by Laura Martin
Waiting while she composed herself, he found his fingers trailing instinctively across the nape of her neck. It was warm under the fur lining of her new cloak and her skin was as soft as the finest velvet.
‘Ben,’ she murmured, emerging from his shoulder. It was phrased half as a question, half as a plea, and he knew if she looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing her.
Slowly she looked up and even in the darkness he could see the desire and confusion mixed in her gaze.
Ben knew a lot about desire. Since he’d gained his freedom he’d promised not to ever deny himself pleasure whenever the opportunity arose, as long as it didn’t damage anyone, of course. He’d conducted numerous short and pleasurable affairs, always making sure they ended before either party became too invested in the relationship. He’d felt desire before, of course he had, but never had he wanted a woman quite like he wanted Francesca.
‘Come,’ he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the gardens to a spot of grass under the trees. Quickly he helped her unclasp her cloak and lay it on the ground, lowering Francesca down on to it before lying down beside her.
Above them the bare branches of the trees swayed in the breeze and as Ben reached out and pulled Francesca towards him he caught a glimpse of the moon emerging from behind a cloud.
Slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, he kissed her. Beneath his lips he felt hers open, inviting him in, her arms wrapping around his back and pulling him closer.
‘What are we doing?’ she whispered in between kisses.
‘Life is for enjoying, Frannie,’ he murmured in her ear, ‘Let me help you enjoy it.’
Slowly he trailed a hand inside the coat she was wearing, the threadbare one she’d kept on under her cloak, feeling the warmth of her skin just underneath her collarbone. As he kissed her she fiddled with the fastenings, opening up the coat and allowing him access to her body. At this simple gesture he felt himself grow even harder, with every nerve in his body stimulated and on edge.
Loving how Francesca moaned as he bent his head to trail kisses along the neckline of her dress, he pushed the material as low as it would go, revealing the smooth swell of her breasts. Taking his time, with Francesca’s hands tangled in his hair, he kissed lower and lower. Tugging less gently, he tried to pull her dress even further down, but the material was too stiff and the fastenings too tight.
‘Don’t stop,’ she begged, her fingers still tangled in his hair.
Underneath him he felt her hips rise in an instinctive movement, pushing against his, and in that moment he would have done anything for a soft bed and warm covers. He wanted her so badly, but even he was too much of a gentleman to expect a lady to make love on the freezing ground of a public garden.
‘Soon,’ he whispered, pulling away, pausing only to kiss her one last time.
As his body stopped touching hers he watched her face, waiting for the inevitable transformation. For a few minutes Francesca had been caught up in her desire, not caring that her actions were scandalous and they’d been reckless in a public place. Now, with her sensibilities returning, she would pull away from him and regret their intimacy.
Quickly she shuffled backwards, as if trying to put as much distance between her and Ben as possible. Her hand struck a tree root and she let out a cry of surprise, stopping where she was.
‘What are we doing?’ she whispered as she hugged her hand to her chest.
‘The inevitable,’ Ben murmured. Deep down he’d known all along this was where they’d end up. Not exactly here, in this private garden, but certainly in each other’s arms. He’d felt Francesca’s pull the moment he’d set eyes on her again and somewhere inside he’d always known that they would not be able to go their separate ways before they’d quenched the desire they had for each other.
‘Nothing is inevitable,’ she snapped. ‘It was foolish and reckless, but certainly not inevitable.’
‘Whatever you say, Frannie,’ Ben said, knowing that she didn’t believe her own words.
He stood, offering her his hand. For a moment she looked like she was thinking of refusing.
‘It’s not inevitable,’ she said as she allowed him to pull her up.
‘I’ve seen how you look at me, Frannie,’ Ben said, suddenly wanting to shock her, to show her she didn’t have to always abide by society’s rules. ‘Don’t try to pretend you’re anything but an eager participant. We both know I only have to kiss you here and you’ll fall into my arms again.’ He kissed her on the neck, just below the earlobe, and felt her shudder with anticipation.
Quickly she pulled away, her eyes filled with anger and defiance.
‘You’re so arrogant,’ she hissed, evidently trying to keep her voice down due to where they were despite her anger. ‘You think any woman, no matter what class difference there is, will just fall into your arms as soon as you smile in her direction.’
He shrugged. ‘In my experience they do.’ Pausing, he caught her hand, lowering his voice to a more soothing level. ‘And what’s this obsession with class, Frannie? Your whole life is governed by rules and society and wanting to be perceived in a certain way. People are people, whether they are rich or poor, well educated or illiterate.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me,’ he said, pulling her to face him.
She looked so lost, so forlorn that he regretted his outburst. He’d just wanted her to admit that she was just as human as he, that she had the same desires, the same needs, no matter how hard she tried to bury them.
‘All my life I’ve been expected to behave in a certain way. To dress appropriately, to speak in the right way, to be interesting to gentlemen, but not too interesting. Every single day of my life I’ve been told again and again to conform.’
He watched her, saw the pain on her face and realised that she must have struggled with society’s expectations over the years.
‘A wife should run a comfortable home for her husband. A wife should conduct herself with dignity and decorum at all times. A wife should never question or nag her husband as to where he’s been. A wife should provide and raise well-mannered children.’
‘That’s the expectation?’ Ben asked.
‘Yes. And I know I don’t have to conform, but in reality I do. This is my world, Ben. If I break the rules, I’d be shunned by everyone I know, cast out. What would I do then?’
‘And that’s why your family are so insistent on maintaining the pretence that everything is well, even when they are in so much debt.’
‘What would they do with a small country cottage? My father is a viscount, brought up to be a leader of men. He has been told throughout his life that he is important, he matters. To take that away from him would destroy him.’
‘And you?’ Ben asked quietly.
‘Who knows? I’m not brave enough to leave everything behind and I don’t want to desert my family.’ She sounded resigned to her fate. ‘But I don’t think I care like my parents do, not about keeping up appearances. Everyone knows we are in debt anyway. I find it ridiculous the pretence we go through, incurring more debts just to make it seem like everything is normal.’
‘What would society say if they saw you in here with me?’ Ben asked, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on Francesca’s cheek. She didn’t pull away this time, instead her whole body sank into his.
‘I don’t think I’d get many invitations, my social calendar would look rather bare.’
They both fell silent for a few minutes, contemplating her answer.
‘Come,’ he said eventually, guiding her gently along the path again, ‘Let’s enjoy the gardens.’
The argument that had sizzled between them was now almost entirely forgotten, but Ben knew their kiss was not. As he led her down one of the well-manicured paths he could feel her heart beating
hard inside her chest. One day he would get her to see that her happiness was more important than leading a conventional life. And one day very soon he would kiss her again somewhere he wouldn’t feel guilty for stripping her naked and spending the whole night making love to her.
Chapter Eleven
‘Don’t make eye contact,’ Caroline Yaxley whispered, ‘or we’ll never be rid of him.’
Francesca was sitting with her sister and Miss Yaxley at the perimeter of the ballroom, thoroughly enjoying herself. When she’d been a debutante Francesca had revelled in the friendship of a close and lovely group of female friends, but over the years they’d lost contact, mainly due to her late husband’s dislike of her going out and enjoying herself. Felicity and Miss Yaxley were huddled together, talking so fast about so many topics it was hard to keep up, but their faces were alight with excitement making them both look beautiful.
‘He’s such a bore,’ Felicity said, casting her eyes down to the ground. ‘I can make small talk until I’m blue in the face, but it’s so difficult with Mr Witherington.’
Glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, Francesca identified the gentleman in question—a pallid and uncertain-looking man in his mid-thirties.
‘Don’t look,’ Felicity and Miss Yaxley whispered together, pulling Francesca round to face forward again.
‘Anyway, the Duke proposed and Georgina accepted him, even though she’s completely in love with someone else,’ Caroline said, sighing dramatically.
They were discussing the house party Felicity hadn’t been invited to the previous weekend, the one Ben had disappeared off to. Ben. Francesca felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered their illicit embraces shared in the private gardens. She should never have been so reckless, so bold, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret her actions. Every day and every night since she’d found herself thinking of him, remembering how he tasted, how his lips felt on hers, imagining what else might have happened between them had they been somewhere more private and a little warmer.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ a deep voice said from just behind them. Francesca felt herself stiffen and hoped her sister, with her all-seeing eyes, wouldn’t notice her reaction.
‘Mr Crawford,’ Caroline gushed, ‘How wonderful to see you.’
Feeling a momentary pang of jealousy, she wondered how well Ben knew Miss Yaxley. They’d been at the house party together and everyone knew there were different rules outside London.
‘Any news on Lady Georgina?’ Ben asked cryptically.
Miss Yaxley shrugged, then sighed. ‘She’s stubborn, always has been.’
‘I have a feeling things will work out all the same,’ Ben said. ‘Now, ladies, you must excuse me, but I am going to deprive you of Lady Somersham’s company. She promised to teach me how to dance a Scotch Reel.’
‘You’re dancing again,’ Felicity said with a smile.
Francesca nodded, not able to do anything else. Really she shouldn’t be dancing at balls until her mourning period had completely finished. It was one thing to attend as a chaperon, quite another to be seen gaily prancing around with another man on her arm while she was still meant to be remembering her late husband. Still she felt the frisson of excitement she always did when given the opportunity to dance and allowed Ben to assist her to her feet.
‘How was the house party?’ Francesca asked, not wanting to pry, but unable to help herself.
‘A disaster. Robertson made a complete mess of everything,’ Ben said with a sigh, ‘He has fallen head over heels in love with Lady Georgina, but was too much of a fool to admit it and now has ruined everything.’
Although she hadn’t met Sam Robertson she knew a little about him from how Ben spoke of him and the rumours that circulated in society. He and Lady Georgina were of completely different social classes and it was unlikely a romance between them could ever work out, but she felt sorry for Ben’s friend all the same.
‘Still, he’s a lucky devil with a smooth tongue, I have a feeling he’ll persuade Lady Georgina to pass over her Duke before the week is out.’
‘Surely not?’ Francesca asked, shocked at the idea of the daughter of an earl breaking off her engagement to a duke for a man of a much lower social class. It was the stuff of fairy tales, and romantic in theory, but everyone knew fairy tales couldn’t be translated into real-life moments.
‘Let’s hope so. He’s a good man, one of the best. I doubt I’d still be alive today if it wasn’t for him. I want him to find some happiness.’
‘You met him in Australia?’ Francesca asked as they circled the ballroom, waiting for the announcement of the next dance.
Ben shook his head. ‘On the transport ship. I’d already served almost two years on one of the hulk ships on the Thames and I was a shadow of my former self by the time we were actually transported, but meeting Robertson saved me.’
‘He was a young boy, too?’ She desperately wanted to know more about his life after his conviction, but didn’t want him to relive the worst parts unnecessarily.
‘Even younger,’ Ben said with a grimace. ‘I was twelve when I was convicted, he was just ten.’
‘And you stayed together throughout your time in Australia?’
‘We did. Our first job was north of Sydney Cove, digging a road. Then after that we were taken as convict workers to Mr Fitzgerald’s farm.’
‘The Mr Fitzgerald I’ve met?’ Francesca asked with a frown. They seemed such good friends, not like convict worker and landowner.
‘His father. Mr Fitzgerald was a good man. Perhaps the best man I’ve ever had the good fortune to know.’ The words were said solemnly and Francesca could tell they were heartfelt and genuine. ‘He saved me. He saved us, Sam and I. He plucked us from the awful abyss that all convicts stare into at some point of their sentence and taught us there is good in the world.’
‘He sounds like a wonderful man.’ Francesca felt the tears welling up, threatening to spill down her cheeks, and heard the thick quality to her voice. Ben had only needed someone like Mr Fitzgerald to rescue him because she’d not been strong enough to save him from her father’s cruel machinations.
‘He was...’ Sam paused, his solemn expression turning to a grin as George Fitzgerald approached them.
‘Lady Somersham,’ Fitzgerald greeted her, ‘a pleasure as always.’
‘We were just talking about your father,’ Ben said.
‘Ben...’ Francesca paused, then quickly corrected herself. ‘Mr Crawford was telling me how he saved him and Mr Robertson.’
‘Always was a sentimental fool,’ Fitzgerald said with a sombre shake of his head. ‘Has Crawford told you the story of why he took him and Robertson under his wing?’
Shaking her head, Francesca waited for either man to continue.
‘He got it into his head those two reprobates were heroes,’ Fitzgerald said, keeping a straight face, but only just.
‘What Fitzgerald isn’t telling you,’ Ben said, cutting in, ‘is he was foolish enough to nearly be killed by a poisonous snake and Robertson and myself put our own lives on the line wrestling the monstrous beast to the ground and saving his life.’
‘A mild exaggeration,’ Fitzgerald murmured, ‘But there was a snake and it did spring and if it had bitten me it would have been deadly.’
‘Do we regret it?’ Ben asked, dodging a punch on the arm from Fitzgerald, and Francesca found herself laughing as the two friends grinned at one another.
‘You two wouldn’t know what to do with yourselves without me,’ Fitzgerald said.
‘It’s true,’ Ben said once Fitzgerald had taken his leave. ‘He’s a good man just like his father and, when Robertson and I were at our lowest, they showed us how to be human again.’
She wanted to ask more, wanted to learn every little detail about the time he’d spent in Australia, but at that moment the music started up fr
om the next dance and Ben pulled her forward. For now she would have to content herself with that little insight into his life.
Breathless and laughing, Francesca looked radiant as they finished the dance with a curtsy and a bow. She was a wonderful dancer, her body moved instinctively and her feet never missed a step, but what really made her a pleasure to dance with was the light in her eyes, the pure enjoyment and the happiness when she was dancing to the music.
‘Lady Somersham,’ Lord Huntley said disapprovingly as Ben escorted her from the dance floor, looking for a glass of something cool to refresh them both.
‘Lord Huntley, what a surprise. I did not expect to see you tonight,’ Francesca said and Ben could hear the note of panic in her voice.
‘I decided to attend at the last minute,’ Lord Huntley said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I see you are dancing.’ It was a simple comment, but his voice was loaded with meaning.
‘I am,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. After all, she could hardly deny it.
‘My fault, I’m afraid,’ Ben said cheerfully. ‘I rather bullied her into it.’
Lord Huntley turned to him for the first time with an air of interest.
‘I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of an introduction,’ he said, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Their meeting a few weeks earlier evidently hadn’t made much of an impression on the Viscount.
‘Lord Huntley, this is Mr Crawford,’ Francesca said. He saw her hesitate before adding, ‘He is an old friend of the family, we’ve known each other since childhood.’
Lord Huntley inclined his head, out of habit more than politeness, but Ben saw the shrewd and calculating look in his eye.
‘Mr Crawford,’ he said slowly, ‘I was under the impression you’ve only recently arrived in the country.’
‘That’s right,’ Ben said, appraising the older man. He might appear bombastic and pompous, but there was an observant man underneath the bluster.
‘I’d be interested in how you and Lady Somersham have managed to maintain a friendship with you not residing in the country,’ he said.