Not Another Nob (The Marriage Maker Book 32)

by Annabelle Anders

  Ben slowly opened one eye and then the other. Hell and damnation, pressure was already building behind both of them. They’d likely be swollen shut by early morning. The hit had landed right between the eyes as though Dorrill intended to shove Ben’s nose directly through his face.

  Not that he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of such a punch, Ben was honest enough to admit…

  Sitting up, the landscape swung around wildly and he lost his train of thought.

  What with having his brain pounded in the midst of the most satisfying kiss of his life…

  That kiss.

  Claire.

  Sweet. Giving. Teasing. Beautiful Claire.

  Who was now nowhere to be seen. In fact, he’d been abandoned out here. Left for dead.

  He chuckled at his own dramatics.

  Still somewhat dazed, Ben contemplated Claire’s current predicament. Although a scourge in business, Ethan Dorrill would likely not harm his sister. The mere thought of the bastard laying a hand on Claire caused the blood to rush in Ben’s ears and forced him to his feet.

  He needed to track her down.

  Then another thought struck. What if Dorrill forced her to leave Elysium Fields early? It would be the logical course of action.

  And for the best.

  She was too much of a temptress…too much of a distraction. Ben had only attended in order to conduct important business with Fairchild, and so far, all he’d done was attempt to lay claim to the least attainable woman in all of Great Britain—for him, anyhow.

  She’d make an alliance with some titled nob, by God.

  The notion of her absence, of not seeing her again, didn’t feel like it was for the best. Rather, the idea left him feeling empty.

  He slipped back indoors, brushed past other guests, and searched faces for any indication of Dorrill’s inconveniently timed arrival.

  No Claire. No irate brother.

  Ah, Amy Fairchild beckoned him to her side. On this occasion, he was more than happy to oblige. If Claire were being forced to leave, surely her friend would know.

  “Good God, Ben! He certainly got in a good one.”

  “Did you know he was coming?” He’d thought he and Amy Fairchild were friends. Like brother and sister, almost.

  She shook her head adamantly. “I’d no idea. One of Ethan’s informants obviously couldn’t wait to run to him with information.”

  “Where is she?” Ben didn’t bother explaining who he referred to. Amy would know.

  She peered at him through narrowed eyes. “And why should I tell you? Obviously, you were up to no good.”

  “Might I remind you of a scandalous little episode last spring where you disappeared for nearly an hour alone with Roger Winthrop in the forests at Vauxhall?” He’d been complicit in her alibi.

  She smiled dreamily and then grimaced. “Very well. Her chamber is directly across from mine. Not that you’d have any reason to know where mine is.”

  “And Dorrill?”

  “In the study with my father.” Of course, Dorrill’s visit would not only curtail his activities with Claire, but also infringe upon Ben’s negotiations with Fairchild. Blast. Clem would give him hell for such a turn of events.

  None of which really was his own fault.

  With a wave of thanks, Ben dashed out of the drawing room toward the stairs. He needed to assure himself of Claire’s well-being.

  He was also of a mind to finish what he’d started. Once he’d reached the family’s wing, he turned left and located Claire Dorrill’s chamber without difficulty. He’d stayed with the Fairchilds often enough. He oughtn’t to know where the daughter’s chamber was located, but he’d run into her leaving it on occasion.

  He knocked on the appropriate door.

  “Go away, Ethan!” a feminine voice called out.

  “Not Ethan,” he responded and then turned the knob slowly. “Are you all right?” he spoke into the opening before inching the door inward.

  The door flew open.

  “You are not dead!”

  Before he could register anything else, she’d tugged him ruthlessly inside.

  “No one can see you here.” And then, “Your poor eyes!”

  She disappeared through another door. “I felt horrible leaving you on the ground like that. I’d no idea if you were living or dead. Such a dreadful sound, fist meeting with flesh like that.” Appearing once again, she carried with her what looked to be a dampened washcloth.

  Lavender water, if he was correct.

  She dabbed the cloth soothingly at the corners of his eyes, and then below them. “Oh, Benjamin!”

  She called him by his given name.

  “Ouch,” he muttered when the cloth pushed at one of the more tender spots. He reached up and stilled her movement with his own hand. “He did not hurt you, did he?” This was what truly mattered. Ben swallowed hard when his gaze traveled down her alabaster throat to the swelling of her breasts, tantalizingly visible beneath the thin cotton of her dressing gown.

  She must have read the desire in his stare, but she did nothing to hide herself from him. Ben drew his eyes back up to hers. Lovely. This girl. Addictingly lovely.

  She shook her head. “Ethan would never hurt me. I just hated to leave you lying there. I feel horrible.” She dabbed at another tender spot, but Ben didn’t want to stop her. He preferred the pain that came with her touch to not having her touch at all.

  “He’s meeting with Fairchild. I imagine he plans on taking you home tomorrow.” His chest tightened. He’d only met Claire Dorrill today, but he felt like he’d known her for a lifetime.

  She turned away and this time Ben’s gaze wandered down her back. The narrow curve of her slim waist invited his grasp, and his palm itched to reach for the lush heart shape of her backside. She stopped at the window and then glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “I’ve never before seen him turn such a deep shade of purple.” She grimaced. “I imagine your eyes will resemble that same shade in the morning.”

  Ben didn’t care about his eyes. Or that he ought to be clocked again for entering this innocent young woman’s room. He didn’t care what Ethan Dorrill wanted. All he cared about in that moment was that he find a way to have Claire Dorrill in his life.

  Permanently.

  “Are you leaving tomorrow?” he asked her again.

  “We are.”

  His gaze locked with hers. Somehow, he knew, as much as he knew the sky was blue and the grass was green, he knew that if he didn’t find a way to keep her, he’d regret it for the remainder of his life.

  Except, he didn’t believe in romantic love. He believed in lust—sexual satisfaction. Love existed for those people who couldn’t face reality.

  When had fantasy become reality?

  “Where will you go? London?” Ben slowly began crossing the room.

  In a last attempt to keep some distance between them, Claire crossed her arms in front of her. “Yes,” she nearly whispered.

  She felt this too. How could she not?

  “What will you do?” his question could have meant a thousand things.

  “I’ll wonder.”

  “What will you wonder about?”

  “You.”

  Ben stood towered over her, the top of her head barely meeting his chin. Inhaling, he memorized her scent.

  He needed a plan—a strategy. His fingers caressed a line from the back of her ear to just inside the collar of her night rail.

  “I have an idea.”

  She tilted her head back to search his gaze.

  One day.

  All it had taken him was one single day.

  A slow smile spread across those sensuous lips of hers before she responded, “Just so long as it doesn’t involve either of us getting killed.”

  Chapter Eight

  Guilty of Innocence

  “Margaret Claire Dorrill! Open the door this instant!”

  Claire winced and burrowed deeper beneath the covers. How had
she thought this might be a good idea when Ben suggested it last night? Hearing the thunderous pounding and booming voice of her brother coming from the other side of her door, she suddenly wished she’d given thought to the full ramifications more thoroughly before agreeing.

  “Are you ready?” his voice nudged her out of her cocoon. Far too cheerful for what they faced today.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to gaze into the early morning face of Mr. Benjamin Peabody. His dear, poor face. The skin around those brilliant blue eyes had, indeed, turned a violent shade of purple. The flesh was swollen, as well, and all of that ought to have detracted from his appeal.

  Instead, he merely appeared more roguishly handsome than ever.

  “Damn it, Claire! Don’t make me break this door down!”

  Claire swallowed hard.

  Was she being rash?

  Yes.

  Insane?

  Perhaps.

  But she considered herself to be in love.

  Of course, neither of them had verbally defined this powerful attraction between the two of them, but she’d seen it in his eyes. If she’d been thinking with a level head, she might have pressed him to profess his undying love. She might have insisted he express himself more eloquently.

  But when he’d explained his idea to her. Well, his motivation couldn’t have been any clearer.

  He wanted to marry her.

  Since she’d been amenable to such a notion, it would have been foolish for her to play demure. They both knew their respective brothers would never endorse such an alliance. They needed to do something drastic. So, Ben had explained how they could easily make the issue of their feuding families a moot one.

  In between a long series of tantalizing kisses, she’d had no thoughts of doing anything but agree.

  It was as good as any proposal she’d ever heard of.

  So now she lay in bed, with a man in her room, her brother threatening to break the door down, while Benjamin casually removed his shirt and climbed under the covers beside her.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she whispered.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Ben ruffled the bedclothes and blanket. Pounded a dent into the pillow, and then climbed back out of the bed. He partially unfastened his breeches and sauntered toward the locked door.

  Barefoot.

  She’d never noticed a man’s feet before. His were slim but appeared strong as he padded across the floor.

  “Be careful!” she whispered. “And duck this time.”

  Turning his head, he cocked that eyebrow she remembered from their first meeting. She thrilled at the steely determination in his eyes. Had they really only met yesterday? Even with purple swelling encircling his eyes, his appeal tugged at her insides.

  “I’m not foolish enough to relish the thought of meeting your brother’s fist again.” He appeared casual, but like a panther or a tiger, she sensed his readiness. He quickly unlatched the lock on the door.

  When the door came flying inward, Ben jumped back and moved at the perfect moment to avoid Ethan’s deadly fist.

  “You bastard. You bloody stinking bastard!” Her brother charged Ben. Claire had thought he looked angry last night. Today, his face contorted in absolute rage. She wished she’d not had to resort to this. Oh, how she hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

  Ethan took another swing at Ben, but again caught only air.

  “Stop, Ethan! Stop it!”

  Of course, he ignored her. She winced when a third punch grazed the side of Ben’s face. Ben wouldn’t fight back, she knew this. He’d explained to her how all of this worked.

  Which, nonetheless, didn’t make it any easier to watch.

  “What in tarnation?” Claire breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Mr. Fairchild and Amy, and ah, yes, Mrs. Fairchild, hovering in the doorway.

  “Ethan.” Mr. Fairchild stepped forward and caught her irate brother’s arm just before he could swing his fist a fourth time. “God damn it, Peabody. What the hell are you playing at?” Their host pinned his gaze on Benjamin, who looked, for all the world, like a man who’d spent the night making love to her.

  That piece of hair stood on end again, and anyone could see that he’d barely had time enough to don his breeches properly.

  Claire clutched the blankets below her neck and twisted her face into an expression that she hoped resembled guilt.

  What did a woman look like after a night of passionate lovemaking? Claire touched her lips and wondered if anyone could see the traces of Ben’s kisses. When she recalled how he’d buried his face into her shoulder and neck and then traveled his lips down her chest… Heat rushed into her cheeks.

  “What in the hell were you thinking, Claire? Did he drug you? Did you have too much to drink?” Ethan finally addressed her. And then, “How could you do this to me?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to meet her brother’s stare. Oh, God. She’d hurt him. All he’d expected from her was her loyalty and love, and she’d thrown everything he’d ever done for her back into his face.

  “Benjamin Peabody. I never would have expected something like this from you,” disappointment laced Mr. Fairchild’s voice. “And Miss Dorrill. Do you realize how your behavior might affect Amy’s prospects? Carrying on like this! We’ve all been striving to achieve a certain level of respectability, and then the two of you…”

  “Like cats in heat,” Ethan snarled.

  “None of this will matter once we’ve married.”

  Claire had been expecting Ben’s announcement, but even so, all the breath swooshed out of her lungs when he finally made it. Surprisingly, she suffered equal amounts of relief and regret at the same time.

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before you marry my sister.”

  “Ethan! Now you’re simply being foolish!” she chastised him. He needed to lay to rest this endless notion that she would marry into the aristocracy.

  Ethan’s fiery gaze nearly sent her scurrying beneath the covers. “If there’s one thing that Clemson Peabody and I will ever be in agreement on, it’s that a wedding between the two of you will never happen.”

  “I beg to differ,” Benjamin’s voice broke through, confident and sure.

  Amy rushed inside, wearing a dressing gown over her night rail. Her mother continued to peer inside from behind the door. “I think this matter needs to be settled elsewhere. Poor Claire! Now, all of you shoo, shoo! Out of here so that Claire can dress and gather her thoughts.”

  Claire could have kissed her friend in that moment. Although, she doubted she’d ever gather her thoughts again. Ever since meeting Benjamin Peabody, she seemed to have left her normal levelheadedness behind.

  Perhaps she’d left it sitting on the log at the edge of the road along with their broken-down carriage.

  “Please,” she added her voice to Amy’s. The tears welling up in her eyes were not feigned.

  Benjamin was shoving his arms into his shirt but took a moment to look at her searchingly. She nodded in response to his unspoken question.

  Yes. She was all right.

  Yes. She still wanted to marry him.

  Yes. I love you.

  She added that last part on her own. But sometime in the near future, she fully expected to hear the sentiment returned. If for some reason she didn’t, she’d bury her own fist between his eyes, by God.

  Once the door finally closed behind the three bristling men and Mrs. Fairchild, Amy squealed and jumped onto the bed beside Claire. “I can’t believe it, Claire!” Only her exclamation was not made out of disgust or disappointment. Amy spoke in awe. “And with Benjamin Peabody, no less. Tell me everything. Was he terribly romantic? Did you hate it? Did it hurt? Do you recommend it?”

  Claire loved that Amy didn’t suffer from any of the reticence of so many of her other friends.

  Normally.

  But as she remembered the look in Ben’s eyes when he’d proposed all of this… And the wonder of his mouth—hot, spicy…hungry—she suddenly wan
ted to share some of it. All of this felt so unreal.

  “I believe he might love me,” she dared to speak the words out loud.

  “Might?” Amy bit her lip.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Amy looked even more confused now. “I thought the two of you only just met yesterday.”

  “We did. It’s just… There is something between us.” Claire didn’t know how to describe it. “It’s…” She searched for a word that might come close to describing how she felt about Benjamin Peabody. “Magic.”

  This announcement left Amy speechless.

  “It’s as though we’ve known one another our entire lives. As though meeting one another was preordained. Fate led us to this moment.” Claire could hardly believe such romantic notions were pouring from her mouth. She’d believed in love before, but nothing like this. Nothing so fanciful...and she never could have imagined how overwhelming it felt.

  Then again, she might have imagined all of it.

  “Father will insist upon a declaration from Ben,” Amy pointed out.

  Claire nodded. “He expects it.”

  Understanding finally lit Amy’s eyes. “Otherwise he never would have been allowed to court you. A bit drastic though, don’t you think?”

  “It was. It is.” Doubts assaulted Claire when she recalled the violence her brother had directed at Benjamin only minutes ago. “But it all seemed rather logical last night.”

  “But to welcome him into your bed!” Amy covered her cheeks with both her hands. “I don’t think I could have done it. And now you are ruined! What if Ethan refuses? What if Ethan sends you off to a convent for the rest of your life? Of course, there’s no chance of you ever being accepted into society now. Even the largest of dowries won’t erase the stigma…”

  “Stop, Amy! I’m terrified enough without your horrifying suggestions.” Oh, Lord. What had she done? What if…? Ethan must concede. Mr. Fairchild would insist. “Help me dress.”

  Another squeal from her friend. “What shall you wear? I’m certain you’ll be summoned for an official proposal from Benjamin.”

  Claire examined herself in the looking glass while Amy rummaged through the wardrobe. The skin on her neck flared slightly red. Touching the sensitive areas in amazement, she couldn’t help remembering the texture of Ben’s whiskers. And those had only been kisses. What would it be like after they married?