscretions would still ruin her - and then she’d have to marry him or become a pariah.
“Go out the side door,” she whispered to him, holding the sheets under her chin. There were so many other things she could have said, but somehow she couldn’t make the words come. So she just told him how to leave. “Down the stairs, turn right down the hall, and it’s at the far end on the left. No one should be in that area of the house at this time of night.”
Dressed, he turned to look at her once more. “Those big, sad eyes,” he said softly, a rueful smile curving his lips. “I will chase all your sadness away, love, and if I can’t, I’ll spank it out of you.”
The audacious claim made her laugh, the bubbling sound surprising her.
Grinning proudly, Benedict leaned over to claim her mouth with another kiss.
“You’re mine, Christina, never doubt it.”
With that, he blew out her candles and went to her door, pausing to ensure the coast was clear before sneaking out. She kept listening, but when five minutes went by without any alarm being sounded, she knew he had successfully left the house.
She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep at all, but the moment her eyes closed, the deep black pulled her under.
Chapter 4
; Staring at the hearty breakfast of kippers, sausages, beans, toast, and eggs, Benedict tried to drum up an appetite - like sleep, it eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he’d been able to see was Christina’s pale, heart-shaped face, her sad brown eyes, and the pain etched in every line of her body as she’d spoken of her late husband. Not that she’d said much, but everything she’d said and everything she’d left unsaid had weighed her down.
How to overcome her reticence?
It was impossible to think of any other option than overcoming that obstacle, because Benedict could not countenance the idea of marrying any woman other than Christina. Unlike her late husband, he truly did love her. He wanted her by his side for the rest of his life, and he was happy to forsake all other women for her. But how to show her that?
Too bad he couldn’t actually spank her until she agreed to marry him. It would certainly be much easier.
Still, Christina was worth every ounce of effort. She deserved it. Benedict would give her everything her late husband hadn’t… fidelity, honesty, and loyalty. Unfortunately, since the dead Marquess had couched his own courtship in terms of love, Benedict was unsure how to actually demonstrate his differences from the man. He’d never met the Baron or Baroness of Alvenley either, so he had no idea what further emotional landmines might have been created by the woman’s personality.
He’d like to ask for some advice, but doing so could expose the secret Christina had been keeping. Society could turn on a person in an instant, and knowing her purported love match had turned sour would delight the tabbies of the ton. The gossip was so very good and the secret successfully kept for so very long.
Which put him in quite a quandary.
“Benedict? Are you unwell?” His sister-in-law’s question made him look up from his plate to find his entire family looking at him with concern. Even Isaac, his older brother, had put down his newspaper to focus on Benedict, a slight frown on his face.
These were the people he’d like to ask for advice. His brother, his sister-in-law, and his sister. All of them could be trusted completely, but… even the smallest slip to another trusted party, and so on and so forth… Besides, he wanted them all to meet Christina and welcome her into the family as well, which meant she may one day discover that he’d shared her secret with them.
He didn’t need any advice to know such a revelation would go very poorly for him. Perhaps even scupper his plans if he hadn’t secured Christina’s hand by then.
“Alert the papers, he’s been struck dumb,” Arabella said, snickering. His baby sister could always be counted on to provide some levity to any situation. “It must be some kind of terrible disease!” Making a face, she leaned away from him. “You don’t think it’s catching, do you?”
“If it is, I might encourage you to sit closer to him,” Lydia teased back gently, causing Isaac to suddenly smile as he gave his wife an adoring look.
They’d been married last summer when Lydia had trapped Isaac into marrying her, but Isaac had still fallen in love with her - especially when he’d discovered she’d only trapped him in order to escape her stepfather. The man had run quite mad and was now occupying a room in an asylum, while Isaac and Lydia were living in happily wedded bliss. The kind of bliss Benedict had found himself envying more and more.
Despite being quiet, sweet, and submissive, Lydia could also be quite stubborn at times, which served her well being married to Isaac, who was as autocratic as his ducal self could manage. She did also serve to soften him a little, and her stubbornness could outmatch his at times. Benedict thought she was a wonderful addition to the family. With her honey blonde hair and grey eyes, she stood out from the Windhams, who were all dark haired and dark eyed, but in personality she fit into a niche they’d desperately needed.
The Windham siblings had been orphaned years ago, their only other direct family member was their Great-Aunt Ida who was quite elderly, tired easily, and had never been the mothering type. In contrast, Lydia had served as mother to her own sister, Amy, after their mother had passed away, and now she brought that warm support to the Windham household. Of course, Isaac didn’t see her as a mothering type (except to his own planned brood, which Benedict suspected the first of might already be well on his or her way), but for Benedict and especially Arabella, she was a combination of mother and elder sister.
It was Lydia who ensured they all had proper meals together and enforced a breakfast time, Lydia who checked Arabella’s wilder starts (with far more success than Isaac or Benedict had ever had), Lydia who approved Arabella’s wardrobe, and Lydia whom Benedict had gone to for comfort after Christina had left him. She’d been a sympathetic ear and very supportive - unlike his brother and sister who had a tendency to tease rather than help.
Her influence was most obvious with Arabella, however. After skirting close to scandal on multiple occasions last Season, and seemingly uncaring at her close brushes with ruination, Arabella was finally settling down. Benedict didn’t know if it was because of Lydia’s guiding hand or just Arabella’s desire to impress her new sister, but it was certainly a welcome change. Arabella was turning into a proper lady, rather than a hoyden who needed to be constantly watched.
Particularly welcome since it appeared he was going to be spending his Season courting Christina, so having to guard his little sister the way he and his brother had done last year would have been a huge hindrance.
“Benedict?” Now it was Isaac’s deep voice interrupting his thoughts, making him aware he’d just been sitting there silently with a blank stare on his face rather than answering Lydia.
“My apologies, I’ve been a bit distracted,” he said, trying to decide how much he could tell his family. They all knew about Christina, of course (well, they knew there was a widow he had an attachment to, was planning on pursuing as his wife, and that her name was Christina; obviously he hadn’t told the ladies that she had been his paramour), but he hadn’t told them where he had gone last night or why. He supposed telling them about attending the ball was harmless enough. “I saw Christina last night.”
“What? Where? When? Why didn’t you bring us?” Arabella’s questions came fast and accusatory as she sat up straight, completely indignant, and no longer the prim and proper lady she’d been presenting to them. “I thought you went to your club!”
Isaac gave him a look, as if warning him not to say anything untoward in front of the women, as if he needed to be told.
“I happened to discover she would be at the Wutherings’ ball and so took the opportunity to appear as well,” he said blithely, as if his attending the ball - without his debutante sister - was entirely unremarkable.
“We could have gone with you,” Arabella said, glaring and pouting at the same time; a skill she had quite mastered, managing to look both threatening and forlorn simultaneously. “Why didn’t you tell us? Nothing interesting happened at the Irvings’ dinner.”
“You wanted to see Gabrielle,” he said, which was very true; Arabella had missed her best friend dearly during their months apart, despite a week-long visit after Christmas.
Arabella scowled at him, her expression only smoothing when she caught Lydia giving her a reproachful look. Then she sighed with exasperation. “He’s my brother, I ought to be able to harangue him if I want to.”
“Of course you may harangue your brother,” Lydia said pleasantly. “However, you should be mindful of having an audience, and consider how effective your tactics are.” Turning to Benedict, she smiled at him warmly. “Did your meeting with Lady Stanhope not go as you hoped? You do seem a bit downhearted.”
Even though she had just admonished Arabella, it was impossible to feel as though Lydia was manipulating him for information - she was far too warm and caring. Although Arabella did watch her closely, and Benedict was aware he needed to be more forthcoming if his little sister was accept Lydia’s premise that behaving in a more ladylike manner produced better results than harassing him into submission. The grateful look Isaac s
hot his wife was nothing less than adoring; no wonder, if she was successfully maneuvering Arabella away from her usual strong arm tactics.
“I made my intentions clear enough, but she says she’s not interested in marrying again,” he said a bit glumly.
Across the table from him, Isaac raised his eyebrows.
“Why on earth not?” he sounded a bit insulted on Benedict’s behalf.
“I would imagine because being a widow brings with it quite a few freedoms, which many women are loathe to give up,” Lydia remarked, a bit dryly. Isaac frowned at her and she laughed lightly. “Of course, being married can also give a woman many compensations which I know I, for one, would not relinquish for all the world.”
Now both of them were looking at each other with slightly sappy expressions. It was enough to make a man nauseous - mostly with envy, in his case. Arabella looked envious as well, watching the two love birds.
“Maybe you just aren’t as good a catch as you think,” Arabella teased, turning back to him, obviously trying to dispel the jealousy Lydia and Isaac’s loving relationship often engendered.
Benedict glared, more at the memory of Christina’s response and pain than his sister’s teasing. “Actually, she thinks I’m a wonderful catch.”
“Then why doesn’t she want to marry you?”
“Because she doesn’t want to marry,” he snapped, losing his patience, just a little. “It’s not specific to me.”
“Oh. Well, that’s something at least,” Arabella said. There was an odd note in her voice, but Benedict didn’t really have a clue why nor any time to think further on it.