Benedict's Commands

by Golden Angel

  A knock at her door nearly made her jump.

  “My lady?” Mrs. Jones, her housekeeper opened the door. “Lord Marley’s carriage has arrived.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” Christina said, and smiled as Esther immediately came forward with her silver lace shawl, draping it over Christina’s shoulders as a finishing touch to the dress.

  “You look lovely, my lady,” Esther said, dimpling as she bobbed a little curtsy. “If I do say so myself.”

  “Thanks to your efforts,” Christina said with a smile, her hand drifting up to pat her hair. “Take the rest of the evening off, I can tend to myself when I return, or I may spend the night at Daphne’s afterwards.”

  “Thank you, my lady!” The maid fairly glowed with excitement.

  The truth was, Christina was hoping Benedict might sweep her away again or even return here with her, and she didn’t want Esther’s sensibilities taxed. But the maid deserved a night off anyway, she’d been running herself ragged all afternoon and she truly had done amazing work on Christina’s hair with the hot iron.

  Taking her reticule from the eager maid, Christina swept downstairs and out the door to the waiting carriage where Anthony and Daphne eagerly greeted her. Anthony was handsomely turned out, his black suit and bronze waistcoat, his impeccably starched cravat tied in a perfect Trone d’Amour knot. Wearing a green dress with bronze trim, emeralds set in gold shimmering around her neck and bringing out the green of her eyes, Daphne was just as splendid. Her neckline appeared even lower than Christina’s, as if the slightest movement might make the fabric slip and reveal a pink nipple. From the way Anthony kept eyeing his wife, it was clear he appreciated the view. Christina knew he wouldn’t mind other men looking either - he seemed to find it very satisfying that they could look while he was quite secure they would never touch.

  They chatted quite companionably, Daphne and Christina catching up as they had barely seen each other the past few days. Daphne slyly dropped a few hints about Benedict’s search of her, which Christina pretended to ignore. There was a reason she hadn’t spent much time with her friend - she was quite sure Daphne couldn’t be trusted when it came to matchmaking attempts. After all, it had been Daphne who had “accidentally” sent Christina’s carriage home from her ball without its mistress.

  She couldn’t prove Daphne’s intent, but she strongly suspected it.

  Still, considering how matters had fallen out, she couldn’t be angry either. It was nice to catch up with her friend though, especially since once they arrived at the ball they certainly wouldn’t be able to speak privately. Anthony stayed mostly silent, listening with amusement to their blathering, although he occasionally dropped in an observation.

  The line of carriages at Richmond house was quite long, and by the time they were announced and entered the ballroom, the dancing had already started. Thus, Christina’s first sight of Benedict in days was him leading a young, unknown miss out onto the dance floor. It felt as if all the air in her lungs suddenly seized, her chest aching, and for a moment she thought she might actually faint.

  Chapter 9

  Waiting for Christina to arrive had Benedict on pins and needles. Lady Daphne, whom he’d become a rather regular correspondent with over the past few days, had informed him Christina would be arriving to the Richmond’s ball with her and her husband.

  As a close connection to Isaac, Benedict and the rest of the family had been invited to the dinner preceding the ball, which meant they were on hand from the beginning and had far too much time to wait. The Hood family had arrived quite early, nearly on time, and introductions to Miss Mary Wilson had immediately been made. Viscount Hood had taken her out for her first dance, once the music had begun.

  Knowing what time Daphne planned to arrive, Benedict had hoped to secure Miss Wilson’s hand for either the second or third dance - more likely the third, behind Thomas - so he would be completely unencumbered by duties by the time Christina arrived, but unfortunately Spencer was faster on the draw. Benedict claimed Miss Wilson’s fourth dance - although he quickly asked Lady Cynthia to stand up with him for the third, the one Spencer would be dancing with Miss Wilson.

  Actually quite fetching in appearance, Miss Wilson was as meek and shy as Felix had claimed, although she did begin to blossom a bit under the combined attentions of the ladies. She was very much a country miss, despite the highly fashionable dress the Viscountess had picked out for her, and seemed a bit overwhelmed by all the gentlemen surrounding her. Benedict felt rather sorry for her, as she was obviously much more comfortable with the other young women and completely at a loss when it came to interacting with high born, rakish gentlemen. Even Spencer’s charm seemed to intimidate her more than set her at ease.

  Almost as one, the gentlemen managed to step back and set themselves slightly apart from the group, creating a separate circle of conversation which still hovered around the ladies. While she was slightly more relaxed with her cousins, and certainly with her uncle the Viscount, Miss Wilson seemed to practically sigh with relief at the tiny amount of space.

  One eye on the top of the staircase where newcomers were being announced, Benedict kept up with the conversation as best he could, mostly news about absent friends. Hyde and his wife had decided to stay in the country for the Season with his parents as Lady Hyde was increasing again and having a particularly bad time of it - Benedict interpreted Spencer’s oblique remarks to mean she was having trouble keeping down most of what she ate. She wasn’t the only one increasing, although Lady Cordelia and Dunbury were in town for the Season as she wasn’t showing yet. The only reason Benedict knew was because Gabrielle had told Arabella. Lady Brooke had finally provided Lord Brooke with an heir last year but they’d just had a second child, a daughter, a few months ago, so it was unlikely either of them would come up for the Season. Petersham and his wife were traveling on the continent; although they’d certainly be back before the end of Season, after their first extended trip away from their daughter it was doubtful they’d be coming to London.

  Which left Benedict, Isaac, the Hood brothers, Spencer, and Dunbury to watch over the ladies. Although Arabella and Miss Wilson were the only ones unwed, rakes still eyed the married ladies, hoping their husbands may have lost interest in them over the last year, making them more amenable to a dalliance. Spencer, in particular, sent the more dangerous blades some savage looks when they dared circle closer - Lady Cynthia was a particularly attractive young woman, and with Spencer’s previous reputation not everyone believed in his reformation. It didn’t help that Lady Cynthia obviously enjoyed provoking her husband’s possessiveness either - much as he would when approached by ladies interested in testing his reformation. More than once last Season, the Spencers had disappeared during a ball or rout to express their possessiveness and commitment to each other.

  When it came time for Benedict’s dance with Miss Wilson, Christina and the Marleys still hadn’t arrived which made him rather anxious. Still, he made an elegant bow to Miss Wilson before offering his arm as she gave him a tremulous smile. It was as he was escorting her to the dance floor that the Earl and Countess of Marley, accompanied by the Marchesse of Stanhope, were finally announced.

  Immediately his head swiveled around to see Christina, drinking in the sight of her in a stunning gown of purple and silver which clung to her curves and dipped very low over her breasts. He was so taken by the sight of her glowing pale skin that he nearly tripped over Miss Wilson’s skirts, and only then could he tear his eyes away.

  “My apologies, Miss Wilson,” he said, trying to focus on her instead of looking back to the staircase where Christina was descending. She was finally here, a few more minutes to actually speak to her was not long to wait, and he should give the poor, shy debutante the attention she deserved. “A friend of mine, whom I’m eager to see, has arrived and I became distracted.”

  “The Earl of Marley?” Her question was so soft he almost thought he’d imagined it.

  “He is more of
an acquaintance actually. The Marchesse of Stanhope is a… ah, good friend of mine.”

  Miss Wilson finally managed to raise her gaze to meet his as they positioned themselves on the dance floor, his hand in hers, greenish hazel eyes curious. She opened her lips and then closed them again, apparently unable to actually voice whatever question she had on her mind.

  Trying to set her at ease, Benedict explained. “I hope to make her my bride, actually.”

  “Oh!” Miss Wilson’s eyes grew even larger as the dance started and then, to his surprise, he felt her relax slightly. Sending her a curious look as they began the steps, he wasn’t entirely surprised to see her blush, although her next whispered words did give him a bit of a jolt. “My aunt made a particular point of informing me you weren’t married.”

  He blinked, startled, and then chuckled. He supposed he shouldn’t be shocked that Lady Hood had an eye on him as a possible connection; after all, he had become good friends with her sons, was still single, and an attractive marriage prospect. Felix had told him she was thrilled with Gabrielle as daughter-in-law, but she was even more elated to have a young lady to fire off herself. No doubt she would be the most terrifying of matchmaking-guardians this Season.

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint your aunt, but I’m quite intent I’m afraid,” he said, giving Miss Wilson his most charming smile, so she understood she was not being rejected for herself.

  She smiled back at him, just a tiny curve of her lips, still shy but apparently a touch less so. They finished out the dance without much more conversation, as answering questions seemed to tax her, and she wasn’t quite able to dare any of her own. He could understand now why the Viscountess had tasked her sons with engaging their friends to help launch the poor girl; she was so shy it was almost crippling, and apparently the smaller events preceding the Richmond ball hadn’t helped bolster her confidence. More worrying - perhaps they had and he was experiencing a more polished version of Miss Wilson. No wonder Felix found her boring; he much preferred a lady who would make conversation with him. He and his wife bickered and teased as much as they talked, and that was just how he liked it.

  Escorting a relieved Miss Wilson back to her chaperone, Benedict looked around the ballroom, trying to locate Christina again. When his eyes finally found the purple feathers waving from her auburn hair, a thunderous scowl descended over his features.

  What the devil was she doing talking with that rogue Hartford? Not just smiling, but smiling up at him flirtatiously?! How did he even get in here? Benedict knew he hadn’t been announced; the resulting stir would have stopped the ton in its tracks. Gritting his teeth, Benedict picked up the pace a little, he needed to return Miss Wilson to the Viscountess, post haste, so he could focus on his own affairs.

  ******

  “Stop being dramatic,” Daphne hissed in Christina’s ear. “Just because he is dancing with a debutante, that does not mean he’s thrown you over. It does not indicate anything about his marital goals. And it certainly does not mean you should make completely unfounded and illogical assumptions!”

  A small voice inside of Christina agreed with everything Daphne said, but Christina had listened to that voice before. It was the same voice that had insisted her husband’s late-night absences were just due to carousing with friends. The same voice had said it was completely natural for a couple to stop being so much in each other’s pockets after a few months of marriage. The same voice which had always had some kind of rational, reasonable explanation for everything George had done. It was a voice that encouraged blind trust, and she already knew how that story ended.

  She’d somehow managed to get a grip on herself and make the awful descent down the staircase while Benedict danced with the young debutante. He’d seen her come in, she knew he had, but he hadn’t glanced at her again since that moment.

  The little voice inside her head said good manners - and the movements of the dance - necessitated his focus.

  The little voice could go drown itself in the duck pond as far as she was concerned.

  “Good evening, Lady Daphne.” The voice was deep and unfamiliar, a lazy drawl that hooked Christina’s attention out of her unhappy ruminations. A very handsome, very large man was bowing over Daphne’s hand, although his eyes were on Christina. His very unusually colored eyes; they were so amber they were nearly golden, half-lidded. With his tawny blonde hair and those exceptional eyes, he looked almost leonine, especially when he smiled wickedly at her. Despite her upset over Benedict, she felt a blush rising in her cheeks.

  “Rex, what are you doing here?” Daphne asked, obviously befuddled. “You never come to these events.”

  Which begged the question of which events he did attend - very likely those of the demimonde, Christina realized. There were quite a few rakes and rogues who preferred the wilder events where polite society (and debutantes) never ventured. There were also some whose preferences didn’t matter, as they were barred from polite society. Obviously, this Rex was either not so scandalous as to be barred - or he was of high enough birth to overcome whatever reputation he had. Since Christina didn’t recognize his face or his impertinent nickname, she had no idea which.

  “Amusing myself,” he said, glancing at Daphne before returning to his perusal of Christina. “Introduce me to your dazzling friend.”

  Christina rather expected Daphne to give him a set down - her friend was not one for being dictated to by anyone but her husband - but Daphne shocked her. She was obviously reluctant to perform the demanded introduction, but she did it anyway.

  “Rex, this is Lady Christina Rowan, Marchesse of Stanhope. Christina, this is Lord Michael Seymour, the Marquess of Hartford.”

  Christina’s jaw dropped open in shock as the Marquess bowed over her hand, his eyes sparkling with mirth. The Marquess of Hartford was one of the most notorious members of Society - possibly the most - and the least visible. Rumors about him abounded. He’d supposedly been involved in at least twelve duels over other men’s wives, emerging completely unscathed from each one. He was supposedly as rich as Croesus, as handsome as Adonis, and as charming as Lucifer. Right now, Christina could certainly confirm the latter two.

  In the same way as Benedict and Lord Marley, Hartford had a very confident, authoritarian air about him, which was well deserved. Many said he had more power than a Duke when he chose to wield it, as he was a particular friend of Prinny’s and had vouchers for debts from any number of influential figures.

  From behind his shoulder, Daphne widened her eyes at Christina and shook her head. A warning. One which Christina shouldn’t treat lightly, as Daphne knew him well enough to call him by a nickname. Or was it a kind of title? Rex did mean King after all, and she knew Anthony and Daphne sometimes moved in very different circles than most - very secretive, very scandalous circles. If Hartford reigned as king there…

  Even if all her thoughts were incorrect, he was still scandal personified. And Christina was already feeling a little reckless. That tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Benedict had arrived, and he would not be pleased at the company she was keeping. Another voice answered back - that was his problem, if he had it, the great bloody hypocrite.

  “Lady Christina.” Her name was a purr in Hartford’s mouth, his fingers holding hers firmly as he bowed over them. “It is my utmost pleasure. If I’d known such a stunning gem decorated the ton‘s ballrooms, I would have returned to them much sooner.”

  Cocking her head to the side, Christina looked brazenly back at him. She was not shocked by his forwardness - after all, she was a widow - or even by his focused attentions. She could not deny some part of her felt drawn to him. If she wasn’t already quite so involved with Benedict, she would certainly be willing to flirt back with him.

  As it was, she didn’t currently know where she stood with Benedict, and it was that uncertainty which had her hesitating. If Benedict truly was about to show himself to be false, if he had now reconsidered his proposal and protestations to C
hristina, then this man might very well be the kind of distraction which could ease her broken heart. Like Benedict, he seemed like the kind of man who would be demanding in the bedchamber, as well as vigorous, no matter how lazy and lion-like he endeavored to appear.

  She did not like to think of herself as the kind of woman who would keep a man on a string but… if Benedict was about to break her heart, then some comforting and distraction and reaffirmation of her attractiveness would be most welcome. That was something she had learned after she’d been made aware of George’s betrayal.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Christina said finally, keeping her voice appreciative but not sultry. She forced herself to meet his eyes, ignoring the urge to drop her gaze when faced with a predator. “Considering your usual nonattendance, that is quite the compliment.”

  Daphne frowned furiously, her fan starting to silently tap against the skirts of her dress in consternation as the marquess began to chuckle. His grip on Christina’s fingers tightened.

  “I do believe I hear the violins readying,” he said. “Come, dance with me.”

  It wasn’t until Christina had her hand on his arm that she realized he hadn’t asked - he’d ordered. And she’d obeyed. Daphne looked near to having an apoplexy, but didn’t speak. Her eyes had darted across the room though, and she paled. Christina turned her head to follow Daphne’s gaze and saw Benedict making his way through the crowd towards them.

  Flashing a brilliant smile at the Marquess, Christina felt more than a little smug. After all, what was sauce for the gander was sauce for the goose.

  ******

  There was nothing to do but watch as Hartford led Christina out onto the dance floor, creating a stir as they passed and the ton realized its most notorious and powerful Marquess was in attendance - without being properly announced. And that he was escorting the Marchesse of Stanhope to the floor - the same Marchesse whom Dearborn had been honorably and openly pursuing. Immediately all eyes turned to him, but then looked away again when they met nothing but a bored expression.