The Match of the Century

by Cathy Maxwell

  However, this question lay in another person’s inexplicable and rude behavior. A person who had abandoned her once before, except this time, she would not be meek.

  Of course, until he returned, there wasn’t anything she could do but wait.

  When he did come back, which he would—she had a few things she wanted to tell him.

  She’d wandered over to the other side of the wall. Her eye fell on the saddle kit. Wrapped in her cloak, she knelt, then sat on the ground by the saddle as she went through it.

  There wasn’t much of interest. She wanted to find a clue as to who had hired the men. Then, she would hold it up to Ben to show that while he was prancing around, she was doing good work.

  But there wasn’t anything like a clue in the leather bag. She found a money pouch with a few shillings. There was also a tinderbox, a comb, and a bottle of oil of clove—apparently her killer suffered from a toothache. She also found a pouch. When she opened it, a locket fell into her hand. She opened the clasp, and inside was a painted miniature of a young woman.

  The picture made her sad. The girl was little older than she was. Elin couldn’t fathom how a man could carry a keepsake like this around with him and murder people.

  The idea was disturbing enough that she put the locket back its pouch and into the kit. Darkness was falling. The rain had let up a bit, but there was now a gloomy fog setting in, and the air grew colder.

  The horse was eating away, oblivious to what was going around him.

  Elin searched the woods around the ruins for Ben and didn’t see a sign of him.

  “Ben,” she called.

  The rain dampened the sound of her voice.

  “He’ll return. He always does.” And when he did . . . “No more running, Ben,” she promised herself. “No more running.”

  She ate half of what was left of the dried apples and drank almost all of what was left of the cider. They would refill the jug with water. Fortunately, the sky was making plenty of it.

  Curling up into a ball, she rested her head on the seat of the saddle. She watched, waiting for him to return . . . and must have fallen asleep.

  When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t alone any longer. Her mother sat on the other side of the saddle, resting her arm on it.

  Elin pushed herself up, frowning. She was not alarmed to see her mother, just accepting. She thought she dreamed and yet, her mother was whole and breathing and surrounded by a soft glowing light. Elin even caught a whiff of the rose scent her mother adored wearing.

  Her mother leaned across the saddle and offered Elin the bit of the petticoat lace she’d been using to tie her hair back. Elin took it. She could feel the texture of the lace and the warmth from her mother’s fingers.

  For a long moment, all she could do was smile at her mother, then she said, “I’ve missed you.”

  Jenny gifted her with her famous smile, which had won Fyclan’s heart and captured the attention of the ton. Life had been effortless for her. “I miss you as well.”

  She laid a loving hand against Elin’s cheek. “But I’m with you and also with your father. I’m always with you.”

  “Oh, Mother, everything is confusing.” The words burst out of Elin. “I don’t want to marry Baynton. I never have.”

  “You must. It’s planned.” Her mother picked up a plate from the service in the London house and nibbled on what was left of Osprey’s dried apples. She held the plate out to Elin. “Here, eat something. You don’t want to appear hungry later. Everyone will be watching.”

  Elin didn’t want to eat. She needed to talk, to make her mother understand. “I love Ben. You told me that in time my feelings for Ben would change, but they haven’t. If I go through with the marriage to Gavin, it will be wrong.”

  “Elin, your son will be a duke. It is your destiny. If you don’t marry Baynton, how can that happen? Do you want Gavin to die? Do you want someone to try to kill him the way they tried to murder you?”

  “You saw all of that?”

  “I told you, I’m always with you.”

  “Then you know how I feel about Ben.”

  “He won’t make you a duchess,” was her whispered response.

  “I don’t care—”

  But her mother was already fading. She was changing from something solid and real into a memory. Right before disappeared completely, Elin heard her whisper, “You can’t change what is to be . . . but you must live your heart—”

  Elin came awake with a start. She blinked, expecting to see her mother there. She could swear she caught the scent of her perfume.

  But the space on the other side of the saddle was empty, and the smells that filled the air were those of burning wood and roasting meat.

  Rubbing her eyes, Elin rose and walked through the doorway to the other side of the wall. It had stopped raining, and Ben had returned.

  He sat before a good-sized fire roasting what appeared to be a hare on the end of stick. His hair was curling as it dried, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked so good to her.

  The lecture she had intended to give him evaporated. Instead, she moved to sit by his side. She placed her hand upon his thigh.

  “Did you enjoy your nap?” he asked. He was shirtless and wore only the jacket that she had folded what seemed moments ago. More time had passed than she had imagined. Night had fallen. She’d been asleep for a while.

  “When did you return?”

  “An hour ago.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “That would have been a shame. You needed the rest, Elin. And you would have laughed at my attempt to light the fire with damp wood.”

  She looked up at him. You must live your heart. Her mother’s advice, even as she’d chastised Elin for not marrying her parents’ choice. She said, “I’m happy you returned.”

  He nodded, the gesture absent any emotion. “I won’t leave you, Elin. I can’t.”

  She understood.

  He straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and began talking about what he’d been doing while she slept as if to fill a void.

  “It took longer than I expected to find wood that was even half-dry. Then I had a devil of a time striking a spark.”

  “A spark? There was a tinderbox in the saddle kit.”

  “I found it.” He offered the sizzling meat on the stick to her. “Fancy a bit of rabbit?”

  “You have been busy,” she observed.

  “Well, having a few productive tasks helps the perspective. Go on, have a bite. It should be good.”

  It smelled heavenly. Her stomach urged her to eat as well, so she pulled off a piece. “It is heavenly,” she said with happy sigh. The meat was chewy, but Elin didn’t mind. She even licked her fingers.

  For his part, he seemed to studiously avoid meeting her eye.

  Another time and another place, she would have been offended. She understood him better now. She believed she was beginning to understand them all better now.

  “The cider jug was empty,” he said. “I found a brook over yonder and filled it with water.”

  “You’ve taken good care of me.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he put his attention on the fire. He stirred it with his stick, then, as the flames rose, he added more wood. The fire hissed and smoked from the dampness of the branches, but they quickly dried and burned nicely.

  “I dreamed of my mother.”

  “Did you now?” He sounded disinterested.

  She knew he wasn’t. He was as attuned to everything about her as she was to him.

  “It was one of those dreams where everything is so vivid it seems real,” she continued. “She was real. I felt her touch. And I told her I wasn’t going to marry Baynton.”

  The stick stirring the fire went still.

  “She informed me I must. But she is wrong. You see, years ago, she married my father for love. She did so against everyone’s wishes. They all told her she was making a mistake. Her parents disowned her, her sisters shunned her b
ecause they felt she was ruining the family’s reputation, and many of her friends deserted her. Of course, now, these same people would do anything to gain my father’s favor, but that isn’t what is important. What I realized was that they took a risk. They defied their parents.”

  Ben looked at her now, his eyes solemn.

  “I love you, Benedict Whitridge. My feelings have been constant ever since those days years ago when we rode together and explored the world side by side. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. Indeed, I blamed the duke and your father’s death, and then my mother for the reason we haven’t married yet, but the truth is, I’ve been avoiding it. I left London as soon as I could, and not because I was mourning . . . but because I was running. Heartwood was a convenient hiding place. At no time did I want to encourage or force the idea of marriage. That I was in mourning made it easy to avoid the subject. Certainly there are those who believe I have been the most patient of women, but that isn’t true.”

  She leaned closer to him. “I was waiting for you. I kept hoping I would see you again. I waited, Ben. I put them off as long as I could. And now, I want you to make love to me. Years ago, we tried, and I don’t believe we did a good job of it. I panicked—”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  He looked so earnest, she couldn’t help but smile. “I’ve heard some women whisper it is terrible the first time. But around Heartwood, the lasses like their lads, so there must be something to it.”

  “There is.” Ben tossed his stick into the fire. “I think of my brother, Elin.”

  “I thought you were angry with him.”

  “No, jealous. He had you.”

  “That wasn’t the argument the night of the ball.”

  “It was the undercurrent. Gavin can be clueless. He doesn’t see nuances. He had no idea of what he has taken from me.”

  “I’m not going to let him take you from me.”

  He twisted toward her. “Are you certain, Elin? I warn you, I’m not the man my brother is. I don’t have a title or even a house to call my own. I don’t have a living.”

  “But do you love me?”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Then we’ll sort out the details, Ben. But for this moment, let’s trust our love.”

  His response was in his kiss.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elin grabbed ahold of Ben’s jacket.

  She wasn’t going to let him run away. Not any longer.

  They were also becoming very good at kissing.

  And the doubts and fears she’d once had about the act of joining didn’t even cross her mind. She wanted to be as close to this man as she possibly could be. She would do anything for him—endure any pain, face any humiliation, whatever it took to always have him close.

  For his part, Ben didn’t act as if he were going to let her go either.

  The kiss between them deepened and changed in ways she could never have imagined. He teased her, tickled her, and made good on his promise to kiss every inch of her as he eased her back.

  “I wish I had something more than just the ground for you,” he said, his lips close to her ear.

  Elin undid the fancy frog to her cape. “I don’t care where we are. I’m just happy we are.” She caught his face in her hands, his growth of beard rough against her palms. “Ben, don’t ever doubt us. Please.”

  “I won’t,” he answered, and sealed that promise with a kiss in the center of her hand.

  They began undressing each other in earnest. She stroked the hard, muscular planes of his chest. He was so perfect. Strong, long-limbed, vital, and alive. She would never tire of touching him, but it was what he was doing to her that threatened to rob her of all sanity.

  “I don’t care how it feels,” she informed him. “I want you to be happy.”

  “How it feels?”

  She swallowed. She tried not to be tense.

  As if reading her mind, he said, “Elin, it won’t hurt this time. I promise. Will you trust me?”

  “I already do trust you.”

  “And if I do anything that causes you the slightest amount of discomfort, I want you to tell me to stop. Do you understand? I don’t want you to be stoic on my account.”

  She would be. She would endure anything for him. However, she nodded. Ben looked hard into her eyes, then shook his head. “I have much to atone for, love. Let me see what I can do.”

  He kissed her then, and she threw her arms around his neck, savoring the taste of his kiss. He’d already atoned for everything, she wanted to shout. He’d called her “love.”

  Such a wonderful word. Such an amazing title.

  Ben slid her dress down over her shoulders. She was busy kissing the line of his whiskers beneath his jaw, the place that seemed to both please and excite him.

  The warmth of his hand felt good on her skin. Her breasts swelled and filled his palms when he cupped them. Her nipples puckered as if demanding a kiss.

  When his lips gave them what they wanted, Elin almost swooned. She arched her back as he lowered her to the ground. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, teasing the curls, loving them. She was never going to let him cut his hair. Never. She needed those curls to hold on to and keep her grounded when he drew tight on her breasts as he did now.

  Once again, deep within, she experienced a growing need for something more.

  She knew what he needed. She promised herself she would not flinch when he entered her. She’d not cry out the way she had years ago, something that had frightened both of them. The pain had been sharper than any needle, and she hadn’t liked the bleeding.

  But she certainly didn’t want Ben to stop what he was doing now. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

  His lips left her. She started to protest until she realized he had stopped to finish undressing.

  She watched wide-eyed as he pulled off his boots, set them aside, and stood to unbutton his breeches. He peeled them off. His manhood had a life of its own. He was definitely ready for her.

  Firelight gilded his skin, and Elin could believe him a young god.

  Ben knelt and pulled her dress down over her legs. She was naked except for her stockings and shoes. He removed those. She helped by lifting one leg, then the other.

  He ran a finger across the bottom of her foot. She laughed and squirmed, unashamed to be so open with him. In fact, she liked the freedom of not having clothing. She’d never considered herself bold, but she was comfortable with Ben. She trusted him.

  Her stockings had been the bane of her existence ever since she’d left the coach. The ribbons had come untied, and they’d fallen around her ankles. She almost celebrated when Ben tossed them aside. Instead, she reached up and pulled him down to her.

  “You are so beautiful, Elin,” he whispered. “So perfect and lovely.”

  She ran her hand over the curve of his hips. “You are perfect and lovely, too.”

  He laughed before kissing her forehead, her lips, her chin, and her new favorite place for kisses, her breasts.

  In turn, her hand went unerringly to explore and marvel at his manhood. He liked it when she touched him.

  He reacted by touching her.

  His hand slid over her belly. His fingers dipped into secret places. He opened her world.

  They had not done any of this that first time. They’d kissed and desired, but had been too elementary. They’d had an urge, but they had never investigated, never savored.

  She’d not known how silky his skin could feel over his hard muscles or how circling that hard shaft could make him gasp her name. He covered her hand with his and showed her what he liked. He then mimicked the same movement on her own tender flesh.

  Elin could barely breathe. His name became a litany, begging him for what she didn’t yet know but was willing to discover.

  And he liked that. She could feel his confidence.

  He kissed her ear, as he said, “I don’t want either of us to ever
forget this night.”

  She answered by plastering her mouth on his and kissing him in a way she’d never thought possible, her hips moving against him, knowing there must be more.

  Ben settled himself between her legs. She cradled his hips with her thighs.

  And then he was at the portal.

  The sharp pain she had once endured was a distant memory—and nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, felt as good as the sensation of his slowly sliding into her.

  There was a tightness. She was aware of the proud length and breadth of him, but there was no pain.

  “All you all right?” he asked. He sounded as if he was holding himself in check, as if it took all of his will to do so.

  Elin arched and stretched beneath him. Her movements sent him deeper, and she liked that. “I’ve never been better,” she practically purred.

  “Then you like this?”

  She let her smile speak.

  “I believe you will enjoy this even more,” he managed and, lifting her hips, began moving inside her.

  He was right.

  Elin looked up into the sky, her whole being centered on where they were joined. He knew what she wanted better than she did. All she had to do was enjoy.

  The rain clouds had given way to a sky full of stars, and Elin imagined herself as one with them . . . as one with Ben.

  She reached for him, kissing him. His thrusts grew deeper, more meaningful. Her body answered in its own way, moving and meeting him. Together, they seemed to be striving for something—and then suddenly, for one blessed second, he touched the core of her, and Elin knew she would never be the same.

  Her breath came out in a cry, a plea, then a sighing gasp of complete and utter satisfaction.

  If she could have, she would have slipped beneath Ben’s skin. She felt that close to him.

  He buried himself deep as if riding the sweeping intensity of her release. He held his breath. She held hers. She never wanted to let him go. She wanted him to remain right where he was forever and ever.

  Had she thought the stars bright only moments ago?

  She’d been wrong. She was the one who glowed and pulsated with the fire of life. She was exactly where she’d always been meant to be.