by Golden Angel
He just watched her from across the room.
Which meant he saw every single time she looked back at him.
“Everyone is watching you two,” Daphne whispered from behind her fan, leaning over slightly.
Unlike Christina, she sounded delighted by the situation.
The two of them were seated together, in front of Daphne’s sister younger sister Hazel and Hazel’s husband, the Earl of Jermyn, in the Marley box. The Earl of Marley was noticeably absent, but that was because he hated the theater and avoided it if he could. Fortunately, Daphne’s brother-in-law adored the theater and was happy to escort them as it meant he didn’t have to sit in his family’s box, which was currently occupied by his parents, the Marquess and Marchesse of Bristol, and their guests. It would have been rather cramped if David and Hazel joined them there, rather than sitting with Daphne and Christina.
Nervously, Christina smoothed her hands over the indigo silk of her skirts, promising herself for the hundredth time that she was not going to look towards the Manchester box again. Instead, she turned and looked around the theater, as casually as she could, and nearly groaned aloud.
Everyone whose opera glasses weren’t trained on the Manchester box were trained on her, and quite a few were moving back and forth between the two. Even before the play, upon arrival at the theater, she’d been questioned by more than one curious gossip about the Marquess’ apparent interest in her at the Wutherings’ ball. Any efforts she’d put forth to laugh off the “mistaken impression” that the Marquess’ was courting her were now being scuttled by his behavior.
Although, at least those who had approached her this evening assumed honorable intentions on his part; some others would undoubtedly be more malicious with their gossip.
“My bad luck he chose to come on the same night as me,” Christina muttered. She was so focused on trying to ignore Benedict, she missed the guilty expression which flitted across her friend’s face. By the time she glanced at Daphne, the Countess’ expression was quite composed although unsympathetic.
“He hasn’t looked away from you once,” Daphne whispered, sounding elated. “He’s utterly besotted.”
Christina’s betraying heart tumbled in her chest at her friend’s declaration, thrilling to the idea she might be right.
Firming her jaw, she turned away from Daphne and back towards the stage - but as usual, Benedict’s gaze made her eyes flit towards him for a brief moment on the way. The intensity of his look seared her, before she jerked her eyes back to the actors. She desperately wished herself at home, but with half the eyes in the audience on her there was no way she could leave in the middle of the performance without drawing attention.
Perhaps she could sneak out at intermission.
******
“She’s very beautiful,” Arabella murmured, leaning forward slightly to look around Benedict at Christina. “At least, from this distance. I assume she’s beautiful upon closer examination as well.”
“Both inside and out,” Benedict murmured back, too distracted by Christina’s presence and pretense at ignoring him to be drawn into his sister’s attempts to needle him.
At least Arabella was mostly behaving. Last year, she wouldn’t have hesitated to lean forward and stare, her comment would likely not have been made sotto voce, and it would not have been unsurprising to find her suddenly gone from his side and brazenly entering the Marley box to be introduced.
Arabella’s previous season had been fraught with little moments where she skirted the line of scandal, pushing the patience of the ton, and using her position as a duke’s sister to her advantage. Most young ladies would not have been able to get away with half of what she did. Being incredibly beautiful, sibling to one of the most powerful men in Society, and keeping just to the side of respectability, Arabella had earned a reputation as an Original rather than a young lady to completely avoid.
This Season, thanks to Lydia, even the highest-steppers seemed approving of her conduct, and she kept her more hoydenish starts confined to the privacy of Manchester House or murmured asides to her siblings. It was a relief not to have to divide his attention between keeping track of his sister and his own pursuits.
After a moment, he became aware of Arabella’s weighted silence and he tore his eyes away from Christina for long enough to see what had quieted her. Turning his head, he met her gaze and found her hazel eyes staring at him, in just as intense a manner as he’d been staring at Christina. He frowned and raised his eyebrow at her in question.
“You really do love her,” she said quietly in response.
“I do.”
He turned his head back to where Christina’s gaze was fixed on the stage. If he raised his opera glasses, he could see the swell of her creamy bosom over her blueish-purple gown, the long line of her neck, and the pink blush in her cheeks.
A blush which deepened every time she turned her head and met his gaze.
A blush which bolstered his spirits, no matter how determinedly she turned her head away from him each time their eyes met.
“Then I shall help.”
It took five precious seconds to register what Arabella had just said. Three more seconds to turn his head and realize she was no longer sitting beside him. The little sneak was far too adept at moving quickly and quietly; Lydia and Isaac hadn’t even looked to see where she’d gone because they hadn’t noticed she’d left.
Stifling the urge to curse under his breath, Benedict also attempted to sneak away unnoticed, but as soon as he reached the curtain, Isaac’s soft, deep voice had him turning.
“Where are you going?”
“Arabella needs a breath of fresh air,” he lied, unwilling to admit their sister had slipped away without him noticing. He didn’t even know how she’d done it in her voluminous skirts when he couldn’t and he had much greater freedom of movement. “It’s almost intermission anyway.”
With a brief nod, Isaac turned his attention back to his wife. Thank goodness for Lydia; with her presence distracting Isaac, he didn’t even appear to be suspicious.
Moving as quickly as he could, Benedict hurried after Arabella. With his ground-eating strides, he should have been able to catch up to her easily, but she had already reached her destination. Hazel eyes sparkling with glee, looking livelier than she had all Season now that she was up to some mischief, she was standing outside the curtain of the Earl of Marley’s box. Head tilted slightly, she appeared to be listening intently.
He wanted to shout at her, but doing so would draw the attention of all the occupants of the other boxes. And she knew it.
Blasted chit.
Benedict couldn’t wait until she was married and some other poor sod’s problem.
That wasn’t entirely true. He loved her dearly. Just perhaps not at this particular moment.
As applause suddenly rang out, Arabella grinned at him and darted between the curtains before Benedict could lunge and catch her.
“Damn.”
Of course he’d intended to find Christina at intermission, but on his terms. Not his sister’s.
Maybe they could find a nice Scottish Laird to marry Arabella, one which preferred to remain in Scotland for the majority of the year, he thought grimly. A sentiment which completely ignored how much he’d miss his sister and would actually be quite upset over such an arrangement. But in the moment, it didn’t seem too unreasonable.
******
Everyone in the box jumped in surprise as a beautiful young woman in a misty blue gown burst through the curtain, interrupting their applause.
“Oh… my apologies,” said the Lady Arabella. Christina recognized her immediately. The young lady’s lips made a little ‘o’ of shock, her face a picture of innocent alarm. “I’ve mixed up my boxes.” Benedict stepped through the curtains behind her, a slight frown on his face, contrasting sharply with Lady Arabella’s overly innocent, wide smile. “I meant to speak with my friend, Lady Gertrude Withers. I must have gone one box too far.”
/> “Please excuse my sister,” Benedict said, giving the occupants of the box a short bow, although his gaze lingered on Christina. Heat and desire coiled within her, making her mouth dry, at his close proximity. “She’s rather impetuous at times.”
“I’m quite in sympathy with her,” Hazel said, a wide smile on her face. “I’ve been known to be rather impetuous as well.” She exchanged a glance with her husband, as though sharing a private joke.
“It can be quite confusing, all these curtains,” Daphne said, also smiling widely at Arabella, giving a wave of her hand at the rich, velvet curtains which kept the box private. Turning slightly to Benedict, Daphne’s smile widened. “Please, Lord Dearborn, introduce us?”
And that was how Christina met a member of Benedict’s family for the first time.
She’d expected to be a bundle of nerves if she ever met any of his siblings, but Lady Arabella’s sudden appearance hadn’t given her anxieties any time to sprout. That the lady in question also seemed very pleased to meet her helped assuage some of her anxiety as it attempted to rise - although it also gave way to wondering exactly what Benedict had told his sister about Christina.
He’d certainly told her something.
While Lady Gertrude Withers was a lovely young lady, and probably had been introduced to the Lady Arabella, it was unlikely they were close friends. The Lady Gertrude was a complete flibbertigibbet and far too obsessed with rules and being the perfect picture of propriety to be friends with Lady Arabella, who was intelligent, capable, and entirely an Original when it came to her behavior. Beyond that, Lady Arabella’s interested gaze returned to Christina far too often between introductions, making it clear where her true interest lay.
“…champagne?” Hazel asked, making Christina start as she realized she’d completely lost the thread of conversation.
“Absolutely, I’m parched,” Daphne said, standing quickly in a rustle of fabric. “Lord Dearborn, Lady Stanhope was planning on staying in the box during intermission; since you are here, would you mind keeping her company so I might join my sister and her husband in having some refreshments?”
It was an effort not to kick her friend. “Oh, I don’t mind-:
“Champagne sounds wonderful,” Lady Arabella enthused, quite cutting off Christina’s protest that she was perfectly happy to join them in the lobby for the intermission, since she’d told Daphne no such thing. “I’m sure my brother won’t mind leaving me in your care.”
Before Christina’s second attempt at a protest could fully form on her lips, she found herself alone in the box with Benedict, who was looking at her like a cat which had finally cornered the mouse it had been chasing.
“Christina,” he said, sitting down beside her and trapping her between him and the edge of the box. There was no way past him without practically sitting in his lap - and wouldn’t that cause talk! While most of the audience had taken advantage of the intermission to mingle, there were quite a few people still in their boxes - or visiting their neighbors’ boxes - and probably watching her and Benedict.
“Lord Dearborn,” she said archly, turning up her nose at him.
“Now, love, don’t be like that,” he murmured, turning his body so he could slide his hand along her leg, making her gasp at both the sensation and his audacity. “You don’t want me to remind you of our intimate connection and why you should use my given name right here and now, do you?”
He wouldn’t…
He probably would.
Christina glared, trying to ignore the excitement pounding in her breast, the way her nipples tightened as his gaze slid over the creamy expanse of her breasts, and the coiling need between her thighs.
“Did you ask your sister to clear the box for you?” she asked abruptly, deciding a retreat was the better part of valor. Best to ignore his outrageous warning.
“No. I wasn’t too pleased when she took it upon herself to gain an introduction to you, but I can’t argue with the result.” Disgruntlement flitted over his expression. “I might even have to thank her.” The admission looked as though it pained him and Christina couldn’t stop her lips from twitching.
He had told her that Lady Arabella could be a hoyden and far too headstrong for her own good.
Still, that he hadn’t planned on introducing her to his family did not exactly raise her confidence in his purported desire to marry her.
“So you hadn’t planned to introduce me to your family?”
“Oh, I most certainly do. Did.” A rakish grin flashed across his face. “My sister-in-law, Lydia, is eager to befriend you, but she has far more manners than my sister. She’ll wait until I’m able to secure an appropriate moment for an introduction.”
Oh…
Her stomach fluttered. Nerves? Happiness?
“What do you think of the production?” he asked, nodding his head down towards the stage. She felt a moment of gratitude for the change in subject to a far less fraught one.
“Quite enjoyable,” she said immediately, even though she hadn’t been able to enjoy it as much as she ought. Her eyes narrowed slightly at him as he leaned back, the very image of an affable rake. “What do you think of it?”
Something glinted in his eye as he smiled widely. “I confess, it hasn’t held my attention.”
“Perhaps if you made an attempt to pay attention at all,” she responded tartly.
******
Benedict was mostly enjoying himself, riling Christina’s temper in full view of the ton.
It also helped distract him from his nearly painful level of arousal.
She was stunning, with her hair piled high, jewels winking about her throat, her breasts heaving in annoyance. He even imagined he could see the outlines of her dusky nipples, pressing at the front of her gown.
“I’d rather stare at you,” he said baldly, enjoying the way she flushed and averted her gaze.
She liked to hear him say it, even if she pretended she didn’t. Whipping out her fan, she began to flutter it, sending wafts of scented perfume his way. She smelled like violets, of course.
“What is taking them so long?” she murmured, her eyes flitting past him to the curtains.
“Would you like to go find them?” he asked, chivalrously.
“Yes, please.”
Offering her his arm, he quite properly escorted her out of the box.
However, upon stepping into the empty hall, he immediately pushed her up against the wall, his mouth covering hers and swallowing her surprised cry. Lust pounded through him as her soft body was trapped between him and the wall, squirming slightly against him. Keeping his ears pricked for approaching interlopers, Benedict took the opportunity to kiss her deeply, thoroughly.
It only took her a few shocked seconds before she was kissing him back, her legs parting to allow him to thrust his aching cock against the softness of her body. Benedict groaned into her mouth, shuddering with the effort of not ravishing her against the wall of the theater… but it was far too risky. Even just this kiss could damage her reputation if they were seen. The ton expected discretion, even though widows and married couples were extended a great deal of leniency when it came to affairs.
As his future wife, her reputation was his to protect, not ruin.
So Benedict forced himself to pull back, his cockstand practically ready to burst from his breeches. Christina blinked up at him, dazed with lust, her lips swollen, cheeks flushed, and ready and willing to do whatever he pleased. She’d certainly be primed for the rest of the evening.
But if she was a naughty girl and touched herself, he’d make sure she paid for it.
“Come, love,” he said, leaning down to brush a soft kiss across her lips. “We should join the others.”
“But…” Christina wet her lips, her eyes begging him for more, before she blinked and looked around, remembering where they were. “Yes… yes of course.”
“Just think,” he whispered in her ear as he began to lead her down the hall, the noise of conversation g
rowing louder as they moved. “If you were my wife, we could leave right now and no one would think a thing.”
Christina glared at him.
Benedict smiled.
Then they reached the mass of Society, crowded together and gossiping as always. He heard the little dip and wave in conversations as he and Christina appeared. No one could guess that he’d just kissed her senseless in the hallway, but everyone wanted to know exactly what was happening between the two of them. Benedict acted like a courting gentleman, Christina behaved as a respectable young widow would with a friend, and all the observers were heartily confused.
After all, if Benedict was courting her, it would be sheer lunacy - from Society’s point of view - for her to reject him.
To see her constantly ignoring his flirtations and attentions, and hear her explanations for his behavior (which were becoming less and less convincing) made no sense to anyone unless he truly wasn’t courting her. But he was being so obvious in his attentions, no one could think of any other explanation for it. If he were trying to dally with her, he would be discreet.
The speculation was running rampant. Benedict even heard two gentlemen muttering about a bet in the book at White’s as he and Christina passed by. It wouldn’t surprise him. The bored noblemen of the ton would bet on just about anything, and this situation was more baffling than most.
Several acquaintances greeted both of them. Benedict cleaved to Christina’s skirts, making it clear his attention was entirely on her. Christina pretended he was doing no such thing. It was a competition of sorts, and one which he was winning.
He was quite sure more than one person walked away from them smug with the knowledge that the Marquess of Dearborn was courting the Dowager-Marchesse of Stanhope… and she was playing hard-to-get but would acquiesce in the end. After all, she’d be mad not to.
Benedict wished he shared that assurance, but seeing as he was privy to her secret reasons for why she was so against marriage, he couldn’t be quite so confident. Still, Society’s expectations would hopefully help him fend off other parties from trying to take his place in her bed. More than one gentleman gave him a disgruntled or even hostile look when he refused to be budged from Christina’s side.